Archive of Our Own ^beta

Grian didn't sleep much in the desert, because when he did, it was inevitable that he would dream.

He would dream in blues, greens, and purples, instead of red and sand. He would dream of building for fun, instead of protection. He would dream of laughter, light, and a world where death was just an inconvenience instead of everything.

He would dream of people he didn’t know, and a home he’d never seen. Huge wooden deer built by a girl who stretched her “o”s when she said “sorry”. A man in a suit that smelled like redstone dust who would speak to him like they were brothers. A long-haired woman with eyes that shone like the moon, which was so big it blocked out the stars.

Most confusingly, he’d dream of Scar.

In the daytime, the desert was exciting. There was hardly a moment where they weren’t giggling and messing around until something went a little too right or way too wrong. Today’d been the kind of day that made him wish he regretted the creeper that killed Scar.

The desert was hot in the day. But at night, it was cool, and everything was painted a shade of blue, and the air coming through the paneless window made the room’s temperature comfortable, if a little cold. Maybe more than a little.

He was still wearing his armor. He supposed he didn’t need it, not right now. You become accustomed to wearing it when any second, something could go wrong, and you could be pushed one step closer to having that insatiable bloodlust thrumming through your veins. The one that came with having barely any life left in your body. The one he could feel pulsing through Scar’s very being at all hours of the day.

But now, for the night, he was safe.

The shrieks of the phantoms had quieted. They seemed to finally accept that they couldn’t fit through the window- though not for lack of trying- and left, probably to go terrorize someone somewhere else, somewhere farther away.

That was the only reason they were in bed, anyway. He’d wanted to stay out; they had things to do, resources to gather, plans to- well, plan. But Scar argued that they couldn’t risk the dangers that came with nighttime or fatigue- though it seemed more like he just needed a nap. Or wanted Grian to take a nap. Or both. He honestly couldn’t blame him, and he did agree somewhat on his first point, especially with the newly red man he’d pledged his first life to being rather accident-prone, so, off to bed they were.

Scar laid next to him, long-asleep. Grian had been up for hours. It felt wrong to have no one keep watch, and the adrenaline from the day never wore off easily. He’d assured Scar he would fall asleep soon, and though Grian was pretty sure he knew he was lying, he didn’t call him on it. So, he was here; it was quiet, for the first time in days. Just him, keeping watch out the thin sandstone window. Scar rolled over in his sleep again.

Their room was small. The bed barely fit, shoved into the corner under the slat in the wall where the wind howled outside. He could feel every movement Scar made, every breath he took. It was sort of agonizing. They could have used string from spiders to make wool, he thinks, if they wanted to. But string has so many other uses, and it’s rare, and they both prefer the one bed, anyway, with it being so cold and all. Scar was always cold, when he wasn’t next to him.

Appreciate him breathing while you still can, he thought to himself. God knows how long that’ll last.

Maybe he’d do better with his armor off, anyway.

It was stupidly selfish, he thought, as he shook the heavy boots off of his feet. To exchange safety for the opportunity to be as close to Scar as possible, even if just for tonight. He placed his helmet neatly on top of the boots. It was more considerate to Scar, really; the way the cold clung to the armor, he’d be freezing if Grian got into bed with it on. And he already ran so, so cold.

He unclasped his leggings, taking off each knee covering before slipping the rest off into the blue-green chest next to the bed. The eye centered in the middle seemed to peer at him through the darkness, like it knew everything Grian was trying to hide. Like it knew everything Grian didn’t know. Everything he knew he really, really should have known.

He shook his head, breaking eye contact with it. Now he was left with the biggest problem: his chestplate. His hands hurt, the armor was heavy, and there were so many straps and buckles and it was cold. It occurred to him that he hadn’t really taken it off before; the armor was put on as soon as it was made, and it’d stayed on since then. Taking it off was risky. And this world was not the place for risks. Especially not now.

After unbuckling what few straps in the back he could reach, he resigned to start where it was easier, undoing the two leather buckles holding the diamond to his left arm and sliding it off before going to do the same to his right side, leaving only two bright blue piece of stone covering his shoulders. He reached over to slide those into the ender chest, too, but ended up just dropping them into the swirling black. He cringed as he was met with the loud clang of armor colliding with armor as the pieces hit the leggings, hat and boots that had already been placed into the chest.

He heard Scar shift next to him.

Shit.

He turned back to look at Scar, who was sitting up in the bed. The various animal furs and blankets were hanging off him, and the moonlight coming through the window made him look good.

It was funny how he could surprise himself with his own thoughts. Usually, that would have been a thought he didn’t have time for. There were too many other, more important things to think about in the day. Too many people to run from. But right now, sitting here, he wondered why he’d never taken the time to simply sit and take in how beautiful Scar was before.

His skin had already lost most of the color being a green life gave you. He was deathly pale, if not downright gray, despite the desert sun; but the paler look sort of made him look ethereal in the cool, moonlit room. The moonlight sort of bounced off him, almost making him glow. Had he been staring too long? He’d definitely been staring too long.

Scar rubbed some of the sleep from his eyes, not seeming to notice, and looked up at him.

“G? What are you still doing up?” Scar said. “I didn’t even mean to fall asleep until after you did. Figured you’d stay up thinking.”

“I wasn’t- thinking,” he replied. “Just… mentally preparing for tomorrow. Planning,”

He couldn’t see well in the dark, but could have sworn Scar rolled his eyes. What he could clearly see, however, was Scar looking him up and down before doing that stupid smirk he does when he thinks he’s caught you in something.

“Finally joining the club? See, I knew you weren’t actually annoyed by it,” he said, giggling as he rubbed his eyes once more, before leaning back a bit for a better look. It took a second for Grian to connect that he was referring to his half-removed chestplate, and Scar’s own lack of a shirt, before he continued. “You could get really buff, too. We could be matching,”

“Yeah, yeah, ha ha, very funny, Scar,” he answered, before looking down. “Also, this isn’t my shirt. I have, like, two more layers under here,”

“Not joking,” he replied. “And that’s exactly why I just skip the whole shirt business. We’re in a literal desert, Gri. I still don’t know how you manage.”

Grian laughed to himself a bit. Only Scar could try to accost him into removing his clothes two minutes after waking up.

“I manage quite fine, thank you very much,” He replied, before continuing, quieter. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be more comfortable to sleep without it, is all.”

“Without a shirt?”

“God, Scar, no- the chestplate, you twat.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Need help?” Scar asked. It sounded like it was supposed to be a tease, but he couldn’t commit to it.

“What?”

They looked at each other, once again in silence, before Scar said, “Just seems like you’re struggling a bit,” huffing a laugh as he looked at Grian’s chestplate. The part around his waist was still tightly latched, though a few straps and pieces of gemstone were hanging loose from Grian’s shoulders as a result of previous attempts to remove it.

“No pressure, obviously. Just thought I’d offer.”

Grian’s first instinct was to turn down his offer, to say no, I’ve got it, thank you. He almost acted on it. The selfish part of him wanted to be close to Scar. The rational part knew only one of them could win, and once he was free of his obligation, he needed to protect himself and leave.

Scar was dangerous, and despite it all, Scar was the one who came back to him after the yellow in his name drained to red, with flowers and a plea to still be friends. If he wanted to kill Grian, he could have then. He would have then. Deep down, Grian knew that doubting Scar was an impulse- a comforting lie he told himself to drown out the scarier truth that he trusted him more than anything, and didn’t even really know why.

It would probably be easier to just let him help so they could both get to bed. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe there was another reason. He didn’t know- didn’t want to.

“Okay,” he said once, softly. Like he hoped Scar wouldn’t even hear it.

He did, and a slight look of surprise briefly flashed over his face before he nodded and sat up fully, sliding a bit closer to Grian.

Scar first reached for his shoulders. Grian’s breaths were coming faster, despite his attempts to slow it down. Why couldn’t he just be normal about any of this? He could never be normal when it came to Scar. Not that anything about Scar was normal.

One of the buckles was already undone, which left Scar only one to undo. His calloused hands reached for it and loosened it before pulling the buckle undone. He then slowly unhooked the shoulder plate before setting it gently in Grian’s lap, looking up at him as if to ask, is this still okay?

Grian responded by placing the first shoulder plate on the bed next to him and turning slightly so Scar had easier access to the other one. He felt a bit of the tension in the room subside as Scar reached forward to undo his other strap, placing the second shoulder plate on the blanket next to him.

As he undid the straps there, his fingers brushed Grian’s side. Against every instinct and bit of common sense, he wanted Scar to keep his hand there. To hold him. To lean into his ear, and sweet talk him like he did everyone else who came to this goddamn mountain. Low and sweet and Scar. He wanted him to lean down to his neck and take so he wouldn’t have to give. He needed him to want it, he needed him to take it, needed him to-

“Sorry,” Scar whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts as he struggled with a stubborn buckle.

Upon finally freeing the strap, Scar reached a hand around his back, pulling the last two parts of the chestplate apart and laying them on the bed with the shoulder pieces. His bright eyes met Grian’s, and he gave a little smile. He was never anyone to take more than what he was sure he was given. No matter how much Grian needed him to.

He was completely free of his armor now. His shoulders felt weirdly light- they’d become accustomed to carrying the weight of heavy diamond armor. He rolled his shoulders back, letting the joints crack as some of the tension was relieved from his shoulders. And it hurt.

“Tense?” Scar asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Grian said, after a moment. Scar wouldn’t take. But maybe if he felt like he was giving him something, helping him, he could get the closenesses he so desperately needed without having to ask for it. So, he laughed a little. “Which one of us isn’t, at this point?”

He looked up at Scar, rubbing his shoulder with his hand. He ran over a spot that was probably just sore from being hit with an arrow or something, but he winced, and it seemed to do the trick.

“Turn around,” Scar said. His voice was still quiet- like he didn’t want to break the fragile atmosphere of whatever was happening right now.

“What?”

“Just trust me,” Scar said. “I got you.”

It was terrifying, how naturally it came to believe him. He was red, yes, but through it all, they would be together. The only thing he feared more than Scar’s death may be his own; he’d either have to leave, or have to justify his devotion to Scar without obligation. Scar the scammer, Scar the killer, his ally and no one else’s. He needed to burn that reputation board. He needed everyone to know there was only one person who was safe from Scar’s chaos, bloodlust, insanity; only one person who got to be cared for, like this.

He turned around. He was selfish, so selfish, and he knew that, and couldn’t make himself care.

He felt the tips of Scar’s fingers brush the base of his neck. They paused, and waited for him to pull away, but he didn’t.

Scar’s hands rested on the area between Grian’s shoulders and neck as his thumbs drifted to his back and started pressing in, lifting his muscles in slow circles as his fingers rubbed his collarbones.

He hadn’t realized how much it would hurt, at first, which made his decision to at least try to relax much more difficult than it seemed. Scar pushed his thumbs down around his shoulderblades, deep into his muscles, and he winced.

Scar’s hands were back at his shoulders, moving in deep, slow circles. He felt a hot breath around his ear, and heard him speak, low and deep, as his hands moved across his back.

“Try to relax for me, G,” he said, right against his ear. His voice was always just a little raspy, when he talked like this. If the intention was to get him to calm down, Scar was taking entirely the wrong approach.

Soon enough, the pain in his muscles started subsiding to a deeper sort of pressure as Scar pushed deep lines and circles into his back. He had to inhale deeply to avoid letting out the noise that tried to claw its way out of his throat.

“A-mazing. Just like that,”

Sometimes, he thought about asking Scar what he dreamed about when he slept. If he dreamed of him, too, or just of safety and freedom. If he, too, knew that there was something missing; some part of them that they didn’t remember. Scar’s voice pulled him out of his own thoughts.

“The sweater’s not too scratchy?”

Grian paused. It was, was the thing. It was full of sand, uncomfortable, and probably sweaty from being under his armor, but it might as well be the only thing preventing him from going insane. He didn’t know that he could deal with Scar’s hands on him, directly.

“It’s… sandy,” he replied, deliberately keeping his eyes forward. Scar could decide how to interpret that, he reasoned.

Then, his hands lightly trailed down to his waist, one hand on each side. They curled under the bottom of his sweater.

“May I?” He said, low into his ear, and Grian was so beyond fucked. He couldn’t speak, because if he opened his mouth, there would be zero way of knowing what would come out. Maybe nothing would. So he just lifted his arms, and Scar seemed to get the picture.

With his sweater off, the bare expanse of his back was left facing Scar. He could feel the full weight of Scar’s attention on him, and it burned worse than the desert sun ever could.

“Got quite a few scratches there, Gri.”

He could tell from Scar’s voice it was an understatement.

“Well, you know us,” He responded. The chaos, the violence, the giddyness he felt when he was out there with Scar. When nothing mattered except chasing the freedom that came with causing trouble, it was easy to get reckless. He probably didn’t even feel the arrows that struck him, half the time. “I guess we get sort of carried away.”

“I guess we do,” Scar responded with a deep chuckle. Just like now. Just like how we need to stop this, now. He heard Scar shift behind him, and a bottle uncork.

“Healing potion,” Scar said, before he could ask. He felt Scar’s fingers drift between his wounds- wet, like he’d dipped them in the potion. He didn’t realize the discomfort he’d been in until he felt the relief that flooded him every time his hands drifted between the mostly healed, but still-present wounds.

“Scar, you don’t…”

“I do,” Scar said, cutting him off. “This place is probably burning soon anyway. God knows we won’t use all these. And this is… necessary,”

“I’m at full hearts,” he replied, halfheartedly. He didn’t want Scar to stop; it seemed like he was arguing more to prove a point to himself than anything.

“Then think of it as maintenance,” Scar replied, quietly. Something was odd with his tone of voice, but Grian couldn’t quite place it. Disappointment, maybe. “Beneficial to the functioning of the team. Essential, even.”

His hands stilled, and Grian himself felt so many different emotions that he didn’t even know what to do with himself. He didn’t even notice as Scar started to shift to slide off the bed until he was looking up at the dark red eyes of the man now standing right in front of him.

“Asset preservation,” Grian said, because of course it couldn’t be about helping him. It had to be for Scar, because if it was for him, it would mean there was more to this partnership than a stupid mistake and an even stupider vow.

“If that’s how you need to look at it,” Scar said, as his fingers tilted up his chin. Grian could hear his art pounding in his ears as red creeped to his face. “Then… sure.”

Grian finally met his eyes, and Scar smiled, before raising the rest of the potion bottle to Grian’s lips.

“Don’t want to waste any,” he said with a wink, before tilting the glass up. The warm, red liquid poured down his throat. His eyes met Scar’s again, and he knew his breath was coming just as fast as his own was. That he too was trapped in this push and pull, seeing who would break first. The standoff.

For a moment, they were there in silence. The bottle was lowered from his lips, and placed on the bed next to him. Then, slowly- so slowly- Scar’s other hand trailed up his neck, across his jaw, to cup his face.

They’d been like this before, once or twice. When they’ve stolen a Dogwarts flag they didn’t even want, and have to slip into a cave to lose their pursuers. When it’s just them, breath hot and fast as they face each other, still giggling and riding the high of causing needless trouble. Scar doesn’t kiss him, but Grian can tell he wants to the way he looks into his eyes and smiles before leaning forward to rest his head on his shoulder. They’ll stay for a moment, still laughing, usually, until Grian becomes so overwhelmed with what he can’t have that he nudges Scar away.

No one was chasing them now. It was just Scar standing in front of him, with his face in his warm, gentle hands, as the wind howled outside.

His eyes met Scar’s, and he could feel his face betray him as it grew warm. He knows he couldn’t kiss Scar, because that would mean he cared about Scar, and caring about Scar was not an option this late in the game. But if Scar kissed him, that could be fine, he thinks- that would be for Scar, and he’s not above doing something to help his teammate. It’d probably boost morale, knowing him. What was it Scar’d said earlier? Beneficial to the functioning of the team.

He hadn’t realized that he’d just been sitting there, staring up at Scar. Whatever Scar seemed to have been waiting for didn’t come. They were silent as he corked the bottle, letting Grian’s chin fall from his fingers.

Grian watched as he rifled through the chest, before Scar tossed him an old T-shirt to throw on. It then hit Grian that he was giving him something clean to sleep in, meaning this was over before it had even started because Scar wouldn’t just take what Grian was trying to show him he could have. It was stupid, he thought to himself. They didn’t have much longer in this game. They didn’t ever have much time to begin with.

“That potion must be too old,” Grian said, avoiding eye contact as he pulled the shirt over his head. In the dark, he hadn’t realized the shirt was one of Scar’s discarded ones. It made his face warmer than it had any right to.

For a second, Scar looked confused, like there was nothing in the world he understood less than Grian. So, he continued. “I’m just, still… hurting.”

There was a pause, before Scar’s face smoothed over, and he said, “Well, we can’t have that,” before fitting himself back behind him.

This time, instead of reaching for his back, Scar reached around him and took his hand gently. He worked his thumbs into the crease of his palms, and in between every finger, working out the muscles and tendons there. Grian said nothing, just closing his eyes and trying to ignore the dread curling in his gut.

“What are you thinking about?” Scar asked quietly from behind him.

Grian hesitated for a moment.

“...the Greeks,” he said, and Scar chuckled behind him.

“What about them?”

“Medea,” he said. Scar didn’t respond, clearly waiting for elaboration. He could feel his breath hot on his neck. Everything was wrong. It had never been more right. “This guy, Jason. Had a quest to complete, and needed this sorceress’s help. That’s Medea. So the Gods got Aphrodite to make her fall in love with him, so she would be compelled to help him,”

Scar didn’t respond, moving to massage the base of each finger. Grian’s eyes fluttered shut again, and he winced as he worked out the numbness at the base of his thumb.

“Because all of his tasks are so deadly, she’s worried he’s going to die,” Grian says, barely audible over the wind. “So she makes all these potions and stuff, to help him with his tasks. Because she’s so scared, and she knows it’ll happen without her there,”

Scar’s hands slow, but don’t stop. He was quiet for a little. “Then what happens?”

“She has to flee with him, and in exchange for her help he promises his protection and loyalty. And they finish his quest together.” Grian was quiet. Scar has moved to rotating Grian’s hand to stretch his wrist. He could practically hear Scar thinking; but besides that, the only sound was the wind outside, and the occasional cracks and pops coming from his wrist.

“That’s not all,” Scar says, quietly. He doesn’t need to ask. Somehow, he’s always been able to read him better than he can read himself. It was horrible. It was everything. “What’s the ending?”

He took a deep breath. “Medea’s brother comes after her, and they kill him. Everyone’s against them. They kill more, to try to get Jason the throne back. Even though she’s cursed and compelled to do it, Jason starts to resent her, and marries someone else. She’s driven sort of mad, I guess- kills his new wife, and her own kids,”

Scar’s moved on to his other hand now, silently working his thumbs into the palm of his hand.
“But not Jason?”

“No. Not him,” Grian answered. Scar was quiet. “But everyone else dies.”

“She helps him because she loves him?”

“I- she helps him because she’s cursed, Scar,” Grian said.

Scar’s running his thumbs up and down his forearms, now, and his breathing is shallower behind his head. Like he wants to say something else. Grian’s about to open his mouth, to change the subject, to say something, anything, when Scar speaks up.

“Do I make you feel cursed, Grian?”

Instantly, he felt regret wash over him. It was Scar, sweet, lovable Scar, who throughout everything, chose him when he didn’t have to. Who put him on a llama and carted him off to the desert and was overjoyed every second of it, when he should have been mad, furious even, at what Grian had cost him.

Instead, he acted like Grian was something he wanted to have more than he ever wanted that life. It was like his life was just a meager token that he’d used in an invaluable trade. Like he’d somehow gotten the sweet end of the deal. Grian surprised himself with how quickly he accepted Scar’d done anything but curse him.

“I- no, Scar,” Grian responded, still wincing a little. “No you don’t.”

“Mad, then,” Scar said, and Grian could hear that a smile had returned to his voice as he continued applying pressure down the sore muscles and tendons of his arm. Despite everything, Grian started to smile.

“You drive everyone mad, Scar,” he said. He really was smiling now.

“I guess you’re more like Aphrodite in this story, anyway,” he said, quieter. He seemed to be done, having set Grian’s hands down in his lap. He didn’t pull away, though; his arms stayed loosely wrapped around Grian’s waist.

“Why? Because of my dashing good looks?”

“Because I’m the one who’s…” he trailed off. He felt Scar’s hair, somehow still soft after all of this, as he nestled the top of his head into the crook of his neck. “You really are gorgeous, Grian.”

He felt his face heat as he looked away. He huffed a small laugh.

“What?” Scar asked, small and unsure and Scar.

“Nothing, Scar, it’s just…” he laughed again, and shook his head. As he did, Scar moved his arms to rub up and down his sides. Never grabbing, just there. Comforting- or trying to be, anyway. “You’re such a conman.”

“I am not!” He said. His hands slowed, and he turned his head further into his neck, before murmuring into his skin. “I just want you to see yourself how I see you.”

Grian was not going to be able to do this. Not now, not ever, not like this. Scar’s hands moved up his sides, before resting at his collarbones.

“You talk to all your customers like this?” Grian asked, the words getting caught in his throat as Scar’s fingers started rubbing deep circles under his collarbones. He hadn’t realized how tight he really was until now. That had to have been what was causing him to lose his breath like he was.

“Just you,” He answered, and it was so earnest Grian thought he might die.

His chest really was tight, and it hurt when Scar dug his fingers in. Being with Scar was always going to hurt a little bit, he thinks. Maybe he was just looking for metaphors at this point.

“I think your eyes are my favorite,” Scar droned, after a minute of silence. “And your hair. The way it curls around your ears.”

He needed Scar closer right now or he was going to die. He needed to hold him close and tell him that he was more important to him than any goddamn contract. He couldn’t tell him. But he hoped he could make him understand, somehow. Play the game.

“It’s too warm in here,” he said, and it was so clearly a lie that he’s surprised Scar didn’t call him on it. The room was cold, now, and Scar must have pulled the shudders at some point when he was standing up, because the wind was quieter. He could hear the lanterns hanging outside banging against the wall. It was cold. But Scar was warm.

He barely had to lift his arms before Scar’s hands were tracing the bottom of the T-shirt and pulling it up, over his head.

It was quiet for a moment, and then, he felt Scar’s hands on his back again; warm, dry, and gentle. He pushed down between his shoulder blades, and Grian had to close his eyes and pray Scar couldn’t sense how badly Grian wanted him to wrap his arms around his waist again, to really hold him, to tilt his head to the side and press kisses into his jaw until he forgot about the contract and the failed traps and the fact that one of them was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Stop thinking,” Scar murmured into his ear, pushing his thumbs in deep circles on his lower back. “You never relax. It’s gonna get you killed.”

“I’m not the one who’s red right now,” Grian murmured back. His head got fuzzier with every breath Scar let out against his ear. “Maybe this is just your strategy to get my guard down so you can kill me.”

“Not you, Grian,” Scar answered back. He turned his head away, and Grian could feel the impression of his closed lips against his neck. Not kissing, not claiming, just there, waiting, like he wanted to. Needed to. But wouldn’t. “Never you.”

He could feel Scar’s hot breath around his neck. His hands moved down to finally, finally, hold his waist, really hold it, like he’d been aching for, wanting him to, needing him to. He felt the flutter of Scar’s eyelashes as he closed his eyes against the crook of his neck. Waiting.

“What are you thinking about?” Grian asked, voice quiet and shaky. Scar reached down, and picked up his hand. “You,” he answered, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Always you.” A kiss pressed to the inside of his wrist.

Grian screwed his eyes shut. He’d imagined Scar like this, before, when it was late at night, and he had time for those thoughts. When he was avoiding sleeping and dreaming about the very same thing. Scar grabbing his hand. Kissing his way up his wrist, to his neck, to his mouth.

“I think about you all the time,” Scar continued, returning his hand to his waist to hold him. “When we’ve just made everyone mad, and they’re chasing us, and we’re running, and you’re laughing,” He nosed at his neck. Grian tilted his head to the side, hoping, begging Scar to not make him ask for it.

“When your bombs don’t work, and you don’t know why, and your brow does that thing it does when you’re upset,” Scar laughed to himself. “It’s adorable,”

“Scar,” Grian gasped out. “Please.”

He could feel Scar’s lips hovering above his neck. It was like they were burning a hole in him, he needed them on him, now. He needed Scar close enough that he couldn’t go and get himself killed, he needed-

“Anything you wanted, Grian,” Scar rasped, and for a second, it sounded like maybe he was just as desperate as Grian was. “I would do,”

“Then do it,” He gasped, like it was torn from his throat. And when Scar’s hand trailed up his side to slowly tilt his jaw, and his other hand held his hip just a little firmer, and he finally, finally pressed his lips into his neck, it was still, after everything, soft.

Scar peppered slow kisses up his neck, under his jaw, leaning in to sweetly peck behind his ear, and he’s sure the first tear fell before Scar even said anything. Because Grian knew Scar would never, ever take anything from him; which meant when the end finally came, it would have to be him who did it.

“I think about you all the time,” Scar continued, peppering kisses as he went. “When you warn people I’m a liar, not to trust me,” A kiss to the base of his neck. “But you’re smiling, and when we run, you laugh the whole way home,” A kiss under his jaw. “I think about how much I owe to you.” A kiss right behind his ear. “For everything you’ve done to keep me alive this long.”

That’s when the tears really did start. Because he remembered what Scar had said earlier. Not you. Never you. Scar was a conman, and a liar, and a cheat, but for whatever reason, this was one deal he’d uphold until the day he died. He wouldn’t kill him, and deep down, they both knew that.

“How you put lanterns all around the tower, even though they’re more expensive than torches, because you’d go the whole game in leather armor before compromising your vision.” A kiss on his cheekbone. He shivered. Maybe due to the cold, maybe the tears, maybe something else. “How I’m so lucky, to be able to do this, now.” A kiss in his hair. “To be allowed to care about you.”

And no, no, this wasn’t right either. Scar’s desire for him and his company was supposed to just be based in attraction, not care, and certainly not love, if that’s what he was getting at. Scar moved to press another soft kiss to his jaw, right over where a tear had been rolling down his face seconds earlier, and he paused, and Grian was done.

“Stop, stop,” Grian said, brushing off Scar’s hands as he jolted up and walked across the room.

“G,” Scar said, before Grian said it again, firmer this time. “Scar, stop. I just- need you to stop.”

He was really crying, now, and hot tears were rolling down his face as he turned away from Scar to face the window.

Despite it all, he knew he wasn’t Medea, cursed to help a man who wouldn’t survive without him. He was there by choice, and he knows he won’t be able to leave once this stupid contract is over. He wasn’t cursed, but he wished so, so badly that he was.

There was silence, mostly, until Grian felt something soft and warm wrap around his shoulders. He thought it was a blanket at first, before seeing the gold trim, and realizing it was the short cape that Scar had stolen from Ren. He remembered how Scar had called it a shawl when he first saw it, and how indignant Martin had gotten. He remembered how he’d giggled, and how he laughed even harder when Scar asked if he wanted to steal it, and how he loved Scar so much that it hurt. Despite himself, despite everything, he exhaled a laugh through his nose.

“Knew it would come in handy,” Scar said from behind him. “And you swore I was just causing trouble.”

“You were causing trouble,” Grian said, tears still silently flowing. “You’re always causing trouble. Causing me trouble.”

He felt Scar’s arms encircle him from behind, and he let himself be pulled flush against Scar’s front. His head rested on his shoulder, and they just stood there, swaying slightly. Scar started humming. Baby, it’s cold outside.

He just didn’t understand. He had his service, his protection, his company. So if his body wasn’t what Scar wanted, why was he even entertaining this? Getting closer, when he knew it would only end in pain?

“I’d do more than cause trouble, if you let me,” Scar said, so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. The only thing worse than knowing he was being honest for once was knowing how much he wanted to let him do it. He loved Scar, and the scariest part was it wasn’t even a realization. He’d loved him from the moment they’d appeared in the grasslands with nothing else but the knowledge that he had three chances, and only one of them could win. He couldn’t even remember why. He knew so little in this world, but loving Scar was one of the few givens.

“I dream about you,” Grian said, as if maybe that might satisfy Scar. Maybe if he knew there was a small part of him that let Scar in, he could be content, and not force Grian to have one of the only things he really knows and loves ripped from him.

“Now you’re the liar,” Scar said, more playful than accusatory. “You don’t sleep.”

He was right, of course, and despite it all, he still could never truly avoid Scar. Not in his dreams, not in his home, not anywhere. He practically lived and breathed Scar. For a second, he almost did hope it was the two of them at the end, just so he wouldn’t have to live too long without him.

It was silent, like Scar was waiting for a response. He wasn’t going to ask Scar if he dreamt- he knew the answer. They all did. They didn’t talk about it, not ever, but they all knew. They all did.

He felt Scar press his face a little more into his neck, and despite everything, he relaxed a little. Scar was quiet behind him. For a second, Grian thought he wasn’t going to say anything else, and it’d be just them and the desert and the silence until the sun came up. Then, he spoke.

“I do too,” Scar said, softly. He almost sounded scared. Grian waited for him to elaborate, but for the first time all night, it seemed like he didn’t have anything more to say.

Grian turned around in Scar’s hold. He didn’t look up at him, simply laying his head in the crook of his neck. It was comforting, and familiar in the way so few things were. BigB’s voice, Cleo’s laugh, Scar’s smile. All comforting and familiar, and all people who would be dead far too soon.

“So you have me in your dreams, at least?” Grian murmured. Scar looked so defeated, just for a second, before he looked away and regained his composure. Something about seeing Scar sad, upset, just did something to him, made him do things he’d never do otherwise.

Grian drew his hands up to Scar’s face, and leaned in to plant a faint kiss next to Scar’s lips. He stayed there, near Scar’s face as the man breathed in and out.

“There,” Grian said. “Give you something to dream about.”

Scar’s eyes met his. “No need for dreaming when I got the real thing right here,” he said, because despite everything, he still somehow wasn’t getting it.

“We’re going to die.”

Grian said it with finality, because it was true. It would happen.

He looked up to meet Scar’s deep, red eyes. He couldn’t shake the feeling that a bright hazel would be much more fitting. He looked at Grian with such a heartbreaking expression that he almost couldn’t believe he’d said it. It felt wrong to be hurting him like this.

“Not tonight,” Scar said, almost desperately. Grian felt Scar’s warm hands move over his back, under the cloak, like his muscles were acting on memories his conscious brain didn’t have access to. He closed his eyes, and let his head fall onto Scar’s shoulder. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine it. Whatever memories were creeping around the edges of his skull, he was unable to grasp them.

“Sometimes in my dreams, I kiss you,” Scar said. Grian’s face immediately reddened. Guess they weren’t beating around the bush anymore. He continued. “Or, I think about kissing you. I don’t remember. But I do see you happy, really happy. Never seen anything like it. I guess I just want to see it again. See if it’s real.”

There was silence for a moment. Grian could feel Scar’s heart beating, a little faster now than before, but still beating, for now.

“I can’t, Scar, not like this,” Grian rasped. Even the wind seemed to quiet for him now, like the desert wanted to listen in, too. “Have you, just so I can lose you.”

“You already have me,” Scar said immediately. And, after a second, “And no matter what… you’re already losing me.”

He cracked his eyes open a little. He met Scar’s eyes again, and he thought he maybe understood. No matter how it happened, no matter how close he let himself get, Scar would die. And at this point, nothing could make that easier.

He’d given himself one singular job- don’t get too close- and every time Scar gave the slightest push, he immediately folded. Sometimes he didn’t have to push. It was just so natural to be with Scar, laugh with Scar, love Scar. Scar the scammer. Scar the killer. His ally, and no one else’s.

“But not tonight,” Scar repeated, with less conviction this time. He was probably close to giving up, at this point. “Not tonight.”

Maybe it was seeing Scar sad. Maybe it was remembering the feeling of his lips against his neck, his arms around him. Maybe it was logic, maybe it was weakness, maybe he was just so tired of things being bad all the time that he had to double down on one of the only good things this world gave him. Maybe Scar was right. Maybe he could try to be happy, even if just for tonight. Maybe there was only so much running a person could do. So, he looked up at Scar, slid his hands up to cup his face, and kissed him.

He could have sworn he could hear the gears in Scar’s head turn for a moment before he started kissing back. He didn’t quite match Grian’s desperation, but it seemed like he was maybe trying to. Grian tried to put everything in it that he couldn’t say. I can’t lose you. I can’t care about you. But I will, and I do. God, I care about you, so, so much. I’m so sorry for how this started. I’m so, so sorry for how this will end. He let his hand weave into Scar’s hair as he pulled lightly.

Scar let out a small gasp, which Grian took as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. Scar, to his credit, took it in stride. Despite all his talk, Scar kissed like he, too, knew they would die.

A part of him was almost put off by how normal and natural it all felt- though it admittedly may have been on account of how often he’d thought about this sort of thing. It was like Scar knew all the ways to make him lose his breath, without even having to try.

Scar’s hands were moving, too, one sliding up to tilt Grian’s jaw to the side as his lips moved against him. He didn’t seem to be as frantic as Grian was, not by a long shot. Makes sense, Grian thought. He’d always been more high strung than Scar, anyway.

Grian pulled back, his face hot and lips parted as he stared one more time into Scar’s bright red eyes. It would probably be the last time he got to see him like this, anyway; he might as well drink it in while he can.

“Scar,” he gasped out, barely audible. “Scar.”

He went to continue before Scar leaned in one more time, resting his forehead against Grian’s, his lips just out of reach. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Just- relax a second,” Scar breathed. He could feel his breath against his mouth- hot, somehow, making him shiver. “Not going anywhere.”

No, not yet, anyway. He let his eyes close fully, and tried to just breathe in Scar- the scent of smoke and saltwater, and under it all, the faintest smell of cat hair.

After a minute, Scar leaned in, connecting their lips much more softly than Grian had earlier. He swore he almost started crying again as Scar softly carded his fingers through his hair. It was familiar, it was comforting, it was Scar, and he was so, so unbelievably fucked.

When they broke apart, it was like all the energy had been sapped from him. His eyes were starting to burn from his past tears- which were already threatening to resurface- and he was quickly becoming acutely aware of how physically exhausted he was from the day, too.

He barely even felt as Scar, ever attentive, guided him to sit back down on the bed. Scar retrieved a clean sweater from their chest, and brought it over to roll back over Grian’s head. As he pulled it down over his chest, their eyes met, and though it was dark, he could have sworn he saw tear tracks on Scar’s cheeks, too.

Scar climbed into bed next to him. The air felt tense, like something was unsaid, and that combined with Grian’s total inability to see Scar genuinely upset is what made him turn over to look at him one last time.

Scar was already looking at him, too, and he was definitely crying a bit, which made both of them laugh.

“Look at us,” Grian whispered. What would the others think, if they saw the two most menacing, problem-causing miscreants on the server sitting up in their room crying to each other? A voice in Grian’s head told him they probably weren’t doing too great either, but, still. Funny to think about.

“Funny, isn’t it,” Scar murmured. There was silence, for a bit, as they laid on their pillows, staring at each other.

“I really do- I love you, you know,” Scar said. “I just want you to know that. In case this is all there is.”

Grian felt the tears in his own eyes threaten to flow again as he looked down. Despite everything, he couldn’t stop his face getting red, his heart beating faster. Acting like a fool. He wiped his tears in the heel of his palm, as Scar moved to brush the hair sticking to his face behind his ear.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to know I care about you.”

“Scar, I…” He trailed off. How do you even find the words? At this hour, in this game, in this place? How do you say anything?

“I need you, Scar,” Grian said, reaching out to grab his hand before it could fully retreat. He grasped it with both hands, holding it to his chest. “I need you and I hate it. But I do. I need you, and I need to see this through.”

Scar looked back at him, like he didn’t know quite what to make of what was said.

“So we’ll be together,” Grian continued. “You and me. We’ll see it to the end. We’ll be together.”

Scar nodded. It was as good a promise as they could make at this stage. Grian the liar, Grian the murderer, Scar’s ally and no one else’s.

He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Scar’s lips. Just in case it was the last time he’d get to before one of them met their end.

When they parted, Scar looked slightly dazed. He almost looked like he was going to say something else, but instead, he just slid his free hand across Grian’s cheek, leaned forward, and pressed a deep kiss of his own to Grian’s lips before saying, “Goodnight, firecracker,” and closing his eyes, his other hand still in Grian’s grasp.

He laid there for a minute, in silence, before tucking his head into Scar’s chest. He could feel Scar’s lips against his hair, feel his breath ruffle his hair as he breathed evenly in and out.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, so, so quietly, because stupid as it was, he just had to say it at some point. He didn’t know why he felt it- it certainly didn’t make sense to- but he did. He was probably imagining Scar’s smile against his hair. It didn’t really matter, anyway; Grian was asleep before his eyes even finished closing, without even a second spared to worry what he’d dream about.

During the day, the desert was hot. The wind would blow the sand up into swirls and storms, and visitors would come with talks of war and fighting. And he was reminded that they all would die.

But tonight, the desert was cool, and dark, and there was nothing at the top of the tower but him and Scar. Tonight, just maybe, they were okay.