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Grian and Scar meet at work.
It's that season again when they have an uptick in hirings, and as usual that means being tasked with breaking in the new arrivals. Grian has never liked to share his projects with other people, but his mansion does need a beautiful garden, and if that means working with the landscape architect that just joined last week, then so be it.
His boss gives him Scar's number, and they make plans to go out for coffee the next day. Scar's voice is quiet and his gaze is kind and Grian's first thought is, oh, he has beautiful eyes. And then, he looks so sad.
After that first outing, they click immediately. Grian doesn't know what it is about Scar, but somehow, despite not having much in common at first glance, it's incredibly easy to talk to him. Scar is fun and sweet, and before long Grian is staying up nights with his phone pressed over his ear, laughing at the ceiling for only the stars to see.
He does find it weird that Scar, according to his boss, has minimal experience and a twelve year gap in his resume, but Grian's not one to judge.
Neither does he look too hard at the emptiness in Scar's gaze, or the way that he will sometimes catch him spacing out in conversations for no apparent reason. Everyone has their skeletons, after all, and Grian won't look down on someone for choosing to keep their own hidden.
And as time goes on and Scar's smile becomes more genuine, he stops paying any mind to the sadness behind his eyes. They still have a mansion to build, after all, and poring over blueprints together has proven to be some of the best hours of his life—so much so, he soon finds, that for once he's actually enjoying having a partner.
Still, after weeks and weeks of late-night talks and inside jokes, their project has to come to an end.
It's bittersweet. Grian hands in their blueprints and watches their boss nod in approval and feels an unfamiliar twisting in his chest. He looks over at Scar and Scar is looking down, fiddling with his hands. His hair is obscuring his face, but the slump of his shoulders speaks of a hollowness echoed in Grian's own ribcage.
Walking out of the office, Grian doesn't know what to say to Scar. He eventually turns to him, preparing to say goodbye today and never talk to each other again, knowing how these things usually go—
And Scar looks over at him. And he smiles. And his voice is tinged with a hopeful kind of uncertainty as he says, "So, uh...coffee tomorrow?"
Grian blinks. Relief grows in his chest as a smile spreads on his own face and he nods.
"Yeah. Coffee."
Scar looks as elated as he feels.
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They become proper friends after that.
What started as phone calls and meetings in cafes to discuss a shared project turns into hanging out at Grian's flat, and then into outings to places that have nothing to do with architecture whatsoever.
They always hang out at Grian's place. Grian doesn't question why. Scar can keep his secrets.
It's during one of these evenings, spread out on his sofa together with various snacks laid out in front of them, that Grian suggests archery.
"Archery?" Scar asks, doubtful.
"Yeah. Like an archery range."
Something dark flits across his face and Grian hastily amends, "We don't have to go if you don't want to. I just thought it might be a fun idea."
Scar doesn't answer, going quiet and staring off into space, and Grian feels like he's messed up.
"We really don't have to go," he scrambles to add on. "Like, we can totally just do something else—"
"No, no, we can go," Scar interrupts, breaking out of his trance, and a small smile comes onto his face. "I love hanging out with you."
Grian relaxes somewhat. Warmth grows in his chest.
"I love hanging out with you, too."
They go to the archery range the next day.
Grian starts off shooting first, and immediately makes a fool of himself.
He doesn’t know what it is, but somehow the bow just won’t cooperate with him—twisting at the last second and resulting in him missing every shot he ever attempts. His shooting abilities are so abysmal, in fact, that they attract other people, and soon there is a small crowd standing off to the side, laughing every time an arrow goes where it definitely wasn’t supposed to.
Grian takes it with grace, pretending to be frustrated while laughing along. It is hilarious, after all, how awful he is at this, and the terribleness of his skills is only proven when his next arrow lodges itself in the ground five feet away.
He turns around—and Scar is giggling softly, hair falling in front of his face as his shoulders shake.
Grian throws his hands up, “You too?”
“No, it’s just—that look you get when you’re trying to shoot something, it’s so—“
Instead of finishing what he was going to say, Scar dissolves into more giggles.
“Oh, come on—fine,” Grian says, stomping up to him and pushing the bow into his chest. “You try it then, let’s see how much better you do.”
At the weight of the bow in his hands, Scar’s smile slips. Almost immediately upon seeing this, Grian backtracks, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Silence.
“Scar,” he says softly, touching his arm, “we can leave. Do you want to leave?”
Scar stays quiet for a moment longer, then shakes his head and grabs a handful of arrows from Grian’s hand.
Standing in front of the first target, he takes a deep breath and pulls back the string of the bow. An expression on his face that’s serious as Grian’s never seen before, he starts to walk down the row of targets, practiced fingers letting go of the string and loading up new arrows as easy as breathing.
He shoots every target.
Everyone around them is in awe. And so is Grian.
"How are you so good at this?" he asks curiously once Scar makes it back to where he’s standing. He's never seen him with a bow once.
"I, uh, got a lot of practice," Scar mumbles, looking down. "Uh, yeah."
Grian can't see his face, but he can gather that he looks sad. Again.
Curiosity morphing into concern, he approaches him and asks, voice gentle, "Scar, are you sure you're okay? Like I said, we can always leave if you want to."
Scar looks at the ground for a moment longer, then shakes his head and plasters a smile on his face. It's painfully fake.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Come on, it's your turn now."
He always seems so sad.
Grian feels worry spark deep in his gut, but doesn't say anything, instead taking the bow from Scar's outstretched hand and turning to shoot another target.
This time, he misses so horribly that his arrow hits the target next to it and scores a bullseye. Scar bursts out laughing and Grian soon joins in. After Scar's flawless display, his shooting skills are glaringly pathetic.
Later that day, he buys Scar his favourite muffin and slips a note into the paper bag. It has a simple heart drawn on it in crude squiggles. He hopes Scar appreciates it, nonetheless.
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As the days progress and Scar’s sadness dims, but doesn’t recede, these notes become a thing between them.
Whenever Grian notices that Scar is having particular trouble staying present or pasting his halfway real smile on his face, he doesn’t mention it. But later that day Scar will empty his pockets, only to find a small piece of paper, and Grian will carefully avoid his eyes as he looks at its contents.
Sometimes it’s just a scribbled heart. Sometimes it’s a few words of reassurance that don’t really mean anything, but that Grian hopes convey his main point—that he’s there if needed and that Scar can always talk to him if he so chooses. One or two times, when Grian is feeling particularly generous with his emotions, he writes a longer message detailing exactly what he likes about being Scar’s friend.
It helps, he thinks. Every time his fingers shake with nervousness as he watches his friend read the message, and every time Scar looks up and shoots him a beaming smile, and then it’s all worth it.
It goes the other way, too.
One time, a month into the notes, Scar finds Grian fighting back tears over a blueprint. He doesn’t ask, and Grian doesn’t think he could tell him, even if he was sure his voice wouldn’t break. After all, how do you explain that you, as a grown man, are almost crying because of something as silly as being unable to come up with a back for your design?
You don’t. Neither does he explain about the burnout he’s been feeling creeping up on him the past few weeks, the persistent fear that no one will care about him if he doesn’t finish this stupid house. It’s silly, especially when compared to the very real sadness behind his friend’s eyes.
He’ll get over it.
That night, Grian finds a long letter in the pocket of his coat that starts out detailing everything Scar likes about his designs and moves on to talking about everything he likes about him as a person. It’s incredibly heartfelt, and the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to him.
He actually cries then.
The next day, he hugs Scar with so much force that it almost makes him drop his coffee.
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It takes four months of being friends before Grian cottons on to the fact that Scar is Hotguy.
After hours upon hours spent on Grian's sofa and in Grian's kitchen drinking Grian's tea, Scar approaches him one day and asks, "Want to go to mine this time?"
Grian gathers by his tone that he’s apprehensive, and fully prepares himself for anything that Scar’s place of residence might be.
It’s...underwhelming. For all the build-up, it is at first glance what looks to be just a normal flat. Big, sure, and messy, but nothing to warrant the amount of jittery nervousness Scar is giving off.
Grian understands when he walks into the living room and sees a bow tossed in the corner—a very familiar bow.
Ice spreads from his chest and slides down to rest somewhere around his stomach. He knows those colours—how could he not, they were all over the news for years—and he knows that bow and he knows that there's only one reason why it would be here.
Suddenly, a lot of things about Scar make so much more sense.
Ahead, Grian can hear him stop as well, can hear the sharp intake of breath when he realises what he's looking at. Grian's mind is running at a million miles, thinking back to all their previous interactions, and he can feel himself becoming a bit lightheaded—
"You're Hotguy."
It's the only thing he's capable of uttering, and it makes Scar curl in on himself, glaring at the wooden floor.
“I thought you knew. I mean," he laughs humourlessly, "my face isn't exactly hidden."
His voice is rough. It makes Grian snap out of his surprise immediately.
"No, yeah, I just—I didn't think—I mean—you're him," he finishes lamely.
A pause.
“Yeah, well, I’m not anymore.”
Scar turns away. Grian takes a step forward.
"Scar, I'm not—I'm not mad, I swear. This is just—unexpected, that's all."
Stammering, he tries to save what remains of this conversation. Scar is so sad, and Grian hates that he's just contributed to that sadness, and he wants to fix the damage he's just made—
“Leave it. Just leave it.”
"Scar—"
"I'll go make tea," Scar says, walking out and leaving no room for argument.
Grian pretends not to hear the crack in his voice, does not mention the redness of his eyes when he comes out of the kitchen ten minutes later.
That same night, at home and lying in his bed, he goes on YouTube and pulls up the clip of Hotguy having a mental breakdown. Watching it over and over, he tries to match the once-popular hero to the Scar he knows today. Thinking back to that unexplained sadness, it's suddenly very easy to believe that his friend and the tired and desperate man are one and the same.
He did not understand, back then. Looking at Scar's smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, Grian thinks he understands now.
The next day, he takes Scar aside at work, inhales and says earnestly, "Scar. It doesn't matter that you're Hotguy. Genuinely."
Scar looks doubtful.
"No, for real. To me. It doesn't matter who you were before or who you are now."
Talking about emotions is weird and unfamiliar to him, but he pushes on anyway, "I'm sorry for yesterday. I just—I didn't expect that. But I mean what I said. You're my friend. And that's all I care about."
Scar's breath hitches. He looks away. Grian steps back and gives him a moment to collect himself.
It doesn't matter if he used to be Hotguy. To him, he's Scar. And he thinks that maybe, that's what Scar needed to hear, too.
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Something shifts in their friendship after that.
It’s not that Scar is suddenly a different person now that Grian knows that he’s Hotguy. It’s not even that he’s happier in some way, or that Grian doesn’t still catch him drifting off more times than he can count.
The sadness doesn't go away. Maybe it never will.
But somehow, knowing where it came from helps. There’s a certain weight to the words Grian leaves in Scar’s pockets now, and an intensity in the smiles they earn to match. Grian sees Scar, and Scar may never mention it, but he knows he appreciates it all the same.
They talk about him being Hotguy only once more.
It's a sleepover at Scar's place and they're sprawled out on the bed, Grian's face in the crook of Scar's neck and Scar's hand on his back. Old pictures of Hotguy stare at them from the bedside table, and maybe that's what makes Grian break the comfortable silence slowly lulling them to sleep.
“Do you ever miss it?” he asks.
"Miss what?"
"Being Hotguy."
Scar stills.
"No."
Grian wriggles out of Scar's loose hold and sits up, looking down on him.
"Scar."
Scar sits up as well, turning away, wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling at a string in his pyjamas. Eventually, he mumbles, “I miss what it was like before...you know. Before I got tired."
Grian reaches out and touches his shoulder, "What do you mean?"
A long silence. Then—
"I miss everything," Scar bursts out, hands shaking. "I miss having a life, I miss having something to wake up for, I miss shooting with a bow because it was something I actually loved doing, not just another thing I did for people who didn't even fucking care in the end, they didn't give a shit—"
His voice quivers. He breaks off.
"I just—I miss being happy," he admits quietly. "I miss being a person."
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
“I don’t know what to do with myself now.”
The words are uttered in a near-whisper, clearly not intended to be heard, but Grian does, anyway, and a pang goes through his chest as something hollow spreads deep within his gut.
Beside him, Scar slumps back down on the bed and rolls over on his side without another word. His face is hidden, but it's never been clearer that the light behind those eyes is gone. Grian wants to bring it back, but there's nothing he can do, and it—
It hurts.
In that moment he realises that he would do anything to take all of Scar’s pain away.
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On the one-year anniversary of meeting each other, Grian moves in.
It's not a big thing. It's not the culmination of their friendship, an occasion to celebrate with fireworks and champagne. Instead, it's an expected development. It's like coming home, in every sense of the phrase.
Nothing really changes with living together, and yet everything does.
Only when he's around him constantly, does Grian realise just how deep the sadness behind Scar's eyes runs. Only when he comes into contact with it every day, does it become clear just how miserable his friend is.
Grian watches the grey weigh down on Scar's shoulders and leaves notes and goes to sleep every night with the knowledge that there's nothing he can do. He tries his best to make Scar laugh, and Scar's hand still lingers on old photos and newspaper cutouts, and dust continues to grow on the bow in the living room.
Time passes, and Grian watches, and everything stays the same.
One Thursday night, he finally faces the sadness head on.
That day, he comes home to an eerie silence. Weighed with unsaid thoughts and desolate glances, it's unsettling, and something deep within his gut immediately tells him to seek out Scar.
Walking into his room, he's met with the sight of his friend sitting on his bed in front of the mirror attached to his wall. Shoulders slumped, hands hanging limply on either side of him, eyes shining with unshed tears, he looks almost entranced by his reflection.
As soon as Grian notices his hair, he understands.
Moving past the bed, he comes to stand in front of the mirror, but Scar pays his presence no mind. Sighing, he kneels over him and begins to carefully undo his braid—the braid. As his fingers dance through the long brown hair, Scar rests his forehead on his shoulder.
His breaths are shallow, tired. He's been tired for a while.
Untying the last strand, Grian runs his fingers through it a couple of times, and that's all it takes for Scar's back to begin to shake.
"I just w-wanted to help—"
"I know, Scar," he soothes, pressing tiny kisses into his hair. This has been a long time coming, and all he can do is press more kisses into his friend's hair and repeat, "I know."
"All I—all I wanted was to do good—I just wanted to do good—"
"I know, Scar. And you did," he reassures, something tender squeezing his insides. "You tried your best in the situation you were in and you did so good. But you're not there anymore. You don't have to pretend. And you don't have to suffer. It's okay, you're okay now. Everything is okay."
Choked gasps and cut-off whimpers and wet inhales dampen his shoulder as he strokes Scar's hair and rubs his back. Weeping confessions and desperate pleas are mumbled into his neck and he holds Scar tighter, lips once again meeting his head in a promise that he will do anything to keep.
"I don't know who I am—"
"Shh, it's okay, you're Scar. You're okay. You're still here."
"I—I gave up everything—"
Grian scoots back slightly and holds Scar's glistening face between his hands, wiping away the tears that continue to roll down with his thumbs. Scar looks up at him in earnest sorrow and his heart clenches for his friend—good and pure and beautiful and so, so sad.
"Listen to me—your life is not over. You have time. You will always have the time to be happy and be yourself. You're never going back there again. You don't have to suffer anymore. You're free. You deserve to live."
Scar's expression crumples and he dissolves into more tears. Grian moves as close to him as he can and holds him—touching, hearing, seeing. His friend, who is sad. His friend, who never has to be sad for other people's benefit again.
All Scar ever wanted was to do good. And he wrung himself dry to make that wish come true, and now he doesn't know if he can ever be good again. Beaten, bruised and broken, he thinks he's too far gone. But like this, leaning over him, feeling him tremble against his chest, Grian knows that he will do whatever it takes to make sure that he never has to taste exhaustion and pointlessness and inevitability again.
He does not leave Scar's room that day. Instead, he lies down in bed with him and embraces him and stays until the last tear has escaped his eyes, and then stays after that.
Grian stays way into the night and holds him until he falls asleep.
And Scar is not alone.
And Scar is alive.