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The faintest hint of a breeze stirs Scar’s hair, and he glances up into the burnt-blue sky, searching for clouds to end the overpowering heat. It’s clear and sunny as always, and he sighs, surrendering himself to a future of constant sunburn. If he still even sunburns anyways, what with the newly gray skin. He supposes he’ll find out.
“Scar!” He looks down, spotting Grian’s red sweater from the ground. He waves idly, descending the dunes with relative ease.
“Hey, G,” he greets.
“I was thinking we should trap Ren’s base.” Grian says with no preamble. It takes Scar aback.
“I was thinking about stealing BigB’s cookie.” he says lamely. Perhaps it’s being a bad red life, but he doesn’t particularly want to start killing people yet. Couldn’t they live in relative harmony for a little longer?
Grian just rolls his eyes. “You’re red now, Scar. You’ve gotta get some kills!” His hair is tousled and windswept, eyes green and glinting with that mischievous spark that Scar has come to know. Freckles that he wants to count brush across his face, and Scar privately thinks that he looks beautiful.
“Scar?”
“Scar?” He jerks back to reality to a hand on his shoulder, and glances back to see Scott’s worried face. “Everything alright?”
“Oh, sorry! I came over here to… think, and I lost track of time.” He laughs awkwardly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. His legs dangle over the side of the ravine, and he kicks a loose piece of rock down the cliff face.
Scott sits down beside him. “Anything you want to talk about? I’m all ears.” It’s nice not having to fight, Scar reflects, we can just sit here and talk for a bit.
“I’m still reeling a bit over the soulmate thing.” He presses a hand to his eyes. “I mean, everyone knew before me.”
“It was kind of funny,” Scott admits. “But I don’t think that’s all there is to it.” His eyes are too sharp, too knowing, and Scar turns his gaze away uncomfortably.
“I– It’s– I don’t know.” he stutters out, trying to arrange his thoughts.
Scott sighs. “Take all the time you need.”
Scar pauses. “I thought it would be easier,” he finally says. “Now that there’s the soulbond. But– it’s all different.” I’m not sure he even loves me anymore.
“I don’t think Grian deserves that.”
“What?”
“You keep chasing after this– this ideal of Grian, the Grian you knew back in Third Life,” Scott looks at him with an iron gaze. “But people change, Scar. Grian’s stood by you this whole time, even when you’ve changed. If you can’t do the same for him, that’s your choice. But you can’t string him along like this.”
All Scar can think of is, “Is that what happened with you and Jimmy?”
Scott laughs harshly, half exhale. “We couldn’t reconcile our differences, yes. One of the hazards of falling in love in a death game. We’re better for it though, I think. We would’ve made each other miserable in the end.”
Scar sighs, burying his face in his hands. “I miss the Grian that used to love me.” he murmurs.
“Are you kidding?” The other’s indignant tone makes him look up. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
“What?” Scar’s baffled. Grian looks at him the way he always has, exasperated and unreadable.
“He still loves you, Scar. Void knows why…”
Scar sits there as the sun falls below the horizon, before Scott waves him off, telling him to get home before dark.
Home. The word burns in his chest.
—
“I went and visited Scott.” Scar informs Grian as they sit in their little birch house, poking at the fire.
“I saw.” Grian’s next remark is deceptively casual. “What did you two talk about?”
Scar glances over. “He gave me some advice.”
“Yeah? Going to leave me for them?” Scar can hear the almost-disguised bitterness, and it makes him jump.
“Wait– no, no, not that kind of conversation!”
“Really? You seem like you wouldn’t mind being separate from your soulmate.”
Scar takes a deep breath. “Grian–”
“It’s alright, Scar. I understand.” Grian’s smile is visibly strained now. “You should do what you want to do–”
“Grian.” Scar interrupts firmly. “Please let me talk.” Grian slumps back, watching Scar with glittering eyes in the semi-darkness.
“I wasn’t thinking about leaving. Scott… helped me realize some things. I’m– I–” The words lodge in his throat, and he breathes deeply, deciding to try a different track.
“Do you remember that old myth? The guy loses his wife, and he sings his way down to the underworld to bring her back. They agree, as long as he doesn’t look back at her on the way up–”
“But he does, and she fades back to the underworld again, and he’s left alone until he dies.” Grian raises an eyebrow. “Orpheus and Eurydice. Why is this relevant?”
“Yeah, exactly, Orpheus and Eury-dice. I’ve been… I’ve been scared,” Scar hesitates, “and I’ve treated you badly because of it. I thought… I thought you didn’t care for me anymore, and I’ve been trying to find that Grian, try and– bring him back to life.”
Grian has sat up, studying Scar’s face intently. He carries on.
“But I’ve been blind. I couldn’t see that the Grian who loved– loves me was right in front of me the whole time.”
Scar breathes, in, out, in, out. “I love you, Grian, and I want to try this– us again.”
The silence in the little hut stretches on, and on, and on as Scar waits with bated breath.
Just as he’s starting to think that he’s made a mistake, that maybe Scott was wrong, there is a soft sound, a shuffle on the dirt floor, and then Scar’s vision is filled with green feathers and Grian, and he understands what Scott meant. Grian looks at him with a desperate hunger, like Scar is what he needs. His wings fold around Scar, encasing them both in a warm cocoon of green. Grian sits squarely on his lap, and it makes Scar flush.
“You’re such an idiot,” Grian breathes, and his voice is filled with such aching relief that it makes Scar’s chest hurt.
“You love me anyways.”
“Always.” Grian responds immediately, and Scar can’t help but repeat it.
“Always.” Anything else he might have said is immediately forgotten as Grian tilts his chin down and kisses him.
It’s not their first, but it feels like it as Grian’s body curves into Scar’s and he wreathes his arms around his neck. It leaves Scar dizzy and gasping, focused only on Grian’s lips as he pulls back and they shade red in the firelight.
“I love you,” says Grian, like it’s an anchor. His wings shift, loosening from their tight hold, and Scar can’t help glancing back over his shoulder.
Grian stands behind him, and his hair is short and his eyes are fresh-grass green. Even as Scar watches, he is fading, pulled away by whatever force commands death himself. He nods, once. Scar turns back.
There is Grian in front of him now, hair pulled free of his regular bun, warm and indelibly real under Scar’s hands.
He runs a hand over the top of Grian’s wing and kisses him again.