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Scar picks through the wreckage of Monopoly Mountain as the sun slowly rises over the desert. The battle ended last night, but Scar hadn’t had it in him to survey the damage until just now. The desert landscape has been devastated by the landmines, the Sand Castle isn’t in a much better state, and the only casualties that were suffered were on their own side.
And the worst of all? Grian’s on his yellow life, now. Scar is no fool, he knows that it means Grian can leave him behind now. The only thing keeping Grian at his side this whole time had been the pledge he’d made to Scar after taking his first life. But now that Grian’s lost his own first life, he’s free to go wherever he pleases. Nothing’s holding him down, anymore.
That’s the real reason Scar has put off looking through the wreckage of the Sand Castle. He worries if he sticks around for too long then Grian will track him down and break the news. Scar has been preparing himself for it all night, but it’s still going to hurt when he has to look into Grian’s coffee-brown eyes filled with pity, guilt and maybe a little bit of excitement, and watch his sun-chapped lips form the words Scar is terrified to hear, and accept that his crossed arms will no longer wrap around Scar during the cold desert nights.
So Scar takes his time surveying the damage, preparing himself for what he’ll say when Grian shows face. He’ll take it in stride, pretending he doesn’t care that Grian is leaving him. Grian hadn’t even wanted to team with Scar in the first place, Scar has no right to be this upset over it all.
The walls of the home Grian built for them are reduced to rubble, some having crumbled or cracked or caved in altogether. Their things are strewn about on the floor, marred by the explosions and fires alike. The ceiling has been pockmarked and floorboards are pulled up here and there, scorched by the heat of explosions. A mere few days ago they were eating rabbit stew at the table in the corner, but now the walls have caved in and the table is reduced to splinters and ash. Just yesterday Scar picked a bushel of flowers and put them in the vase there on the windowsill, which he molded out of clay from the riverbed, but the flowers have been crisped by the fire and the pot is chipped and the glass in the window is all blown out. Scar looks at the faded purples and reds of the flowers and wonders if there’s any symbolism there in their destruction, but he immediately forgets about it when he sees a head of sandy blonde hair walking up towards the house and his heart hides in his throat.
Scar disappears into the back of the house, or at least what’s left of it. He’s not prepared for this, he needs more time to choose his words and practice a smile that doesn’t give himself away. Grian had always said Scar never really had a poker face, after all.
The front door creaks on its busted hinges. A voice rings out through the wrecked building and Scar squeezes his eyes shut. He turns his back to the doorway as he hears footsteps pick their way through the house. His hands curl into fists and he keeps his focus fixated on the corner of the room, the only part of the Sand Castle to go untouched. The little dark oak side table is pristine, as well as the phonograph record Scar had dug out of the sand on the far side of the desert. He’d managed to get it back into working condition with some time and care, and even if Grian never enjoyed the music as much as Scar he still entertained Scar looking for discs to play on it—
“There you are.” Grian stands in the doorway and Scar has to work up the courage to turn and face him. “I’ve been looking for you all over.”
When Scar looks at him he can already tell that the man before him is different. The charring on his sweater and trousers fits right in with the chips and scratches on his patchworked armor, stolen from the battlefield. His hair is all messed up and dirt cakes his face, very uncharacteristic to the man Scar knows so well. And then, of course, the ID band around his wrist is no longer cactus-green, it is a sunny-yellow. Scar’s lips nearly set into a frown simply upon seeing the new color, knowing what it means, but he catches himself and dons a pleasant smile instead.
“Look what it is!” Scar says, stepping aside and gesturing the phonograph in the corner. “The phononogram survived!”
Grian steps into the room, expression unreadable. “Yeah, I know.” His throat bobs and Scar looks away, preparing for the blow he knows is coming.
“Maybe when all this has blown over we can enjoy some music and celebrate our victory!” He tries to sound jovial as he says it but his words lose some of their impact. They both know that victory won’t be shared between the two of them, because it’s over after this. No more Scar and Grian.
Scar waits for a response from Grian, who has gone quiet. He inhales sharply and mentally prepares himself for it, thinking this is it.
“It’s funny you say that,” Grian says, “because I just found this out behind the house.”
Scar watches as Grian pulls out a flat dark piece of vinyl, holding it gingerly between his dirty fingers. A record, Scar realizes with surprise. Grian holds it out to Scar and he takes it, inspecting the disc and reading the title of it inscribed on the middle.
He looks up at Grian with a heaviness hanging over his heart. “This one is my favorite.” He had assumed they’d all burned up or warped beyond saving during the explosion, but this one somehow survived. And Grian just so happened to find it.
Was he looking for it? Why would he do that?
One of the corners of Grian’s lips quirks upward and Scar does his best not to stare. “Go ahead, put it on.” He gestures to the corner of the room and Scar doesn’t need to be told twice, dashing forward to prepare the phonograph. Grian watches quietly as Scar sets it up, stepping back to listen as the soft music fills the air.
For a moment everything is right with the world. The house isn’t in tatters, their things aren’t burnt up or stolen, and Grian is still loyal to Scar and Scar alone.
Scar turns and looks at Grian and catches his eye. They’re standing side-by-side, their shoulders nearly touching. A warmth spreads through Scar just at being subject to Grian’s gaze. Feeling a little brave, Scar reaches out and squeezes Grian’s hand.
“Thank you,” he says, the words small and quiet, meant only for Grian’s ears.
It’s beginning to feel like a day for miracles, because Grian squeezes back and then smiles at Scar. “You’re welcome.” He steps away and drops Scar’s hand but keeps his gaze on him. “Let’s dance.”
Scar’s brain fills with static, worried the heat is finally getting to him and that he’s heard Grian wrong. “What?”
Grian’s demeanor shifts and he looks a bit panicked. “It’s a waltz, isn’t it? They’re meant to be danced to.” He holds a hand out to Scar like there’s nothing left to be said about it; Grian’s made up his mind about it so now they’re dancing.
Scar hesitates, which isn’t like him. Usually he’d take any excuse he could to be close to Grian, but this feels like the setup to some elaborate trick. If there’s one thing that Scar knows about Grian, it’s that he doesn’t dance. It’s not a super obvious thing, just something Grian has casually brought up now and again. Despite the fact that he moves in a graceful way, like he’s been classically trained in a way Scar could never imitate, Grian doesn’t dance with others, and that’s that.
Yet here he is, offering to dance with Scar in their ruined home in the middle of a sweltering desert.
And Scar, always the optimist, takes his hand and they assume position.
They step in time to the music, Grian easily taking the lead. His hand on Scar’s waist is foreign and familiar at the same time, making Scar feel giddy. The music swells with them as their feet carry them across the decrepit floor. Scar almost expects himself to trip or mess up the steps, but he finds himself striding confidently in a way he never has before.
Grian pulls away and spins Scar, which Scar executes with only a slight tremble as he finds his footing. Grian laughs as he pulls Scar back in, a noise of elation and fondness that makes Scar’s heart ache. He loves the way Grian laughs, how his smile forms and the way he tips his head ever so slightly.
They continue dancing until the song dwindles to a stop. The dance slows and Scar finds himself already missing this moment. As the music cuts out Scar expects Grian to pull away, so he counteracts it by pulling Grian close into an embrace. Grian stills as Scar wraps his arms around him, resting his chin on top of the other’s head and taking advantage of their height difference.
Will you stay? the silence says, as Scar waits to see whether the embrace will be returned or not.
After a moment, Grian slowly reaches forward and wraps his arms around Scar in turn, pressing himself against Scar and sighing against his chest.
I’m staying, the silence says.
Scar smiles, closing his eyes and breathing in the peace of the moment, the proof that Grian isn’t abandoning him. He doesn’t care whether they win or not, as long as they stick together, that’s all that matters.
When the embrace is broken there’s a moment where their gazes catch and Scar considers leaning back in and doing something unspeakable.
But Grian pulls away and the moment is gone, thankfully before Scar can do anything he might regret later.
“Come on, we should go figure out what allies we have left,” Grian says, turning on his heel and exiting the dilapidated room. Scar softens, because it’s just the confirmation he needs to hear.
“Right behind you, Grian,” he says, following after his teammate, his ally until the very end.
Grian turns on him as he exits the room, gaze turned serious. “You tell anyone that we were dancing and I will take your final life.”
Scar can’t help but smile. He mimics zipping his lips shut. “Our secret is safe with me!”