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and the universe said I love you because you are love
Grian memorized the chemical formula to love years ago, when he was young and wingless and felt as if he could take on the world. He wasn’t sharp then, or dangerous. He hadn’t wanted to hurt people. Even when They took him, he had never wanted to hurt.
He wonders, briefly, as the wind blows and brings with it a wash of sand, when exactly that had changed.
There’s no real answer that will satisfy him, so he clings tighter to the llama he’s on top of, swaying with its rolling gait. The man in front of him leads it forward, the angry burn of an explosion fanning out over his back, and Grian can’t bring himself to be sorry. Not when it leads him down this path. There is something alluring about the man, despite how he tries to deny it. He is reckless and foolish and kind in a way that does not make sense to Grian. He forgives far too easily for his own good. Grian thinks it will lead to his downfall, here, in this world he’s created to watch others die.
Again, he wonders when he changed.
The other glances back at him with eyes the color of scorching sunshine, and something about it makes Grian’s breath catch in his throat.
There is nowhere to go from here but forwards. One step after the other.
Scar! His own shout echoes through his ears, doubling and repeating as he stares down into the sinkhole, where Scar has vanished in a puff of smoke, items strewn about. Even as the world seems to stand still around him, Grian is already scrambling down to retrieve them. Respawn can be a lengthy process, and Grian can’t have Scar’s items despawning now that he’s red.
He’s red. The thought makes Grian shudder. He ought to be on his guard, who knows what Scar might do now–
Grian! He turns, slow as the world, to watch the other’s shape leap over the dunes to him. His skin is icy-gray, and the red gaze is unblinking, if crinkled by worry. It makes Grian’s heart thud, not entirely out of fear.
Scar skids to a stop in front of him, and Grian blinks as his gaze doesn’t immediately spring to his sword. It stays on Grian.
Can we still be friends? Scar holds his hands out, clutched around a messy bouquet. Poppies and lilacs. Death and rebirth. Grian can’t tear his eyes from it. It is, quite possibly, the worst bouquet he has ever seen. And yet, it is so unutterably beautiful, because Scar made it, and because–
And because Grian loves Scar. The realization hits him like a fist, knocking the breath from him. Slowly, he raises his eyes to meet Scar’s. The other’s are red, but all Grian can see is his own face reflected in them, disbelieving. Unconsciously, his wings ruffle and spread, displaying the colorful undersides.
Yes, Scar, he says, slowly, carefully, we’re still friends. He wraps his hands around Scar’s, around the stems of flowers that spell out fate.
Oh, says Scar, blinking down at their hands. Well, that’s good.
Grian doesn’t let go. Grian doesn’t think he can let go ever again. Scar’s hands are rough and calloused, and Grian’s own palms tingle with heat where they settle over his.
Scar doesn’t let go either. He smiles at Grian instead, an expression tinged with something that looks a little like devotion.
It’s all Grian needs to press forwards, to crush the flowers between their chests, to press his lips to Scar’s.
It is long and messy, the clash of teeth paired with Scar’s hands falling to his waist making Grian’s head spin. He drops the flowers, fingers lacing around the back of Scar’s neck, pressing impossibly closer. He takes and takes and takes, and Scar is all too willing to give.
He nips at Scar’s lip as they separate, relishing in the blood that wells up. Scar just stares at him for a moment, gaze filled with something wondering, adoring, that makes Grian’s stomach curl. How can I use this? he wonders for a moment.
Oh, Scar says softly, oh, okay. Grian can’t help but laugh, still pressed tightly to his chest, already-withering petals fluttering in the light breeze around them. It feels like a dream. It feels like hope. It feels like something Grian is too much of a coward to say.
Instead, he takes one of Scar’s hands in his own, linking their fingers.
We’re okay, Scar.
Death suits you, Scar says, hand tangled with Grian’s. You were pretty when I surrounded you with flowers, but you’re beautiful now.
Grian presses a finger to his cheek. It comes back with blood lodged in the whorls of his fingertips, and he admires it for a moment before returning his eyes to Scar.
His partner is staring at him like Grian is the sun, risen after a year of eternal night. It makes his cheeks warm, but it makes him strangely proud as well. He knows that Scar would die for him in a heartbeat, that he might even let Grian do it himself. He imagines it; a sword through the back, poison slipped into his food. He wants Scar to need him, not just want him–
No. What is he thinking? He wouldn’t do something like that to Scar. Besides, Grian needs him right back. Their lives are tied together, never one without the other.
I think I’m in love with you. The words stop Grian in his tracks. He stares, wide-eyed, at Scar, who looks right back, eyes open and painfully honest.
You shouldn’t say that. You shouldn’t even think that. He forces himself to keep walking, eyes fixed on the distant shadow of Monopoly Mountain.
Why not? Scar’s voice edges on defensiveness.
Love kills, Scar, Grian snaps, wings flaring. Especially here. If you want to survive, to– to win, you can’t say that.
I don’t want to just survive. Scar’s voice rises. Maybe– maybe I want more than that. Grian’s heart beats in his throat. Scar looks properly red, eyes wild and predatory. Grian is a predator too, but that snarl lodges in his throat instead.
He lets his wings fall, primaries dragging on the ground. I think I’d like that too. Immediately Scar softens, shifting to a less defensive stance.
It’s just– Grian continues, gesturing around them, –not here.
Scar nods, like he understands. He wraps Grian up into a tight hug. He forces himself to relax, to let his wings sweep forwards and close around his lover, to shield him from the thousands of eyes that surround them, real and imaginary.
Grian will do whatever he has to, to keep Scar from Them. He is Grian’s, first and foremost, and They would do well to remember that.
Grian winces as he stumbles back into a cactus, blood beading on his arms and back. Scar stands in front of him, hand curled into fists, shoulders heaving. It takes Grian a moment to realize he’s sobbing.
I– I don’t want to do this, Grian, please– Scar begs. He drops heavily to the sand at Grian’s feet, on his knees. He stares up at Grian like he’s praying, like Grian is a god and not just a mortal— here, at least.
We can both win, it doesn’t have to end like this– Grian’s chest tightens, and he kneels carefully, avoids the cacti at his back.
Scar continues to babble. We can make the life we wanted right here, right now, wouldn’t that be nice?--
Grian tilts Scar’s chin down and kisses him. He can feel the moment he steals the breath from Scar’s lungs, and it makes electricity fizz up his spine. Scar kisses with all the fervor of a dying man, all the devotion of a priest, and all the love of just Scar. Grian brings his hands to cup his lover’s cheeks, climbing forwards until he’s practically in his lap. His wings fold around them, feathers brushing over rocks in the sand with almost-unnoticeable bumps.
Carefully, oh so carefully, with a gentleness that doesn’t match his thumping heart, he pulls his lips from Scar’s, who chases him for a moment. He places his forehead on the other’s, watching the light dance in his eyes.
I wish I could say I’m sorry, he murmurs, and as Scar opens his mouth, he slams Scar’s head into the sand, into the rocks, sharp and deadly. He does it again and again, until his hands and the sand are stained gritty red and Scar has stopped struggling under his confining weight.
Only then does Grian let the breath he’s been holding out, letting the mangled mess of his lover slump to the ground. With a kind of sick fascination, he sees the glimmer of already-drying tears on his cheeks.
I won’t let you have him. He’s mine, he says to the sky, the moon and the stars, that watch with eyes not their own, and I’ll do whatever I have to to keep him that way.
Grian isn’t sorry. He’s saved Scar, and he’ll do it again and again, as long as he needs to.
—
The world is bright and new and holds no acrid desert wind. Grian spreads his wings– black now, like the birds that used to circle over the sands– and breathes the scent of life, pulsing and thrumming around him.
He finds Scar. He’s very good at that. He finds him in a meadow, paper armor and all, that Grian pokes and watches dent under his finger. He laughs, high and delighted, and Scar smiles back at him with the fervor of a lovesick puppy.
I understand why you did it, Scar tells him, like he’s reassuring Grian, like Grian is sorry for it.
Shh, shh. He silences Scar with a teasing finger to his lips. Nothing from… there applies anymore. It’s a fresh restart. Everything’s new.
Everything? Scar whispers, like he expects something from Grian. It makes his chest tighten with anticipation and curiosity, and he leans closer, until their noses brush and he can count the freckles on Scar’s cheeks.
Everything, he murmurs, and watches in fascination as Scar’s face falls, the wave of disappointment he struggles to hide.
Oh, well, he stutters, backing away, okay. That’s okay. It makes Grian giggle, because it’s all just so fun. There’s a little nagging part of him that tells him it’s wrong to play with Scar’s feelings like that, but he finds that he doesn’t really care. It’s a game, and a fun one at that, watching Scar run to him.
Want to try out the new life transfers? he says brightly, ignoring the curl of mischief in his gut.
Scar? he calls, wings fluttering uncertainly. Magical Mountain is cold and lonely, no other player for Scar to cling to, and he can’t help but smile. Scar comes running so much more easily now that he’s alone, like he’s desperate for the comfort Grian dangles above his head. He opens the door of the hut, letting a cold gust of wind announce his presence.
Scar stands with his back to Grian. He is dressed in billowing black robes, embroidered with red thread that catches the faint light. When he turns, his familiar red eyes are obscured by a filmy black veil that stretches down to his chin, and does nothing to hide the tremble of his mouth when he sees Grian.
To what do I owe the… pleasure? he says, and his voice may be smooth and low but Grian knows Scar, knows him body and mind, and he can’t help the wicked curl to his mouth. Scar is scared. And angry, angry at Grian for leaving him behind and angry at himself for still needing him. It makes his heart leap in his chest, and he takes a step forwards, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Just like old times, he says, ignoring Scar’s question as he sets the chest down. He stands loosely, in contrast to Scar, whose hands are curled to fists at his sides. He is in control here, not Scar.
You were the one who told me not to talk about that, and, oh, the anger thrums low in his voice. It only makes Grian smile wider.
I’ve never been too good at following rules. He shrugs, taking another step forwards, Scar moving backwards in tandem, like a dance. Especially my own. Step, step. Scar backs into a wall, hands splaying against it.
Besides, they’re face to face now, Scar’s face frozen in panic and desperate need, I lied. He slots a leg between Scars’, pinning him to the wall.
Please, please, Grian, please, Scar gasps, reaching for him. Gently, Grian places a hand on his cheek, draws him in, lets Scar kiss him breathless. His lips are ice-cold, but his hands burn as they settle on his waist.
You can’t leave me, Scar says, dangerous and desperate. Not again. Grian doesn’t bother to respond, only raises his chin as Scar begins to press cold lips to his throat.
They both know Grian will vanish again, easy as a desert mirage, leaving Scar alone again.
—
There is green wrapped around his wrists, his throat, weighing down his wings. It drips from him, splashing to the ground in a puddle of verdant color that is insubstantial when he places a hand on it. It strings outwards from him, and Grian follows its path as it winds its way up Scar’s forearms, draping them both in this unbreakable bond. It ties Scar ever closer to him, never one without the other.
Scar, who can’t look him in the eyes anymore, who pulls away as far as fate will allow, who calls him soulmate with trembling voice and hands, with need and fear and love, love, love. Some nights, when Grian pretends to be asleep, he hears him ask what happened, what changed?
Scar doesn’t know that Grian has always been sharp and cruel and greedy. When he wants, he takes, and keeps, no matter what. And, oh, Grian wants Scar. Wants Scar to need him, to love him and to fear him, to feel his life flutter under his palms. It is heady, and intoxicating, and makes Grian’s head spin with the weight of the love he feels.
Because that’s what it must be. Love.
It’s always been are we still friends? and I can’t let him die and Scar, look at me, so it must be love, because Grian can’t imagine ever doing this much for anyone else.
He courts BigB because it is so easy to make Scar believe he no longer cares, that he will trip off into the sunset with a new, competent soulmate.
He can’t leave Scar. He took his hands two lifetimes ago in the desert, and he can never let go, even if it kills him. Even if it kills Scar.
Nevertheless, it brings his soulmate– it makes Grian’s chest tighten– closer to him, attempting to hold him back from an edge that does not exist.
Give and take, give and take. He brushes careful fingers over the cactus needles, drifts of precious sand gathered around its base to provide a more ideal environment. Scar watches them from their roughly-hewn cave, eyes cautious.
I thought there wasn’t any cactus on the server. His voice is carefully neutral.
Grian smiles lazily. There wasn’t, of course. Perks of being an admin. I thought it would bring back home, he says.
Home, Scar bites, never existed.
It could have, Grian says, lets it hang in the air.
Suddenly, there is a blur of movement, and Grian is slammed against the world border, a jolt of electricity sparking up his spine. His wings flare, green and black feathers fluffing. There is a hand at his throat, pressing gently– Scar is always gentle, even when it kills him– just a warning of a threat.
Why are you doing this? Scar asks, and his voice breaks. You used to be kind. I used to think you loved me.
I do love you.
I don’t think you do. Scar takes a step back. I think you just want to use me. I think you wouldn’t care if I threw myself off a cliff right now. And he pivots, as if he’s going to do just that.
Grian’s hand shoots out, grabs his wrist in a biting grip he can feel will leave bruises in the shape of crescent moons.
I am the only one allowed to kill you. You are mine, first and foremost, and I will not just let you go. Scar turns back, slowly, and his eyes are green and filled with tears.
I would do it all again, Grian breathes, even if it hurt you. Even if it killed you. Because it will always be me, always be us. I won’t apologize for taking what I want. Not when it’s you.
Scar’s voice trembles. I think I hate you.
We’re in this together, love. His voice is low and sweet. You don’t have the choice to hate me. He reaches up, tugs Scar’s head down and kisses him. It’s not gentle; it never is, when it’s them, and Grian’s sure he’ll wake up with bruised lips and reddened fingermarks where Scar’s nails curl into his skin.
When they break apart, Scar rests his forehead on Grian’s. You told me once, that love kills. I think you’re right.
Grian places a finger on Scar’s lips, smile wide and wicked. I will ruin you, he murmurs, over and over again, until there’s nothing left.
I don’t think I could stop you. I’m so in love with you it hurts.
And Scar kisses him again and again, as if he’s trying to drown their words in honey and blood and the feel of skin on skin. They are on fire, they are blazing, and they will burn.
Grian doesn’t think he cares anymore.
and the universe said I love you because you are love, no matter how cruel that love may be