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Scar is not as much of a fool as he pretends to be. He knew. How could he not?
(He knew from the moment he opened his eyes to a world that was green, green, green, and heard the beat of a heart that was only half his own.)
Scar does not need a soulmate. He does not want a soulmate. He feels their pain– whoever they might be (can we still be friends?) and pretends it is not there, that he is a whole and not just a half.
So he proudly declares that he doesn’t care, the Jellies are my soulmates! and tames an Allay to hover by his shoulder, constant companionship that (probably) won’t die.
(Of course he cares. Scar cares far too much for his own good. He can’t forget the desert, the feel of his life spread over the sand. Friend– partner– lover– soulmate– like it’s the universe’s cruel idea of a joke.)
And when Joel’s sword strikes him between the shoulderblades and Grian yelps from the bank, Scar does not turn to look. He doesn’t want to know.
(Oh, he does want to know. But he can’t risk it. It wouldn’t be fair.)
(Then again, when was the last time the universe was fair?)
He runs and runs, and Grian keeps catching up, like his traitorous heart is pulling him back, slowing him down.
(It’s a bad defense mechanism, he knows, to just curl up and hope the world goes away. He doesn’t know what else to do.)
He can’t look Grian in the eyes, can’t face the truth when it’s staring him in the face until Grian snaps at him, tells him to look at him, and Scar does. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and Scar thinks he could spend the rest of his life looking at Grian.
The dripstone falls, and they both crumple, clutching at a shoulder.
“Oh my god.”
One heart beats, loud in the oppressive silence.
(love, the universe says, like it’s that easy)
Grian holds out his hand.
Scar takes it, like a fool.