Chapter Text
“Let’s try this again shall we?”
Grian opened his dorm’s front door and somehow managed to close it with a creaky click while holding his bass guitar in one hand and his sheet music and amp in the other. Finally, the motivation to practice had struck upon him, but playing instruments after 8pm was ‘strictly prohibited’ or some crap like that, so here he was, making his way to the practice rooms on the other side of the campus in what felt like freezing autumn temperatures.
Somehow the stairs felt much, much longer today than any other day while holding all of his equipment, and for a Tuesday night, there was a surprisingly large amount of people crowding around the stairwell, all shouting different encouragements while stood in a ring around what seemed to be two people.
“Yeah…well…YOU’RE OBSESSED WITH ME AREN’T YOU?!”
One of the two people in the ring jeered at the other, and upon further inspection, Grian came to realize that this was in fact, his good friend Joel. This was no surprise to him though, as Joel was known for his temper and backchat around many social circles, as it seemed that there wasn’t a friend group that he hadn’t publicly bashed. But Grian knew that Joel was a sweetheart really, after all he’d been the third wheel to him and his fiance, Lizzie, enough times (much to his dismay).
Joel bounced to and fro, his brown hair and the neon green streak he insisted on dyeing on a dare bouncing with him. He was wearing his normal torn leather jacket and black biker pants, each equally adorned with spikes and various different chains. The words “Bad Boy” were painted on the back with delicate precision (which must have been the work of Lizzie, because Joel has no creative talent whatsoever), and his sunglasses sat firmly on the bridge of his nose. He always insisted on wearing sunglasses, even indoors, which Grian thought was stupid because he just looked thirty years his senior when he wore them.
However even though Joel had offended practically everyone on campus at some point during his time at the University, this person seemed new. He stood out against the crowd with his stark white hair and face mask, and upon further inspection, singular red eye that reminded Grian of a rabbit, or a wolf. He was wearing a basic outfit of a dark gray turtleneck, blue cargo pants and a green sleeveless over coat with a poorly stitched Canadian flag on the chest.
“DON’T IGNORE ME ETHO.” Joel added on the end of his sentence, getting more riled up by the minute. This was normal for Joel though, he was definitely not one with patience.
‘His name was Etho? Cool.’ Grian thought to himself while he pushed through the crowd. It was nothing new to see this happen, so Grian didn’t want to waste his time watching because he knew he’d hear all about it later.
As he left the doors of his building, he was attacked by the sheer cold of an October evening, not to mention how the sky was completely pitch black, with the only light coming from the moon, which seemed brighter than usual. The cobbled pathway was littered with students and couples out for an evening walk, the stones illuminated by the warm light from the lamp posts, almost shiny after the earlier morning rain had left them damp and slippery. He could make out some indistinct chatter from people about professors being unfair, and relationships going awry because of workloads, but none of that mattered to Grian as he managed to balance his Walkman on his upturned palm to put his headphones in his ears and put his newest cassette into it. As he listened to the opening bars he couldn’t help but stop and look up at the sky as the intro to Starman by David Bowie began to play.
Grian let the world melt away around him as he lost himself in the music, finally finding calm in his normally hectic day. He started walking again, appreciating the autumn leaves on the floor crunching and dissolving under his feet. The wind had seemed to have slowed down within the time it took him to play the music, and it only glanced over his skin, chilling and yet somehow soothing. He took it all in, the smell from the residue from the rain, the feeling of floating on air, it was nice. Relaxing even.
If anything was important to Grian, it was music. The way different lyrics and melodies could leave a resounding impact on people, the way singers and bands could influence a person on an emotional level, all of these different key factors just led Grian to falling in love with music when he was younger, as he grew up surrounded by the likes of Queen, The Cure, AC/DC, and his personal favourite growing up, The Smiths. He worshiped Morrisey along with his sister, Pearl, and would spend hours with her just listening to different songs on repeat and analyzing them with her, breaking apart the chord progressions and the significance of the vocals.
He eventually made his way to the other side of the campus, and entered his Universities music building. His favourite building. Even though he majors in Lit, music was always Grian’s passion. He picked up the bass guitar for the first time at the age of fourteen, after his music teacher encouraged him to join the school orchestra, but he was too shy to perform, so he was guided to something more solitary. Ever since then, his bass became his way of letting everything out. And he was eternally grateful for it.
He walked down the practice room corridor, only to see locked room after locked room after locked room, until he finally got to his usually choice of practice rooms at the end of the corridor; Practice Room 2 (or PR2 as it was more commonly known by the music majors). He always chose this room because it tended to be the most commonly unlocked practice room since it was at the end of the corridor. For some reason the caretaker always forgot to close it at night, which made it and it’s soundproof walling the perfect place for late night practice sessions when Grian needed to just let everything out.
As he approached the door, he realized that there was light pouring out from under the door frame, illuminated the floor surrounding it and Grian’s feet.
Why was the light on?
It was nearly half past nine now, so no-one should be practicing.
No-one practices this late.
Apart from Grian.
Maybe someone had just forgotten to turn it off after use? That seemed like the most reasonable excuse to Grian, so he reached for the door handle to turn it of when he paused. He heard something.
Music.
A beautiful rendition of something Grian had never heard before. It was a violin, being played softly and with all of the precision in the world, leaving Grian in a trance like state. The melody breathtakingly beautiful, the notes danced and fluttered around him, a concert piece that he assumed was intended to have been played by a full orchestra, but the solitary violin added something more melancholy to it, and that melancholy feeling only burrowed itself into Grian’s stomach, growing and coursing through his veins until he became unable to do anything except inquire further into where this soulful piece was coming from. He opened the door with force, giving into anticipation, when he saw them;
Eyes.
Green eyes.
Those gorgeous green eyes that he’d never thought he’d see again.
“Grian..?”
A voice snapped him out of his trance. This voice that he only just come across, but now he could pick it out of a concert audience with ease.
Scar.
“Scar..! What a nice surprise! What are you doing here?” Grian spluttered with an uneasy smile. Why was he here? He had expected to never see Scar again, let alone so soon.
“Oh! I had to practice for my upcoming recital, its kinda important but I haven’t had the time to rehearse with all the schoolwork and my job.”
He plays an instrument? Grian looked to his shoulder and saw a violin perfectly perched on it and a bow firmly grasped in his right hand, raised as if he was just playing. He looked at Grian in this funny way that made Grian feel weird inside. It wasn’t annoyance, but a sort of curiosity that replicated that of a child. His hair was tied up now into a low ponytail, but there were still locks framing his face. He was out of uniform now and instead wearing a soft dark green jumper and brown dyed jeans, with a gold necklace hanging neatly around the collar of his undershirt and just peaking out of the jumper’s collar, catching the light. so it reflected onto the plain white brick walls.
“Did you… need to practice..?” Scar asked, tilting his head slightly so that is hair covered part of his eye, the curious expression only deepening. Grian felt his ears heat up ever so slightly. He must be getting sick from the cold weather. He looked away.
“I… uhm… yeah. I did. But if you have a concert then you should go ahead! I can practice tomorrow. Or the day after. Or after that-” Why was Grian rambling like that? He never rambled. He didn’t talk enough to people to ramble. God he must have seemed like such an idiot.
“What do you play?”
“Bass guitar. Have been for five year now.” Grian attempted to say in the most monotone and nonchalant voice he could muster, except he ended up sounding like he had just hit puberty and his voice had finally broken.
“That’s so cool! What sort of music do you play?” Scar quizzed him. The only problem with this was that this was Grian’s favourite question. Any conversation that meant he could talk about music was his favourite kind of conversation. His eyes lit up with this newfound sparkle, and he properly looked Scar in the eyes.
“The Smiths. If you’ve heard of them?”
A look of recognition came across Scar’s face as his head fell to his violin and he started playing in this mesmerizing way that left Grian in a trance, playing the opening bars to a song that felt familiar to Grian’s blood.
Then it hit him.
Those were the notes to the song that built the foundation of his childhood. The notes that played during every beautiful moment, every heartbreak, every argument.
Those were the opening bars to This Charming Man.
Without any thought or feeling, Grian reached for his bass as if he was being manipulated by some unknown watcher, placed the worn leather strap around his neck, that familiar feeling of comfort rising in his stomach. His fingers reached for the frets and he just started…
Playing.
He knew these notes as if it was his Bible. He felt Scar watching him and he looked up, locking eyes with him, neither of them missing a beat, neither of them pausing, just perfect harmony. Scar smiled, and Grian returned it while he felt that warmness in his ears grow to his cheeks. He must be getting really sick.
The perfect unison played on for what felt like forever, until the song eventually faded away and they were left stood there, looking at each other with a new found feeling that felt mutual but indescribable. Grian broke the silence with something that plagued his mind;
“You like The Smiths?”
Scar’s smile warmed, as he nodded and spoke.
“My Hatful of Hollow record shaped my teen years. Ask was also one of the first songs i properly learned on Violin.”
There was something different in his voice now. Something softer. Something comforting and warm. It reminded him of the moon he saw earlier. Grian didn’t know what was happening. There was something about Scar that felt open. He never acted like this around Joel, or Jimmy, or Mumbo, he was normally more stoic and collected, he never blushed, his eyes never lit up, so why was that happening with Scar? He’d known him for a day, if that. The sickness was worsening, he could tell. But there was something about that feeling that told Grian otherwise.
He had never really been able to talk about music like this with someone. Sure he had a sister who also enjoyed music, but she liked more popular, upbeat sort of stuff, before her emo phase that was, but that didn’t matter when it came to Pearl and her Madonna cassette collection. Grian can’t even listen to Material Girl without feeling twelve again. This was different. This was new, and fresh, and real. Grian could tell that Scar cared about music as much as he did just by looking at Scar when he played. The way his eyes instinctively closed as he felt the melody and the way his whole body moved with the notes.
“How long do you need to practice for?!” Grian blurted without thinking.
Where on stars did that come from.
“I can finish up if you want..?” Scar looked confused. God why did Grian have to ask that-
“Do you want to walk me back to my apartment? I need to… uhm… finish a paper and its late so… I… uhh… don’t think you or I should be walking home on our own…?” There Grian went with the blurting again. What an egregious lie, surely Scar would see right through it. Why did Grian even want Scar to come over? Its not like they were close, and Grian literally never has anyone over, his apartment was dirty and-
“That sounds like a wonderful idea Grian.” The warm smile returned on Scar’s face as he turned to put his violin and bow back in his case. It was hard and covered in different stickers, most from different bands and band humor, but one caught Grian’s eye. It was a sticker with a cartoon gray-and-white cat, with the words “Proud Father” surrounding it.
“You have a cat?” Grian’s head tilted as he asked this.
“Yeah! Her name is Jellie and she’s my best girl, it’s a shame really that I couldn’t bring her with me” His smile turned into a smirk as he over-theatrically deepened his voice “Trust me, I tried.”
Grian laughed as he did this, not just a polite giggle but a proper full stomach laugh. Scar laughed with him and they just increased and increased in levels of humor, making each other laugh harder and harder until Scar eventually fell backwards because of this, causing Grian to have a coughing fit because he laughed so hard. How could something so stupid be so funny? It wasn’t even that funny, but something about how confidently Scar delivered the line just broke something within Grian.
As the laughter eventually died down after what felt like a millennia, Grian eventually found the strength to pack up everything, but came to the original dilemma of being unable to carry anything. He really needed to invest in a good bag, or an actual strap for his bass case, instead of the stupid handle that was much too small for his hands, maybe he could find some nice fabric and make a bag…
“Need some help?” Scar appeared next to Grian, swiftly taking the amp from his hands and opening the door for Grian. Grian reached for the light on instinct, now that he had a free hand, but instead caught himself pressing on something warm. He looked up confused and-
Oh no.
Oh stars no.
Scar had reached for the light at the same time.
Grian was touching his hand. Grian was. Touching. His hand.
He pulled away harshly, and folded his arm tightly against his chest. He gasped slightly. Stars if Scar didn’t think he was weird and creepy before he surely thought that now. He started hyperventilating. Oh no. Scar’s going to hate him. He was starting to like Scar. And now he’s ruined it.
Then through his anxiety he heard something.
Laughing.
Not the full belly laugh from before, something gentler, softer even.
“Looks like we both had the same idea huh? I’m glad we equally care about conserving power!” Scar said through his chuckle. Scar started walking but Grian was completely frozen. He felt his ears and cheeks heating up for the third time in this interaction. Scar paused and turned to face Grian with a soft smile.
“You coming?”
Grian’s legs moved instantaneously to catch up to Scar until Grian made sure they were walking perfectly in sync, cheeks still stained pink and eyes glued to the floor. He refused to look up, still profusely embarrassed from the earlier interaction. The floor patterning grew more interesting by the second, tile, crack, tile, crack.
‘This is stupid,’ he thought, ‘He was a grown adult, he was in university, he wasn’t a child and didn’t need someone tall and strong and handsome to walk him home, not that Scar was tall and strong and handsome, because you don’t think that about friends! Sure he was tall but he wasn’t those other things! Heavens no! Thoughts like that were wrong and shouldn’t be thought about’-
“Grian? You alright? You’ve stopped again and you looked scarily deep in thought!” Scar exhaled with a mildly concerned laugh towards the end. He hadn’t even noticed that he had stopped. That was bad. That was really bad.
“Yeah fine! Just thinking… about work..?” He replied trying to sound as normal as he possibly could, and caught up to Scar once more, except this time he forced himself to empty his head and make sure he had absolutely no thoughts about anything to do with the person walking next to him.
They finally crossed through the doors and entered the foyer of the building. The wind no longer grazed Grian’s face gently, in fact there was barely a breeze at all, but the lights still seemed to twinkle in just the correct manner, which was all that mattered to him. They walked in silence, but not an awkward silence, a more consoling silence than anything. Grian stared into the distance, the long stretch of path was now desolate from people, the chatter long dead, the trees taller and wiser by the minute. Everything seemed different to when Grian was walking earlier in the evening. He checked his watch, 10pm. an hour and a half since he had left his apartment, only one song played and zero other practice done. How had the time flown so quickly?
“Its beautiful at this hour, isn’t it just?” Grian found himself saying to no-one in particular, maybe himself? Maybe Scar? Maybe he was just talking to the air around him, waiting for a response that he knew would never come. “The trees are almost speaking to you, the way they sway in a non existent breeze” He continued, suddenly contained with a new found profoundness that he only used when he wanted a high grade in one of his literature classes.
“Wow! Is that… poetry…? Like that Shakespeare guy?”
This was a response that Grian did not expect. I mean sure he could quote Shakespeare, but he had an even better idea.
“The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way.”
“What.” Scar’s voice dropped out of pure perplexity.
“In October a maple tree before your window lights up your room like a great lamp. Even on cloudy days, its presence helps to dispel the gloom.”
“Are you okay? Is this a breakdown? Should I call someone?” His voice grew into concern.
“It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men’s hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.”
“Are you part of a cult? Is there going to be Latin? I only know basic Latin from Church.” Scar was practically shouting now. His eyebrows creased and his eyes squinted.
“It’s poetry Scar, William Blake, John Burroughs, Robert Louis Stevenson. All of the greats. You should read some sometime. I can lend you a copy of one of my anthologies!” Grian was practically shaking from laughing. He wondered if Scar would understand anything in the poems, but a small part of him hoped that it would be something they could perchance bond over.
“Gosh, you English majors and your fancy words. Maybe I’ll have to take you up on that offer if you’re going to keep spouting nonsense at me.” Scar threw up his hands into the air, “Who knew there could be so many different ways of describing trees?!”
Grian laughed harder at this and locked eyes with Scar. He turned away. Every lamp post they walked past back lit him and illuminated his hair so that it the edges of it were this warm golden color that reminded Grian of home. The smalls fly-aways that had fallen out of his pony tail bounced as he walked, and everything about him felt full of life as he walked. He was wearing a jacket over the top of his jumper now, the same one he wore earlier this morning, but now there was a very different air to it. He seemed like a whole different person in the warm light of the lamp post.
A singular leaf fell in front of Grian’s path. It was damp, and soft, and a shade of orange that evoked just the pure sense of autumn to him. He paused as it hit the cobblestone paving. He knew he probably should stop pausing and making Scar wait for him, but he just couldn’t help it. Something about it felt too pure to Grian to disrupt the natural flow of it, the way it ebbed in what was left of the wind, as it gently grazed the surface of the ground before finally settling down. He looked up, expecting Scar to have walked off without him, but instead Scar was stood at his side.
He had noticed the leaf as well.
He had paused to watch it as well.
An unspoken wave of knowing washed upon both Grian and Scar, as they both stared at the cold ground, stationary and calm. Grian stepped over it and as he did, Scar took a step at the exact same time. They had become in sync. Two hearts linked by one goal.
This terrified Grian.
No words were exchanged during this event. The silence was natural, but was starting to feel more eerie than soothing to Grian. This uneasy feeling washed over him, maybe caused by the late hour, but maybe caused by the knowledge that he was dancing with someone he barely knew, yet they never missed a beat, never stepped on each others toes. He was unnerved by the simple fact that someone was there in a spiritual way, and a new someone at that.
They approached the doors of their apartment block, now void of the scuffle that had occurred earlier, which no doubt ended in complete embarrassment for Joel, - as most things do - and a ‘victory’ for this Etho guy.
The dark dead brick wall of the dorm block was cracked and covered in creeping ivy that was slowly taking over the whole building, one leaf at a time. A harsh white light flickered inside, which invited them in with a jarring greeting. They walked through the cloudy and dirty glass pane doors and into the ‘lobby’ of the building. While technically it’s meant to be the grand entrance to the building, years of neglect and people stumbling back from nightclubs has left the once white walls of the interior dirty and yellowing. The gray carpet stained in patches and peeling in the corners.
Before the stairwell was a wheezing old vending machine that must have been there since the 70s. The logos on the front had faded into obscurity, the coin machine almost permanently jammed. Inside was an array of different drinks and snacks, but Grian wouldn’t touch one with a ten foot pole as the rumor on campus was that these snacks had been circulating when some professors were attending Lilac View.
Grian and Scar started their ascent upon the stairs, steep and narrow. You would think that a staircase in such a public area would be highly maintained as to be up to safety precautions, but lo and behold, they weren’t. Grian tried to take another step, but his foot clipped the edge last minute and he started to wobble backwards. Slowly he felt himself loose balance and looked up to Scar as it almost happened in slow motion, falling, falling,
Stopping.
He was no longer falling.
He was mid fall, but he wasn’t falling.
He became aware of his surroundings, of Scar, and of the warm hand on his back that was holding him in place.
As it dawned upon him what had happened, he realized that Scar had an increasingly worried look on his face. It was off putting compared to his usual upbeat demeanor. One of his hands clung to the railing like both of their lives depended on it, which Grian supposed it did.
He was slowly pushed back onto his feet by the warm hand that was gently placed just above his tailbone. He regained some form of self awareness upon feeling this and he really did try to say something, but all he could do was open his mouth. Only air came out. He genuinely didn’t know how to respond to this in a normal way. Should he thank Scar? Should he run and hide forever from sheer and pure shame?
“Sorry.” Grian found himself whispering, looking directly into Scar’s eyes, bright and shining with concern.
“For what?” The other chuckled out. It was less of an awkward laugh and more of a real, concerned reaction. This took Grian aback. Was Scar not annoyed at him for making such a fool of himself in public? He should just climb into a hole and never come out again-
“That must have been so embarrassing.” He muttered just loud enough for Scar to hear. His breathing sped up. He felt himself shaking in that specific way he felt when he knew he was in trouble. This was so stupid. He should have never gone out tonight, he should have just dealt with his inability to not practice and he should have just stayed home to study instead. He barely even started the English essay from earlier, so why didn’t he just try to finish it instead of spending time on frivolous hobbies.
“What? How was that embarrassing, you literally slipped, you couldn’t have controlled it. I’m just glad I was here to catch you!” The man’s face softened into this mellow expression, almost as if he was being genuine.
Grian hummed in response. He had no idea how to respond to this. He latched his hand firmly onto the railing bar attached to the dirty wall on his right side. He heard Scar giggle softly and turn away from him, back to his prior stance of looking firmly ahead of him. Grian wanted to say more, he really did, in fact he wanted nothing more than to hear Scar’s voice to hopefully ward off the shaken feeling that still plagued him.
I’m glad you were here to catch me too.
After a silent three flights of the stairs, they finally advanced upon Grian’s floor. His door was directly at the end. Perfect for him, as this meant there was less chance of someone sneaking in and stealing everything he owned. Not like they would be able to get in anyway, as he made sure to use four different locks on his front door. He could never be too careful where he lived.
The rest of the corridor was empty, but he could hear the faint hum of music coming from one dorm, and a conversation from another. This wasn’t unnatural for this hour of the night, as the innate use of energy drinks from people who revise until the early hours of the morning leads to regular activity until post-sunrise. They approached Grian’s door and he hesitated before touching the handle. There was a whiteboard full of notes and drawings on the front, and the door handle had been painted black.
Was he really doing this? He never had anyone over. Ever. His room was the one place he could hide without seeming anti-social, his room was a reflection of a personality, every aspect laid out for no-ones eyes but his. For good reason. Would Scar make fun of him? He tried to close off his personality to the best of his abilities from other people because quite frankly, it was pretty weird in his opinion.
But-
There was something different about Scar. Grian trusted him. For some reason, Grian knew deep down that Scar wasn’t the kind of person that was going to make fun of him. Maybe it was because of the moment they shared in the practice room. Maybe it was the moment they had shared on the stairs. Maybe it was an amalgamation of different little insignificant moments cumulated together that led to Grian rapidly warming up to a person he met not even twenty-four hours ago.
He sighed.
And put his key in the doorknob.
And opened the door.
The first thing you see when you enter Grian’s was a coat rack. It was bronze and spiraled to sharp points, making it an eye catching feature for Grian’s entrance that Pearl made one summer in a class. It was one of his favourite parts of his entire apartment. He offered to take Scar’s jacket to place upon the rack, only now he realized just how cold he was without one of his own. He hung it up on the only empty prong available and carried on into the wider living area of his apartment.
Grian calls this the “wider area” solely because he only has two rooms, one of which is a bathroom, meaning his bed, desk, and kitchen are all in one combined room. He was lucky though, some people he knew had to share this amount of space with a roommate.
He would rather eat rocks than have a roommate.
The walls in his apartment were covered in posters and different bits and pieces that he had found and stuck to them. There were all different kinds of fairy lights strung up on the ceiling, twinkling down onto them with dim golden light, bouncing around their faces. His bed was a soften wooden single bed with black sheets and duvet set, except towards the bottom of the duvet were stars hand sewn onto it, cascading upwards. They looked like they had been added with intense precision, but were added after purchase. Surrounding his bed was a hoop net. An inexpensive addition for Grian, but it felt necessary for what Grian deemed ‘atmospheric purposes’. Next to the bed was an end table that matched with the same wood. It had books stacked around a small lamp, and a red radio tucked in the corner.
Grian’s desk was backed against a wall, littered with paper and pens, half finished essays and empty mugs on top of the shelves that hung above it, the chair at a jaunty angle, as if he was mid sentence when he had left it. In the corner of the room was his pride and joy though, his CD collection.
His CD rack was the length of his desk, but double in height, and full. Completely full. Completely full of every genre you could think of. This collection had been started when Grian was around the age of six or seven and went to his first CD and record shop on a whim with his dad. He had become enthralled with the concept of being able to have music wherever he wanted and bought his first CD on the spot without listening to it. Slowly after that he bought more and more until he had the collection he had today. Then, as a leaving present before University, his parents bought him a stereo system. Perfect for any vinyls and CDs he bought. It was Glossy and black, so very sleek in Grian’s opinion. It sat at the foot of his bed, craving attention.
His kitchen was a measly thing though, only a sink, kettle, mini-fridge, microwave with few drawers and cupboards. Normally Grian didn’t need any other appliances as he was perfectly content with living off of tea and microwave dinners for every meal, but today was one of these days he wished he had something a little more substantial to give to his guest.
Tea.
He should probably offer his guest tea.
He gestured Scar to sit on his bed, readily made from the morning, and maneuvered to his kitchenette. He put the kettle on, already full of water, but cold from time, and reached into the tub he kept his tea bags in, pulled out two tea bags, and placed them in his only two mugs. One flowery and green, with golden painted rims and a dark olive handle, the other navy blue and covered with stars, painted silver and with a matching starry handle. He had picked these mugs when he first moved in because they were the least basic mugs on the shelf, and the stars on one of them was an added bonus. The star one was definitely his favourite. It got the most use, which meant Grian only ever used the floral one for people he had round, or did not like very much.
The kettle clicked to signify that the water had boiled, and he poured it into the mugs, using the same spoon to mush the tea bags until all the flavor had escaped. Milk was next. He reached into the fridge mindlessly, a routine he had performed every day since he had arrived in this room and went to pour. He poured enough milk into the star mug, and went to pour into the floral mug-
Drip.
Drip.
Nothing.
The milk was used up, nothing left.
‘I guess no milk for me then.’ Grian thought while he rinsed out the empty jug and put it in his overflowing bin. He really must take out the bins tomorrow.
Sugar was next. He assumed from their earlier interaction that Scar would probably also like his tea incredibly sweet, and poured two spoonfuls in each mug with a clean spoon, and mixed. He turned to Scar-
Scar had been watching him make the tea.
A quiet expression of wonder was gently laid on his face.
Grian hadn’t even asked if Scar liked tea.
Oh.
Stars.
He started to approach his bed, where Scar was sat cross-legged at the foot, and carefully handed him the star mug.
His star mug.
Grian didn’t know what he was doing. He hated tea without milk. He hated the floral mug. He would never do this for anyone else, not even Mumbo. He liked his things ordered and repetitive, no changes for anyone. Then again hadn’t Grian already established that the way he was interacting with Scar was incredibly unnatural for him?
He sat across from Scar, his back to the head of the bed, and passed Scar a cushion with his free hand so that Scar wouldn’t be so uncomfortable leaning against the wooden bed frame behind him. He opened his mouth to speak but Grian cut him off before he could.
“It’s hot. Careful.” Grian droned flatly. He took a sip of his drink and his face scrunched up further than he thought possible.
Good grief that was the worst cup of tea he had ever put himself through drinking. He moved his cup away from his mouth and managed to place it on a knitted coaster in a small crevice between the books and radio on his nightstand. He tried to regain composure, forcing his face to straighten back to neutral, but it was too late.
“Not good then?” Scar quizzed him while sipping his own mug. “I don’t know what went wrong with yours for it to be as bad as it looked, mine tastes great!”
Before Grian could react, Scar reached over him, his torso levitating over Grian’s crossed legs, and picked up Grian’s mug. As he leaned back to his prior position, his face came scarily close to Grian’s, and faltered for what felt like hours, but must have only been a split second. Their faces were inches away. Their eyes were locked.
Grian recoiled.
So did Scar.
And just like that, the moment had passed like nothing had happened. Scar took a sip of Grian’s drink, and mirrored Grian’s expression. His lips pursed and his eyes squeezed shut.
“That is the most disgusting cup of tea I have ever drank. I see now why your face did that!” He whispered. This made Grian laugh hard. So hard that he doubled over and started crying. He kept replaying Scar’s face in his head, and it only got funnier every time he did.
What Grian didn’t notice within his hysterics, was Scar getting up and tipping away his tea into the sink, instead replacing it with half of Scar’s own tea, and handing it back to Grian without any questions. Scar took a sip of his -now half full- drink, and his expression weakened into no longer disgusted.
Grian sipped his too. It was nice. Really nice, even. He replaced his mug back onto the coaster and turned on the radio. It hummed jazz softly in response. His room didn’t feel right without music. He looked back and saw Scar finishing his drink, and nestling it gently in his lap while he checked his watch.
“It’s late. You probably wouldn’t want me to overstay my welcome. I should really get going shouldn’t I?” Scar murmured under his breathe, almost to himself. Grian hadn’t even realized how late it must have gotten, he was so lost in the moment that he had semi forgotten it was even night. It was probably smart if Scar left. Grian really needed to start the essay that had been following him like a ghost all day.
Scar stood up off the bed and placed the mug in the sink, before making his way to the door and grabbing his coat, pulling it on smoothly before reaching for the handle and turning back to face Grian a final time.
“Hey Grian? Thanks for the tea. I’ll see you around.”
And just like that.
He was gone.