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"Hi Grian! I'm so sorry, but it had to happen." Scar said in that enduring voice of his, all cheer with that hidden sly. Then, with a quieter add-on, he mutters, "Thank you." Full of sincerity. The weight of these words to an outsider may just seem as if Scar is apologizing for Killing Grian earlier that day; but to a comatose Grian, those words mean so, so much more.
They mean hot sand granules beneath bare feet as they traverse an empty desert seemingly made just for two, hiding in the shade of a building eerily resembling it's builder to escape the hot sun. Of falling down; of missed outstretched hands. Of a winged man taking advantage of the fact his partner was a red life and killing any chance he got, blood soaking his hands. Late nights leading to exploring hands and lips snagging on sharpened teeth.
His back being slammed into cactus. Fists meeting flesh. Meeting bone; a sicking crunch sound.
One last kiss; and in true Grian nature, it saps away the other's lifeforce. Trepid glances across fields and forests as the two avoid the other. Avoidance the whole session, then the eventual makeup, then dying alone.
Of bitter arguments and fights. Sneaking away at night to meet with another. Even then, Scar wouldn't leave him.
Scar thought this was all his fault. It made Grian's heart break. He just wants Scar to hate him, despise him, but all he does is forgive no matter what.