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It was only after coming to the desert that it struck Grian just how warm Scar was.
He had never really paid close attention to the fact, nor had many chances to feel it before he had vowed to follow him into the dunes, but he could have sworn that Scar hadn't been so warm as to be immediately noticeable then. Sometimes his partner would excitedly grab at his wrist to show him something, or they would playfully bump shoulders when his were laid bare by his sleeveless top while they worked on building their base on Monopoly Mountain, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, certainly not enough to catch his attention. If pressed to guess when this odd detail had changed, he could perhaps point to the moment right after Scar fell into that treacherous ravine, coming back to him with a handful of flowers and a hesitant question in a voice so small and fragile it tugged painfully at his heart. Their hands had brushed together in Scar's effort to push the poppies and lilacs into his arms, if only for an instant, and at that moment Grian's mind had been occupied with other more pressing matters to comment on it, but if he strained his memory he could maybe say that Scar's hands were warmer than before. Maybe then, in that moment, was when the warmth changed.
Grian could only pity him in his choice of location when the sun was high and the unrelenting desert heat got to Scar more easily than it did to him. Grian himself had already ditched his sweater for a plain tank top after nearly passing out from heat stroke within the first few days, sometimes only covering it with with a red shawl to ward off the sand and keep his shoulders from burning too badly, but Scar had resorted to being half nude practically all of the time, shirt lost somewhere along the way. Granted, Grian was sure that Scar would have no issue with being shirtless even if he weren't a Red Life, but regardless of that fact, it definitely wasn't making it any less distracting when he was trying to focus on setting up explosives and Scar was just walking around so exposed. It was definitely that same heat that was making his head fuzzy, he was sure, and he would always pass off his flushed complexion as caused by it whenever questioned.
After the sun fell below the horizon, warm orange sky giving way to a deep darkness, the sharp cold of the night brought a reprieve from the heat that burned in a different way. Having been unprepared for the drop in temperature, falling asleep had proved difficult for Grian despite his exhaustion, his attempts to cover himself with his bound wings doing nothing to keep away the chill and stop his body from shivering under a single thin blanket. It was a short time after turning Red that Scar suggested that they share a bed to better deal with the cold, and despite a brief moment of hesitation, it took very little for Grian to decide that he couldn't take many more nights of terrible sleep if he was to focus during the day - so he was willing to try, as awkward as it might be to fit both of them in a single bed. The idea turned out to be more effective than any of them could have predicted; Scar's body was like a furnace pressed against him, and the welcomed warmth was more than enough to push aside any other reservations Grian might have had about sleeping next to someone who was meant to kill Greens like him, as well as the odd flutter in his heart that he firmly insisted was just anxiety. The warmth also brought him a comfort he hadn't been expecting, a coziness that allowed him peaceful sleep, and nestled against Scar's chest and listening to his heartbeat thumping soothingly, Grian could almost believe in the sense of safety that melted the ice from his body and the tension from his shoulders.
The Battle of the Red Desert brought back the searing heat of hell through the explosions and fire that licked his skin, burning deep into his bones. His ears rang, his heart was loud with adrenaline as they fought and tried to hold strong against the invading force flying crimson banners, but in the chaos it all became a blur, the air around him too thick with smoke to breathe. A careless step, a trap he had armed himself, and the unbearable pain that charred his body ripped a scream from his throat even as he awoke far away from the clash, the terrible heat not fading as he ran back to the desolated battlefield despite the cold dread settling deep in his stomach. It lingered in his lungs, suffocating, until he saw Scar again and could laugh incredulously that the mad man had managed to stay alive despite all odds. And though the nights outside of the desert weren't as cold, their surviving ally providing them shelter in a now too empty base, they still clung onto each other for desperate warmth of a sort unlike what they had sought in their now devastated home. It was the only comfort they still had, and even if it was only a ghost of that safety he had felt before, Grian would still hang onto it like a lifeline, Scar's arms holding him just as tightly.
Yet another fire raged fiercely in the heat of the battle against the remnants of the Red Army, the war having breached its way into the walls of Dogwarts for a final stand, and as the Red King fell Grian could swear that he was burning up just as much as Scar was, shaky hands still coated in warm blood not letting go of each other and steadying them both through the dizzying euphoria of survival and victory. And then, in the form of a piece of paper that whispered a promise came a betrayal that singed Grian in a far more bitter way than any explosive, leaving a burnt aftertaste of soot and ash on his lips as he called out with seething anger and hurt, swinging viciously until he realized Scar was not fighting back. When it was only the two of them facing each other on a lake that led nowhere, the water that soaked through his clothes cool against his skin as Scar knelt in front of him and lowered his head, the cold shiver of realization that swept over him was like ice ripping through his veins, tightening up his throat and making his stomach drop.
It was hot in the cactus ring. The sun had never been welcoming in their desert, but at that moment it felt even more punishing against his bare shoulders, seeping into him with the burning pain of punches thrown and blood spilled. The blood, too, was warm on his fists, and it made him ill to know it was Scar's this time, the nausea increasing the more the ground around them was painted in red. The sand beneath them was coarse and sweltering as he fell to his knees beside where Scar's body hit the ground, leaning down and holding onto him and the comfortable warmth he so desperately wanted to keep from fading like he had so many nights before. Despite it all, Grian had felt nothing but a numbing cold from the moment he stepped into that circle, the ringing in his ears and the glare of the sun making him almost feel like it all could have been just a bad dream. He held on so tight, so close, heavy sobs adding to the shaking caused by the adrenaline running through his blood, as if somehow he could keep Scar with him a little longer if he just didn't let go.
When Grian stood and slowly dragged his feet to the edge of the mountain, Scar's body had still been warm. He refused to feel what it would be like for Scar to be cold, life drained from his body - instead, he clung onto the memories of that warmth in every touch they had shared, every laugh and fluttering sensation in his chest, every night when it had kept him safe and warded off the desert cold. That same cold that now settled in his chest, and had nothing to offset it anymore. Cold, like the rushing air, and the ground that greeted him below. Cold, now that the loving warmth was gone, though he was too numb to tell either way.