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Scar liked to think he was a rather competent hunter. He was one of the best at the organisation, and was always sent out for the trickier and more dangerous ghosts. Each of his actions were methodical and thought-through, and never once had he failed an exorcism.
Which was why he was so confused to have somehow bought a home with a ghost who was now refusing to leave.
At first the place seemed clear of any ghosts. When looking around for places, this was the only place that he could imagine himself living in that was void of any spirits.
And yet there Scar stood, hands on his hips in his living room as he stared down the stubborn ghost in front of him.
He was short—or would be, if his feet weren’t a foot off of the floor—and had a head of vaguely scruffy hair, probably blonde but the colour was partially lost by his translucency and lack of colour. A red, oversized jumper was placed loosely over his shoulders, and a pair of beige shorts accompanied it, his feet bare with only bandages wrapped around them. Weirdest of all was the pair of wings on his back, red and blue and yellow and tied together with a glowing rope.
“I’m being serious,” Scar warned, sticking a finger in his face with a frown. The ghost simply raised an eyebrow back. “You need to leave. This isn’t your house anymore.”
“You have some nerve coming in here and telling me what to do, buddy.” The ghost spat back, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away with a huff, a little like a defiant child. It only annoyed Scar that bit more. “I was here first, why should I have to leave?”
“Because— you— ugh!” Scar huffed, trying to find a genuine comeback to that. It was a good argument, damn him. “Because, if you don’t, I’ll exorcise you!”
“Oh, please do,” the ghost replied, and to his credit he sounded genuine, looking back to Scar and holding his wrists up, blinking owlishly at him. “Exorcise me, I dare you.”
Scar would like to reiterate.
He was one of— if the best ghost hunter at the organisation. If there was a ghost that couldn’t be exorcised by any normal hunter, then Scar was inevitably sent out to deal with it.
But when he drew his sword—no material thing, designed by his altered magic to be especially effective with practice and skill—and sent it down on the ghost, it rebounded back, bright lights flashing across Scar’s vision. “What in the—?!”
The ghost only winced slightly, brushing off his shoulder where it had landed. “I’ll give you some credit, that hurt a lot more than the last guy’s.”
“You— what—?”
With that, the ghost landed on his feet and stepped the few steps to close the gap, hands clasped behind his back as he looked up at Scar, eyes critical as they studied him. There was something almost bird-like in the way he tilted his head, in the way he slowly blinked, in the way he held himself. It was fascinating. “Let me make this a little easier for you— I’m Grian. I’m not where I’m supposed to be, and there’s no getting rid of me. So either leave or get used to it.”
Now, Scar was many things.
Reasonable, competent, savage when necessary.
But there was one thing he wasn’t; a quitter.
He would not fail to exorcise a ghost, and if he ever did, this one—Grian, he said his name was—would certainly not be the first.
So he huffed, turned, and fell into the sofa he’d only recently installed.
The response, for some strange reason, seemed to shock the ghost, who was now floating stock-still across from him, eyes wide and mouth ever-so-slightly agape. If he was alive, and a little more human, Scar might have found it cute.
“Guess we’ll have to become great friends then.”
And with that, Grian left the room with a huff, the noise imitating someone flicking their hair over their shoulder, and Scar absolutely was not pushing a small amused smile down.
That would be ridiculous.
⏾
At first, Scar hardly saw the ghost. The only times he’d see him would be when he passed his own room on the landing when he was reading in bed, or when he would be fixing up the garden and see the ghost flitting about in the kitchen in the corner of his eye. They hardly spoke, hardly looked at each other, and Scar thought he could get used to it.
It was like he was living alone.
The first time this routine changed was on a late night. Scar was sitting on the sofa, the TV newly fixed to the wall, and he was scrolling through films for one to watch. Eventually he decided on the first Lord of the Rings, dropping the remote onto the coffee table before properly settling into his seat, popcorn in a bowl beside him.
A few minutes passed before a head was peeking around the doorway, studying the situation. Like usual, Scar pretended not to notice, continuing to nibble on his popcorn as the ghost walked in, movements cautious as his wings curled in somehow closer to his back, eyes flicking between the TV and Scar. Then, after a few minutes of that, he made his way across the room and sat on the other end of the sofa, tucking his legs up underneath himself and holding them close with a hand wrapped around them, eyes still going between the TV and Scar, as if checking it was okay.
And honestly? Scar couldn’t care less. In fact, he would rather know where this ghost was than not, still unsure what exactly he was capable of, why he was so difficult to exorcise.
It was with that that Scar decided on a peace offering.
He picked up a piece of popcorn, twirled it around in his hand, imbued his magic into it, and handed it over, now a similar material to the ghost himself.
After a long moment, Grian gingerly took it, taking a bite.
When Scar glanced over, he saw his eyes glistening, joy radiating off of him, like a parrot with a piece of sparkly jewellery. Before Scar could react in any way, he turned his attention back to the TV and firmly kept it there.
Even if he kept converting popcorn for the ghost to eat.
⏾
“What doin?”
Scar yelped, jumping forwards and firmly away from the voice, turning to find Grian. There was only an ounce of guilt in his sparkling void-like eyes, mirth mainly glittering in them. “Grian, you scared me!”
“I know, that was the point,” Grian scoffed, landing on his feet and stepping up beside him, looking into the same mirror he had been before being scared out of his life. “So, what doin?”
“A friend from work is getting married,” Scar explained, still trying to will his heartrate to go down a bit, focusing on himself instead of the ghost beside him. The suit he had on at the moment was fully black—tight black bottoms that hugged his thighs and a tight black long-sleeved collar shirt—but there was a red tie around his neck that he couldn’t quite get right. “I’m just testing out different options.”
Even when Scar had finished talking, Grian was completely silent beside him, and because he wasn’t visible in the mirror Scar found himself turning to see his reaction, only to find the man’s gaze trained to the glass, wide-eyed as his lips were ever-so-slightly parted. Okay, so maybe Scar felt a little gratified by it. Sure, people admired his looks all of the time, but Grian? Who, despite opening up a lot more recently, was extremely personal and indifferent? Who showed no interest in many things whatsoever? It felt nice.
Either way, Scar smirked and looked back to the mirror, fiddling with his tie to get it right. “Something wrong?”
And it seemed Grian came back to, blinking in his periphery as he turned with a scoff, “Yes, actually.”
Before Scar could say anything, hands were reaching up to his tie, and passing right through it. Grian glanced down at his hands, then back up at Scar, frowning. “I forgot.”
So maybe he was holding in his laughter. “You forgot you were a ghost?”
“Well it’s not so easy to remember when you act so—“
He didn’t finish his sentence, and they both knew he wasn’t planning on it, so Scar simply shrugged, his smile brighter than before, and adjusted his tie again.
It still looked terrible.
But he did find himself thanking the heavens for sending him a ghost that could talk him through it, step by step with the patience of a saint, so that he walked out of the house with a perfect tie around his neck.
⏾
Work had been more hectic recently, especially for Scar. Whenever winter rolled around there were more ghosts, ghosts with more energy, more will. Where the heat weakened and tired them, the cold powered them, meaning Scar barely got a moment’s rest.
That day he got back to the office around ten at night, only the cleaner there to greet him as he fell into his chair, it spinning below him as he rested a palm on his head, an ache forming that he couldn’t quite shake no matter how many ibuprofen he took. And it was because of this lateness that he was unsure who was knocking on his office door.
“Hello?”
The door creaked open to reveal Cub, his own eyes sunken possibly more than Scar’s own. Cub was the leader of the organisation and possibly one of the only people that challenged Scar’s title as the strongest, who had probably been just as busy as him. “Evening Scar. Just thought I’d let you go home early, you’ve been working hard lately and we really appreciate it. One of the apprentices will sort the paperwork.”
“You sure?” Scar asked, looking back to the papers in front of himself with furrowed brows. “I don’t want them to mess it up.”
“Neither do they.” Cub huffed, glancing between Scar and the papers with a curious and almost worried look. “Is there a reason you don’t want to go home?”
Eyes of the void flickered in Scar’s mind, eyes he had to blink away.
“Nope, no reason at all,” Scar reassured him, waving a hand, “I just don’t want to put this workload on them.”
“Go home, Scar.”
And, because he couldn’t say no again, he did.
What he found was something truly remarkable.
Now, Scar knew a lot about ghosts, possibly everything a human could, which is what made this sight all the more funnier. Ghosts, notoriously, can’t sleep. And there Grian was, curled up on the sofa, eyes screwed shut as his wings twitched behind him, trying to sleep. Scar wondered if he could achieve it, considering Grian was an odd ghost.
He still hadn’t figured out why he couldn’t exorcise him, why he had wings, why they were tied. He didn’t know why Grian was stuck where he was—in his home.
Because that was what it had become. Somehow, in a house with a ghost, it had become a home. And honestly Scar found he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He wasn’t a fan of ghosts, evidently, and his worst nightmare was to deal with one that he could never get rid of, but he supposed if he was forced to live with any ghost he was glad it was Grian. It could’ve been that demon he exorcised earlier that day.
After a few seconds of just staring, Grian opened his eyes with a huff, frowning at Scar who simply smirked back at him. “What are you smiling at, pretty boy?”
And Scar was immediately disarmed again.
“I— uh— you just—“
“I miss sleep.” Grian groaned, flopping over and crushing his wings beneath him, not even reacting as he frowned, arms thrown either side of him (one over the back of the sofa, the other off the other side by the coffee table). “And you were gone for so long that I got bored. I don’t even have anything to do when you are here!”
“We could watch a movie?” Scar tried, pinching his nose as he tried to will the blush off of his face, Grian just groaning again, clearly against the idea. “Or we could try something you can’t do without my help? That you haven’t been able to do since you were alive?”
“Oh yeah?” Grian replied in a mumble, the forearm of his arm over the sofa falling into his face so he could observe his nails, looking entirely unphased. Scar couldn’t find the energy to care, instead falling into the other end of the sofa, Grian’s legs moving to lay over the top of his own, as if it were a habit. It must’ve taken a lot of effort for him to make sure the legs didn’t fall through his own. “Like what?”
“We could try some baking?”
And that was how they ended up in the kitchen, Scar looking at his newly-created ghost gloves. He wasn’t good at names, but they weren’t perfected enough anyway.
They were just for Grian.
“These won’t exorcise me will they?” Grian asked cautiously, taking them anyway, and Scar just scoffed back, rolling his sleeves up over his elbows.
“You wish.” Scar replied, a little confused by Grian’s following silence. When he looked up, the man was just staring at the gloves, a little out of it if Scar was to guess. None of his business, he supposed. “They help you hold material objects, so that means I don’t have to make everything spectral and can just change over the final product. It’s a lot easier for both of us that way— especially because I can’t change spectral things back.”
“You—“ Grian started, gaze briefly leaving the gloves to fix it on Scar, who found himself unable to look away. In that moment, Grian looked like the human he likely used to be— or maybe more like the bird he was, holding the gloves as if they were something precious. “You made these? For me?”
“Well yeah,” Scar replied with a shrug, a little confused as to why he felt flustered admitting it, lifting his arms to tie his hair back, Grian’s eyes following his movements, “It was a fun pastime, and means you can actually do things you know?”
“Aren’t you…?” Grian started, petering off with a frown and instead just shaking his head, slipping the gloves on, “Nevermind, what are we making?”
The question should’ve really been what were they planning on making.
Because the outcome was bizarre at best.
“See,” Grian started as they stared at what was meant to be an apple pie on the countertop, Scar holding back his giggles. “I couldn’t bake even before I was dead.”
“Oh we’re hopeless Grian!” Scar replied, giggling as he ran a tired hand down his face. “Let’s try some so I can go to bed.”
Thankfully, it didn’t taste entirely terrible, especially when mixed with some of the ice cream in his freezer. Even Grian seemed happy with it, eating his spectral dessert with a pleased smile on his face, dancing a little.
Yeah, maybe Scar had gotten a little too used to the guy. But it’s difficult to not get attached to someone you live in close quarters with.
Even if that person just gets better by the day, opening up more the longer they are around each other.
But that wasn’t the aim— Scar wanted to exorcise him, just as he did every other ghost and spirit lurking on their Earth. He just didn’t understand why this specific one was so difficult to deal with, and why he was slowly losing the will to.
Scar just picked at his apple pie, trying to avoid watching the happy man across from him. At first he was standoffish— rude, demanding, closed-off. Now he was sat dancing with joy at the taste of apple pie, his new spectral gloves neatly resting beside his bowl, working just as intended. Even so, Scar felt like he didn’t know much about the guy.
Maybe he’d been doing it on purpose— the both of them. Not letting each other truly know the other with fear of what it would cause. And maybe it was the exhaustion or something else entirely, but Scar found himself thinking he didn’t really care. He just wanted to know his roommate, god damn him.
“Hey Grian?”
“Hm?” The ghost replied, fork in his mouth as he looked back at him, chewing slowly.
“How did you die?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
A quiet realisation rippled through it, a realisation that had Grian’s eyes narrowing and brows furrowing, the grip on his fork tightening.
“Why do you wanna know?”
Scar just shrugged, continuing to stab his apple pie— well, it was now sort of a weird sludge, an oddly brown colour with chunks of all sorts spread throughout it. “I want to know you. Figured we could work our way backwards.”
“You want to know me?”
“Wh— yeah?”
Grian blinked again, gawking at him. “Why?”
And Scar didn’t have a good response to that.
So he shrugged and ate some sludge.
It seemed to do the trick though, Grian dropping his fork and looking at the ceiling, making eye contact with the overhead light. If Scar focused enough, he could hear the bulb buzzing, though he was sure that wasn’t exactly what Grian was thinking.
“I found out something I wasn’t supposed to.”
With that, Scar put his own cutlery down, giving Grian his full attention. “Like gang stuff?”
Grian wrinkled his nose at that, looking at Scar as if he’d grown two heads. “God no. No, I uh— the world has a lot of spiritual things in it, some that even you don’t see, mainly because they blend into the population.”
“… yeah you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
The words obviously upset the man to some degree, pouting as he tapped the tabletop, eyes fixed on Scar and Scar alone.
“I was— am something called a watcher.”
“A… watcher?”
“The spirits that watch over our world need eyes on the ground,” Grian explained, fidgeting as his wings copied behind him, the rope still binding them. Every time Scar looked at them, he couldn’t help but wonder how uncomfortable they were. “But usually we don’t ever know that we’re watchers— I found out, though. One of the elder spirits let some information slip and it became a part of my memory.”
“Well that’s not all bad—“
“No,” Grian agreed, resting his chin on his palm as he kicked his legs under the table, eyes flicking between Scar’s own, observing.
Watching.
“But watchers have abilities they can only access once they’re aware of their nature,” Grian continued, and this time he diverted his gaze, his finger drawing circles on the wood in front of him. “I used mine to see my fate— which just so happened to be meeting my soulmate and dying just afterwards.”
“… what?”
Soulmate?
“So I tried to cheat fate. Search for them.” Grian continued, still looking elsewhere, still feigning confidence. “And the elders cut my own fate short, bound me here until the date I was truly meant to leave.”
“So I can’t exorcise you because…”
“I’m not technically dead yet.” Grian finished for him, wings stretching at the magical ropes tied around them. “And even if I was, they’re keeping me here until my time is paid.”
“And…” Scar started, unsure whether he really wanted to know the answer. But Grian was watching him, eyes trained on him and him alone, but not in the way he would’ve assumed. He should’ve felt violated, or lied to, but he couldn’t bring himself to.
There wasn’t much either of them could do against it anyway.
“And when will your time be paid?”
“Well I was meant to meet them the day before Christmas,” Grian replied, as if it was nothing, glancing at the calendar Scar kept on the wall. “So not long.”
And, for some reason, Scar felt something like grief.
At the knowledge that this would end.
He’d wanted this, hadn’t he? Wanted that ghost out of his life, wanted to live his peaceful life alone with the knowledge he’d never failed at the one thing he was good at.
And yet…
“And,” Scar started, quieter than he’d expected to be, keeping his eyes on the contents of his bowl that he felt a little too sick to eat. Maybe it was the new knowledge, or maybe he was exhausted and needed to sleep already, but it was probably both. “And you can’t stay after that?”
The silence was answer enough.
Eventually Grian was standing up, stretching his back and his wings (as much as he could, anywho) before making his way around the table, ghostly hands trailing from Scar’s shoulder to the crown of his head, a phantom feeling that had Scar shivering right down to his core. “Get some sleep, Scar.”
So he did.
⏾
Scar realised he was in love on a late night.
He was sitting on the sofa, Grian beside him, the lights from the Christmas tree beside him twinkling away, the roads silent outside. Grian was sitting up straight, but he kept tipping forward, as if he was tired, so Scar laughed and ushered him over.
Somehow, Grian didn’t fall through him.
And he was warm—warmer than he had ever been before—as he snuggled into Scar, his wings settling behind him. His wings that were no longer bound, but still resting beneath him, as if they didn’t have the energy to hold themselves up.
And all Scar could think, as he looked down at Grian’s sleepy features, at his eyes that were comfortably closed and his lips that were parted enough to let quiet breaths through and his face turning to press into Scar’s shoulder, was that he was gorgeous. His heart rate skyrocketed before he could stop it.
Because here Grian was, solid enough to hold, close enough to hear, and tired enough not to ever remember it.
Grian was tired, and holdable, and it was Christmas eve.
And Scar never wanted to let him go.
He wanted to hold him forever, cradle him and brush a slow hand through his hair, plant a chaste kiss on his head.
And although he could do that— was doing that, he couldn’t do it forever.
They didn’t have forever.
He didn’t realise Grian had been conscious enough to talk, though.
“It’s always been you, Scar.”
He froze, looking down at the man. He was almost completely opaque now, like a human, like the man he used to be. His eyes were fighting to stay open, but his breaths were even; it was an obvious attempt to keep awake as long as he could manage.
“What?”
“Trapping me here was a mercy from the elders, a reward for my efforts,” he replied, snuggling in closer, and all Scar could do was hold him tighter, wish that he was dreaming if only to have another day with him. “I wanted more days with my soulmate, and, in the end, they granted that wish.”
Soulmate.
Scar didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t need to. They both knew what Grian was saying.
“Don’t leave.” Was all he could whisper, holding Grian closer, feeling his smile against his skin. “Not yet.”
And Grian didn’t respond.
He just clung tighter and continued to breathe, eyes slipping closed once more.
Scar wasn’t sure how long he sat there watching him, waiting, hoping for him to wake up. It was long enough for him to fall asleep, with scruffy dirty blonde hair and fair skin that was soft to the touch on his mind, slipping into a void that could’ve been easily mistaken for something else entirely.
And when he inevitably woke up, his side was cold.
Cold and empty.
Only a single feather was left behind, not spectral by any definition of the word.
The tears fell before Scar could stop them.