Work Text:
Slouched in the solitary, barren floor of the dimly-lit room, Scar stared blankly.
“You know, this isn’t exactly the way I wanted to talk to you,” the villain mused, looking down at the heavy restraints that consumed his body.
Towering, dull concrete walls enclose the two figures. There were no windows, only a small air vent above, allowing a slim string of daylight to slide through. The room was humid. Probably to wear down the prisoner it contained. It was wearing himself down as well, Grian thought, tugging his woolley sweater.
Grian blinked distastefully, eying the restrained villain. He allowed his wings to drag behind him as he walked towards Scar. “What do you have to say?” Grian questioned.
This sour hopelessness Scar had, was a far-flung enigma from his usual fire. He’d always have a snarky remark to toss, or an enraged volcano on his tongue spewing out in harsh words. Yet, this was new to Grian. This senility in his movements, the slump of his chest, and the veil of melancholy over his passionate green eyes were all something foreign to the avian.
Scar shifted slightly, and the restraints dragged across his skin with whispery gossip. Scar locked eyes with Grian and frowned, “I’m going to die.”
Grian bristles at Scar’s despondent irises. They were so cold, like a dying candle on a winter night. He glanced thoughtfully at the drab walls and swallowed, “…You’ve hurt many people, and killed even more.”
His wings twitched.
“Your death will bring closure to those you’ve hurt,” Grian decides deeply.
Scar chuckled, and Grian shudders hearing the villain’s uneven breathing. Scar was always cloaked with a sense of sureness. It was evident in everything he did, he took confident strides, and was always forward in his attacks. His rhythm of action always bodes clarity behind his villainous unpredictability. To hear such unsureness to the future, Grian too could feel his fear.
The avian feels a chill through his wings, and yet perspiration clings to his neck like a second skin.
“Grian,” Scar began, “What am I to you?”
“What kind of a question is that?” Grian asked. The room is sweltering.
“Just… answer it. Do I mean something to you? Did I ever mean something to you?” Scar murmured, his voice rattling.
Grian gives Scar an empty laugh, although his heart was everything but empty then. “You’re a villain.”
“And you’re a hero.”
“You’re my arch-nemesis. You hate me and I…” Grian paused, and he felt as if his voice had gone missing.
Scar smiles brokenly, “Who said I hated you?” The room is horribly sultry.
Scar’s words are like an iron brand in his throat, searing his voice-box into molten misery.
“I wish you didn’t have to die,” Grian blurted.
Scar hummed, “I deserve it.”
He shuffled around, feeling the weight of his restraints pull him down as he moved. “Do you hate me?” Scar asked. The room is ghastly stuffy.
“No. I don’t,” Grian found the words out of him before he even knew the answer himself.
“That’s good enough for me,” Scar exhaled and leaned back into the wall.
“Scar, why did you want to see me? Instead of a family member or even an accomplice?” Grian asked shakily.
The avian fluttered his wings, “Why me?”
Scar raised his head to the sky, perhaps in a silent prayer. The smile on his face failed to reach his eyes, which held the sorrow of a nameless graveyard.
“Why wouldn’t it be you?” Scar said.
The room feels like a hot oven in a desert. Grian scoffed, rolling up his sleeves. “That’s so vague.”
“You’re the only one who cares about me,” Scar sighed, “Maybe you didn’t see it yourself, but I felt it.”
“I’ve quite literally pummeled you into the earth too many times to count. You think that’s care?” Grian retorted.
Scar laughs dryly. “Well, apart from that,” He continues, “I see the way you fight with other villains. You don’t hold back one bit, and you just full-out barrage them with everything you got. It’s terrifying. You’re merciless, really.”
“Yet, with me, I can feel that you’re just a tad bit slower, or even your hits feel less painful. Almost as if you’re afraid of fully damaging me. Like I’m some kind of porcelain doll,” Scar whispered.
Trembling. Grian is trembling. His wings arch upwards, feathers quivering as if they could feel the vulnerability.
“It made me feel special. You make me feel special,” Scar choked out, his downturned eyes smiling along his lips. “Oh gosh, I’m getting all mushy.”
“You are special to me,” Grian admitted.
He wants to say goodbye.
Grian wants to say goodbye, he takes one step, then another step. He feels the tongue of his boot scrape against the cracked floor with breathy hissing. He looked directly into Scar’s waiting eyes. His own eyes unfocus, and his clouded gaze lands on the muted smudge of colours enveloping the villain. His eyes feel watery. Grian is frozen. He feels like he’s brimming with raging tides but he also feels like he’s lost his stomach, his lungs and his heart, that the only thing left in his body is his weeping flesh. His gaze focused again, and Grian allowed himself to let his guard down.
The room is unbearably nether-like.
“Can I hold you?” Grian asked in a hushed tone.
“Please, by all means,” Scar said, gesturing with his eyes.
With that, Grian raised his hand to Scar’s cheek. He’s shaking. They’re shaking. The avian swallowed the lump in his throat. He slowly placed his pinky at the base of Scar’s jaw. His skin is soft. The rest of his fingers follow, climbing their way onto Scar’s face. His thumb brushes over the scars spanning across the villain’s cheek.
Scar tilts his head towards Grian’s hold, his lips just ghosting the hero’s ring finger. The villain’s gaze languidly roamed Grian’s face before he whispered, “You’re so beautiful. You look like a Greek statue.”
Grian feels a rivulet of his sweat trickle behind his ear. He flushed, from the tears and the heat. He muttered, “I can’t lose you, Scar.”
Scar leans forward, connecting their foreheads.
The hero’s eyes met the villain’s. Green irises, like the hue of a sweet summer clover. He could see usually Scar’s heart in his eye, which had spoken of a loud, ageless soul. It was so empty at that moment. So glassy, like a silent woven doll. It’s numbing.
“Your eyes are so cold,” Grian wept.
Scar smiled, vision burning. “I’ll miss you.”
The door swung open.
“It’s time.”
The room is an annex of hell.
-
Scar’s shrinking silhouette was enough to bring the hero to his knees.
-
“GoodTimesWithScar, villain and mortal enemy of the hero organization. You have been tried, convicted and sentenced to death.”
The chamber was far more depressing than the holding cell. Corners were powdered with mildew, and everywhere was duller, more lifeless. He sees the vials of poison linking into his skin, ready for ruin. Wires and strings coiled around his body and fell on the floor, tangling and constricting him. A sense of foreboding under his skin knew the tubes were a noose around his neck. His execution was well due.
“May you repent for the destruction you have wrecked upon this town, and may you find peace in the hereafter.”
Scar stared at the glass windows of the chamber. People crowded around him as if he was a circus animal in an enclosure. He laughed inwardly, hoping they would enjoy his final act. It’s going to end.
“Do you have any last words?”
The villain's eyes looked through the glass and settled on a winged hero in the corner. He’s going to end.
His lips parted.
“Come and get me.” Scar mouthed.
-
Grian sees the prison warden ready to push the button. The button which would inject the lethal poison into Scar.
“Injecting the first dose.”
Synced with the click of the button was his wailing. The fatigue in his bones burst forward in bouts of rage. The poison traveled through the tubes. It was approaching his villain.
He shattered.
He wailed Scar’s name like it was his last, feeling snakeskin rising in his throat. The wail slithered out of his bowel, and through his chords. The poison is halfway through.
Enraged, his wings arched demonically, wispy strands becoming blades. They beat against the ground in one downward stroke, launching him into the air. Grian lunged forward, closing the distance in a second. His feathers glinted with danger, extending even broader than before. With a forceful wingstroke, his wings tore apart the chamber and Scar’s restraints.
The villain stood up with a crack of his neck, the restraints on his arm slid down into the heap of concrete and wires.
“What’s this? You’re not holding back on me for the first time ever!” Scar grinned, fire returning to his eyes.
“Hey, I’m merciless. Aren’t I?” Grian replied.
Swarms of agents burst forth towards them as if wasps have invaded their hive. They buzz furiously, pointing their weapons in his direction. Grian threw a wing over Scar, pulling the villain behind him.
The prison warden steps up, blade in hand, her voice hollered with authority, “Watcher.”
“Warden,” Grian responds.
“GoodTimesWithScar is a vex. Vex do not possess brainwashing capabilities. If he had offered a deal, I’m sure we can negotiate the terms. What did he say to you?” The warden questioned.
Grian glared, “Just a few words.”
“Watcher, you’re one of our most valued heroes. How could you let this villain turn you soft?”
“Well,” Grian scoffed. “I was never that tough to begin with.”
Scar pushed aside the wing Grian was smothering him with. “You know, G, I’m not some princess in need of protecting.”
“Be quiet,” Grian snapped, “I still don’t know if what I’m doing is right,” The villain nodded and held up both hands in defeat, squishing himself back into Grian’s wing.
The warden takes a foot forward. Grian sharpened one of his feathers and sent it flying right to her shoe. It grazes the tip of her boot. The warden falls back, clutching her foot dearly.
“This is a warning,” Grian booms, “I have the power to kill all of the people in this room ten times over just by myself.” He breathed in the sight of pale faces with false fronts. “Fall back now.”
The agents flinch but stand their ground.
Grian clicked his tongue. He extended his wing to its full length, “Fall back,” he repeated before crushing the air into the floor in one downward descent. The shockwave sent the agents tumbling back onto their backs.
Scar whistled.
“Let’s go.” Grian dusts his wings.
“No need to tell me twice.”
-
Grian slammed Scar against the wall by his neck.
He wrapped his hand firmly around Scar’s esophagus, squeezing till he drew a breathy hiss out of him. Grian dug the curve of his nails into his throat, leaving blood-crescents as he pressed. His index finger stalked onto the villain’s Adam apple, tracing it humorously before flattening it. Scar coughed throatily before resuming his villainous smirk.
“Woah. Just to believe seconds ago you were breaking me out of death row,” Scar rasps out with a smug grin, “And you had your hands, all touchy-touchy on-”
Grian forced his nails into Scar’s neck, drawing out a yelp. His vice-grip tightened.
“You have some seduction spell, right? Or…some type of brainwashing magic on hand!” Grian shouted, pulling the villain closer, eyes locked, “Tell me, when does it wear off?”
Grian feels Scar’s pulse accelerate. His wings flutter momentarily before he thrusted Scar into the wall with more force.
Scar winced, and Grian could only smile. He recalls the time where the situation was similar, only that he was the one against the wall. Scar was ruthless, pupils glinting with murderous sheen, though Grian could barely remember much apart from fighting to stay awake. His sweater brushes upon the old, bruised handprints that burned faintly on his neck. It sent shivers strumming down the avian’s spine.
“Trust me, G. Vex can’t seduce with magic,” Scar said with a wild grin despite his predicament.
Grian’s grip slacks at Scar’s statement, and he feels as if he’s sinking into molten chocolate. He tightened his scowl, blood shooting to the front of his cheeks, gracing it in a wine-red hue.
A deep breath barrelled out of Scar’s lungs. The villain beamed, “Why? Do you find yourself seduced?”
“What? No! Of course not. I couldn’t—” Grian rushed to defend himself, wings twitching and puffing up animatedly behind him.
“You couldn’t what?” Scar questioned, shooting Grian an impish look. By this point, Grian’s hand was simply resting on Scar’s neck like a loose weight.
Grian murmured, gaze falling to his boots, “I couldn’t… well…” his voice began to crack and die out.
A thin-lipped smile was etched on Scar’s face, he wrapped his fingers around Grian’s wrist, guiding it away from his own neck. The villain's hand has a gash from the base of his palm to his ring finger, Grian notes.
The urge to tear his wrist away from Scar’s grasp brimmed under his skin, and yet he couldn’t muster up enough to do so. His forearms tremored. All of the sullen emotions of his cowering heart began to swell and burn — the quavering doubt of Scar killing him right then and there, the anxiety of how his pristine image as a hero has been permanently tarnished, and something else; lumpy and fluttery, pleading to be unearthed.
Scar tenderly circled the jutting curves of Grian’s wrist, humming before he said, “You’re going to have to speak your mind, Grian. I don’t quite understand what you’re saying.”
“Oh please,” Grian glowered, managing to keep his voice from shaking, “You know exactly what I want to say.”
Scar raised an eyebrow in feigned innocence, tilting his head like a confused puppy. He guided Grian’s trembling, thin wrist to his lips. The avian bites back a whimper, but a weak chirp finds its way out. “Scar— what are you doing?” With an innocuous look, Scar stared deeply into Grian’s eyes as his fingers moved to Grian’s palm, holding him as a prince would a princess. “I hope to hear an answer from you.”
Scar raised Grian’s feebly clenched fist, lovingly kissing his knuckles one by one. The avian’s wings fluffed up uncontrollably, which only spurred Scar on. Each finger was pressed with scarred lips, dry scabs dragging across his skin. And yet, Grian’s heart thumped erratically at Scar’s gesture. The villain smiled slyly, and Grian could feel it.
“Every time I kiss you here, your knuckles become pinker,” Scar breathed out, staring dreamily at the fuchsia-tinted hues blossoming at every peck he planted.
Grian hissed, “Stop it. Stop giving me false hope.”
“What hope?” Scar slurs seductively, deviously dragging a fang over Grian’s skin.
“Just— stop already,” Grian whispered through his teeth, “I know you’re only doing this for fun.” The avian tugs his hand back into his chest with anxiety.
Scar’s eyes darken, and his breath grew heavy. “What do you know about me? You think you know everything?”
“How am I supposed to trust you? After everything?” Grian exclaimed, out of breath, “Things are happening too fast, Scar. I mean— just yesterday I thought everything was going to be over, and now you’re going to kill me after turning everyone against the Watcher.”
“Trust me when I say that I could have killed you ages ago,” Scar replied snidely, his frame towering over Grian’s. “Eight times, to be precise. I could have guaranteed your death every single time.”
With a miffed click of his tongue, Grian hissed, “I can’t believe a word that you sa-”
Scar cut him off with a kiss.
His fingers squeezed Grian’s jaw to keep him in place, as he slammed their lips together. Grian‘s eyes widened in shock, shuddering as Scar’s blistered lips collided with his. Scar tastes like the first day of summer, Grian thought. Scar’s other hand traveled into the curve of his hip with graceful fluidity, grabbing them hard enough to bruise. It feels as if thousands of supernovas burst inside of him. No, even better than that. it feels as if new constellations rose from the void in his chest. Grian’s muscles tensed while Scar’s tongue traced over his teeth. A fang lingered on Grian’s bottom lip as they broke apart.
His wings wrapped around Scar, feathers bending as they curved to slot themselves over his shoulders. Yet, with all of Grian’s wanting to join their lips once more, he pushed Scar away a step back.
“I-I don’t love you. I can’t love you, Scar,” Grian muttered. His eyes were drawn to Scar, as if some gravitational force was dragging him towards the villain. Scar was his moon in orbit, slouching silently, skin dusted in vex-blue patches. His hair cascaded down his shoulders, like the alluring rays of moonlight. His face was like a space nebula, dotted with freckled stars, and graced with scarred lines of constellations tearing through the horizon. Scar’s green irises stared into his own.
Grian breathed, and it felt like his lungs were rattling against his ribs.
“You’re my sun,” Scar started, “I’d be in darkness without you. You’re the light of my life.”
Grian’s lips open, words waiting to come out. Yet, he promptly stitches them shut. His gaze falls to the ground, and Scar could feel the quivering feathers upon his skin.
“Look, if you don’t think this will work— or you need some time, just tell me. Please, just say something. I need an answer, Grian,” Scar mumbled, his voice laced with bitter medicine.
Grian looked at Scar with pursed lips, as if he’d just gargled lemon juice. He snapped his head away and a strained sob cut through the air. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” Scar sighed, and this time his hand travels slowly towards Grian’s face. The avian shies away, but no matter how hard he tries, Scar’s inner gravity pulls them together. The villain’s gravelly fingers subtly brush on his cheek, as if testing the waters. Grian shivered. Scar’s hand felt like sandpaper, yet his cheek gravitated towards Scar’s magnetizing hold, leaning into it.
“You’ve lost so much, Grian,” Scar whispers by the shell of the avian’s ear, “You have every right to be afraid. Of me.”
“But, as your long-term nemesis, I think I deserve a favour,” Scar quaked, his tone terribly tremulous.
Blood rushes to Grian’s ears, and he feels so ashamed of how naive he’s acting. Yet, when Scar’s dilated irises meet his boring eyes, the avian’s pulse bleeds loudly like the tide in an ocean conch. The feathers of his wings fluff up and curl around Scar’s shoulders.
Grian gulped, shakingly throwing his arms around Scar’s neck. He feels the jagged skin of more scars on the villain’s neck.
“Just once,” Grian rasped out. His hands grasped Scar, crumpling the fabric. He felt bile rising in his throat, and he forced it down. Grian’s throat feels swollen, like raw stitches sewn across his voice-box. Tears tickled his eyes with stinging venom spreading around the frown of his irises. Grian blinked, blocking the tears as if letting them flow would bring punishment. A wet blotch stained Scar’s shirt, and then more followed behind. His face is splotched with red and tears, tumbling to the crook of his mouth. He tastes bursts of salt sinking into his lips.
“It’s okay,” Scar breathed. The screeching gravel of his voice was suddenly mellow, unlike anything Grian had heard before.
The avian clenched Scar’s shoulder, drilling his fingers into the villain. “I must be so stupid,” Grian thought aloud, his voice crackling and dying in his throat.
Grian was a moth. Scar was his candle.
His boring, brainless wings fluttered with vigour. Scar’s languid embers sparkled in the dead of night, ever-burning through the vast skies and misty moors. The moth’s light in the dark shimmered like a sore thumb, waiting to be discovered. Beating his wings against gravity, the moth soared forwards to ignite himself in a hopeless match. The candle’s wax bleeds in pasty drops, setting the earth ablaze. Still, the moth smiles and lets his wings fade away in the candlelight.
Like a moth to a flame, Grian gave in.
-