Archive of Our Own

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By Thursday of the second week of February, the entire school looked like it had been attacked by pink construction paper.

Paper hearts were taped along the lockers in uneven rows, glitter shedding onto the scuffed tile floors. Red and white streamers sagged from the ceiling tiles, and a banner in the atrium announced VALENTINE’S WINTER FORMAL in letters that were already curling at the edges.

The National Honors Society had claimed a folding table outside the cafeteria, where little cellophane bags tied with ribbon were stacked in neat rows. Each one held three Hershey Kisses and a printed tag that read CANDY GRAM — $1. They’d be delivered during third period on later today, handed out by NHS kids in matching red sashes like tiny officials of romance.

Scar thought it was kind of perfect.

“You look suspiciously pleased about all of this,” Jimmy said.

They were standing near the front entrance before first period, sunlight spilling through the tall windows. Lizzie was scrolling through her phone, smiling to herself. She was probably texting her boyfriend, Joel. Man, they were disgustingly cute together…

“I just enjoy the commitment to a theme,” Scar replied. “If we’re going to do Valentine’s Day, we should do it properly.”

Jimmy scoffed. “It’s paper hearts and overpriced chocolate.”

“It’s festive,” Scar corrected.

Lizzie looked up from her phone then. “Joel said he made reservations weeks ago,” she said, unable to contain her grin. “He wouldn’t tell me where, but he said I have to ‘dress nice.’”

Scar placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Three years and he’s still courting you. That’s beautiful.”

Jimmy made a face at his friend. “You’re insufferable.”

“At least I’m not pretending I’m not excited to ‘just hang out’ with Tango,” Scar shot back with a smirk.

The blonde went red immediately, sputtering and hands flailing at the mention of his crush. “We— We’re just hanging out!”

“On Valentine’s Day,” Lizzie added innocently.

“Well, I guess—”

“At the dance.”

Jimmy pointed at Scar, puffing his cheeks out in a mockingly angry expression. “We are not talking about me. We are talking about your mysterious admirer.”

Scar froze as Lizzie’s eyes lit up, a mischievous glint in her ocean blue eyes.“Yes. We are.”

Jimmy leaned closer. “Did you get another one?”

Scar tried for nonchalance. “Possibly.”

“Oh my god,” Lizzie breathed, smile already plastered on her face. “Show us.”

“I don’t have it on me.”

“You definitely have it memorized,” Jimmy accused.

Scar hesitated, he had. But how could he not? Someone was pining for him. Him. 

Him and his no good jokes that only landed half the time. Him and his too loud laugh that echoed in hallways. Him and his tendency to talk too much when he got nervous. Him, who pretended everything rolled off his shoulders when sometimes it didn’t. Him, who always felt a little too much and said a little too much and pretended it didn’t matter.

Someone had noticed. Someone had paid attention long enough to know the way he laughed. The way he kept things. Not the polished version of him. Not the easy charm. Just him.

And someone had looked at that and thought: yes. That one.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he turned back to his friends. “It said,” he began carefully, reciting the note he received yesterday after seventh period, “ ‘You laugh like you mean it. I like that about you.’ ”

Jimmy clutched his chest. “That is disgustingly sweet.”

“It’s thoughtful,” Lizzie corrected. Then she narrowed her eyes. “It’s also specific.”

“That’s the part that’s concerning,” Jimmy said, glancing between the pink-haired-girl and the brunette. “They’re observing you.”

Scar started walking toward his locker. Lizzie and Jimmy followed immediately, flanking him like overinvested bodyguards.

“It’s not concerning,” Scar insisted. “It’s just… observant.”

“You don’t know who it is,” Jimmy pressed. “How would someone know this much about you? Don’t even let me mention the note about your anxiety.”

Scar opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Ok, sure. It was a little creepy the way this person knew so much about him, but if this was the person he thought was sending them to him, it made sense.

Down the hall, he spotted him. Speak of the devil. Grian was walking with Mumbo, listening with that half-distracted expression he wore when he was pretending to pay attention. His sandy blond hair caught the light from the windows, bright against the sea of darker uniforms and backpacks. Even from here, Scar could see the familiar warmth in his dark chocolate eyes when he laughed at something Mumbo said.

Scar’s chest did that stupid, traitorous flip it always did.

Grian looked up, just for a second and their eyes met. He smiled — small, a little crooked — and lifted his hand in a quick wave.

Scar waved back automatically. It was nothing, barely a moment, but his heart kicked hard against his ribs anyway.

Lizzie noticed immediately. Of course she did. “Interesting,” she murmured, that mischievous glint returning in her eyes.

“Don’t,” Scar warned quietly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You did. Plus, it’s written all over your face.”

They reached Scar’s locker — third from the left, dented blue metal with chipped paint near the handle and glitter still clinging stubbornly to the vents from some long-forgotten spirit week.

Jimmy leaned against the locker beside it. “If there’s another one in there, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“There won’t be,” Scar said, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt that sudden nervous flicker in his stomach.

He spun the dial, pulled the handle, opened the door and—

Lizzie gasped first. “Oh my god.”

There it was, a folded square of white paper, tucked carefully between the vent slats. He felt his stomach erupt with butterflies.

Jimmy seized his shoulder like they’d just uncovered a crime scene. “You’re kidding.”

Scar stared at it for a second before reaching up and sliding it free.

The hallway noise felt distant suddenly — lockers slamming, teachers calling out reminders, the low buzz of conversation. The paper felt deliberate. Careful.

Lizzie bounced on the balls of her feet, barely containing her wide grin. “Open it, open it!”

Scar unfolded it slowly. The handwriting leaned forward slightly, familiar in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

You don’t have to hide your smiles. They make my whole week.

— Your Secret Admirer

Jimmy let out a strangled noise. “That is so targeted.”

“I do not hide my smiles,” Scar said, though his voice had gone softer.

Lizzie studied him. “Now that I’m thinking about it, you do for some.”

“That’s not the point.”

“The point,” Jimmy said dramatically, rolling his eyes, “is that someone is watching you.”

Scar folded the note carefully along its original creases, slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket instead of his backpack.

“It’s not like that,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure what like that meant.

Lizzie tilted her head. “Who do you hope it is?”

Scar didn’t answer right away.

Down the hallway, Grian was still talking to Mumbo, animated now, hands moving as he explained something. He looked relaxed. Unaware. Completely ordinary.

Scar’s heart raced anyway.

“I don’t know,” he said lightly.

Jimmy followed his gaze and narrowed his eyes. “Liar.”

The final bell rang, sharp and insistent.

Lizzie squeezed his arm. “If this turns out to be who I think it is, I expect full credit.”

“For what?”

“For being right,” she said with a cheeky smile.

Scar rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his mouth.

Valentine’s Day was tomorrow, and Scar had a folded note in his pocket and the lingering image of sandy blond hair and bright brown eyes burned into his mind. He had a feeling this week was about to get interesting.

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Third period arrived slower than it should have. Scar tried to pay attention in history. He really did, but every time the classroom door creaked open, his head snapped up on instinct.

Candy grams were being delivered today and he absolutely did not care. He cared a normal amount.

Across the room, Grian sat two rows ahead, angled slightly sideways in his chair like he could never quite commit to sitting properly. He was supposed to be taking notes. Instead, he was sketching in the margins of his notebook, pencil moving in quick, absent strokes. Mumbo sat next to him whispering something in his ear across the aisle.

Scar wondered if they always looked that focused or if that was new.

The door opened and Scar’s stomach flipped so violently he almost laughed at himself.

Two NHS kids in bright red sashes stepped inside, arms full of little cellophane bags tied with red ribbon. The class erupted immediately.

“Oh my god.”

“No way.”

“Is that for me?”

Scar sank slightly lower in his chair as all names but his were called. Laughter burst across the room as candy grams were delivered, some accompanied by exaggerated winks or dramatic reading of the attached messages. Another year of not being chosen. He had hoped, at least, his so called secret admirer would send him one.

Grian didn’t turn around or didn’t look back.

Scar tried not to look at him.

“And… Scar Goodtimes?”

The room went quiet in that particular, electric way classrooms did when something interesting happened.

Scar blinked. “That’s me,” he said, lifting a hand.

The NHS student, Gem, smiled knowingly — or maybe Scar imagined it — and handed him the small bag. Three Hershey Kisses gleamed under the fluorescent lights and a folded tag was tied to the ribbon.

Scar felt every pair of eyes in the room on him. Jimmy would absolutely demand a full report later.

He untied the ribbon carefully, noticing immediately that the tag wasn’t pre-printed like the others — it was handwritten.

I figured chocolate might make this less terrifying.

— Your Secret Admirer 

Heat crept up Scar’s neck.

He didn’t mean to, but his eyes lifted. Grian had gone very still. His pencil hovered over the page without moving.

Scar’s pulse thudded in his ears.

Less terrifying. Terrifying for who?

Slowly, carefully, Scar let himself smile, small and soft. 

The teacher clapped her hands for attention and the noise resumed, the moment dissolving into the normal hum of class.

Scar placed the candy gram on his desk like it was fragile. Someone was trying.

He pressed his thumb over the ink on the tag, tracing the shape of the letters.

He had a feeling he knew, he just needed one more push.

Scar did not look at Grian again for the rest of class. That was deliberate. If he looked, he might smile. If he smiled, Grian might panic. And if Grian panicked, this would stretch on for another week, and Scar wasn’t sure his heart could take another week.

The bell rang, chairs soon scraping against the worn tile and backpacks zipped. The room dissolved into noise.

Scar stood slowly, sliding the candy gram into his jacket pocket like it was something precious instead of three pieces of chocolate and a threat to his emotional stability.

He waited. Not for Grian, but for Mumbo. Grian always packed up faster. Mumbo always forgot something.

Sure enough, by the time Scar stepped into the hallway, Grian was already halfway down it, sandy blond hair catching in the fluorescent light as he disappeared around the corner.

Mumbo, meanwhile, was still in the doorway trying to shovel books and papers into his bag, frowning down on it like it had personally betrayed him.

Perfect.

Scar brightened immediately as he approached the raven haired boy who had a disturbingly good mustache for a senior in high school.

“Mumbo!” he called, all warmth and easy delight.

Mumbo startled like someone had set off a small firework beside him. “Oh! Scar. Hey.”

Scar fell into step beside him, beaming. “Lovely weather we’re having inside this building, don’t you think?”

“…We’re inside?”

“Exactly.”

Mumbo squinted at him, lips pursing under the slim mustache. “You’re being weird.”

Scar placed a hand over his heart. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m always this delightful.”

Mumbo adjusted his backpack strap nervously, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. “Right. Of course.”

They turned down the hallway toward the lockers, thinning crowd moving around them. Scar let the silence stretch just long enough to make Mumbo visibly uncomfortable. Then, lightly sang out: “Sooo.”

Mumbo made a small, doomed noise in the back of his throat. “So?”

“You know how I’ve been getting these notes all week? Wellllll, I got another one,” Scar drawled.

Mumbo’s shoulders shot up toward his ears. “Oh? Did you?”

“I did.” Scar clasped his hands behind his back as best he could with his bag, rocking slightly on his heels as they walked. “Very thoughtful. Very specific. Quite observant.”

Mumbo nodded too quickly. “Observant is good.”

“It is,” Scar agreed cheerfully. “Especially when someone notices things most people don’t.” He watched Mumbo swallow nervously. Scar tilted his head, continuing. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone particularly observant, would you?”

“What? N-no. Why would I?”

Scar’s smile widened. He stepped a little closer to the ever growing anxious man. “I just find it interesting,” he continued, “that whoever it is seems to know me rather well.”

“Lots of people know you,” Mumbo said weakly.

“Mm. But not lots of people know about my anxiety.”

Scar’s note from Tuesday had read, “Don’t get too anxious about the history test. I’m always open to giving you a hug. Or a kiss, if you want it.”

It had stunned him more than the offer. Only his closest friends knew how bad his anxiety could get — how his hands shook when rooms got too loud, how he laughed a little too brightly when he was trying to hold it together.

Mumbo made a strangled sound that was definitely not a normal hallway noise. Scar nearly laughed, but he didn’t want to scare away his ticket to the truth.

He softened his tone — just slightly. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“I’m not lying,” Mumbo insisted, voice pitching upward.

“You’re vibrating.”

“I am not.”

Scar leaned in conspiratorially. “Mumbo.”

“Yes?”

“If this is who I think it is…” He let that hang, watching carefully.

Mumbo blinked. “Who do you think it is?”

Scar smiled — slow, knowing. “That’s not the question.”

Mumbo’s eyes darted down the hallway and Scar followed his glance automatically. Grian was at his locker, back turned, shoulders a little tense in a way that didn’t match the casual way he was flipping through his bag.

Interesting, he thought to himself.

Scar looked back at Mumbo.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said lightly. “I just wanted to make sure he knows something.”

Mumbo froze. “He?”

Scar’s grin turned almost wicked. “That I don’t scare easily.” Mumbo stared at him like a deer in headlights, but Scar continued, voice warm and steady. “And if that someone was planning on asking me something tomorrow… they wouldn’t have to be anonymous.”

There it was, the crack.  Mumbo’s composure splintered visibly. “Oh,” he breathed, still vibrating.

Scar’s heart pounded, but he kept his expression bright and open, like this was all very amusing and not at all the most vulnerable he’d felt all week.

“He doesn’t—” Mumbo started, then clamped his mouth shut. Scar raised an eyebrow as Mumbo made a noise of pure distress. “I have said nothing,” Mumbo declared desperately.

Scar laughed, soft and fond. “Of course you haven’t.” He stepped back, giving Mumbo room to breathe again. “But you might want to tell him,” Scar added casually, “that he doesn’t need to be terrified.”

Mumbo slowed and stopped, staring at Scar like a deer in headlights. “Terrified?”

Scar glanced down the hallway one more time. Grian had turned slightly now, watching them.

Scar’s chest did that stupid, traitorous flip again.

He waved and Grian froze, hen waved back, small and shy.

Scar turned to Mumbo, still smiling.

“Just tell him,” he said gently, “that I’m hoping it’s him.”

And then he walked away before Mumbo could recover.

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The lunch room felt louder than usual, on top of it looking like Cupid himself had vomited inside it — more paper hearts taped to the windows, glitter tracked across the tile floors, the faint smell of chocolate hanging in the air. The National Honors Society table sat triumphantly against the far wall, empty candy gram boxes stacked beside it like proof of a successful operation.

Scar slid into their usual table, balancing his tray carefully.

Lizzie and Jimmy were already there, with Joel beside Lizzie and Tango across from Jimmy. The juniors had claimed the end of the table like they owned it — Lizzie tucked neatly against Joel’s side, Jimmy pretending very hard not to sit too close to Tango and failing spectacularly.

Scar and the rest of the seniors — Mumbo, Grian, and Tango — usually filtered in after, though it seemed Tango was there already today.

“Finally,” Jimmy said. “You disappeared after fifth period.”

Scar set his tray down slowly. “I was in class.”

“Allegedly,” Joel said mildly, speaking around a mouthful of food. Lizzie lightly slapped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand as he muttered a quiet, “what?”

Scar gasped, slapping a hand over his heart in mock shock. “You wound me.”

Tango leaned forward. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” Scar asked.

“Like you know something.”

Turning away from her boyfriend, Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “He does look like that, doesn’t he.”

Scar considered playing it off. He lasted three seconds.

“I received something,” he announced dramatically.

Jimmy straightened immediately. “From the notes person?”

Joel blinked. “Wait. The notes person is real?”

“You didn’t tell Joel?” Jimmy asked, scandalized.

“I assumed she would,” Scar said, pointing at Lizzie.

“I assumed you would,” Lizzie shot back.

Tango looked between them, puzzled. “Okay, hold on. What notes?”

Scar exhaled slowly, basking in the attention just a little. “For the past week, someone has been leaving anonymous notes in my locker.”

Joel leaned back in his chair and muttered something under his breath that Scar didn’t catch. Lizzie slapped him on the shoulder again with a pointed look. He screeched and said, “What?! I’m not wrong!”

“That’s what I said,” Jimmy had obviously heard too, and muttered.

“They’re very thoughtful,” Scar continued, ignoring them. “Observant and specific.”

“Creepy?” Tango offered.

“Romantic,” Lizzie corrected.

“Potentially alarming,” Jimmy added.

Scar rolled his eyes, frowning at his friends. “It’s not alarming.”

Joel tilted his head. “What did this one say?”

Scar tried not to smile. He failed. “It said,” he began carefully, “ ‘I figured chocolate might make this less terrifying.’ ”

Lizzie gasped. “Chocolate?”

Jimmy blinked, then furrowed his blond eyebrows. “Wait.”

Scar reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small folded tag from the candy gram, placing it in the center of the table like evidence in a trial.

Joel picked it up first. “Candy gram?”

Tango leaned over Joel’s shoulder to peer at what was placed on their table. “Oh my god.”

Jimmy looked betrayed. “You didn’t tell us you got one.”

“I just did. Also, this happened, like, two periods ago, Jim. I haven’t seen you since this morning.”

“You buried the lead!”

Lizzie pressed her elbows to the table, palms to her cheeks as she leaned over her tray with a smile. “That’s so bold.”

“It’s still anonymous,” Scar pointed out, though his voice had gone softer.

Joel studied him carefully. “Do you know who it is?”

Scar hesitated. He was about the answer that he had his suspicions for a certain blond-haired boy when the doors to the cafeteria opened. Scar didn’t mean to look, but he did anyway. Grian walked in with Mumbo at his side. Once again, speak of the devil, he thought to himself.

They gave the table a different dynamic entirely, usually making it a little louder and chaotic. Except today—

Grian looked quiet, thoughts wound tight. His sandy blond hair caught the overhead lights, bright against the sea of darker heads in the room. His eyes scanned the cafeteria, quick and searching, and when they landed on Scar, he froze for half a second. Then he lifted his hand in a small wave, a little smile growing on his stupidly pretty face.

Scar waved back. It was automatic, making his heart slam against his ribs like it had something to prove.

Jimmy followed his gaze then with an eye roll, groaned. “Oh no.”

“What?” Tango asked, looking between the two, eye brows furrowing.

Jimmy scrubbed a hand down his face. “He’s doing the face.”

Scar blinked, pulling his gaze away from the approaching boys. “What face?”

“The ‘I have feelings and I would like to pass away from it’ face,” Jimmy said flatly.

Joel snorted as Lizzie leaned subtly closer to Scar and whispered to him, “Is it who we think it is?”

“I don’t know,” he said lightly, glancing back at Grian, who was being not so subtly nudged by Mumbo as they grew closer and closer.

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “You do.”

“I have suspicions.”

Tango looked delighted as he said with a smile, “oh, this is good.”

Grian and Mumbo approached the table carrying their respective trays full of school lunch. Grian’s usual energy — bright, quick, slightly chaotic — was muted. Mumbo looked like a man under extreme psychological strain.

“Afternoon,” Grian said, voice a little higher than normal.

“Hello,” Scar replied with a smile, matching the brightness easily.

Mumbo slid into the seat beside Jimmy like he needed structural support. Grian took the open spot across from Scar.

Too close. Not close enough.

Joel glanced between them once, then twice. “…Oh,” he said quietly. Lizzie elbowed him this time.

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Scar has news.”

Grian’s fork paused mid-air. “Oh?” he managed.

Scar held his gaze deliberately. “I got a candy gram,” he said.

Silence. Mumbo made a sound like a computer buffering. Grian broke it with a soft, “You— did?”

“Yes.”

Jimmy watched his older brother like a hawk. “Anonymous.”

Grian nodded too quickly. “Right. Anonymous. That makes sense. For— for candy grams.”

Scar tilted his head, just slightly. “It said chocolate might make it less terrifying.”

Grian went very still. Joel covered his mouth, pretending to cough. Tango kicked Jimmy under the table, clearly thrilled. Lizzie’s eyes flicked between Scar and Grian like she was watching a live tennis match. Mumbo looked like he was about to dash out of the cafeteria right then and there as Grian cast a dirty look towards him.

Scar leaned forward just a fraction. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” he asked, keeping his voice light and airy.

Grian’s ears went red as Mumbo stared off into the distance, clearly deciding this was not his battle.

Jimmy sighed the sigh of a younger brother who had lived this before. “You’re so obvious.”

“Timmy,” Grian hissed at his brother across the table.

Scar laughed softly, and when he did, Grian looked up at him, nervous. Hopeful. Completely transparent. Scar felt something settle warm and steady in his chest. He didn’t look away.

“You don’t have to be terrified,” he said gently.

Under the table, Grian’s knee bumped his.

Neither of them moved.

Next to him, Jimmy dropped his head into his hands. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “I’m surrounded by disasters.” Joel patted his shoulder sympathetically and Lizzie smiled at Jimmy like she’d just won a bet.

Grian abruptly pushed back from the table, the chair scraped loudly against the cafeteria floor. “I—” the blond started, voice cracking traitorously. He cleared his throat. “I need to— bathroom.” It came out too fast and too sharp. His face was red, furious blush climbing up his neck, dusting the tips of his ears.

Mumbo shot to his feet immediately. “Uh— Yeah, me too! Hydration. Very important.”

“No it’s not,” Jimmy replied flatly.

Grian did not make eye contact with anyone as he bolted toward the cafeteria doors, Mumbo scrambling after him like a nervous intern chasing a CEO in crisis. The doors swung shut behind them.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh my god,” Tango breathed.

Joel leaned back in his chair with a soft laugh. “That was catastrophic.”

Lizzie beamed as she turned towards him, lightly smacking Scar on his shoulder now. “Scar.”

Scar kept his expression perfectly mild. “Yes?”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“A normal amount,” he replied casually.

Jimmy dragged both hands down his face. “I cannot believe this is happening at my lunch table.”

“For the last time, it’s not your bloody table,” Joel snapped as Jimmy and Tango giggled.

Scar tried not to smile. He failed.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚ ༘♡ ·˚ 

The rest of lunch passed in a blur of teasing and speculation, but Scar’s mind wasn’t really there. It was somewhere between the cafeteria doors and the science wing.

When the bell rang, everyone filtered out into the hallways in waves. Scar lingered, long enough to avoid walking directly into whatever post-lunch spiral Grian was currently experiencing.

He reached his locker and opened it easily. There was nothing in the vents. For a split second, something cold flickered in his stomach. Maybe he pushed too far.

He shut the locker with a soft click and turned—

—and nearly walked straight into Lizzie.

“You look like someone stole your birthday,” she observed gently.

“No I don’t,” he said with a small frown, furrowing his brows.

“Yes, you do.”

Scar exhaled slowly. “I might have been too obvious.”

Lizzie’s expression softened. “Scar.”

“What if he thinks I was teasing?”

“Scar.” He turned to look at her. “He’s been leaving you notes for an entire week,” she said patiently. “He sent you chocolate. He just turned the color of a tomato and fled the cafeteria.” Scar considered that. “Give him a minute,” she added with a small smile.

He nodded, smiling back at her.

She squeezed his arm affectionately and headed off toward Joel, who was waiting a short distance away from them. Watching them take the other’s hand and walk off to sixth period, Scar stood there for a second longer.

That’s when he noticed it.

Not in the vent this time, but tucked between the edge of his locker door and the frame, a folded square of white paper sat.

His breath caught as he slid it free, hands suddenly unsteady. The handwriting leaned forward the same way it always did.

Meet me after school in the Science wing stairwell. 

Please.

— G

Scar stared at it like it had personally burned him as his stomach did somersaults. Guess the cat was out of the bag.

Wait.

He reread it. The science wing stairwell. The stairway at the far end of the building. Past the labs, past the storage rooms. The one technically open but functionally abandoned.

The one held a small pocket of space that was affectionately referred to as the “make out corner.”

Scar laughed, soft and incredulous.

“Okay,” he murmured to no one in particular, a small smile growing on his face.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚ ༘♡ ·˚

The last bell of the day felt like it took a year. Scar didn’t rush.

He refused to rush.

He walked the long way around the building, through the thinning hallway traffic, heart pounding louder with every step.

The science wing was quieter than the rest of the school, even on normal days. By late afternoon, it felt almost hollow. Sunlight filtered weakly through the narrow windows, turning the dust in the air gold.

Scar reached the stairwell door and paused. He took a deep breath then pushed it open.

Grian was already there, sitting halfway up the stairs, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had personally offended him.

He looked up when the door creaked, light hitting his sandy hair and chocolate eyes in beams. 

Scar had never seen someone look so simultaneously determined and terrified.

“Hi,” Grian said softly.

“Hi,” Scar replied, equally as soft, heart starting to race like he was running a marathon.

The stairwell echoed faintly around them. Scar stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him.

“So,” he said lightly, “this is very dramatic.”

Grian let out a strangled laugh. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else.”

“Oh, I think you thought of this very specifically. The make out corner?” Scar offered sweetly.

Grian groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Can we not call it that?”

Scar huffed a small laugh as he climbed the stairs slowly until he was one step below him. “So…” he started, licking his lips, searching for words that wouldn’t scare the shorter boy away. “You’re not anonymous anymore,” Scar said gently.

Grian swallowed, avoiding his gaze as he stared at the floor below. “No. Guess I’m not.”

A fragile silence stretched between them. Grian soon broke it with a sigh.

“I’m sorry if I—” Grian started. “If I made you uncomfortable. With the notes. I just— I didn’t know how to—”

“Grian.” He stopped. Scar’s voice softened. “It’s fine. Really. I kept every single one.”

Grian blinked up at him, dark chocolate eyes catching the fluorescent lights, making them appear caramel. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

Even the chocolate tag, his brain supplied, though that was left unsaid.

Grian’s hands twisted together nervously. “I just… I’ve liked you for a while. And Valentine’s Day felt like an excuse to be brave. And then I kept seeing you smiling at them and I panicked because what if you were just being polite and then Jimmy started looking at me like he knew something and then you said I didn’t have to be terrified and I—”

Scar stepped up one more stair, close enough now that he could see the faint freckles scattered across Grian’s cheeks.

“You don’t,” Scar started quietly.

Grian looked at him. Really looked at him. And in that look, Scar felt like he was the only person in the world, like Grian was noticing every little thing that made him who he was, and Scar was doing the same. The way his sandy hair fell over his forehead, the faint curve of his lips, the warmth that came off him even when he didn’t say a word. Scar’s heart beat a little faster, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to hide anything.

“You don’t have to be terrified. I was hoping it was you,” Scar admitted. Something in Grian’s expression broke open. Hope. Relief. Disbelief. “All week,” Scar added. “I was hoping.”

Grian let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay.” He straightened slightly, gathering himself as he looked Scar in the eye, emerald meeting caramel. “So,” he began, voice still trembling but steadier now. “I was wondering… Since the dance is tomorrow. And since I’m apparently already committing to dramatic stairwell confessions.” Scar smiled. “Would you—” Grian faltered, then forced himself to continue with a gulp of air. “Would you go with me? To the dance?”

Scar pretended to consider it. “Hm.”

Grian’s panic returned instantly. “I mean, you don’t have to—”

Scar closed the distance between them, their knees knocking softly, and before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against Grian’s soft cheek. “I would love to,” he said as he pulled away with a fleeting smile.

Grian froze, then laughed, bright and disbelieving. A huge smile grew on his freckled face, dimples pulling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The stairwell felt warmer suddenly. Quieter even, and less like a hiding place.

Scar reached out, just barely brushing his fingers against Grian’s. “Next time,” he said softly, “you don’t have to hide behind anonymity. Just ask me.”

Grian’s answering smile was shy and radiant all at once. “Next time,” he echoed.

And in the farthest corner of the school, in a stairwell everyone pretended not to know about, Scar thought maybe Valentine’s Day had done exactly what it was supposed to.

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Scar had never taken that long to button a shirt before.

He stood in front of his mirror, collar popped awkwardly, fingers fumbling with the top button of his green dress shirt for the third time. His room smelled faintly like whatever cologne he had sprayed too generously five minutes earlier. The February light outside his window was already fading into that soft blue-gray that came before night.

He mussed his dark hair back, then immediately messed it up again as he stared at himself.

“You hurt him, I’ll end you.” Jimmy’s voice replayed in his head, steady as an anchor. Scar had expected teasing, like the rest of his friends at given him when he told them he and Grian were going to the dance together earlier that day. Expected dramatics, maybe a lecture. But Jimmy had looked at him with that fierce, younger-brother certainty and had meant every word.

Scar had smiled and replied, “I won’t.”

He adjusted his cuffs and exhaled slowly.

Grian had looked so nervous yesterday, standing in that stairwell at the edge of the science wing. He had been flushed from the cold air sneaking in through the cracked window, hands trembling like Scar hadn’t been hoping for exactly that.

He smiled at the memory.

He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair — the one with the folded notes tucked carefully into the inside pocket. He pressed his hand over them for a second.

He wanted to remember this feeling, being chosen. Not picked out of convenience or laughed at out of habit. Like someone had looked at a room full of people and still decided he was the one worth waiting for. Worth dressing up for. Worth reaching out for.

Scar smoothed down his sleeves and let himself breathe it in — the fragile, glowing certainty of being wanted on purpose.

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The gym looked different at night, the paper hearts that had looked messy during the week now glowed under strings of warm lights. The VALENTINE’S WINTER FORMAL banner still curled at the edges, but it felt intentional in the dimness. The DJ was testing speakers. Someone laughed too loudly near the punch table.

Scar stepped inside, eyes scanning the room automatically. And then—

There.

Grian stood near the bleachers, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, fingers tugging at the sleeve of his red dress shirt like it had personally offended him. His sandy blond hair was styled, a little more deliberate than usual. The warm lights caught in it.

He looked up, saw Scar, and stilled. It was subtle, the way his shoulders straightened. The way his dark eyes widened just slightly. The way he forgot, for a second, to pretend he wasn’t waiting.

Scar walked toward him slowly. Grian swallowed when he stopped in front of him.

“Hi,” Grian said, voice soft.

“Hi,” Scar answered.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Grian laughed under his breath. “You look— you look really nice.”

Scar tilted his head, smile forming on his lips. “I was going to say the same thing, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Grian rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, as well. There was still that edge of nervousness in him, like he was bracing for something to go wrong.

Scar stepped a little closer.

“I meant what I said,” Grian said quietly, almost like he was continuing a conversation from yesterday. “About liking you. For a while.”

Scar nodded. “I know.”

“And I wasn’t just— I wasn’t just being dramatic because it was Valentine’s Day.”

“I knew that too.”

Grian studied his face, searching for something. For doubt, maybe. Or teasing. He didn’t find it.

Scar reached into his jacket and pulled out one of the folded notes — the very first one. The creases were worn now.

“You laugh like you mean it,” Scar recited softly. “I like that about you.”

Grian’s breath caught. “You kept it.”

“I kept all of them.”

The song shifted, slower now. Softer. Around them, couples began to gather toward the center of the gym floor.

Scar offered his hand to the shorter boy. “Dance with me?” he asked with a cheesy grin on his face.

Grian hesitated for only half a second before placing his hand in Scar’s.

His fingers are warm and soft, Scar thought happily as they stepped into the slow-moving crowd, fingers lacing together. He ignored the way his heart was already pumping blood into his ears. It hurt to let go of his soft hand, but he quickly replaced it by gently setting it on the shorter boy’s waist.

At first, they swayed a little awkwardly, trying to find the rhythm. Scar slid his hand carefully along Grian’s waist, tentative, giving him space to pull away if he wanted.

It seemed he didn’t.

Instead, Grian’s hand settled at Scar’s shoulder, closer and more firm.

Scar felt it at that moment. The shift. The decision.

Grian’s gaze fixed on something in the distance as he exhaled shakily. “Jimmy threatened you, didn’t he?”

Scar huffed a quiet laugh. “Vividly.”

The blond groaned softly, letting his forehead rest on where his hand was rested on Scar. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Scar’s voice gentled. “It was… nice.”

Grian blinked as he picked his head back up, looking up at Scar. “Nice?”

“He cares about you,” Scar said. “A lot.”

There was something fragile in the way Grian nodded.

Scar tilted his head forward until their foreheads brushed lightly.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said softly, tightening his grip in their interlocked hands.

Grian’s fingers tightened in his shirt as he whispered, “I know.”  

The music hummed around them. Someone laughed across the gym. The lights glowed warm and with hints of pink and gold.

Grian swallowed again. “I don’t think you understand,” he said softly.

Scar smiled faintly. “That was possible. I rarely did.”

Grian huffed out a shaky breath, then steadied himself as he looked up at the taller boy, dark chocolate eyes appearing a deep, royal purple in the colored lighting. “You’re so perfect, it makes me sick with butterflies.” Scar froze mid-step and Grian’s cheeks flushed immediately, but he forced himself to keep going. “Just… you can be loud and dramatic and you take up space like you were allowed to,” he said, pink tongue escaping his mouth as he wet his lips. “You laugh like you mean it. You make everything feel lighter. And I—” He faltered, then pushed through. “I’ve liked you for so long, it— it’s getting embarrassing.”

Scar’s chest felt too tight. Too full. “Perfect?” he repeated softly.

Grian nodded, eyes earnest. “Yeah. It’s awful. I can’t even look at you sometimes without my stomach flipping.”

Scar giggled softly, overwhelmed at the confession. He squeezed Grain’s hand with his again. “I’m not perfect,” he said gently.

“I know,” Grian answered immediately, eyes dark and hopeful. “That’s the point.”

The honesty of it stole the air from Scar’s lungs.

Grian leaned in first that time, coming up on his toes to reach Scar’s lips. Scar couldn’t help the surprised noise he made in the back of his throat, but it was soon replaced with a content hum as he melted into the blond.

The kiss was soft, hesitant, like they were still learning the shape of each other. Grian’s hand curled tighter at Scar’s shoulder, grounding himself. Scar’s fingers slid carefully along Grian’s jaw, warm and steady.

When they pulled apart, they didn’t go far.

Grian rested his forehead against Scar’s again, smiling shyly.

Across the room, he spied Lizzie openly tearing up as Joel snaked an arm around her shoulders as they slow danced, as well. Mumbo looked seconds from collapsing in relief. Jimmy watched them with narrowed eyes as he sat next to Tango and Mumbo across the gym for a long moment—

—and then gave Scar a small, decisive nod.

He nodded back.

Deal.

The song shifted, mel into another slow one. Neither of them moved away. Scar smiled, brushing his thumb lightly against Grian’s cheek as he pulled him back in for a kiss.

His heart was racing, letting him know it was alive in his chest, beating hard and fast and real.

And when Grian laughed, quiet and breathless and right there against him, Scar thought maybe butterflies weren’t such a terrible thing after all.

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