Work Text:
It was a calm summer night, the kind where the air hung heavy and warm, while cicadas buzzed faintly through closed windows. Inside, the house was quiet enough that Scar could hear every tick of the assorted clocks in his room. Dozens of rhythms overlapped, some sharp, some sluggish, as if time itself couldn’t quite agree on how fast to move.
Scar sat cross-legged on his bed, hands restless in his lap, the uneven ticking a counterpoint to the loop in his head.
The kiss.
He must have replayed it a thousand times by now, running the memory until it wore thin, but still he clung to it.
The party had been a week ago. A full week had passed, and he hadn’t seen Grian since. He should have thought ahead—asked for a home telephone number, arranged to meet at a nearby diner — something practical. Logic hadn’t stood a chance against the rush of lips and skin brushing together.
Did it mean anything?
It did to Scar. God, it had to. But Grian, well, he seemed steadier, more sure of himself. Scar had only just begun to understand what the kiss might say about him, about who he fancied. He’d never kissed a man before, never even let himself wonder if he could. And then suddenly there was Grian, with that smile and cigarette.
Scar swallowed hard, remembering the press of fingers at his hips, the taste of smoke on Grian’s breath, the scratching of grass blades against his pants as Grian pushed him into the ground. It all blurred together—sweet one moment, hazy the next— as if he couldn’t decide whether it really happened or if he’d dreamed it.
He saw Grian in everything now, even in the clocks cluttering his workbench. He’d tried to fix one earlier in the week, a brass-faced one with a cracked pendulum, but his focus slipped the moment he remembered Grian leaning over the railing at the party, eyes bright, actually listening as Scar babbled about his tinkering hobby like it mattered.
He tipped his head back against the headboard of his bed and stared up at the ceiling. A sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it. He was hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
What was he supposed to do with this ache in his chest? Tell his mother? Yeah, right— tell her he liked boys and couldn’t stop thinking about the one he’d shotgunned a cigarette from in a broom closet, the one who pulled him in close and stole his breath in a kiss that still burned behind his ribs. The one that felt like the one.
She’d laugh him out of the room, maybe even send him to a psychiatric ward.
Scar let out a short, bitter scoff and dragged a hand through his knotted hair. What a lovesick fool he was, with nothing but clocks for company. He closed his eyes and tried to drown himself in the relentless ticking rhythm; maybe it would fill the hollow in his chest. For a moment, he almost convinced himself that if he kept listening, the ache in his heart might fade into the beat.
Then an unfamiliar sound joined the rhythm. There was a sharp tap, faint but distinct, against the glass of his bedroom window. He held his breath, waiting and listening, sure that he must’ve imagined it in his lovesick state.
There was another tap, louder this time.
Scar sat up straight, heart climbing into his throat. At first, he thought it must be a branch in the wind tapping against the house, but the air was still and heavy in the evening dusk. His pulse hammered as he pushed himself off the bed and toward the window, half-dreading if he’d find a burglar or something terrible. But then— there.
There was a face, barely visible through the glass, framed in the yellow porchlight bleeding into the yard. That same tousled hair with aviators on top, wide black eyes, and the hint of a smile that knocked every ounce of breath from Scar’s lungs.
Grian.
He quickly yanked open the window— totally casual, not frantic at all— and leaned his elbows against the wooden baseboard, hoping the night air might cool the heat rushing to his face.
“Grian? What— what are you doing here?” He stammered, smooth as sandpaper.
Grian grinned, wide and sheepish all at once. His hair stuck to his forehead as if he’d sprinted the entire flow, and the familiar leather jacket clung to him, scuffed at the elbows, a red t-shirt peeking out beneath. Black aviators perched crookedly atop his head as he bent forward against the windowsill, catching his breath, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms.
“Finally!” he said, voice breathless but triumphant. “You would not believe how many wrong turns I took. Jimmy’s directions are terrible. Do you know how many cul-de-sacs I searched before I found the right street? Half this neighborhood probably thinks I’m some kind of vagabond.”
Scar laughed, startled, fond, and a little disbelieving all at once, though he wasn’t sure if he’d put any of that past Grian. “I’m flattered, truly, but… how do you even know where I live?”
“Just a bit of harmless detective work and stalking.” Grian puffed out his chest like it was nothing, though the effect was immediately undercut by a soft wheeze. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. Jimmy apparently knows your brother somewhat, and I managed to convince him that Bdubs left something at the party. Oh, I just had to return it. Swindled poor Jimmy with the most ridiculous excuse, but voilá. Easy peasy.”
Scar raised a brow. “Easy? You’re dripping sweat, not that I don’t appreciate it or anything, but… yuck, clearly not the most athletic.”
“Sorry,” Grian laughed, “Guess I can’t live up to your tough standards.” His grin softened into something quieter as he added, almost under his breath, “Besides, it’s called dedication.”
Before Scar could think too hard about what that meant, one of Grian’s hands shifted, lingering behind his back, while the other reached forward and brushed lightly against Scar’s fingertips on the sill. They stayed there, touching as if afraid to pull away, a quiet tension humming between them, hands resting lightly but meaningfully against one another.
“Oh, found something for you, too.”
Grian’s other hand slipped out from behind his back as he offered up a small, slightly rumpled bundle of flowers. Sunflowers bent against poppies and lilacs. It wasn’t a combination Scar would’ve put together, but they were strangely beautiful, delicately arranged as if Grian had picked them himself.
The thought of Grian wandering through fields or roadsides for flowers, inspired by an old romance novel or the absurdity of his own impulses, deciding suddenly that he needed flowers, made Scar’s chest tighten.
“Flowers?” Scar asked, throat going dry.
“You deserve something nice after putting up with me,” Grian said simply, his smile tilted and uneven.
Scar huffed out a laugh, torn between amusement and the tight, dizzy feeling building in his chest. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”
“Probably,” Grian admitted, ducking his head, something akin to embarrassment creeping into his expression.
“No one’s ever given me flowers, though,” Scar mused, quieter now. “So… thanks for being the first, I guess.”
“It’s nothing.” Grian pushed his mussed hair back from his slightly damp forehead. “So… you helping me in, or do I have to find another window to sneak through? I’d hate to pop through your parents’ room accidentally… that’d be a sight to see.”
Scar winced, trying not to imagine what his mother’s reaction would be. “Alright, alright, come on, before someone sees.”
He stepped back quickly to make room, letting go of the other’s hand. The loss of contact made his heart thud in a way he didn’t quite understand, a sensation he didn’t quite have a name for yet.
Grian hoisted himself up with surprising ease, swinging one leg and then the other through the window. He landed in Scar’s room with a soft thump, flowers held out like a peace offering— a bridge between them. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the silence humming with everything left unsaid.
Scar reached out to grab the flowers. The stems were cool against his touch, bundled together with a small red ribbon that looked like it had been tied with care. It was clear it wasn’t just a bouquet hastily picked up from a grocery store on impulse. He wasn’t sure what to do with that thought, or how it made his chest feel so warm.
He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper, “You really came all this way… for me?”
Grian’s expression softened, almost shy now, the playful mask falling away. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Anything for you.”
And somehow, just like that, the chaotic, sweat-slicked boy he’d barely met felt impossibly close. It was as if he had always been there, tucked into the edges of Scar’s life, simply waiting to be noticed. Scar’s hand lifted without thought, brushing a loose strand of hair from Grian’s forehead. The small, clumsy touch carried more weight than it should have, a spark threading through the quiet between them.
“I’m… I’m really glad you’re here,” Scar said, voice dropping into something softer, almost hesitant. “We have all night, but… my mom and brother are home, so just keep that in mind, alright? I don’t really know how they’d feel about this.”
Grian chuckled softly, a warm, easy sound that made Scar’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t entirely understand. “I’m used to sneaking around,” he murmured. “Don’t worry,”
He shrugged out of his jacket with one shoulder, the old leather cracking faintly as he tossed it on the floor near the window. “Honestly, my brothers would be way worse, so this? Easy. Besides…” His eyes flicked past Scar, taking in the room. “I wanted to see your place after you talked it up the other night.”
Scar followed his gaze and immediately felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how much of himself was scattered in the space around them— his half-finished paintings in the back corner, old clocks scattered across his desk and the floor around it, a record player softly spinning in the corner. It was intimate in a way that felt oddly vulnerable with someone else here, especially with someone like Grian.
“Well,” Scar said, letting out a small, self-conscious laugh as he spread his arms. “Welcome to my kingdom. We don’t have much, but it’s born of blood, sweat, and tears.”
Grian’s grin returned, slow and crooked. He stepped deeper inside, tilting his head as if taking in everything at once. “Huh,” he said under his breath. “So this is where the magic happens?”
“Something like that,” Scar chuckled, taking a moment to carefully set the flowers down on his desk, brushing aside loose screws and scrap gears to make space. He lingered there for a moment, staring at the wildflowers. He’d have to find a vase to keep them in soon— and come up with a story convincing enough to keep his family from questions. He could lie. He just… wasn’t very good at it when feelings like this were involved.
“You gonna tell me about it?” Grian asked, his voice curious as he drifted closer to the workbench. His fingers hovered just above a half-disassembled clock as if he were afraid that one wrong touch might break it.
“Oh, well, sure,” Scar said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m working on this old bracket clock right now. Found it at a flea market the other day, but it doesn’t run, so I’m taking it all apart. Looks like some of the parts got jostled loose when it was moved around, and a few are worn down, so I’ll have to fashion some new gears. Hopefully it’ll be good as new in a few weeks.”
He hesitated, then added with a small grin, “ I was even thinking I might try to carve some detailing on it too. Maybe I’ll use your flowers for inspiration?”
Scar’s grin fell as he slowly realized how long he had been rambling. “Sorry,” he said, more carefully now. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that, eh?”
“Shut up, Scar. That’s incredible,” Grian said, crouching down so he was eye level with the clock’s open casing. “Besides, it’s nice to just hear someone talk about their hobbies so… well, openly. I miss that kind of detail. Too many people just skim over it nowadays. Besides, I’m the same way with poetry and baking.” His voice was genuine, almost reverent, and it sent a warm flush creeping up Scar’s cheeks.
“So what do you do with them once you’re done?” Grian added with a chuckle as he quickly danced over the mention of his own hobbies, glancing upwards. “Aside from keeping a few of them, I mean.”
“Usually, I just give them away,” Scar said. “Sometimes I take commissions. My mom says I should try reselling them, but I dunno…” He rubbed his palms against his thighs, suddenly acutely aware of how close Grian was to him. “Maybe give you one if you’d like someday.”
The words hung in the air longer than he’d meant them to. He ducked his head, pretending to busy himself with rearranging loose screws on the desk, but he could feel Grian’s gaze lingering, warm and thoughtful.
“I’d really like that,” Grian said at last. He stood and brushed his hands against his black jeans before nodding toward the bed. “Can I sit?”
Scar blinked, caught off guard. “Oh yeah, of course. It’s not much, but I guess it’s better than the floor.”
Grian dropped onto the mattress, the old frame creaking under his weight. He leaned back on his hands like he’d done it a hundred times before, casual and comfortable, as if he belonged there. Something about the familiarity of it made Scar’s chest tighten.
Scar only hesitated a moment before following, settling onto the bed beside Grian as the tension in his shoulders eased. The mattress dipped beneath them both, pulling them subtly closer. The dark green comforter pooled around them, soft against Scar’s palms as he pressed down for balance.
Almost without thinking, his hand found Grian’s once again.
He half-expected him to pull away, but instead, Grian’s hand turned, sliding against his palm as their fingers threaded together, tight, like a lifeline. It was clumsy and nervous, but the pressure was steady— neither of them seemed willing to let go.
He turned toward Grian, knees knocking together, heart thudding far too loud in his chest. Their faces were close, just inches apart, close enough that Scar could see the faint flush still coloring Grian’s cheeks with the stray lock of hair that had fallen over his brow.
Close enough to notice the small hoops lining Grian’s left ear.
Scar remembered it then— how they had caught the light at the party when Grian laughed, how Scar’s eyes had stayed on them without understanding why. Now, in the low glow of his childhood bedroom, it gleamed softly. The sight sent a strange, curling heat through Scar.
His gaze drifted lower before he could stop himself, along the familiar slope of Grian’s cheek, where a thin pale scar cut beneath his eye. It was old and faded, the kind forgotten until the light hit it just right. Scar had the sudden, irrational urge to trace it with his thumb, to ask how it got there.
He stopped himself, letting his less embarrassing thoughts flow freely instead.
“Listen,” Scar began, his voice unsteady. He swallowed, forcing a quick laugh to cover how raw it felt to speak the words out loud. ‘Thanks for coming over tonight. I mean it.”
Grian tilted his head, searching his face with those sharp, curious eyes, like he was trying to read something written just beneath the surface. Scar shifted where he sat, their knees brushing against each other, the contact sending a shiver through him. He drew in a breath that trembled slightly in his chest.
“Gonna be real vulnerable for a moment,” Scar started, words tumbling out fast before he could stop them. “I can’t stop thinking about you—about the time we spent together. About the way you make me feel.” He exhaled shakily, “I don’t even know how to explain it, but I want… I want to make this work, despite everything. Even if I’m new to this… all of it…”
His grip tightened around Grian’s hand.
“You’ve done something irreparable to my heart.”
The silence that followed seemed to last forever. Scar’s pulse roared in his ears as the confession lingered. He could feel a slight tremor in Grian’s fingers, matching his own, and that somehow made it worse and better all at once.
Grian let out a soft breath, his lips quivering upwards into a small smile. “Scar,” he said gently. His voice was low and rough around the edges. “You’re not the only one.”
Scar barely had time to register it before Grian leaned in, closing the gap between them. The kiss was careful at first, hesitant, the barest brush of lips that left an unspoken question hanging between them, reminding him of the one they’d shared that night after the party. Scar answered by pressing forward, fingers curling in the fabric of Grian’s shirt, tugging him closer as their bare arms knocked together. The warmth of him, the sweetness of the moment, was dizzying.
The kiss deepened almost by accident. Scar’s lips parted as Grian’s head tilted ever so slightly, both of them surrendering to the pull that had built between them over the past week. He tasted the faint trace of smoke combined with the sweet but bitter taste of something distinctly floral, tea maybe.
He felt the faint catch of Grian’s breath against his, the soft flutter of his eyelashes when Scar dared to press a little harder. Grian’s free hand hovered awkwardly in the air for a second before finally resting against Scar’s thigh. It was clumsy, yet tender and perfect.
Scar pulled back, slowly and begrudgingly. Their faces were flushed as a thin strand of saliva lingered between them before breaking. The sight made him laugh, giddy and a little breathless. “So,” he said, a grin curling across his lips. “I take that as a yes?”
“You’re incorrigible," Grian murmured, fondness dripping from every word, “And lucky I like you so much.”
“And you’re lucky I don’t know what that means,” Scar shot back with a chuckle. “Not even gonna attempt to say it.”
Grian opened his mouth to say something in response, but Scar didn’t give him the chance. He surged forward, pulling him into another kiss, messy and frantic, smashing their lips together and teeth knocking together. Grian let out a surprised noise against his mouth, something akin to a gasp, before kissing back just as fiercely. Scar clutched at him like he was afraid to let go, their mouths moving against each other in a desperate rhythm that spoke louder than words could ever. Grian’s hand came up to cup the back of Scar’s neck, thumb brushing against his jaw in a touch so gentle it made him shiver.
When they finally broke for air, they were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. He could feel Grian smiling against his cheek, small and irrepressible. The warmth and joy only made his own grin grow wider.
He leaned back just enough to meet Grian’s eyes. They were shining, bright even despite their dark color and the dim light of his room. Something about the look pushed Scar over the edge, and with a sudden laugh, half giddy and half daring, he gave Grian a gentle shove.
Grian, caught off guard, toppled backward onto the bed, landing with a soft thump against the comforter. He blinked up at Scar, startled for only a second before breaking into a grin of his own. “Oh, so that’s how it is?” He teased, breathless.
Scar hovered above him, palms braced on both sides of Grian’s shoulders, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. “Maybe it is,” he shot back, grinning through his ragged breath. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Before Grian could answer, Scar dipped down, stealing another kiss— slower this time, deeper. His lips molded to Grian as he memorized every line and curve. Grian let out a soft sound in the back of his throat, his hand sliding down from Scar’s neck to his shoulder blades, pulling him closer, anchoring him.
The world seemed to blur around them— the faint hum of the record player, the creak of the bedframe, the warmth of the comforter beneath them. Everything else faded until there was only the press of their mouths, the rush of blood in Scar’s ears, and the dizzying heat of Grian’s breath ghosting against his lips between kisses.
Scar pulled back just enough to catch a glimpse of Grian’s face, his cheeks flushed, hair mussed, and lips red and glistening. The sight alone knocked the air out of him. He let out a shaky laugh, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the corner of Grian's mouth, then to his jaw, trailing experimentally down the curve of his neck. Grian shivered against him, soft, startled, and breathless, a small gasp slipping past parted lips. Scar pressed another gentle kiss into the hollow of his neck, feeling Grian tilt closer, inviting him.
“You’re dangerous,” Scar murmured, voice low against his skin, lingering with another feather-light kiss along the pulse at Grian’s neck.
“And you,” Grian replied, smirking up at him despite his own breathlessness, “are ridiculous.”
Scar chuckled, forehead falling against Grian’s as their lips met. His hand drifted up, brushing against Grian’s temple before sliding into his hair. The strands were soft under his fingers, and he lingered there, thumb grazing the edge of Grian’s cheekbone.
Grian tilted into the touch instinctively, his own hand finding Scar’s waist, holding him steady. Their mouths moved together unhurriedly, a slow rhythm of give and take. Every press of lips felt like a promise, every breath shared between them heavier than the silence around them.
Grian eased him to the side, half-stretching him to align Grian’s side. The comforter bunched beneath them as their bodies pressed close, the warmth of Grian’s chest acting as a steady reminder that this was real. Grian smiled against his mouth, and Scar’s eyes fluttered open, catching the sight of Grian beside him— flushed, smiling faintly, with dark eyes soft in a way that made Scar’s chest ache.
He wanted to hold onto this moment forever— to forget the way the outside world would react to the irreversible chemistry between them. Everything about Grian felt so right, dangerously so, and Scar knew he would never be able to let go again. He wanted to get lost in this moment, he wanted to—
A loud knock rattled against his bedroom door, followed by the familiar sing-song yell of his younger brother. “Oh, Scarrrrr!”
Aka trouble, in the form of Bdubs.
“Shit,” Scar hissed, jumping off of Grian immediately, the mattress squeaking in protest. “Hide if you can, I’ll stop him.”
Panic shot through his chest as he scrambled upright, feet hitting the floor with more noise than he wanted. He rushed toward the door, shoving shaky fingers through his hair in a hopeless attempt to make himself look less compromised. No amount of smoothing could disguise the obvious, and Scar was painfully aware of how he looked— his chin-length waves were mussed beyond repair, his lips still tingled and burned from kissing, and his shirt hung loose and unbuttoned too far down his chest.
Still, unable to do anything, he cracked open the door. He threw on a smile that felt too wide, too forced.
“Hey, uh, Bdubs…” Scar started, voice cracking embarrassingly halfway through the name. “What brings you here?”
Bdubs narrowed his eyes, suspicion already brewing, tilting his head as though trying to peer right past Scar’s shoulder. “Soooo, who were you talking to just now?” His tone was casual enough, but it carried that sharp edge of patented brotherly suspicion.
Scar’s heartbeat jumped. “Talking? Me? Nope, uh, just thinking out loud. Y’know… to the clocks. Silly me!” He let out a weak laugh, hoping the wobbling noise sounded natural.
Bdubs wasn’t buying it. His eyes squinted further, darting past Scar, until they landed on the workbench. His grin spread, slow and wolfish, teeth flashing when he spotted the small bouquet of wildflowers. “Ohhhh,” he drawled, shoving past Scar before he could block the way. “What’s this then? You got yourself a lady friend, huh? Didn’t think you had it in you.” He let out a sharp whistle.
“Bdubs wait!” Scar pleaded, trailing after him in a desperate attempt to keep him from noticing the man on his bed. Panic bubbled in his throat. “I promise there’s no lady friend. I just picked them for inspiration— for one of my paintings, y’know?” His excuses tangled as fast as they left his mouth.
But Bdubs wasn’t listening. He was already smiling like he’d won a bet, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “Well, sheesh, no need to keep her hiding, Scar. Where’s the lucky girl? Don’t tell me she ran off already—”
His words cut off mid-laugh, as his eyes landed on the corner of the bed and froze. For a moment, Bdubs looked almost confused, as if his brain couldn’t catch up to what his eyes were telling him.
Scar followed his gaze as the realization set in, only causing his stomach to plunge. Grian sat curled on the edge of the mattress against the headboard. His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed, and his lips still swollen from kissing.
“That’s… uh…” Bdubs blinked hard, his voice suddenly louder to cover his stumble. “That’s not a girl.”
Scar’s stomach dropped straight through the floor. He met Grian’s eyes across the room, both of their eyes wild with fear. Grian hugged his knees tighter, shoulders hunched as if he couldn’t decide whether to bolt for the window or melt into the comforter.
Bdubs let out a bark of incredulous laughter, smacking Scar on the shoulder so hard that it rattled his teeth. “Holy shit, Scar! You’ve been holding out on me. You’re bangin’ Jimmy’s brother. Insane!”
Scar’s jaw dropped. Heat flooded his face so fast it made his ears burn. “Bdubs! It’s not like that!” he hissed. “And keep your voice down! Mom cannot find out.”
Apparently, Bdubs just took that as his cue to be even louder. “Scar and Grian kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes—”
Scar lunged, slapping a hand over his brother’s mouth before he could continue. “Shut it! You know what people will say!” His voice cracked, raw with panic. Something wet and warm pressed against his hand. His expression twisted in horror. “Did you just— lick me?”
Bdubs wheezed with laughter beneath his hand, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
But then, slicing through it all, came the worst possible sound.
“What’s all this noise about?” A woman’s voice called out, familiar and sharp as a pin. Each step closer on the wooden floorboards made Scar’s blood run colder.
It was his mother.
The footsteps stopped right outside his doorway. “Honestly,” Cleo’s voice rang out, exasperated. Her eyes focused on the two brothers.“The pair of you are like children. Do you ever stop bickering for five minutes? Some of us are trying to sleep.”
Scar scrambled for words, his heart hammering. “Sorry, Mom! Won’t happen again, promise!” His voice cracked at the end, causing him to wince.
Cleo sighed, the kind only a long-suffering mother could muster. “Every time it’s the same thing— Scar, you whining and teasing, Bdubs yelling. You’re causing the whole house to rattle.” She stepped into the room before Scar could stop her.
Her eyes flickered to the entire scene. They landed first on Scar’s messy hair, his half-buttoned shirt, and the guilty flush still painting his cheeks. Then past him. To the bed. To Grian
There was silence for a moment, thick enough that Scar thought he might just suffocate.
He rushed forward, blurting the first words that came to him. “Whatever you think you see, it’s all my fault! Grian didn’t— he didn’t do anything, okay?”
Cleo’s gaze slid back to him, sharp and unimpressed. “Scar. You’re twenty-two, not twelve. Do you think I care who you’re kissing? Calm down before you embarrass your boyfriend.”
That shut him up fast. His jaw worked soundlessly as the words floundered in his brain, all while Grian’s wide eyes flickered between them, unsure of the situation.
Cleo tilted her head toward Grian, lips curling into a sharp, assessing smile. “So, you’re Jimmy and Joel’s brother, huh?”
Grian swallowed hard. “... Yes, ma’am,” he said in a soft tone, the “bad boy” facade gone.
She nodded, slow and deliberate, like she was considering something very carefully. “Alright then. Family dinner. Friday night. Six o’clock sharp. Don’t make me set a place for you and have it go to waste.”
The room froze. Scar simply blinked at her, color flooding his face all the way to his ears. “Wait— you—! What?”
Bdubs wheezed, doubling over in laughter. “Holy shit, Mom just invited him to dinner! Scar, you’re doomed.”
Cleo ignored them both, already turning on her heel. “C’mon, Bdubs, give them space. You’re my favorite for a reason.” She paused. “And keep the noise down, boys. Some of us actually like sleeping at night.”
The door shut with a decisive click, and Scar stared at it in stunned horror. Grian buried his burning face in his hands.
“I— I’m so sorry, Grian,” Scar blurted out, rushing over to the man curled up in the corner of his bed, pressed against the wall. He lightly took hold of Grian’s hands, pulling them away from his face just so Scar could look him in the eyes.
“If I had known Bdubs would just burst in like that, I never would’ve let you stay. It’s all my fault, and please, please do not worry about Mom threatening you. You do not have to come under any circumstances, I promise.” Scar rambled, his hands shaking as he grasped the other’s. “And if you don’t want to continue this, I understand… It’s weird anyway, isn’t it?”
Grian’s expression softened as the words tumbled out, lips pressing into a small frown. “Please stop embarrassing yourself, you’re alright,” he said gently. “Trust me, I did not want your family finding out like this— hell, I didn’t even want them to find out, still don’t want mine to— but what’s done is done.”
Scar nodded at the words pitifully, trying to blink back tears as he braced himself for some kind of rejection— but none came.
“I don’t want to lose what we have,” Grian continued, hands tightening around Scar’s. “I think… We have something real special. Something that could blossom into love, as disgustingly poetic as that sounds. I’m not here to shout it from the rooftops, but if your family approves, why hide it? I’d like to be with you— learn your hobbies, go on dates… and god, kiss you more. Just please… for our sake, don’t start to think that what we have is abnormal or strange… I can’t lose you that way.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to Scar’s nose, a red tint covering his face. Scar couldn’t lose that, couldn’t lose Grian, even though it disagreed with everything he knew. It was selfish, but he couldn’t let go.
“Well then,” Scar shakily laughed, heart still, “Guess that means you’re coming to dinner Friday night then, eh?” The tension squeezed through his body as he tried to play off his feelings as a joke, internally panicking as he pictured his mom grilling Grian, all while Bdubs thought of ways to tease him.
Grian smirked, shoulder nudging him lightly. ‘If I survive your mom, trust me, I’ll be around more,” he teased, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear.
Scar rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “I guess you’re about to make my life way more complicated, huh?”
“Only for you,” Grian replied softly, bumping against his shoulder again with a grin.
Scar chuckled, letting the tension slip away. He leaned in and wrapped a careful arm around Grian’s back, letting the warmth settle between them. Grian’s cheek brushed his own, the faint scar and freckles catching the light for a heartbeat. Scar’s chest tightened, but he let himself stay there— right there— where nothing else mattered, not the rules, not anyone’s expectations. Just them, together, that was enough.