Chapter Text
THE PRESENT
“--And when I got back, I realized I already had the same skirt. In the same color!”
Lizzie and Jimmy dissolve into giggles. She squeezes Scar’s hand as she doubles over, pulling Jimmy with her, his hands still tangled in her hair. Scar’s foot hits the bottle of nail polish next to them and it wobbles dangerously.
They’re having a much needed sleepover. The rest of their friends are at Pearl’s for her birthday party, and while Scar would love to go, he can’t stomach the idea of seeing Grian there. Just the thought of catching his eye across the room makes his hands all clammy. He shakes his head and plasters a smile over his face.
Lizzie examines her work on his nails. “Hey, these aren’t bad! You still want flowers?”
“Sure,” says Scar.
Jimmy ties off whatever he was doing to Lizzie’s hair and leans back. He frowns. “Hm.”
“‘Hm?’ What’s ‘hm?’ Jim, what did you do to my hair?” Lizzie says, hands flying back to pat the back of her head.
“I tried! I don’t know how hair works!”
Scar’s phone buzzes. He fumbles for it.
“Scar, what did he do?” Lizzie says, turning around for him to see. It’s honestly not terrible. He got the hang of braiding eventually, but it’s really messy and loose and more tangles than anything.
“His best,” says Scar. He slaps his hand down on his phone and checks the screen.
Oh god.
Lizzie gets to her feet and looks at herself in the mirror of her vanity. “Could be worse, I guess. If we do 80’s makeup, it might even look intentional.”
Scar swallows. He stares at his phone screen.
“Um. Guys?”
They don’t hear him. Jimmy’s busy defending himself while Lizzie rummages through eyeshadow palettes.
“Grian’s calling me.”
Silence.
Then:
“Oh my god!”
“Do not fucking answer, Scar I swear to god–”
“Give me the phone, Scar–”
“Oh my god–”
“Put the phone down–”
“DO NOT ANSWER THE PHONE–”
It’s a mess of limbs and screaming. Jimmy knocks the phone across the room. Scar scrambles for it. Lizzie grabs his ankle. Jimmy seizes a fistful of Scar’s shirt.
“We’re literally avoiding him right now–”
“If you answer the fucking phone–”
“SCAR, DO NOT–”
Scar grabs the phone. Jimmy trips and falls on top of him. Lizzie climbs over them both, reaching blindly over Scar’s head.
“SCAR–”
He answers.
Everything goes silent.
“Hello?”
“Heyyyyyyy,” comes Grian’s voice. There’s music and shouting on the other line, but Grian’s mouth is pressed close to the speaker. He’s definitely drunk. “Why aren’t you at Pearl’s party?”
“I– uh, well–” Scar stammers.
“I miss you,” says Grian. Scar chokes. Lizzie and Jimmy whisper to each other frantically. Scar elbows them.
“You, uh.. you do?”
“Yeah.”
In the background, Pearl’s voice: “Grian, give me the damn phone.”
Shuffling. More music. Pearl’s voice fades out. Impulse and Skizz’s voices drift in and out, also yelling.
“Grian, are you–”
Grian giggles. “Why aren’t you here? Are you mad at me?”
“Yeah, dude of course he’s mad–” Jimmy starts. Scar elbows him again.
“Kind of,” says Scar. “You stood me up.”
“Oh. Right.” Grian’s quiet for a moment. Gem yells for the phone. “Sorry. I am, really. I don’t know why I” – he hiccups – “why I do that. I miss you. I miss you, like, so much. I wish you were here. God, you’re so hot. Scar, why the hell are you so hot?”
Scar’s face burns. “Uh–”
“Hang up, hang up–”
“I can’t believe–”
“Shut up!”
“...What?”
“Sorry, sorry, not you. Grian, you’re drunk. You should– you should drink water, or something. You’re not thinking straight.”
“Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, just– get water, or something. Go find Pearl.”
“But I don’t want to. She’s being a bitch.” He says the last part louder, further away from the microphone like he’s saying it over his shoulder. Pearl yells something at him. “She told me not to call you.”
“She might have been right, G,” Scar says quietly.
“But I miss you. Why did we break up?”
Scar feels sick.
“You’re drunk, G.”
“I– hey, what the hell–”
Scuffling on the other end. Shouting. Music.
“I am so sorry, Scar,” comes Pearl’s voice. “I really tried to stop him.”
“Yeah,” says Scar.
“Sorry. I’ll make him drink water. Sorry. I know– sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“Have a good night,” she says.
“Happy birthday,” he says, and Pearl hangs up.
The room goes silent again. Scar’s heart beats in his throat. His stomach sours. His face is flushed and his hands are sweaty and he wants to throw up.
“Damn it, I ruined my nail polish,” says Lizzie.
THREE WEEKS EARLIER
“Grian, do you have your car today?”
Grian looks up from his phone at Lizzie. They’re in the lull between the morning rush and the lunch rush right now, giving Lizzie and Gem time to work on whatever cake decorating or other orders the bakery’s gotten. Grian’s running the front.
“Yeah, why?”
“Joel just got all the tea party stuff packed. You’re on delivery and set-up duty.”
Grian stares at her blankly.
“You forgot,” she says, and it’s not a question. She straightens her bun. “For the fairy tale tea party at the library. We had a whole meeting about it earlier.”
Oh, shit.
The library is doing a huge summer program, partnering with local businesses for the next four weeks for multiple themed events. Lizzie and Joel’s bakery is one of them, providing refreshments for the fairy tale tea party, the fairy tale ball, and the summer bash pool party. Lizzie put Grian in charge of deliveries and set-up.
For the events at the library.
“But…” Grian lowers his voice. “Isn’t Scar in charge of the kid events?”
Lizzie frowns. “Yeah?”
Grian bites his lip.
“Is that seriously gonna be a problem? I thought you guys were still friends.”
“I mean, kind of? It’s. I don’t know.”
Gem pokes her head out from the kitchen. “He’s waffling.”
“Shut up, Gem.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is!” she says. “Just drop the stuff off and leave! Be polite, or whatever.”
“Shut up, Gem!”
She holds her hands up in surrender. “Sorry,” she says, unapologetically.
“Fine. Fine, I’ll do it.”
“Good,” says Lizzie, “because it’s kind of your job.”
“These kids are great,” says Pearl. “Seriously, the girl playing Cinderella has the voice down.”
Scar grins. “You were right about using Ren’s drama program for this.”
“I know! He’s a good director!”
The automatic doors slide open. Scar turns around to greet whoever it is with a welcoming smile and locks up like a rusty tin lumberjack.
Grian’s here, balancing pink bakery boxes, lips pursed in concentration. His sandy hair swoops delicately over his forehead. His ever present red turtleneck peeks out from behind his apron – he must’ve forgotten to take it off before he left the bakery.
“Hey Gri!” says Pearl, blissfully unaware of the tension. Or, more likely, willfully ignorant. She’s made it no secret that she doesn’t care if they get along or not. She won’t pick between her brother and her best friend.
“Hi Pearl,” Grian says, visibly relaxing. “Where do you want all this?”
“Oh, Scar’s in charge of all the tea party stuff. It’s a children’s event. He can show you where all of it goes.”
With that, she pats Scar a bit too hard on the back, and heads upstairs to the adult section.
Grian and Scar stare at each other.
Scar blinks. Grian shifts his weight under the bulk of the boxes.
Oil can, oil can. Damn it, Scar, do something.
He slaps on a grin. “Right! The tea party stuff is all over here, past the audiobooks.”
Scar leads Grian behind the physical media section to where the shelves open up for larger events just like this. Today, the space has been filled with half a dozen small round tables, each themed after a different fairy tale. There’s one with a pumpkin centerpiece and an ornate little clock for Cinderella, a rose under glass for Beauty and the Beast, a white rabbit plushie and a top hat for Alice in Wonderland. The tablecloths are color coded and adorned with small candies. To the side, there’s a long table with various extra coloring sheets, word puzzles, and, of course, schedules of the summer program and the children’s reading challenge associated with it.
Grian whistles. “This has the Goodtimes touch written all over it.”
Scar smiles despite himself. “I had fun picking out all the centerpieces.”
“Did you have to kill anyone to let you take complete control of this, or did they see the look in your eye and back away in fear?”
“Oh, please. There was never a question.”
Grian shifts the boxes again.
“Oh yeah,” says Scar. “Um, you can just put those down anywhere. I can arrange everything myself. I already know where everything goes.”
Grian sets the boxes on the nearest table. “Are you sure? I heard enough about Disney from you that I could probably set it up for you.”
“Nah, that’s okay.”
Grian bites his lip. He pulls on the hem of his sweater.
“Uh, Lizzie kind of put me on set-up duty also?”
“It’s fine.”
“Right.”
Scar taps his fingers on the handle of his cane.
Grian tugs at the ends of his sleeves.
Scar coughs.
“Um,” says Grian. “I guess I should. Go.”
“Yeah,” says Scar, “probably.”
They look at each other.
Grian breaks eye contact first. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen.
“Lizzie wants me back,” he says, tucking it into his pocket. Scar catches a glimpse of his phone screen before it clicks off. There are no notifications.
“Okay,” says Scar.
Grian takes a few steps.
“Good luck with the tea party.”
“Thanks.”
Grian nods, once, and heads for the door.
Scar does not move until the automatic doors slide closed and Grian rounds the corner, disappearing out of sight.
“That went well,” Pearl says, behind him. Scar jumps out of his skin.
The tea party is a huge success. A bunch of parents pull Scar aside and tell him how impressed they are with the high school actors, or with the care put into the decor. A couple of kids recognize Scar from storytime and he gets some hugs and high fives.
He almost forgets about seeing Grian.
Almost.
TWO YEARS AGO
“--and the lighting and color grading leaves a lot to be desired. Seriously, I could barely see some of those scenes. But other than that, I thought it was a-may-zin.”
Grian raises his eyebrows at him across the table. “Wow. I didn’t realize how much thought you put into movies like HotGuy 4: We Made A Fourth One.”
“HotGuy 4: Hotter Than Ever.”
“That’s what I said.”
“I thought you liked HotGuy,” says Scar, tilting his head. He breaks up a chunk of cookie dough in his milkshake with his spoon.
“Not really. Mumbo’s always been a fan, but it’s not my thing.”
“Then… why did you stay?”
Perplexingly, Grian’s face turns pink.
“What’d you think of the trailers?” says Grian. It’s an obvious deflection, but Scar lets it slide. He tries to ignore the way his heart flutters hopefully at the blush tinting Grian’s cheeks.
“I wasn’t impressed by a lot of them. I really wish Disney would quit it with the live action stuff.”
“I thought you were a Disney fan?”
“I am! That’s why I have such high standards for quality!”
Grian laughs. Scar smiles.
“See, it’s like at the parks…”
Grian sucks on the straw of his milkshake, looking up at Scar through his eyelashes as he launches into a long winded Disney rant. Scar gets a few minutes in before he falters.
“Sorry, rambling. I’ll stop.”
“I don’t mind.”
Scar’s brain short circuits. “Huh?”
“I like hearing you talk,” Grian says simply.
Scar smiles so wide his cheeks hurt.
FAIRY TALE WEEK, DAY TWO
“There’s this sweetberry bush model out of bounds, but when I deleted it, it broke all the Ravager pathfinding for some reason,” says Tango. He takes a bite of his raspberry danish. “And that’s what they don’t tell you about game development. It’s held together with tape and chewing gum.”
“Chew with your mouth closed, dude!” Skizz says, smacking Tango on the shoulder.
“They’re gonna kick us out,” says Impulse.
“Can’t,” says Grian, setting three coffees in front of them. “You’re our most regular customers.”
“You’re also basically our dads,” calls Gem from behind the register.
Skizz laughs. “What do I do with my lunch break if I don’t use it to visit my two children?”
At this, Joel pokes his head out from the back. “Am I not your child?”
“No,” says Tango.
“What the hell, guys? I’m the same age as them!”
“Yeah, and they’re the favorites. You’re like” –Tango gestures at him vaguely– “the brat neighbor’s kid.”
Joel scoffs. “What does that make Lizzie?”
“Oh, she’s the favorite niece,” says Skizz.
Joel makes an offended noise that might be words. It’s hard to tell.
“How’d the Scar thing go, Grian?” Gem asks.
Grian’s face heats up.
Immediately, the three men at the table abandon their Joel mockery to fix their gazes on Grian. Skizz is beaming. Impulse looks skeptical. Tango covers his mouth.
Grian whirls around to glare at Gem. “You waited to ask that until they were here on purpose.”
“Maybe,” says Gem, oh-so-innocently.
“No, no, you’re not getting out of this one,” says Skizz. “What Scar thing?”
“It’s nothing.”
Five pairs of eyes bore into him.
“Really, it’s nothing! I had to drop off some stuff at the library for their summer thing and Scar was running the event.”
“And?” says Tango.
“And nothing! I said hi, I gave him the stuff, I left. That’s it.”
“You didn’t get lost in his dreamy eyes?” teases Gem.
Grian’s cheeks burn. “No! I– I mean, he’s still– you know, it’s Scar, he’s gonna look good, but I wasn’t– I didn’t–”
“No rekindling of old sparks?” says Skizz, sounding genuinely disappointed.
“None of that,” says Grian. He stalks back to his position behind the counter. “Nothing happened, and nothing will happen. We broke up months ago. I thought you’d all drop it by now.”
The three men have the decency to look sheepish. Joel tugs on his earlobe. Gem, however, is unphased.
“Hey, I only met you after the breakup, and I’d have to be blind to see you weren’t still gone on this guy.”
“Can everyone shut the hell up and let me do my job?”
“No one else is in here,” says Joel.
“Don’t you have a job?”
Joel sticks his tongue out and goes back into the kitchen.
The bell above the door chimes.
“There you fuckers are!” Jimmy exclaims. “People have been asking for you guys for like, twenty minutes! You’ve been on lunch break for two hours! Get back to work!”
“No way we’ve been here that long,” says Impulse, checking his watch. “Oh. We have.”
“Out!” Jimmy says.
Jimmy herds the three men out the door. Gem manages to hold it together for a good five seconds before dissolving into laughter.
G:
> hey
> lizzie told me we're catering for the fairytale ball but wont tell me anything else
> like what i need to make or when to deliver it
Scar:
> oH THATS WEIRD
> Sorry caps
> I can send you the details?
G:
> thatd be helpful
Scar:
> attached: fairy_tale_ball_refreshments.pdf
> If you have questions I can answer
G:
> i think ill be good
> thanks
Scar:
> Yeah
Scar shoves his phone back into his pocket and sighs heavily.
“You good, mate?” says Pearl.
“Yeah, fine.”
Pearl just looks at him.
“Okay, I’m not fine. Lizzie put Grian in charge of all the in-between with us and the bakery, and I don’t know if I can really… handle that?”
“It’s been half a year,” says Pearl, “is it really that bad?”
Scar sighs again, searching for words that don’t come. “I don’t know. It’s. Hard? I guess? I don’t not like him. It’s weird.”
“I can talk to Lizzie.”
“No,” Scar says firmly. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. I feel weird, yeah, but I don’t want to inconvenience Lizzie because I can’t get over myself.”
Pearl pats him on the arm sympathetically. “I think you need some pets, too.”
It’s therapy dog day at the library. Scar and Pearl spent a good chunk of the morning stapling paper into the shape of trees and making the silhouette of a small woodland cottage on the walls. Pearl’s got a red cloak around her shoulders, and Scar’s got wolf ears on his head. The dogs they have over aren’t big and bad, though. They’re all sweeties. Pearl even lent Tilly out for the event, seeing as she’s a trained support animal as well. The main draw for it is mostly stressed out teenagers, but there’s a good number of younger kids and even some adults here gathered around the dogs.
Pearl leads Scar over to where Tilly’s curled up on a rug. He grabs a cushion and sits down slowly on the floor. Tilly perks up and flops her head into his lap.
“Hey, girl,” he says, scratching behind her ears.
It helps.
“I think it’ll be good for you to talk to him,” says Pearl.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“You’ve been dancing around each other for months, mate. It’s getting a little painful. I’m not picking any sides, but it’d be nice if my brother and my bestie could handle being in the same room again for more than five minutes.”
Scar groans. “I know. I need to get over myself.”
“I’m not trying to shame you!” says Pearl. “All I’m saying is that it might be nice to talk to him again. It might be easier to be friends now that the wound isn’t so fresh.”
“That’s the problem,” says Scar, quietly. “It feels fresh.”
“That’s because you haven’t given it the chance to heal up. You keep picking at the scab.”
Scar gives Tilly a few pats on the tummy. “You’re probably right.”
Mumbo frowns at the chessboard. Grian leans back in his chair and stretches obnoxiously.
“Face it, Mumbo, I’m just a chess genius.”
“I know that’s not true.”
“What can I say? I’ve been practicing.”
“Also a lie.”
Grian pulls his legs up onto his chair and sighs dramatically. “Can you just lose?”
“No!” says Mumbo, scandalized.
“Can you at least not be boring while we’re playing?”
“I don’t have a lot to say that you haven’t already heard,” says Mumbo, “unless you wanted to talk about whatever’s bothering you.”
Grian splutters. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve usually told me at least three anecdotes about Joel, Gem, or Jimmy by now, and you haven’t made fun of me once. Something’s bothering you.”
Mumbo finally moves a piece and captures one of Grian’s pawns. Grian slumps in his chair.
“‘S stupid.”
“Grian, I lived through your bad boy phase. I’ve seen all the stupid from you I can.”
Grian mumbles something. Mumbo frowns.
“Lizzie’s making me talk to Scar,” he says.
“Oh,” says Mumbo, “is that it?”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, awkward, I guess, but you still like each other, right?”
“I like him.”
“And he doesn’t like you? Grian, come on.”
“Well, why would he?” Grian says, sitting up straighter. “He probably hates me now.”
Mumbo purses his lips.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“I take back what I said. This is pretty stupid of you.”
Grian drops his gaze and moves another piece. It’s a bad move, but he hasn’t really been putting much thought into his strategy at all this game.
“You like Scar. Scar likes you. It’s gonna be awkward, yeah, but you can’t move past the awkward stage if you keep avoiding talking about it like this.”
“Why does everyone want to be my therapist all of the sudden?”
“Because you won’t do anything if we don’t make you.”
TWO YEARS AGO
Mumbo looks up from his phone. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Grian, are you busy Saturday?”
“No,” says Grian. He pauses. “...Why?”
“What’s the suspicion for?”
“You’re smiling.”
“I smile a lot!”
“Uh-huh.”
“I do! I’m a smiley guy!”
“Right. What do you want?”
Mumbo takes a deep breath. His next words come out in a rush. “Will you come see the new HotGuy movie with me?”
Grian rolls his eyes. “I don’t like those movies, dude.”
“I know, but everyone’s going, and I want you to come! Please? It’ll be fun!”
“I haven’t seen the last two.”
“You have! I made you!”
“I zoned out as a defense mechanism.”
“Still! Please? I’ll buy you ice cream after!”
“I’m not gonna go, mate, sorry.”
Mumbo falters. Something twinkles in his eye. Grian’s suddenly very afraid.
No one should be afraid of Mumbo Jumbo, but there’s something about his expression that screams evil–
“Scar’s gonna be there.”
Ah.
Grian stills. He chews on his bottom lip, brow furrowed. His heart skips a beat at the thought of sitting next to Scar in the movie theater. It’s dark. Scar’s ankle brushes against Grian’s. His face lights up at the jokes and Grian watches his eyes crinkle with laughter in the light from the screen. Their hands brush when they both reach for the popcorn at the same time.
He fixes Mumbo with a death glare.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve just done.”
And that’s how Grian ends up in the passenger seat of Mumbo’s car, wearing an extra HotGuy hoodie on their way to the movies.
FAIRY TALE WEEK, DAY TWO
“That may be true,” Grian starts, and then can’t come up with a defense and leaves it hanging.
“It is true,” says Mumbo. While he’s not paying attention, Grian slides a chess piece into his sleeve. “I like talking about feelings as much as you, mate, but if I don’t say anything now, you’re going to mope for the rest of the summer.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Mumbo frowns at the chessboard. “I could’ve sworn– where did my knight go?”
“What knight?”
Mumbo looks up at him. “Empty your pockets.”
Grian pulls six chess pieces out of his pockets and sleeves and dumps them on the table.
“And that’s why I was losing.”
“I don’t think either of us were winning.”
Mumbo sighs.
TWO YEARS AGO
Mumbo pulls the car right up to the curb. “Alright, get out.”
“What?”
“Out of the car, bud.”
“I can walk from the parking spot,” says Grian. “Look, there’s a spot right there.”
“I know,” says Mumbo.
Grian opens and closes his mouth like a fish. His brain fills with question marks.
Across the parking lot, a bus pulls up to the stop. The door opens, and out steps Scar. He checks something on his phone as the bus drives off, leaning lazily on his cane. Grian’s palms immediately start sweating.
“Look, Scar’s here! Get out of the car.”
“Why are you–”
“I’ll park the car, you get popcorn!”
“Mumbo, this is weird even for you.”
Mumbo turns in his seat to fix Grian with a pointed stare. “Grian, I’m begging you to get out of the car.”
“Okay? I guess?”
Grian gets out of the car and slams the door shut. The window rolls down. Mumbo grins. Grian gets the distinct feeling he’s been had.
“Great! Bye, have fun!”
And Mumbo drives off.
What the fuck?
“G!” Scar calls. Grian jogs over to him, already smiling. “Did you not come with Mumbo?”
“I did,” says Grian. “He just drove off and left me?”
“Oh, that’s weird. Cub should be here soon, though, and I think Jimmy and Skizz?”
Their phones buzz in unison. It’s a notification in the groupchat they created to coordinate movie plans.
skizzy whizzy:
> Sorry, won’t be able to make it! Something came up at the office. Catch you later, homie buddehs!
Then, right in a row:
tim:
> Me neither! Got little league stuff >_<
cub scarsoldroommate:
> Was this today?
> My bad.
> Have fun.
“Did everyone flake last minute?” Grian says. “That’s… convenient.”
“Oh no!” says Scar. He looks up at Grian sheepishly. “Hey, if you don’t want to see the movie since no one else can come, that’s okay. I know you don’t really like superhero stuff.”
Oh. Oh, Mumbo, you bastard.
“No, no, I don’t mind!” says Grian. “I don’t want you to see a movie by yourself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Scar beams.
“Great! We can have all the popcorn to ourselves!”
Scar drags Grian through the line to purchase their tickets (he insists that he pay for both, but Grian gets him back by paying for the snacks) and into the theater.
“I’ve been waiting for this since they dropped the trailer at San Diego Comic Con last year,” Scar whispers. “They brought back the suit from the original run of the comic, and they even gave CuteGuy the wings on the shoes. I also heard a rumor that they’re actually going to lean into the romantic undertones in the partnership in this one.”
None of it means anything to Grian, but he nods along, listening with rapt attention. It’s hard to look away when Scar is looking at him like that.
The movie is okay. Lots of CGI, lots of explosions, lots of cheesy lines. They do lean into the romantic undertones, surprisingly. Grian doesn’t pay a lot of attention. He’s much more distracted by Scar’s presence.
They do end up brushing hands when they reach for the popcorn at the same time. Grian’s stomach fills with butterflies like a middle schooler.
FAIRY TALE WEEK, DAY THREE
Jimmy ducks away from the chaos of the scavenger hunt and jogs over to Scar. “Is that my valley girl?”
Scar looks up from where he’s been keeping track of things on his clipboard. He’s in his chair today. “Oh my god!” he says, pitching his voice up and adding copious amounts of vocal fry. “Like, what are you doing here?”
“Girl, it’s like, sooo totally an afterschool program field trip. This is like, sooo cute.” They dissolve into giggles. Jimmy clears his throat and speaks in his normal voice (with maybe a bit more of a lilt than usual). “Yeah, the afterschool program at the school I do little league at is doing a summer camp thing and it’s a field trip day, so I thought I’d help out. I think Impulse and Skizz are gonna be here later?”
“Do they have kids?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. I think they have families? But as far as I know, Impulse and Skizz never got their Vegas marriage annulled, so who knows if they’re actually married to… presumably wives?” He shakes his head. “No one tells me anything, dude.”
“I’ve given up trying to figure out what’s up with that whole trio and I’ve never– oh, hey Mason!”
A young boy (a regular at Scar’s story time slot) approaches Scar and thrusts a paper in his direction. “Check, please.”
Scar obediently takes the paper and skims over his answers to the scavenger hunt prompts. The appropriate fairy tale memorabilia has been taped and glued to the appropriate spots on the page. Scar smiles and slaps a gold star sticker on it, then digs through the bag hanging from his chair and pulls out a prize pouch, containing a bookmark, a fidget toy, and a Disney sticker sheet.
“Great job, Mason! Will I see you at story time next week?”
Mason accepts the prize pouch and clutches it to his chest. He nods intensely. Scar holds his hand out for a fistbump and Mason gently taps his fist against Scar’s, then runs off to find his parents.
“You’re like a celebrity for children,” says Jimmy.
“I do the best character voices in the story time business,” Scar says. “My reputation proceeds me.”
“Precedes,” says Jimmy. “Also, I don’t think that sentence fits there.”
“That’s what I said, and yes it does.” Scar pulls out a few prize pouches and lines them up on the table next to him. “Hey, are you free tonight for a bamboozler call?”
“I’ve got a work thing tonight, but after that, yeah.”
“Thank god,” says Scar, “if I don’t talk to Liz soon, I’m going to scream.”
Jimmy’s spent almost the whole night alone at the bar. Not because he doesn’t have friends – Skizz, Impulse, and Tango are all having a heated debate at a booth in the corner, faces flushed red with alcohol, and at some point Bdubs showed up and made his presence known – but for a much more embarrassing reason.
The reason happens to be behind the counter wearing a button up shirt and a waistcoat with a towel thrown over his shoulder, mixing a martini. He sets it in front of Bdubs’ plus one, a white-haired man who Jimmy’s always been afraid to talk to, and glances in Jimmy’s direction.
He catches Jimmy’s gaze. His eyes are round and blue, accentuated with a flick of eyeliner and mascara. His cheeks are lightly pink, shimmering with highlight, and spattered with freckles. And, most strikingly, his hair is a vibrant shade of teal, framing his face in soft waves.
Jimmy turns red and snaps his attention away.
“Hey.”
Nerves shoot through Jimmy’s spine. He sits straight up. “Uh, hi,” he says, turning to face the bartender again. His blue eyes crinkle as a smile plays on his lips. Jimmy does not look at his mouth. He doesn’t.
“Can I get you anything?”
Right. It’s his job.
“Uh, could I get a Shirley temple?”
“‘Course,” says the bartender. “So why’s a guy like you alone at the bar?”
“Oh, no, I’m here with friends. They’re the obnoxious ones over there,” Jimmy says, gesturing in the direction of Tango, Skizz, Impulse, and Bdubs’ table. “Tango’s team got a collective raise. I’m the DD. Besides, I have a game tomorrow.”
“What kind of game?” the bartender says. He slides the finished drink in front of Jimmy, stopping him when he reaches for his wallet. “On the house.”
“But– why?”
The bartender rests his elbows on the bar and leans forward, batting his eyelashes. “You’re cute,” he says. “I’m Scott.”
“Oh– uh– I’m T– I’m Jimmy. Ha. Uh, nice to meet you. You’re. You’re cute too?”
Scott tilts his head, smiling. “You don’t seem too sure.”
“No, no, I am! You’re cute!” Jimmy blurts. His words catch up to him and his face burns. He buries his head in his hands. “God.”
Scott laughs. It doesn’t feel mocking. Endeared, maybe.
Jimmy gives himself a second to reset. He straightens back up. “I coach little league soccer down at the elementary school. We’re doing a summer camp thing.”
“Oh, cute!”
Jimmy hides his smile with a sip of Shirley temple. Scott tucks his teal hair behind his ear and blinks prettily.
“So, Tango? Interesting name.”
“Yeah, Tango, Impulse, and Skizz are all screen names from some video game they all play together. Oddly enough, Bdubs isn’t a screen name.”
“What, it just says Bdubs on his birth certificate?”
“As far as I know, yeah.”
Scott laughs. Jimmy’s heart skips a beat.
Across the room, Skizz calls Jimmy’s name. “Ay, Big Man Jim, we’re heading out! If you love us you won’t make us pay for an Uber!”
Jimmy sighs. “Sorry, I have to take these guys home.”
“Right, DD. No worries.” Scott scribbles something on the back of a receipt in glittery gel pen and stuffs the receipt into the front breast pocket of Jimmy’s jacket. Jimmy didn’t think it was possible for his face to get any redder, but his skin is on fire. “Hope I see you again sometime! Drive safe!” he says with a smile and a wink.
Jimmy nods mutely. He coughs. “Uh, yeah! Thanks, you too! I mean. Uh,”
“I get it,” says Scott. “Bye!”
Jimmy raises his hand in an awkward wave then turns on his heel and marches himself out of the bar.
Scar lays on his stomach, chin propped on his hands while he kicks his legs in the air. Lizzie answers the facetime first, then Jimmy.
“Liz,” says Scar.
“Sorry,” says Lizzie.
“I just met an angel,” says Jimmy.
“You– we’ll get back to that,” says Lizzie. “Scar, if it’s really bothering you, I can send Gem instead of Grian. Wouldn’t be a problem.”
“No, no. It’s fine. If I can’t handle seeing the guy after however many months, that’s a me problem.”
“Eh, maybe,” Lizzie says. She rolls over onto her back, pink hair splayed across the pillows. “I’m just sick of him moping all the time when you get brought up. If anyone needs to get over himself, it’s him. I mean, he’s made a lot of progress, but still. Besides, you’re a bamboozler! And bamboozlers can do anything!”
“That’s right!” Jimmy chimes in. “I love Grian, but at the same time I know how he gets. He was so broody in high school.”
“Thanks,” says Scar. “Hang on, Jellie wants to say hi.” He leaves his phone on the bed and opens the door where Jellie has been pawing. She springs into the room. Jimmy and Lizzie’s voices both shoot up the octave the second she enters the frame.
“Aww, hi baby!” Jimmy coos.
“Kitty kitty!” Lizzie says. “So Jimmy, what’s this about an angel?”
“Oh my god,” he says, “you don’t even understand.”
Scar settles back onto the bed and lets Jimmy’s excitement wash over him. He smiles.
FAIRY TALE WEEK, DAY FOUR
When Grian enters the library, it’s a separate world entirely. They’ve taken the prompt of “fairy tale ball” and absolutely sprinted with it. It’s the same area that the tea party was in, but it looks like a different building. The lights have been dimmed, and instead the room is illuminated by LED candles and twinkling fairy lights. Streamers crisscross the ceiling and balloons float idly in the corners. Centerpieces of flowers and magic wands dot the buffet tables against the walls. There’s a bubble machine in the corner.
“Wow,” he says with a whistle.
Scar, adjusting a paper decal of a clock, whirls around with a high pitched yelp. He clutches his chest. “Oh! Grian, hi. You scared the life out of me.”
“Sorry. I brought refreshments.” He lifts the boxes to demonstrate, then winces. What else would the boxes from the bakery be for?
“Great! You can set those boxes down on any of the tables and I’ll unpack them.”
Grian does so. Then, before he can chicken out, with his heart pounding rabbit-quick in his chest, “Could I help set them up, actually?”
Scar slams the stapler right into the wall, missing the paper by a country mile. “Huh?”
Grian flushes. “Uh, well. Pearl and Tim are going to be at the ball later, so I thought it’d be… easier to just stay and help rather than leave and come back.”
Scar gapes at him. Grian fidgets uncomfortably.
“Scar?”
“Right! Yeah, yeah, of course, you can set it up if you really want to. I won’t stop you.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah.”
Scar looks away first.
He’s already dressed up. It’s nothing fancy – quite literally a prince outfit from a costume store, complete with a white shirt, gold buttons and cording, a red sash, and red pants. Tall leather boots. A pair of white gloves hanging out of his pocket. His short hair has been slicked back, with a few stubborn strands hanging loose (a voice that sounds mysteriously like Gem insists they’re called “slut strands,” and he shuts that part of his brain off immediately).
It’s not fair how attractive he is.
Grian clears his throat and gets to work.
Scar hasn’t seen Grian since Jimmy arrived. The ball is a huge draw for kids and teenagers, so the whole place is in chaos. Pearl swung by earlier to steal a few cookies and chat with him about the show they’re both watching, and Scar thinks he saw Impulse and Skizz at some point, but for the most part he’s acting as a chaperone and keeping watch on the younger kids. A lot of the littles want him to stamp the first week on their reading challenge card.
“Huge turnout.”
For the second time today, Scar jumps out of his skin.
“Grian!”
“Hey,” says Grian, a hesitant smile on his face. “You’re popular.”
“Me? Oh, yeah. Jimmy said I’m a local celebrity for bookworm children.”
“Did you plan the ball, too?”
“It was a team effort.”
Grian raises an eyebrow. Scar sighs.
“Okay, I did a lot of the planning. For all the events. Pearl had to physically wheel me out of the meeting room sometimes because I kept taking on tasks. There, happy?”
“Getting there.” Grian moves closer and leans against the wall. Unbidden, Scar’s eyes trail over Grian’s body.
He’s… he’s in costume.
It’s lowkey, as far as costumes go, but he dressed up. He must’ve changed out of his bakery uniform when Scar wasn’t looking, because now he’s in a white peasant blouse tucked into black pants and heeled boots. There’s a sprinkling of glitter on his eyelids and a touch of eyeliner and mascara. He has angel wings strapped to his back.
Scar’s heart thuds.
“Have I told you about our craziest regular?”
He hasn’t. They haven’t really spoken to each other for three months (not that Scar’s counting). Grian knows this. Scar knows Grian knows this.
“I don’t think so,” says Scar. He grabs two cups and ladles punch into both, handing one to Grian. He tries to ignore the way his skin tingles when their fingers touch.
Grian launches into a story, and it’s almost too easy for Scar to let himself forget the events of the past year. For ten minutes, they’re friends again, and they’re laughing so hard they can’t breathe. Grian’s smile burns itself into his brain. For ten minutes, it’s the two of them in a bubble, removed from the outside world. Just Grian’s terrible impressions, and Scar’s wheezy laugh, and poorly mixed Kool-Aid.
“Mr. Scar?”
Scar glances down. It’s one of his favorite storytime kiddos, Beverly. She’s a spitfire, all red hair and curls.
“Well, hello there! What can I do for you?”
“Are there really gonna be snakes here next week?”
“Yeah! My friend Etho is going to bring some reptiles to the library on Monday. Don’t worry, they’re all very friendly.”
“I don’t care if they’re friendly. I like black mambas. They have black mouths and can bite you multiple times really fast and the venom is deadly unless you have the cure. Will Etho bring one?”
“Sorry, Bev, I don’t think Etho has a black mamba. They sound really neat, though!”
“They’re awesome. I also like the Eastern diamondback rattlesnake.”
“That’s the kind your stuffed snake is, right? Silky?”
“Yeah, Silky’s a rattlesnake! I wanted to bring her but Mommy said I wouldn’t have anywhere to put her at the dance.”
“Aw, that’s too bad. You can bring Silky on Monday, though!”
“I will!” Beverly starts to leave, then turns around. “Oh yeah! Stamp my list.”
“Stamp my list…”
“Stamp my list, please.”
“Why, of course!”
Scar takes the stamp out of his pocket and smacks it down on the first week of her reading sheet.
“Thanks!” Beverly says, and runs back into the crowd.
Scar straightens back up and takes a sip of his punch. Grian’s grinning at him.
“What?”
“Nothing!”
Scar pouts.
“Really, it’s nothing! I just forgot how good you are with kids. It’s sweet.”
The music fades from upbeat pop to something slower, more jazzy. It’s getting later now, and a lot of the families with younger kids are starting to pack up and leave.
“Do you want to dance?”
Scar startles.
“Huh?”
“Dance? With me?”
“Oh,” says Scar. “Um.”
Arms around his neck, a head resting on his chest. Fingers in his hair. Humming under his breath.
“I have to start doing some preemptive clean up.”
Grian’s face falls. The bubble pops.
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
“Yeah. Uh. Sorry. Maybe another time.”
Grian nods, grip tightening on his cup. He looks faraway.
“See you.”
“Yeah.”
ONE YEAR AGO
Lemon cookies fill the kitchen with a sweet, citrus scent. The lights are low, allowing the moonlight to spill across the tile floor. Scar’s shirt is covered in flour. Grian has cookie dough on his lip.
It’s three in the morning. Scar never wants the night to end.
“Dance with me?” he says.
Grian rolls his eyes fondly, smiling. “There’s no music,” he says, but holds out his hand anyway. Scar scoops it into his own and pulls Grian to his feet, dipping low into a bow to kiss the back of Grian’s hand.
“Lucky for you, I can change that.”
Scar scrolls through his phone for a moment, then selects a song. Trumpet and clarinet start to play, tinny through a combination of old-timey recording quality and Scar’s shitty phone speakers. The vocals begin, crooning and sweet.
“Edith Piaf? Really, Scar?” says Grian. He wraps his arms loosely around Scar’s neck
“Is that how you pronounce it?”
“How have you been saying it?”
Scar presses his lips together. “I don’t want to say now.”
Grian laughs, a quiet breathy thing. Scar rests his hands on Grian’s hips and pulls him close. It’s not so much dancing as much as swaying slowly together.
Grian rests his head against Scar’s chest, for just a moment. Warmth floods Scar from head to toe.
“What does it mean?” Scar asks. “La vie en rose?”
“Life in pink,” Grian murmurs against his chest. “Feeling safe in someone’s arms. Belonging to someone. Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses.”
Scar hums under his breath. Grian lifts his head and examines Scar, eyes flickering across the planes of Scar’s face, the freckles across his nose, the scars cutting across his skin. His hands slide into Scar’s long hair. He entwines the strands between his fingers.
Grian’s eyes are lined with dark circles. His hair hasn’t seen a brush or comb in days. His small frame is swamped in a hoodie he stole from Scar three months ago that he seemingly has no intention of returning, and Scar has no intention of asking for. He looks at Scar like a starlit sky.
“I love you,” says Scar.
The fingers in his hair stutter.
Grian’s eyes widen a fraction. His cheeks turn pink. Rose-colored.
Something sour curls in Scar’s chest.
Grian swallows thickly. He pulls away. Not much, but enough for Scar to miss the warmth of his body against his own.
“Yeah,” he says.
The oven timer dings.
“I’ll take them out,” says Grian. He steps away. Scar lets him.
THE FAIRY TALE BALL
Scar goes out of his way to avoid Grian the rest of the night. It’s not an easy feat – the library isn’t that big, and the number of patrons gradually dwindles. Eventually, Grian leaves with Jimmy. Scar should be relieved, but seeing him walk out the door just makes his chest ache.
The event ends. Scar’s not on cleanup duty since he basically set the whole thing up himself (with help from Grian, his brain reminds him, and his heart hurts all the more), so he digs his phone out and calls Cub.
“What’s up?”
“Can you pick me up? I don’t want to wait for the bus.”
“Be there in ten,” Cub says, and hangs up.
Scar sits in an armchair by the door while he waits for Cub and does not allow himself to open the folder on his phone of pictures from a year ago.
“Alright, let’s motor,” says Cub. He doesn’t spring anything on Scar until they’re both in the car and buckled up. “Now spill.”
“Spill what?”
“You’re moping.”
“I don’t mope.”
Cub looks at him over his glasses.
“I don’t!”
“I’m not starting the car until you tell me.”
“It’s just relationship stuff. You’ve heard it all before, it’s whatever. I’m fine. Tell me about science or something.”
“I didn’t live with you for four years because I thought you were annoying, Scar.”
“Who said anything about being annoying?”
“You implied it. Grian was at the event, wasn’t he?”
Cub’s gaze becomes dangerously murderous. Scar snorts.
“Put the knife away. It’s fine. It was nice, actually. We talked a little. I’m just being weird about it.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Can you start the fucking car, or what?”
Cub rolls his eyes and pulls out of the parking lot.
THE DAY AFTER
“--and thirty feet ahead, towering twelve feet tall, stands a massive, two-headed bear. Its snarls, baring razor sharp teeth dripping with venom that burns the grass at its paws. Roll for initiative.”
Dice hit the table and everyone shouts out numbers simultaneously.
“Woah, hang on. Say that again but in a way I can hear and understand,” says Tango, writing down everyone’s names and initiative rolls on a paper behind his DM screen. He’s wearing a Party City wizard cloak.
On the other side of the screen sit Pearl, Lizzie, Joel, and Ren. They’ve all got stacks of paper and bags of dice and pencils and painted miniatures. There are bags of chips strategically placed around the table and a box of soda on the couch.
Grian rubs his eyes and squints at the sight. “When did you all get here?”
“It’s my turn to host!” says Pearl.
“When?”
“Nine in the morning, my dude!” says Ren.
“To play a game?”
“It’s a very important dungeon,” says Tango. “We’re wrapping up our current story arc today, so it’s gonna be a long play session. Last time, we made the mistake of starting our arc finale at our normal time and ended up playing until three in the morning.”
“Jesus,” Grian says. He swipes a handful of chips from over Pearl’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me this is why the bakery’s closed today.”
Joel and Lizzie exchange a glance.
“I won’t tell you,” says Lizzie.
“Are you serious?”
“It’s been a long time coming!” Joel protests. “This is a big day!”
“How long do you consider a long time coming?”
“This current arc has been going for what, two or three months?” Tango says, looking at his players for confirmation.
“It has to be three, ‘cause I remember we had to reschedule around Impulse’s birthday,” says Pearl.
“You’ve been playing the same game for three months? I do not understand D&D players.”
“Well, we’ve actually been playing this one campaign for two years now,” Ren says. “It’s just the current arc that’s taken three months.”
Grian’s eyes bug out of his head. “How can you manage to keep this shit going for two years? How do you even have the time? Don’t you all have jobs?”
“It’s an investment,” Lizzie says, “and we like spending time with each other. Scheduling’s a bitch, but we make it work.”
Grian stares in disbelief. “Wow. That’s. Wow. Well, have fun with that.”
“Wait, no!” Pearl says, catching his sleeve. “You should join! It’d be so fun.”
“Yeah, I’ll pass. I don’t have the willpower for that.”
He pulls away from Pearl.
“Look at that! The farm’s looking so good, Scar!” Gem says.
“I finally figured out how to place things where I want them to go,” says Scar.
“I’m so proud of you. We’re gonna make such a profit when these all grow. That is, if you stop tearing them up.”
“I know how to select things now, Gem, I promise!”
“I know, I know. Just giving you a hard time. Hey, I had a great time, but I gotta bounce. Talk to you later!”
“Bye!” says Scar, and Gem hangs up the Discord call. He rolls back in his desk chair and stretches, feeling his back pop deliciously as he does so. Stardew Valley is a different kind of game than he’s used to, but he likes the excuse to spend time with Gem. The only time he gets to see her usually is at parties, and those are so hard to schedule with their group of friends. He supposes he could visit her while she’s at work. Then again, Grian usually works the same shifts.
Scar frowns, mind drifting to Grian. It had been really nice to talk at the ball. He’d gotten so used to the empty spot in his chest, but now that he’d briefly had it filled again, the absence was stronger than ever. It was like the most microscopic black hole opened up in his heart and the pull of its gravity is threatening to take effect.
He misses Grian.
Oh god, stop that train of thought right there. They’d tried it, and it didn’t work. It doesn’t matter how much Scar misses Grian’s smile, or how many times he’s turned to say something to him and been met with empty air, or how much he lays in his bed at night staring at the ceiling with his heart hurting. Staying with Grian wouldn’t have been good for either of them.
The next day, Grian forces himself to open Scar’s contact and compose a new message.
grian:
> hey just a heads up jimmys making me go to the cocktail thing at the library later this week
> he wants me to hang out with his coworkers for some reason
> they have a weird friendship idk i didnt ask
That was so many texts in a row. That was so many texts in a row. Why did he send so many texts in a row? Triple texting? Triple texting his ex? After… whatever the vibe was at the fairy tale ball a couple days ago? Is he insane?
scar pearlsfriend:
> Oh ok
> I’ll be there
> Obviously
> Because I work there
Or maybe Scar’s just as nervous about this as he is.
grian:
> ok!
> ill see you then i guess?
Grian watches the typing bubbles appear and disappear for over a minute.
scar pearlsfriend:
> 👍
> Cool
A sigh escapes Grian’s lips. He presses his phone to his chest and fights off a smile. He shouldn’t be giddy at the thought of seeing him. What right does he have?
EIGHT MONTHS AGO
Grian sits in his car, frozen fingers wrapped around his steering wheel. His breath is visible. The engine’s not running – he’s been parked for fifteen minutes now, unmoving, heart pounding in his throat. He has to get out of the car. He has to get out of the car. He has to get out of the car.
Scar’s waiting for him. He’s already half an hour late.
They’ve been dating for a while now. Ten months.
Grian likes Scar. He likes him a lot.
Ten months.
Either they break up now, or they keep dating for the foreseeable future. And sure, that’s true at any stage of a relationship, but something about the ten month mark makes Grian’s stomach drop all the way to his toes. Six months was bad enough. That’s serious. Ten months, though? That’s long-term.
Either they break up now, or they don’t.
Grian doesn’t know which he wants.
He likes Scar. A lot.
He gets out of the car.
It’s snowing. The sun went down hours ago, but the streetlights reflect off the clouds in such a way that the entire street is illuminated like it’s daytime. The wind bites at Grian’s exposed skin. He trudges through the slush, stamps it off his boots at the door, and pushes it open.
Scar’s sitting at a table right next to the entrance. He didn’t wait for Grian. An empty plate and cup are pushed to the side so he can rest his head on his propped up hand. He looks up from his phone, exhausted and bitter.
“So you did come.”
Grian winces. “I’m sorry.”
“Save it,” says Scar. He sighs heavily. “Is there something wrong, G?”
“Huh?”
“Every time I asked if you wanted to go somewhere or hang out or do something for the past two weeks, you’ve either said no or flaked out last minute. I finally get you to agree to something and you show up forty-five minutes late. What’s going on?”
“I just… lost track of time.”
Scar frowns.
He looks so concerned. It makes Grian’s skin crawl.
“I’m sorry.”
“I want to help you, birdie.”
“I know.”
“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s nothing. I just lost track of time, really. And I’ve been busy.”
“...Right.”
They look at each other. Grian shifts his weight from foot to foot, palms clammy. Scar grabs his cane and gets to his feet.
“I already paid. Let’s just go home.”
“Okay,” says Grian. He holds the door open for Scar.
That night, they sit on Scar’s couch together. Scar holds Grian against his chest. He’s warm and safe, and it makes Grian feel sick.