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Really, Scar should probably have foreseen this when he’d chosen to build the vast majority of his home out of copper. It rarely rained on Hermitcraft, but now whenever it rained it seemed to be heavier and the skies filled with electricity. It wasn’t just a shift in the mood, but a shift in the atmosphere. The world swung from extremes of glorious, sunny days to thunderous storms in a matter of hours.
But it was fine, because Scar was usually off Creeper wrangling whenever it stormed. When he could control the lightning it was easier to push through a storm. This time he wasn’t out searching for Creepers: he was at home. At home in a building that was incredibly conductive, in a building that every strike in Boatem seemed to hit. The storm was centred over their little village, the thunder deafening its residents at the same time as the flashes of light that illuminated the sky. It was loud, the wind was relentless, he didn’t like it.
He didn’t like it, and his home seemed to be bearing the brunt of the storm.
A crash: lightning forked down from the heavens and Scar could’ve sworn the thunder was so loud it made the world shake. It wasn’t just that he didn’t like it - he hated it. He hated it. He hated it.
Scar flinched when yet another bolt struck the ground. He’d gotten so used to living in worlds where storms like this just didn’t happen and now that they did… He swallowed. He didn’t want to admit to being as afraid as he was for fear of how the others on the server would view him. No one would say anything or treat him any differently but surely they’d think things. Surely they’d think he was a coward. They fought Withers, they constructed great things, he was afraid of a little rain.
Any other day he might have stayed where he was and tried to ignore it, but the storm wasn’t relenting. In fact it was only getting worse, the gap between lightning strikes shortening and the wind growing in strength until it was tearing golden leaves from hibernating trees. Without his usual activity to distract him and have him feel in control, he was starting to fall apart.
He could see the lights on in his neighbours home, the silhouette of Grian moving around by lantern-light.
Scar didn’t bother with his hat or tailcoat - assuming they would both be lost to the wind if he stepped outside with them on - and so he stepped outside in his suit and waistcoat. Now came the hardest part - getting across the paths of Boatem to Grian’s home. It would only take a handful of seconds, if that, but it didn’t remove the fear. The wind was strong enough that while he stood beneath the awning of his home he was still being drenched by the storm. While the wind had been noticeable inside, standing out in it showed just how strong it was. It howled, the Boatem Pole creaked and leaned back and forth over the void, trees groaned and arable crops were sent hurtling into the sky.
If he stood where he was much longer, Scar had a feeling he too would be blown away.
Rather than wait for the inevitable he began to move, one foot in front of the other as quickly as he could manage. He told himself that it was nothing, he was just going to see Grian as he often did and there was no storm. In fact, they were going to be planning an elaborate prank on Mumbo - it would be fun! He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t cold or wet.
When lightning forked just a couple of feet ahead of him and thunder cracked loud enough to make him stumble on the slippery mud paths, Scar let out a yelp. He was scared, he was cold and wet, and he needed to get to Grian’s faster. He ran, not stopping when he reached the front porch of the man’s house, pushing the door open and stepping inside before closing it behind himself and leaning back against the wood panel as he caught his breath.
“Scar?”
They were all friends in Boatem - no one would be cross with him for darting inside their home uninvited during such a strong storm - but he’d forgotten that people would still have questions for him. Mostly, what had he been doing out in the storm? And why hadn’t he gone to his own home when he’d been so close by anyway?
Grian knew him well enough not to ask such simple questions, busying himself instead with finding a dry towel to drape over the terrified man’s shoulders.
“Do you want me to ask, or do you want me to distract?”
Scar’s expression softened as he felt Grian’s hands against him. The man was renowned for his pranks, people often saw the mischievous side of him, but Scar was one of the few that saw the gentleness and the kindness too. It wasn’t as if Grian was unkind, but in his boisterous personality it was an easy trait to miss. In quiet moments like these, it was clear just how much he cared.
“Distract.” Scar said, his hands moving to find Grian’s. Their fingers touched briefly, atop the fuzzy blanket on his shoulders, but only for a moment. Grian was quick to move back and give him space to dry off and warm up - Scar immediately gravitating toward the open fire while Grian searched for a distraction. It didn’t take long for something to do to come to mind as he reappeared with two long metal forks - both already speared into marshmallows nearly the size of Scar’s hand. If there was a flash of lightning or a rumble of thunder he didn’t notice (though he might have flinched unconsciously), his mind now almost completely focused on the sweet sugary snack before him.
“I figured we could make s’mores.” Grian said, offering one stick to Scar. “You need to dry off and being near the fire will help.”
When Scar nodded, instinctively moving his marshmallow over the fire, Grian placed a tray of graham crackers and chocolate chunks before taking his own space next to him. The sound of the wind stripping the trees of their leaves was long forgotten as the logs and kindling cracked before them, the cold of the rain gone as Scar leaned against his sweater wearing neighbour for warmth.
They didn’t talk much at first, both focused entirely on toasting their marshmallows to a satisfactory level (Grian’s warmed, gooey in the centre, and Scar’s burnt around the edges and easy to spread over his graham crackers). There were more marshmallows and more than enough ingredients to make s’mores for the foreseeable future, so after each of their firsts were demolished in silent approval Scar felt relaxed enough to slip into easy conversation.
Living so close to each other they would often stop to chat so it wasn’t like previous seasons where they’d sit and update each other on their lives. Instead they talked about nothing of consequence. They talked about the best kind of prank to play on Gem, and what they thought of the new music disc. They talked about whether or not they thought glowberries were sweet or sour, and they talked about how derpcoin looked a little like Keralis.
After Scar had eaten three s’mores and Grian four, the sweetness was starting to become too much. Scar had no interest in making another s’more - though he didn’t need the distraction from the storm quite as desperately anymore. Not only was he at ease by Grian’s side, but the weather was gradually beginning to improve. Turning his attention to the man in question he chuckled lightly to himself when he spotted the marshmallow that had been smeared at the corner of his lip. While Grian was toasting another, Scar watched his tongue try its hardest to lick the sweet sticky mess from his cheek.
It was equal parts amusing and endearing, and it gave Scar a good enough excuse to sit and stare. Boatem was a wonderful place, full of life and friends, but moments like this were few and far between: when it was just them with no eyes, no judgement, and all the time in the world. He’d forgotten just how nice it was to sit and watch Grian’s eyes sparkle, to see the warmth of the fire tickle his cheeks pink, to watch his feathers ruffle as he got comfortable. He’d forgotten how nice it was when Grian looked at him like he was his entire world.
They never said anything, but it was fine. Nothing had ever really needed to be said - they’d never been in a situation where it had been a requirement even if they’d had plenty of opportunities to say it.
Scar knew it wasn’t the fire that warmed him inside, he knew it was being with Grian. He knew it wasn’t making the s’mores that calmed him down from the storm, it was being with Grian. He wondered what might happen if he said something, if he did something… His eyes flickered back down to his lips - tongue still working in earnest to clean up after himself - and he laughed a little once more.
“Allow me.” He muttered quietly, breaking the silence as he pulled a mostly dry handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. Scar dabbed the fabric gently over Grian’s cheek, wiping away the marshmallow. It was a quick job, but it didn’t stop him from leaving his hand against the other’s jawline. It felt right to touch him in such a way - so gently, so intimately. He wanted nothing more than to lean his head to one side and move forward.
Scar felt Grian’s head lean against his palm and suddenly the fact that he’d never told Grian felt anything but fine. There was still no requirement, they weren’t about to die, they were just sitting beside each other as the rain pattered against the window and the fire smouldered. They were safe and together, the moment relatively unremarkable.
Unremarkable, that was, until Scar decided to listen to his gut for once. Unremarkable until he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Grian’s. The action was timid and unsure at first - unsure of how to do it, unsure of whether or not it would be reciprocated, unsure of everything - but as soon as he tasted the sweetness of chocolate and marshmallow on the other man’s lips he became more confident. He felt a hand against his waist, fingers pressing against the fabric of his shirt, and Scar fought against everything in him screaming to deepen the kiss further. He wanted nothing more than to wrap Grian up in his arms at that moment, to show him everything that had been unsaid for years, but there was a tiny voice telling him not to. Not yet.
“Scar--” Grian whined, a noise that sent a shiver down Scar’s spine and turned the warmth inside him into a blazing hot fire.
Fire.
Right, that was why he wasn’t supposed to be giving Grian everything he had to offer just then.
“Finish this s’more.” Scar said, tilting his head toward the marshmallow Grian was still somewhat toasting, though his grasp on the stick seemed to have loosened over the last few moments and it was now several inches away from the flames.
“I do want to kiss you more, but I’m not sure setting your house on fire is the most romantic move.”
Instead of moving the marshmallow back into the fire, Grian moved away to quickly extinguish the flames completely. He covered the last smouldering ashes in sand to ensure they didn’t catch light in a draft and he reached out for Scar’s hand, holding it tightly and pulling him to his feet.
“Well if that isn’t your most romantic move, show me what is.”