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In the desert, you can see the sunset for miles.
It was beautiful, as most sunsets are. Brilliant hues of red, oranges, yellows, all fading upward into a purple sky. Stars beginning to peak out from the colours, still dim and flailing around, and wispy clouds hanging softly. And below it all, the glistening sand, stretching endlessly in all directions, looking a bit like it was sparkling, like you could walk into it and get lost in a world of yellow.
Scar was seated on the mountain that overlooked it all, observing this. There was a light breeze wafting through the air, but it wasn’t bad, and he didn’t mind the way it toyed with his hair. In fact, it felt good compared to the usual scorching temperatures that occupied this area of the server.
But despite the beauty spreading before him, his mind kept wandering. He shifted a bit, fighting the urge to glance behind him at the tower. He knew that somewhere inside was Grian.
Grian.
Scar swallowed, pointedly looking to his desert oasis, trying to clear the name from his mind. He didn’t want to think about the avian right now. He wanted to enjoy the setting sun, to enjoy the coming night without being laboured by these things.
But, of course, the distraction didn’t last long. Scar never could control himself when it came to Grian, and his thoughts wandered back to him the same way they always seemed to. Like a dog bringing back a bone. Over and over.
It was just–so difficult not to think about him. As it was, Scar wasn’t sure how he managed to tolerate being near Grian all the time. To know that his first life had been destroyed, intentionally or not, by that man. To know that his second life was lost now, too.
Scar swallowed thickly. Being a red name felt…different than anything else Scar had experienced before. It was like the world was washed in a strange filter, like everyone was out to get him. Scar would wake up screaming. He would wake up wishing he was somewhere else.
Of course, that was impossible.
It didn’t help that Grian himself didn’t seem all that concerned about things. Sure, he sneaked around, he set traps. He owed his first life to Scar, he’d said. That had to count for something.
But Scar wasn’t so sure. Grian never checked on him during those nightmares, even though their tower was small enough that he had to know about them. He never asked.
And more than that, lately, the man seemed…distant. Upset. Preoccupied about things that Scar didn’t know. Things that he wouldn’t tell Scar.
“It’s supposed to just be a game,” he had heard him muttering, on several occasions, like he was talking to someone else. “It’s a game.”
Scar didn’t understand that. He didn’t ask about it, either, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much curiosity gnawed at his ribcage. He was too scared of what the answer might be.
The point was, the two lonely inhabitants of the desert were just that: lonely. Turns out being with someone isn’t a cure for sadness at all. Turns out people end up by themselves all over the world, even when they’re surrounded by others.
And maybe that was part of Grian’s problem. Scar honestly didn’t know that much about the man, but he’d heard…things. Rumors that floated in the air, that tasted sour and smelled of blood.
Grian never validated or denied anything, even the most sick and twisted tales. He was very good at dodging questions. An expert at evading care, even when it would be easier to just accept it.
Scar had tried. Believe him, he had tried. When Grian woke up screaming, he was there in a moment to calm him down. He would kneel right beside him, patting his back, murmuring nothings when the avian couldn’t stop shaking shaking shaking.
Scar didn’t know what the nightmares were about. He never asked. That would've been invasive, and he liked to keep things neat and surface level. Nothing too deep.
When you go deep, you drown. Scar had learned that the hard way.
Besides, in the mornings, Grian never mentioned the night before. It was almost like he’d wiped the memory from his head, like he’d intentionally forgotten what it felt like to be held by Scar.
Scar knew that shouldn’t bother him. It was, after all, Gruan’s decision to bring it up or not. But for some reason, Scar was annoyed with himself. He wanted Grian to open up to him. To tell him what was wrong, to give him a reason for his strange behaviour.
Scar shook his head, once again trying to dislodge his thoughts. He looked out across the desert just as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, sighing through his nose. It really was pretty.
But he knew that beauty could be so difficult to recognise.
Scar allowed himself to sit there for several moments longer before he had gathered his courage. He knew that technically, the tower behind him was both of their’s. He was allowed to be in it as much as Grian was.
But it didn’t always feel that way.
He bit his tongue and shoved away those thoughts, feeling foolish. What was he doing, sitting here alone outside, musing over things like this? He was Scar Goodtimes! The peppy, cheerful sales man who swindled people from their money and trinkets! He didn’t think twice before walking into a tower that was rightfully his, and he was fine.
He repeated this to himself as he stood up and began walking to the tower. It was a mantra in his head, a sort of prayer. Perhaps an offering. Even so, despite all his preparation, when he got to the door, he hesitated.
Did he really want–?
But yes, he did. He knew he did. If he didn’t go inside, it was one more crack in his relationship with Grian, one more chip in the iceberg that was going to send it plummeting. Besides, he didn’t want to stay out here any longer. When the sun went down, the temperature of the desert lowered significantly, and he wasn’t looking to get sick.
Taking a deep breath for something akin to courage, he stepped over the pressure plate and into their cold little house.
The first thing Scar noticed was that it was dark inside. With the sun having officially gone down, now would be the time to start to light some torches, to offer some light to the long shadows of the house. Instead, a sharp dimness met Scar, and he had to squint to make out the shapes of their walls and furniture. He didn’t see Grian anywhere.
“G?” he called out, and his voice echoed awkwardly throughout the place. He didn’t like how it sounded so alone. Like he was the only person in the world.
He walked deeper into the building, careful not to trip over anything. He wasn’t quite sure where Grian would be, so as his eyes adjusted, he carefully checked every room, sweeping watchful eyes over them. Nothing.
A frown pulled at the edges of his lips. He was about to head upstairs (maybe the avian was already in bed?) when he noticed a warm glow coming from the back room.
Ah. Gotcha.
Scar followed the light, watching his shadow as it grew and stretched on the floor the closer he got. When he finally reached the room, he realised it was in the living area, as small as it was. A little couch and a little armchair, which Scar had placed there to be “cozy”. Neither of them were ever used that much.
Except, apparently, tonight.
Scar walked hovered by the doorway for several moments, wondering if the avian would notice him. After some time had passed and nothing happened, he realised how stupid that thought had been.
He shoved the hurt (what did it matter?) aside and crept in slowly, eyeing Grian like he was someone he’d never seen before. Grian was seated on the couch, staring into the wall. Lost in thought.
“G?” Scar asked again, creeping closer. He hated the doubt in his voice. Hated the way it ebbed and wavered, like he was a scared little kid. He wasn’t.
The single syllable had Grian blinking, slowly turning his head to look at Scar. He stared at him for several moments. “Scar,” he finally said, like he hadn't expected him. His eyes were difficult to read, his expression shifting around like a snake.
“Hi, there,” Scar murmured, unsure of what else to say. He remained awkwardly by the entrance, several feet away, hovering there, as if this wasn't his home, too. As if he didn’t have a right to be here.
Grian watched him idly, like someone watching a car crash. He swallowed and took a long time to respond, his wings shifting behind him. “Hi.” He sounded unsure. Tight.
Scar finally moved. He crossed the room, acutely aware of Grian watching him, and sat gingerly in the armchair. It was dusty beneath him; more evidence of things they had never done. “The sunset was pretty tonight,” he ventured. An olive branch.
Grian shifted awkwardly. “Ah,” he said, still sounding distant. “I didn’t notice."
Scar swallowed bitterly. A thought rose up: You never notice anything. “You’ll have to watch it tomorrow,” he said instead, because it was the next best thing.
Grian bobbed his head. They both knew he was lying; he wouldn’t watch the sunset tomorrow. He would be in here, or maybe out trying to murder someone. He wouldn't be with Scar.
He never was.
“Sounds good,” Scar said, because if he was anything it was agreeable. He didn’t like fighting, even if he was a red name now.
Grian shifted again. He looked…uncomfortable, and not just from the conversation. Scar narrowed his eyes and searched him up and down, wondering if he was hurt. Nothing.
“I was thinking,” Grian started, jumping in like he’d been planning the words for a long time. Scar wasn’t surprised. The avian never could handle silence very well. “Tomorrow, maybe we should go trap–”
“Are you okay?”
Scar didn’t mean to interrupt. Really, he didn’t. But the words sort of bubbled in his chest, like magma rising from a volcano, going up up up.
Grian’s eyes went wide at the question, surprise shifting across his features. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed, “Why would you ask that?”
Which wasn’t a yes. Which wasn’t an answer.
Scar felt helpless, in a moment like this. Here, his red life felt glaringly obvious. He wondered if Grian ever looked at it, ever felt scared by his eyes, and that was why he was acting so strange.
“You’ve been off, lately,” Scar murmured, finally answering. He tried to keep his voice soft. Stable.
Grian shifted. “What do you mean?”
Again, with the questions. Again, with the dodging. Scar felt sick. “I mean you’ve been avoiding me,” he told the avian, the winced.
The truth always sounds so harsh out loud.
For his part, Grian just cringed. He didn’t deny it; how could he? “I’m sorry,” he said instead. The words sounded hollow.
Scar shook his head. Suddenly he was very sad, a feeling that overwhelmed him slowly, the way water does when you jump into it. “Why?” he asked. He sounded like a child.
If Grian saw it that way, he didn’t show it. He just turned his gaze to the floor. Swallowed, and then brought his hands to his lap, twisting them around. His nervous habit.
Scar watched the movement. He hated when he saw it, hated that he knew what it meant. Hated that it was spurred by anxiety and trepidation and worry and–
He wanted it to stop.
“I haven’t been meaning to,” Grian finally got out, sounding a bit choked. At least, his voice was quieter than usual. “I’ve just been…busy.”
“Busy,” Scar repeated, rolling the word around on his tongue. It was sour. “You’ve been busy.”
There was some fire behind those words, hotter than Scar meant them to be, and he took a breath. Calm down.
Being a red life could make your emotions so unpredictable.
Grian shied away from the small outburst, but only a little. He was used to those types of things by now.
“Yes,” he answered after a moment. He looked like he wanted to say more, but kept his mouth shut. Stubborn.
Scar pursed his lips. He was still feeling frustrated. He almost wanted to shake Grian, to scream and yell, to say, Why don’t you trust me?
Because really, that was what it came down to. Trust. Scar had given that to Grian since day one, since he’d lost his first life to that miserable little prank.
But Grian?
Well, he kept his cards close to his chest. He didn’t place his trust in anyone, or anything.
Not even Scar. Perhaps especially not him.
Scar wanted to change that. More than anything, he wanted the avian to confide in him, to care for him the same way Scar did.
But that wouldn’t be happening. Scar was agreeable, but he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t believe in lost causes.
And this was definitely a lost cause.
“Okay,” he said back, agreeing like he always did.
Grian looked like maybe he might say something else, but he didn't. He looked away, as if looking at Scar pained him.
Scar dropped his gaze, too. A sort of sadness washed over him, thick and heavy and unavoidable. He stared at the ground for a long time.
Then, Grian murmured, “Scar?”
He lifted his gaze. “Yes?”
“Do you–I mean, will you–” Grian cut himself off. His face was flushed but determined. “Will you preen my wings?”
Scar stilled. Out of everything he'd expected Grian to say, that hadn't even crossed his mind. He stared at his partner, trying to come up with a reply. With anything.
Grian took his silence as something else. “Nevermind,” he hurried out, shaking his head. “Sorry. I thought–like old times, you know? But I shouldn't have–I'm sorry–”
Scar raised his hands to stop his rambling. Again, Grian's hands were twisting in his lap, his anxiety on full display. Scar stared at them for a moment. “No, Grian,” he murmured. “I would love to.”
Grian's face twisted into something. He looked so sad. Scar wanted more than anything to take it away, to make the avian smile like he used to.
But he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do.
Slowly, Scar stood. Grian took the cue and shifted over, turning his back so that his wings were showing. Scar sat and took a moment to examine them..
They were–they were pretty bad. Scar's heart panged in his chest as he took in the ruffled, crooked feathers and dirty plumage.
“Hey,” he murmured, slowly reaching out to straighten a single feather. It went back into its spot and Grian shivered. “Why haven't you been doing this?”
It was quiet for a long time. In this position, Scar couldn't see Grian's face. He wished he could, not that it would be much help in reading his emotions.
He was always so difficult to read.
“I already told you,” Grian finally said. His words were a bit fierce; at least, more than they had been. “I've been busy.”
The words seemed to echo about the space. Busy busy busy. It was Scar's turn to shiver.
“Right,” he murmured. “Sorry. I forgot.”
Grian's shoulders slumped. “It's okay,” he whispered.
Scar hesitated. He felt like there was more to say, but he couldn't reach the words. Instead, he brought his hands onto Grian's wings and started preening.
The action was very familiar. Long ago, it felt like, Scar used to do this all the time. Grian would chatter and talk the whole way through, although sometimes he lost steam and fell asleep. Scar would smile fondly, a soft thing, and finish up. Then cover him with a blanket. Sometimes they would nap together.
But this was different. Grian remained silent and tense, his wings practically brittle beneath Scar's touch. There was no casual fondness in this. It was work, something to endure, and suddenly Scar hated it. He pulled his hands away.
Grian made a confused noise, twisting around a bit to look at him. “Scar?”
Scar took a choking breath, feeling like he was suffocating. “Grian,” he said again, and his name came out like a plea. “What's wrong with you?”
A shadow fell over Grian's face. His expression twisted into something pained before shutting behind an impassive look. “I've been busy,” he told Scar.
The lie was a solid thing between them. A wall.
Scar shook his head. For some reason, he felt like crying. Or screaming. “I know that's not true!”
Grian's face flared. He stood up, taking his wings with him. “Fine, then! Don't preen them. Don't do anything.”
The anger in Scar stirred. “Really, Grian? Really? You've been distant for days! You've hardly talked, or eaten, or anything. It's like you hate me.”
Grian's face fell. He looked away. “Maybe I do,” he whispered.
The words traveled through the space, meeting Scar like rocks. He flinched, and they ran through his head over and over. An impossible thing. A horrible thing.
Maybe I do.
Scar swallowed and looked away. “Fine, then,” he whispered back. He hated how weak he sounded. How pathetic. “Excuse me.”
He stood up to leave. He felt impossibly heavy, which was a stark difference to how he usually felt after speaking to Grian. Typically, he left lighter than he'd come.
Not anymore. It felt like nothing ever stayed the same.
He was halfway to the door when Grian's voice called, “No, Scar–I’m sorry. I…I can't tell you what's wrong. But I shouldn't take it out on you.”
Scar stopped, his back still to Grian. He wanted to call the avian out on the words, on how obviously false they were. But a tiny part of Scar thought that maybe–
Maybe they rang true.
“Why can't you tell me?” he asked, still facing forward.
“I just can't.” And maybe it was Scar's ears playing tricks on him, but Grian sounded impossibly sad. “Trust me, I want to.”
Scar's heart felt cracked. He turned again, seizing Grian up, his eyes catching on the way the avian's hands were twisting twisting twisting.
“I want to trust you,” he murmured. “But you're keeping secrets from me.”
Grian didn't deny it. He couldn't. He shook his head. “It's not that easy, Scar.”
“Why?” he demanded. “Why isn't it easy? It's easy for me to trust you, even though I shouldn't.”
Grian's face twisted into hurt. Scar knew him well enough to expect some sort of snappy response, but after a moment, all he did was sigh. Looked away. “I know.”
It was such a strange response that Scar could feel his own fight draining out of him. He shook his head. “I'm sorry.”
They seemed to be doing a lot of apologising today.
He continued, “I'll preen your wings. Please, let me.”
Grian went tense, and then he melted again. “Okay,” he agreed, maybe because it was the easiest thing to do. Or maybe for some other reason that Scar could only guess at.
It didn't matter. Scar nodded his head and sat again, and after a moment of hesitation, Grian did, too. An intense feeling of deja vu overcame Scar as Grian turned and stretched his wings for the second time that night.
Scar worked in tense silence. He wanted to talk, but there didn't seem to be anything he could say. For his part, Grian sat like a board, stiff and difficult to read.
Scar focused all his attention on preening. Grian really had been neglecting his wingcare; the feathers were crooked and twisted, some already having molted and in need of pulling out. He visibly relaxed the more Scar went about straightening and plucking feathers.
About three-fourths of the way done with the job, he pulled a particularly large piece of dirt from between the plumage and frowned, unable to stand it any longer. “You really shouldn't let it get this bad,” he told Grian, fighting to keep his voice soft. Gentle.
Grian sighed, like he was impossibly weary. “I know.”
“It's not good for you.”
“I know.”
“You need to take care of yourself.”
“I know.”
It was Scar's turn to sigh. This was getting nowhere. There was no point. “Nevermind,” he said, defeated.
Grian slumped, too. He shook his head. Scar waited for him to say something, but nothing came.
He kept preening. The task was good for distracting him, for keeping him from begging Grian to go back to normal. From shaking him, over and over and over–
“I'm sorry,” the avian said, suddenly, and Scar stilled. He sounded–choked. Like he was crying. “I'm sorry, Scar. I never–”
He cut himself off, hunching over. His shoulders were shaking and Scar was stupid, sitting there frozen, unable to move.
He forced himself out of it. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching out, putting a hand on the avian's arm. “It's okay, Grian. I'm not mad anymore.”
That didn't seem to help anything. The man just shook his head. “I want out, Scar,” he begged.
“Shh,” Scar said back, helpless and unsure. “Out of what?”
Something like a sob shook Grian. He didn't answer.
And as much as Scar wanted to push, he knew now was not the time. For whatever reason, Grian wasn't going to tell him why he was upset. There was no point in trying to get the answer from him.
But there was a point to comforting him.
So Scar leaned forward and wrapped the man in a hug. Grian went very still in his arms, and then he suddenly whipped around and buried his head in Scar’s shoulder.
Scar had never seen the avian so distressed. Concern was a physical force, driving him, sort of settled into his bones. It felt like that feeling never left when it came to Grian, and this was no exception.
“It’s alright,” Scar was saying, speaking in a hushed tone. He patted Grian’s back, combed his hair. “It’s okay.”
Grian never offered an explanation. He cried for what felt like a long time, but Scar didn’t complain. They sat there, just the two of them. The only people in the universe.
Or, at least, the only people in the desert.
When Grian finally pulled away, his face was flushed and his eyes were puffy, but he wasn’t crying anymore. Scar counted that as a win.
“Feeling better?” he asked, because there wasn’t much else to say.
Grian nodded his head. He didn’t respond, maybe out of fear that he would crumble again.
Scar understood that. Since he’d met the avian, Grian had hated showing any emotion he deemed unfavourable in front of anyone. He presented his trickster, cocky side, a front to cover the things he really felt. The darkness lurking inside.
What Grian didn’t understand was that they all had darkness like that.
“Let’s finish up, then,” Scar continued in that same gentle voice. He felt awkward and foolish and stupid, all rolled into one, but that didn’t matter. He would be completing this task if it was the last thing he did.
Grian nodded again. He turned, and Scar noticed he was still shaking just the tiniest bit.
Grian’s wings were almost fully preened at this point. Scar let his hands work on their own, his mind wandering. Trying to piece together why Grian might be upset. He came up with nothing and only served to make himself feel frustrated.
When Scar finally finished settling the long feathers into place, he pulled his hands back into a stretch. A yawn engulfed his face.
“Done,” he told Grian.
There was no reply. Scar frowned and leaned to the side, trying to glimpse his companion’s face.
Grian’s eyes were slitted closed. He was resting with his arms crossed on his knees, his face buried into them. A slow rise and fall of his chest marked his breathing.
Asleep.
A strange feeling filled Scar as he watched him. Fondness? Sadness? He didn’t know, but it spread throughout his whole being until it felt like he’d been swallowed.
He stood and fetched a blanket. He didn’t think Grian would be waking up anytime soon, and when he draped it over the avian, he relaxed into it. His face still had tear streaks.
Scar gently pushed him back so he was laying on the couch rather than the hunched position he was in. Grian frowned in his sleep, but settled in a moment later.
He looked so innocent like this. Like whatever was plaguing him had never touched him at all, had never even crossed his mind.
Scar wished it never had. He wanted to take whatever hurt this was away from him, wanted to protect him from everything. He wanted him to be happy.
But you can’t force anybody to be anything.
Scar thought that as he left the room. For just a brief moment, he considered staying with Grian, but he didn’t know how the avian would feel about that, so instead he went to his lonely bed. Cold, dark.
He climbed in and tossed and turned for most of the night. He knew that in the morning, Grian would act like nothing had happened between them. He knew that the following evening, they wouldn’t watch the sunset. Maybe they would never watch it together, maybe by the next afternoon, they’d both be dead.
Scar fell asleep to the thought. He dreamed of nothing at all.