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It’s raining.
Water splashes against the pavement with loud pitter patters, leaving large rain puddles in its wake. Cars drive through the puddles as the occasional pedestrian avoids them.
It’s pitch black outside. It’s late.
The only source of light comes from street lamps that line the roads as people walk along. Stores are closed by this time, with the exception of those that stay open twenty four seven. Hardly anyone is out this late at night, as most are tucked inside their beds and asleep.
However there are a few people awake at this time. Overnight workers like doctors and nurses, even cashiers at those convenience stores. Or, in the case of a certain someone, the town’s very own mayor.
Yes, Aqua Town’s beloved mayor is up quite late tonight. He got rather caught up in his work, but that usually happens with him.
There’s a reason why he’s been mayor for so long after all!
His work is very important, and he has a duty to keep his people happy. And Scar takes his duty very seriously. He works on the town’s infrastructure, makes clean roads and cleans up the fungus that’s been growing around the area. He institutes new policies and listens to what the good people of Aqua Town want and need.
The people love him, and their approval of him is his number one priority.
Which is why he was at the office so late today! He had quite a few meetings with some fine gentlemen, and he and his ever faithful PR manager had a pleasant conversation. They ran a little overboard and poor Bdubs was pushing him to go home.
And of course it led Scar to forgetting his umbrella. Surely Bdubs will scold him about that tomorrow, but for now, Scar focuses on getting home. He takes a casual stroll throughout his town, hands in his pockets and a whistled tune on his lips.
Rain drops on him, but it does little to sour his mood. Despite having to do a bit of walking in the rain, he’s feeling rather upbeat. It’s been a good progressive day, quite productive!
Not even a little bit of rain can get his mood down, in fact, he enjoys the walk! He even lets himself take a moment to spread his arms out and enjoy the water hitting his face.
Sure, his coat may be a little heavy on him because of the rain but there’s nothing wrong with that! He’ll be home in no time!
It’s almost laughable, how relaxed Scar seems while being out so late at night. Most would not be so carefree while walking alone in the darkness. Sure, there are street lamps that provide a bit of safety from the night, they offer some kind of protection against the shadows that haunt the pitch black.
But paranoia is fear’s best friend, and no one is a stranger to fear. Walking alone late at night only amplifies that fear, opens the door for paranoia to creep in and make a home inside your head. It plays tricks on you, makes you think you see figures moving within the darkness and it makes it’s personal goal to visit your heart and make it pump faster with terror. Paranoia infests and sticks to you like a parasite, invades your ears and plants little sounds that are either someone’s footsteps or the sound of creaking metal. Fear is an old friend, while paranoia is an old lover who refuses to leave.
And for Scar? Well, neither emotions are strangers to him, but he would consider them acquaintances at best. In Aqua Town, he is completely safe from whatever beasts decide to lurk in the farthest corners of the deep. Perhaps it’s because he’s the mayor, but honestly that would only make him more of a target.
Or… maybe it is more accurate to say that Scar is not afraid of the dark because he thrives in it. Scar lives in it daily, he’s in control of it. He bends the darkness to his will and his mere presence is enough to make those hidden in the shadows cower. To Scar, the darkness is not something to be feared. It is an opportunity.
Scar’s existence in the darkness screams power, and he hardly has to lift a finger. Those living in the underground know just how powerful of a person their mayor is, it’s how he got into the position he’s in now after all.
So yes, Scar walks alone in the dark without fear. The dark will not harm him.
(It’s a little ironic, how crime rates in Aqua Town are low. The above ground crime anyways. And to think, the people’s mayor, the ring leader of their underground crime is the one to thank for it all.)
He continues his whistling, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He wears what looks like a nonchalant smile on his face to the average person. However, he is fully attentive, aware of his surroundings.
For a man as powerful as himself, Scar is a man with eyes watching his every move. He may thrive in the darkness, toe the line between shadow and light, but neither protects him. Not truly. There are others that live in the dark, and Scar knows to be wary of them. He can make shadows bend to his will with a few honey coated words. In some cases, all it takes is a well placed bullet, a flash of metal. Other times it takes a few tricks from his silver plated tongue. And in others? Well, he can’t always stop the shadows.
Scar has no reason to fear the nighttime, not at all. But that doesn’t mean that people won’t try to pull a fast one on him. He’s a man with enemies, those who wouldn’t hesitate to knock him down a few pegs, to try and bend him to their will. He knows the dangers that lurk around him, trailing under his feet and following his steps. He’s mayor for crying out loud! It’s impossible to please everyone, and Scar knows that there are people who’d much rather his blood staining the pavement.
And it seems there is someone who intends to spill that crimson liquid tonight.
He’s been aware of footsteps trailing his own for a few blocks now but continues on, coaxing whoever they belong to to make their move. Waiting for them to jump from the shadows they believe protect them.
It’s between the warm glow of streetlights, the dark of night that occupies the space they don’t quite reach, that his little shadow comes out to play.
Rough fingers are grabbing hold of his wrist, a harsh grip. His arm is pulled behind his back and held there. The hand around his wrist squeezes it tightly. Something thin and cold is pressed to the skin of his neck, and had Scar been a lesser man he probably would’ve shivered at the feel of the metal. However, he is not, and he hardly flinches at the contact. Scar tries to crane his head backward to see his attacker, but doesn’t get a good view. “Oh!” he gasps, something dramatic and sardonic all at once. “Well hello there. Nice weather for a walk out on the town, huh?”
“Do as I say and you won’t have to get hurt,” a low voice from behind him murmurs.
The blade against his neck shakes ever so slightly, and it clues Scar into a few different things at once. Number one, his attacker isn’t very confident, he may not even be very experienced. Number two, his grip is loose and sloppy, which gives Scar the perfect opportunity for an out.
“That isn’t very gentleman-like, you know,” he retorts, a pout on his lips purely for the act. He hardly gives his attacker a single second before he’s throwing his elbow back to knock the man off balance. As he does this, he’s shifting his weight to the back of his right foot, turning on his heel. He finds his attacker standing behind him, fumbling as he’s pushed back.
In a moment of pure kindness, because Scar is a gentleman thank you, he reaches out and catches the man’s right elbow with his hand; fully aware that the knife sits in that hand. Scar steps forward as he yanks the man up onto his feet, keeping him from falling onto the wet ground below. As he pulls the man, Scar’s hand slips down from his elbow to the blade itself, and he wraps his hand around it. The blade digs into his skin, stinging him momentarily. Scar ignores it, going for a handshake with his signature smile.
There’s three inches of space between them, maybe less. Scar smiles, chuckling, “I didn’t realize it was rob the mayor day! I would’ve left something valuable in my pocket for ya!”
His attacker looks taken aback by his reaction, red eyes (strange) going as wide as saucers. His mouth drops open just the slightest bit before he’s recovering and hiding his shock from Scar behind a narrowed gaze. He’s dressed in frankly a rather raggedy old red sweater, one covered in dirt and littered with a few holes in the sleeves. His hair is a mess and matted, wet from the rain. His face is covered in dirt and grime, though the rain has done well to wash some of it away. All in all he looks like he’d gotten his clothes from a dumpster.
Just by taking one look at him, Scar knows that this man is the farthest thing from a professional. Really, he probably isn’t even much of a threat to his life. There’s no way he has any real ties to the shadows, the underground. So perhaps a little lesson is earned, to keep this poor criminal from getting in over his head again.
A smirk dances along Scar’s face, and just like that, the air shifts. The cards fall into Scar’s lap, and he always enjoys playing to win.
With the grip he has on the man’s hand, Scar’s pulling his body toward him. Before their bodies can collide, he steps to the side, letting the momentum pull him. He’s plucking the knife from his attacker’s hands and stepping behind him so he can see the man’s back. He’s able to easily maneuver him against a nearby wall, the rough brick probably uncomfortable. Well, not everyone gets the privilege of being shoved into comfortable walls.
Scar takes the stranger’s knife and brings it up against his throat, twisting his arm behind his back. He cages him in, pressing his chest to the man’s back. “You’re going for stealth, right? This’ll help you with blunt force but that’s going to leave far too much evidence,” he says, as he angles the knife differently.
The man squirms in his grasp, clearly trying to escape him. “Let me go!” he snarls.
“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet,” Scar hums, giving him a cheerful smile, voice carrying a dangerous lilt. “You were extremely bold, attacking the mayor himself for some pocket money. I have to commend you honestly, it was a very good attempt!” he exclaims. Scar then leans in close to his ear, “But it was stupid.” His voice drops for a moment, gravelly and dark.
He feels the other freeze in his grasp.
“Now, under normal circumstances, I’d probably be happy to let bygones be bygones and you could even go on your merry little way!” Scar makes a show of humming, adjusting the knife a second time. “However,” as he moves the knife, the blade knicks the pale skin and the stranger’s breath hitches, “you’ve gone and left quite a mess! I mean look at this! I’ll have you know this coat is very expensive, and–” At a glance he notices blood drip down. “These shoes too! I’m devastated, really. What a costly little mistake you’ve made here. How are we going to fix this, hm?”
“Like I care about some coat,” the stranger spits, a fire in his voice. “That’s your problem buddy, not mine.”
“Oh, but I disagree!” Scar tightens his grip on the man’s wrist, squeezing just slightly. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt here my friend, but something tells me you don’t know who you’re talking to.”
The stranger scoffs, “Am I supposed to?” He wriggles around in Scar’s grip again, a slight hiss being pulled from his lips as his skin moves against the knife.
A chuckle spills from Scar like water from a fall, “During the day, probably! But you see, it’s night time, and the mayor has stepped out for a bit.” He leans until he’s a breadth away from the man’s ear, so close his warm breath can be felt. “The underground doesn’t run itself, you know. It’s called organized for a reason.”
From their close proximity, Scar can hear a quiet swear, “Fuck.”
Just as his attacker begins to struggle again, Scar speaks, “Now, now, why don’t we relax for a second? I haven’t even made up my mind about what to do with you yet!” He makes a show of humming, the sound loud and exaggerated. He can only imagine the sort of thoughts running through this man’s head right now. “Shall I make you pay each and every penny that these shoes and coat cost? Or should I return the favor for the hand? Or, oh! How about you and I go pay a visit to the Janitor and make a fine message out of tonight’s little encounter,” he pauses for dramatic effect and then he flashes a grin, “though Jellie has been itching for a new chew toy lately~.”
With those threats made, the stranger goes slack in his hold. His face is still pressed into the cobbled brick wall of the alley, the two of them hidden by the shadow of night. Not an ounce of light hits them from the streetlamps or moon. Rain continues to pour down around them, slamming into the pavement with each drop of contact.
“What’ll it be, my moonlight attacker?” Scar questions. “Will your blood be joining mine?”
“You’re the mayor, right?” the man asks instead, red eyes glancing at him. “Are you sure you really wanna be taking out one of your own citizens on the street like this? Anyone could walk by and see. Not very smart if you ask me.” He shrugs in Scar’s hold.
The question has Scar pausing in place, taken by surprise. Out of all things from the stranger’s mouth, an inquiry of logic was not one Scar expected. There’s a knife being pressed to his neck, and the man hardly even flinches. Instead, he looks at Scar and decides to question him and point out the flaw in the situation they’ve found themselves in. He doesn’t even seem bothered by the blade outside of the cut it’s made in his skin.
“Now who said anything about a thing like that happening here?” Scar looks at him. “But if that’s what you’re asking for…” he trails off, watching the man’s expression. He waits, curious to see what the man will do next.
What he finds on the man’s face is a rising brow, as if it were a challenge. Scar looks into his eyes, and honestly what he finds there is quite shocking. Staring at these gleaming red eyes, Scar does not find a single ounce of fear laced within. This man looks directly at Scar (or as directly as he can with his face pressed into brick) and stares at him head on.
Interestingly enough that very look feels all too familiar. An expression only shaped by the most dire of experiences. He knows it as intimately as the back of his hand, or the hug of the holster around his ankle, even if he has never been the one to wear it. Circumstance has never driven him to wear such a face (such a mask), because the fear is what keeps him alive. But he has seen it reflected on another’s face, he has lived around it with this kind of life. He knows it.
Which is why it leaves him intrigued. Experience is the only thing that can craft such a face, such a lack of fear for the great dark unknown. What has this man experienced, he wonders, to put such an emotionless expression on his face?
And can he make use of it?
Perhaps it’s a bit of a harsh thought to have toward some random stranger. People are more than their use, after all. But for a man like Scar, he has to look at people in terms of usefulness occasionally. He’s running a business, a syndicate. If he does not play his cards carefully then his business crumbles and he is left with nothing. He’s worked too hard to lose the diamond throne he’s built for himself. Scar has to look at strangers with judging eyes, gauging them on how far they can advance him when it’s necessary.
Now, it isn’t every day that one finds a person with such a blatant lack of fear in the face of death. Most are terrified of the prospect of dying, as is their right. But the ones that aren’t… well, they’re real gems, Scar thinks. Some of them just need a little shining.
Looking at this stranger in front of him, Scar thinks he can polish him into something useful to him. Something to keep near. A bodyguard, perhaps. It’s a bit of an impulsive decision for someone of Scar’s status, he knows. But he likes to consider himself an opportunist, and Scar has no reason to fear such a low level threat. The man can’t even conduct a proper mugging! Yet that does not erase his worth to Scar.
Because a man who does not fear death is the perfect kind of shield for Aqua Town’s mayor, even if he’s not aware of it. And Scar intends to capitalize on the undeniable opportunity in front of him.
“Actually,” he says, taking a step back, “tell you what…” Scar backs off, giving the man room to breathe again. He lowers the knife, not quite setting it back in the stranger’s palm, twirling it around his fingers. “I think I have a solution that’ll satisfy the both of us.” He smiles, as charming as ever.
The stranger turns to him, red eyes narrowed. “And that is?”
“Come work for me.” Scar’s smile widens. “Work as my bodyguard and this little exchange can be easily swept under the rug! You’ll have paid me back for the cost of my lovely coat and shoes in no time!”
“What’s the catch?” the other asks, eyes still narrowed and burning with suspicion.
With one question, Scar knows he’s got him on his hook. He just needs to draw him in now. The question is how? “The catch is there is no catch, my friend!” he exclaims. “This right here is a one hundred percent no trick guarantee! You come work for me as my bodyguard and I’ll forget this entire night. That’s a Scar promise.” He offers him a wink.
“There has to be some kind of catch,” the stranger argues, a deep frown sitting on his face. “There’s no way you’re being genuine with me right now. You have something hidden up your sleeve, so out with it.”
Quite the suspicious one Scar’s managed to find, it seems. Well that’s alright, Scar can work with that.
He sighs quietly, “You’ll just have to take my word for it, I’m afraid. But I can tell you that working for me has nothing but benefits ahead for you. Could pop you and your folks up somewhere nice, certainly someplace that doesn’t leave you to pickpocketing to survive.” Something in his voice softens just a tad, “No one should have to endure that kind of struggle.”
There’s something that flickers in the man’s face at Scar’s words, something hasty and short lasting. It isn’t there for long, but it flashes just enough to be seen.
The stranger is quiet, contemplation written on his expression. He doesn’t answer Scar immediately, as if weighing his options. He opens and shuts his mouth once or twice, attempting to find words to respond with. Scar waits patiently.
“If I were to… accept this frankly absurd deal you’ve offered, by the way, this would all be… forgotten?” he eventually lands on, trying his best to cover up his hesitation.
“But of course, of course!” Scar hums, waving a dismissive hand. “Like water under a bridge!”
For just a moment, the man in front of Scar looks very small. He looks unsure, all bravado that was once there previously is gone now. It’s been replaced by uncertainty and bewilderment, and Scar finds himself so curious. Who is this man? What is his story?
“Alright. I accept your deal, Mr. Mayor,” the man slowly agrees, reaching Scar’s gaze with his own.
Scar makes a face at the official title, cringing. “Just Scar is fine! None of that fancy shmancy stuff for me,” he says, offering the man a small smile. “I look forward to working with you uh…”
The stranger looks at him, blinking at him. He goes to speak, except no sound leaves him. His lips twist in a frown, eyes conflicted. He hesitates for a second longer and then, “...Grian. You can call me Grian.”
Scar’s smile morphs into a larger one. Grian. So that’s his name, huh? “Wonderful! A happy solution for everyone involved.” He claps his hands together, clearly pleased. “Why don’t you head home now and we’ll meet at town hall bright and early in the morning.”
Grian looks at him before he glances around at the surrounding area. The alleyway, the buildings nearby, the streetlamps. “We’re in my home,” he states bluntly.
“The… streets?” Scar slowly asks. “This brick wall..?” He steps up to the wall, pressing his hand along it, as if he’ll find some secret button. “Is there a door somewhere?”
“What, no.” Grian shakes his head, watching Scar with an incredulous face. The man continues to tap the brick wall, still searching. “Would you quit that?! You’re not going to find a door, I don’t have one.”
Scar steps back, his search unsuccessful much to his dismay. He turns back to Grian, “Just so I understand this perfectly, you don’t have a home?”
Grian shakes his head.
Ah. Quite a bit about this man is beginning to make sense, he thinks. Scar frowns, “Well that won’t do.”
Looks like he’s going to have to work some mayor magic before going home tonight.
Grian has absolutely no idea how he’s landed himself in this position. Of all the things he expected out of today, ending up with the mayor’s attention on him was not one of them. He had been hoping at most for a bit of extra cash to get himself through the next couple of days with some cheap bread, or even fruit if he was lucky. Scar had certainly seemed like the kind of man to have a good amount of money in his pocket when Grian first spotted him.
If he had known how much trouble he’d get himself into, he probably wouldn’t have bothered.
He feels like he’s been thrown for one loop after another. First he finds out the man he was trying to mug isn’t just any guy, he’s mayor of the town. And some kind of criminal. Definitely some kind of criminal. Next his own knife is turned on him by said mayor (who’s definitely a criminal)! Then he’s offered a job to be the same man’s bodyguard? And now Grian’s standing in the shower of a hotel room. All because Scar didn’t want him sleeping on the street.
As if he hasn’t been doing that for two years already.
He stares down at the water spilling from the shower head, watching the way it turns dark and murky with dirt. There’s a frown on his face as he takes in the events of the night, unsure of how to feel.
On the one hand, it’s quite nice to have a real shower for once. A warm bed instead of the hard and cold concrete on his back. On the other, he’s itching to run. He’s worked so hard to get to where he is now, he’s survived for so long. He’s done so much to run as far as he could. Yet because of one mistake, he’s practically right back at where he started. There’s just someone else holding the end of his leash this time. It’s frustrating, and Grian wants to kick himself for it.
He isn’t about to let himself be shackled by some measly debt of all things. Debt which he doubts would even put a dent in Scar’s money to pay off. Surely he doesn’t really need Grian to repay him for a stupid coat and some shoes.
Shoes which Grian doubts actually got blood on them.
“This entire night has been ridiculous,” he hisses with frustration, squirting some shampoo onto his hand before running it through his hair. As he scrubs at the ashen blond strands, he continues to think.
Scar is… certainly a character. He’s somehow managed to constantly one up himself in his absurdity through their entire exchange. He’s clearly a dangerous person, someone Grian doesn’t need on his list of enemies. He’s lucky he was able to get out of this without any real consequences. As far as he’s been told, at least. Scar had said there were no tricks to his offer, but Grian has every reason to doubt him.
If there’s one thing he’s learned, everyone plays in life to survive. They cheat and steal, cross their fingers behind their backs in order to gain a little bit of power. Grian knows how the routine goes. He’s learned not to ever trust someone’s outward intentions, and he certainly doesn’t trust the mayor’s. Especially now that he’s somehow ended up on the man’s roster. There has to be some kind of ulterior motive at play, something being hidden from him. Grian knows it.
Why else would Scar decide to offer him some random position as his bodyguard? It’s a stupid decision to make if you ask Grian.
What does that make Grian for accepting it then?
He isn’t sure why he accepted the offer. Scar could’ve killed him, it’s not like he would’ve cared much. In fact, it certainly sounded like Scar was going to. Maybe that’s part of the reason why Grian is so perplexed by the reason why he changed his mind. Scar’s face hadn’t given much away (though it isn’t like it matters. Grian isn’t very good at reading people).
Was it his own curiosity about the ridiculous man in front of him? Or was it something else? Some deeply buried survival instinct?
Who knows, really.
Grian does know, however, that he has to play this carefully. He could run off in the middle of the night, leave Scar waiting at town hall, but what then?
Grian is good at running and hiding, but he knows realistically his abilities only go so far. Who knows how long term this will be. As much as he hates being tied to authority, this might just have to be the route he goes for now. If Scar’s words are to be trusted, then this is how he avoids making another enemy (and if he’s lucky, maybe an ally comes out of this). If Scar’s words are to be trusted, then Grian walks out of this with no debt hanging over his head.
He’ll just have to lay low for now, skirt along the water. As much as he hates it, he has to be smart. Careful. He doesn’t know what kind of man Scar is, how he hides himself and his cruel intentions.
At least he’ll have a comfortable bed to sleep on tonight.
Sighing silently, Grian finishes up with his shower. He stands under the warm water for a few extra minutes, letting himself soak up the feeling of it against his skin. Who knows when he’ll have access to this again. He’d better make the most of it. He stays like this until there’s steam blowing in his face, fogging up the entire bathroom.
When the shower is done, Grian shuts it off and steps out. He glances up at the fogged mirror, swiping his hand over the glass to clear it some. The fog leaves, little droplets of condensation left behind. Grian looks into the mirror, lips forming a frown. Eyebags bruise the undersides of his eyes, and he looks pale. His hair is messy and just long enough for a tiny ponytail, wet bangs brushing against his forehead. It could be worse.
Tearing his gaze away, Grian is quick to dry himself off and change back into his jumper and trousers. He towels off his hair before tying it back so it’s out of his face, letting the towel sit on the sink.
Finding no further reason to be in the bathroom, Grian turns his attention to the door. A sudden pit opens in his stomach at the thought of leaving the security the bathroom has offered him. It’s like entering the unknown, something Grian hasn’t done in a very long time.
He sucks in a breath and grabs the door knob, twisting it open.
The hotel room is fancy, fancier than anything Grian is used to. The bed is large enough to fit two people, the blanket and pillows decked out in red. There are curtains drawn over the windows, and a television sitting on the wall nearby. A chair sits in one corner of the room, and the floor is carpeted black. The lights are a warm color as they glow, casting the room in a nice warm white tint. A chaise has been placed at the foot of the bed, a matching color to the comforter. And that doesn’t even begin to describe the small living area that’s attached to the suite Scar has purchased.
Speaking of Scar, the man is sitting on the bed, tie loosened. His coat has been discarded somewhere, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. One of them is blotted with blood. There’s a first aid kit open on the mattress, and Scar’s attention is on his injured hand. He’s wrapping a cloth around the middle of his palm. Grian hovers in the doorway, eyes trained on him. He coughs lightly, clearing his throat.
Two green eyes flick up to meet his gaze, and Scar breaks out into an easy going smile. “I see you finally emerge!” he exclaims as a way of greeting. His voice is teasing, but the words still make Grian freeze right where he stands. “Shower up to snuff?” the mayor questions, gaze returning to his hand as he finishes with wrapping it.
Grian ignores his question, “You found a first aid kit.” Guess he really wasn’t bluffing about cutting his hand.
“I did indeed! The front desk was more than happy to lend me one,” Scar hums. He ties off the cloth around his palm with a small satisfied sound. “That should do it. One hand all wrapped!” He looks back up at Grian, noticing him hovering. He lifts a brow, “What’re you doing just standing in the corner all the way over there? I’m not gonna bite.”
“Sure didn’t seem that way earlier,” Grian grumbles under his breath. He takes a cautious step toward the bed. He isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He wasn’t expecting Scar to actually stay. Doesn’t he have important stuff to do? Whatever it is that mayors do.
…what do mayors do?
“Now why would I go and do a thing like that?” Scar asks innocently before he gathers up the first aid kit in his hands.
Grian tries not to feel a pang of disappointment. He doesn’t necessarily need the aid kit, his neck has stopped bleeding. But it’d be helpful to keep around for the future. It’s good to have ready access to it, especially when Grian has never had steady access before. Clearly Scar seems to think otherwise, if he’s cutting Grian off to supplies like this. If he’s going to make Grian have to earn it. He wonders if Scar is also the type to use and take, never giving. It’s fitting for a criminal moonlighting as the mayor.
Scar notices the way Grian seems to be staring at the first aid kit in his hands, and he almost feels silly for forgetting about the nice little cut on his neck. “Right, you probably need this too, hm? How careless of me,” he admonishes himself with a tut. Scar scoots over on the bed, setting the kit down. “C’mere, I’ll take care of your neck for you.”
Grian walks toward him, but his brows are knitted together. “I can do it myself,” he returns warily, keeping distance between them. He sits down on the bed slowly and Scar holds his hands up as if to placate him.
“It’s all yours then,” Scar answers, gesturing to the first aid kit. Grian keeps his eyes trained on him as he reaches for it, and Scar holds himself still. He watches as Grian pulls the kit closer to himself and looks down into it. He grabs a pack of bandages, and Scar frowns. He should really put some disinfectant on his neck, considering how bad that knife looked.
Yet Grian doesn’t even go for it, instead taking the pack and pulling one out that’s large enough to cover the cut on his neck. Scar watches with something akin to fascination as Grian pulls the sticky tabs of the band-aid off and pats his skin with his fingers. He goes to put it on his neck, but misses the cut almost entirely.
“A bit more to the left,” Scar advises, earning himself a frown from the other. “Just trying to help!”
Grian mumbles, “I don’t need your help.”
He tries again with a second band-aid.
Scar continues to watch his attempts with the band-aids, some kind of strange curiosity welling up in his chest. For all intents and purposes… Grian is not very good with bandaging himself. He goes through at least four different band-aids before he finally manages to cover the cut, a small mess of paper scraps sitting on his legs. It’s something that sits with Scar oddly, the poor way in which Grian seems to take care of himself. He’d have thought that maybe Grian would be better at it, would know the basic steps to cleaning a way to ensure it doesn’t get infected.
Grian gathers the paper scraps up in his hands, setting them inside the first aid kit. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do with them, and Scar finds himself wanting to give him the space to figure it out. He can at least be a little at peace with the fact that the band-aid Grian applied is fully covering his cut now. He’s certainly a stubborn one, it seems.
Taking Grian’s completion as his cue to leave, he pushes himself up from the bed. “This has certainly been an interesting night, and it’s time for me to get myself to bed,” Scar hums, reaching for the coat he’s left on the chair. “I’ll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow morning! Say, seven o’clock? At town hall, it’s all brick and fancy, you can’t miss it!”
“Right.” Grian slowly nods at him, gazing at him with thinly veiled suspicion and tension in his eyes. It’s like he’s waiting for something else.
Scar doesn’t know what he could be waiting for. He doesn’t dwell on it, instead showing himself to the door. “If you need anything, I left my desk number downstairs with the front desk! Don’t hesitate to give me a ring.”
Grian’s eyes follow Scar as he moves toward the door, and he finds himself confused. Scar is leaving? Just like that? No threat? No promise? Just a… way to contact him? “Hang on,” he calls, and he really shouldn’t be pushing his luck.
Scar stops, turning back to look at Grian, “Yes?”
“The… first aid kit.” Grian points to it. “You’re leaving it here?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound like a question.
Scar blinks at him, looking between him and the kit. Grian meets his eyes, and Scar can see the slight confusion in them. “Well sure! I have no use for it.” He shrugs. Grian continues to stare, almost dumbfounded by Scar’s response. Scar looks at him for a moment, just standing in front of the door. He sees a few emotions flicker across Grian’s face, but he can’t get a read on any of them. They move too quickly.
“Oh,” Grian quietly settles on.
Something very light pulls on Scar’s chest, and he finds himself more curious about Grian than before. “I’ll see you in the morning, Grian. Get some rest.” He turns and pulls the door open, setting the hotel room key on the small table nearby it. He leaves shortly after, the lock of the door clicking quietly behind him.
On the way home, Scar finds himself playing their interaction over and over again in his mind.
The first aid kit. What a strange thing to ask about.