Archive of Our Own

Rocks tick, tick, ticked against the ground with each kick they received.

Scar stares at the small pebbles at the vamp of his boots, his hands folded in his pockets as he leans against the dirty wall of his and Grian’s new base. Humble re-beginnings, Grian had called it, as he dug into the small mountainside. He tried to make light of the situation, of being the most targeted names on the server now, but both of them knew it was anything but.

Grian enters from outside, holding something behind his back as he enters. He gives Scar a small smile, and it just makes the ache in Scar’s chest hurt a little bit less. He steps over, his wings idly twitching as he looks up at him.

“I know it’s not much of an apology for, well, getting our base raided and probably burnt down,” Grian says. He reveals what he had been hiding behind him: a small bouquet of lilacs and poppies from the nearby hilltops. The mixture of a deep red and soft violet, almost pink, were contrasting each other like a beautiful dance. “But, I know you really like these flowers, so.” He places them in Scar’s hands, and he knows it’s far from enough for Scar to even consider forgiveness, but it was a start, if anything.

The latter plays with the petals of the lilacs, his hands combing through them with caution. The flowers were fragile, in a way that some animals were; they needed care, they needed protection. He walks over to the furnace, producing a few bricks he had just made and then steps over to the crafting table, placing them in the form of a plant pot. Scar then scoops it up, unravelling the bouquet carefully and filling the pot with soil from nearby.

He puts the pot on top of a small table Grian had made just a few moments ago, pouring some water from his canister into the soil.

“Now they’ll hopefully live for a while,” Scar says, finally. He had been silent for so long that it startled Grian to hear his voice; it hurt, too. He could tell from the lingering strain on it that Scar still had a familiar ache in his chest, one that wouldn’t go away for a good while. Grian places a hand on Scar’s shoulder, then his wing. It’s a silent comfort, one that the avian knew wouldn’t do much, but it would be enough, if it even meant anything.

He gives a small smile as Scar takes his other hand that had been resting on the chair in front of them, his thumb running over his bruised knuckles and scraped skin. Grian hides the silent wince from the motion, but he knows Scar felt the phantom pain of it regardless. He startles when Scar guides him over to their small, poorly built bed, sitting him on the corner. He watches as the elf grabs out a medkit from his satchel, rummaging through it for a cleaning cloth and gauze and pours some water from his canister again into the cloth, wringing it out over the grass outside before returning, dabbing it lightly against the scrape on Grian’s palm. Scar works carefully, his eyes focused only on the injury and the supplies in front of him.

“I must’ve gotten this from that platform we built,” Grian chuckles. Scar hums, wrapping gauze around Grian’s wrist and moving up to the primary scrape, layering it and then grabbing his pocket knife to cut off the loose ends. It wasn’t a safe way to do it, but there weren’t any scissors either of them had on hand, so it had to work. The avian takes his free hand and cradles Scar’s face in it, pursing his lips with concern.

There was a gloss over Scar’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, contained only by his spite. He moves to be next to Grian on the corner of the bed, his eyes studying the stone floor to prevent the floodgates from opening.

“Scar,” Grian says. It’s soft, dripping with concern and care in the only way Grian could make it. “Look at me.” It’s not demanding, it’s a request; a request from his soulmate, his partner in crime that the universe gave to him, his best friend in a world where friendships never lasted.

Scar looks at him. The floodgates open.

Grian brushes away the tears as they fall down Scar’s face, pulling the elf close and into a comforting embrace. He combs his fingers through his hair, a soothing motion that lets Scar sink into him just a bit more, that lets Scar hide himself in his arms and away from the world for just a bit longer.

Grian shifts, readjusting his arms to be more comfortable with Scar now in them. He plants a soft kiss in the elf’s hair, listening as his breathing steadies itself. There’s a calm silence in the air, and despite the circumstances facing them, they relax. Grian lets his shoulders slump, lets his jaw unclench, lets Scar melt entirely into his chest — it was comfortable, blissful silence. One that the both needed, in hindsight.

“G?” Scar speaks. His voice still wobbles, but it begins to steady once again.

“Hm?” Grian responds. 

“Hm. You smell nice,” Scar mumbles. Grian chuckles, caught off-guard by the compliment. “You smell like the outside.” He buries his face into Grian’s neck, sighing in content as the avian keeps his arms around him. They sit in silence for another moment, Grian humming a quiet tune as his hand brushes over Scar’s shoulder; a simple, repetitive motion that they both restored to whenever the small waves of exhaustion were beginning to wash over them.

Scar shifts, leaving Grian’s arms and silently mourning the lack of warmth around him. He removes his jacket and tucks it next to a chest, turning immediately when he hears the first rumble of thunder outside. He turns back to Grian, then, who’s removing his red jumper and letting the white tank top he normally wore underneath show.

“Guess we’ll be sleeping through a storm tonight,” Grian sighs. He falls into the bed, the springs creaking beneath his weight as he leaves room for Scar. It was a small bed, it could only fit Grian and that was if he had his wings folded in, but Scar made do.

He laid next to the avian, lifting his head up and tucking his arms underneath it. He felt Grian move, laying on his stomach with his arms tucked underneath his chin, one of his wings draped over Scar’s stomach. His wing was like an extra blanket, in an odd way, by the way it was soft and light. Scar notices Grian smiling at him with the same fondness he always did.

“What?” Scar asks with a chuckle. He moves one of his arms out from his head, his hand resting on the small pillow next to Grian.

“There it is,” Grian grins. He locks his hand with his, smiling contently. Scar laughs, watching as Grian keeps a firm yet careful hold on his hand. “That’s what I wanted.”

“You just wanted to hold my hand?”

“Yes.”

Scar rolls his eyes playfully, scooting closer to the avian and letting him lay on his chest this time. Grian’s wings drape over both sides of the bed, small birdlike coos escaping him with each steady breath he takes. Scar gave a fond smile, using his hand that wasn’t locked with Grian’s to comb through the avian’s wings, taking out any loose feathers that fell between his fingers.

Preening had been something Scar learned from just watching Grian do it; it was a simple process, really. He took out any broken or loose feathers, letting them fall onto the stone floor to be cleaned up later and chuckled when he noticed Grian was sound asleep in minutes. He slowly stops after a while, but still keeps his arm around the avian, staring up at the dirt ceiling that made up their new little home.

Tomorrow, Scar made a note to fix up the place a bit; make it more homely than just a simple hole in the side of a mountain. Tomorrow, he would help Grian build up defences, make food farms, and hopefully try to check on the pandas.

For now, it was just nightfall, in the middle of a storm. Scar plants a light kiss on Grian’s forehead before pulling the blanket over both of them, his chin tucked over the avian’s head. It was comfortable that way, and even here, when they were the most targeted on the server, Scar felt safe.

They were safe.