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“Thanks for staying to help clean up.” Grian hands the warm cat-patterned mug to Scar, which holds the very last of the hot chocolate he cooked up for the night. Scar perks up on the edge of the couch, gratefully taking the mug from Grian. Where their fingers brush, Grian feels unwelcome tingles.
“It was no problem!” Scar says nonchalantly, bringing the mug to his lips. Grian slowly takes a seat as he watches Scar drink the warm beverage, leaving just enough room between them to be reasonable.
All the Christmas decorations have been taken down and put in storage. The leftovers are either in the fridge or have been sent home with Grian’s friends. The house has cleared out and feels oddly quiet, the only sounds being the faint record-scratching of the Christmas vinyl in the corner and the quiet snoring of Maui atop his cat-tower. Mumbo has already tucked in for the night and is likely fast asleep, leaving just Scar and Grian in the near-silence of the living room.
Terrified of the awkward silence, Grian props an arm on the back of the couch and does his best not to stare at Scar. “How was the party? Did you have fun?”
Scar lowers the mug and smirks at Grian—it’s the kind of smile where his eyelids are half-lowered and the right corner of his mouth is raised slightly higher than the left side. “Grian, you’re not just seeking externial validation, are you?”
Grian feigns ignorance to disguise his staring at the corners of Scar’s mouth. “No, I would never.”
Scar hums, kicking his feet a little. “The party was amazin’, and here I was thinking you could never top last year’s party!”
The first memory that comes to mind from last year’s party is the most embarrassing of them all—when he and Scar wound up under the mistletoe and he made a fool of himself in front of everyone by tearing it down and denouncing it. Everyone else who fell victim to the mistletoe that night had handled it with grace or sarcastic quips, but Grian had to go and embarrass both himself and Scar. He apologized afterwards, of course, to which Scar seemed to have already forgotten about the whole encounter. But it never left Grian’s mind, and to this day he still carries the guilt of that situation with him.
“In fact,” Scar says playfully, “You might have to start planning for next year’s party now to make sure it’s better than this year!”
Grian rolls his eyes and flicks Scar’s shoulder. “Now who’s the one boosting my ego?”
Scar shrugs lightheartedly and the pom-poms on the collar of his sweater bounce with the movement. “I’m just saying, Gri, you throw amazin’ parties, you should be proud of yourself!”
“I am proud.” Scar raises an eyebrow at him and, upon realizing how close in proximity they are currently, Grian diverts his gaze and backs up. He clears his throat, trying to ease some of the tension in the room. “Maybe next year you could help me organize the party?”
It’s a simple invitation in hindsight, but to Grian, it’s much bigger than that. His Christmas party is no little ordeal, he prides himself in the success of his holiday get-togethers. He never lets any of his friends do much more than bring side dishes or suggest party games—to invite Scar to help organize the party is monumental in what it’s suggesting.
Scar cocks his head slightly at Grian. “I thought I was already helping to organize the party?”
“Well, maybe next year you could be more involved.”
Shrugging, Scar deflects with a simple smile. “Sure, sure! Whatever you want, Grian!”
Grian can’t help but frown. That certainly wasn’t the kind of reaction he had been hoping for. But, then again, he doesn’t know what he was hoping for, but it most definitely wasn’t something as nonchalant as that.
Grian has never been a man very in touch with his feelings or capable of expressing them, so he usually goes to extreme lengths to avoid saying what he really means. Unfortunately for him, Scar never seems to pick up on all the hints Grian keeps throwing his way. At this rate, Grian might as well just start trying to get over his crush now, if you could even call it that, and save himself the trouble.
Before Grian can make an effort to redirect the topic of conversation, Scar has glanced at his wristwatch and seen the time. “My, would you look at how late it’s gotten?” He sets the mug down on the coffee table and Grian watches, defeated, as he stands up and stretches out his limbs. “I think it’s time that I get going, leave you to get your beauty sleep.”
Grian stands, too, eyeing Scar’s half-finished drink. “You’re not even gonna finish your hot chocolate?”
“Sorry,” Scar says, wincing, like he actually feels bad for not finishing it, “The hot chocolate was wonderful, don’t get me wrong! But I’m still really full from everything else tonight.”
The mug is a special one, in that Grian bought it from an overpriced gift shop last year solely because the patterned cats on the glass resemble Scar’s own cat, Jellie. He keeps it in a special place in the cupboard and reserves it for Scar’s use only. He had been hoping that breaking out the Jellie mug and the hot chocolate would convince Scar to stay a little longer, but apparently not.
“It’s fine, Scar,” Grian says, because there’s nothing else to be said about it. He’s not going to force Scar to stay, and it is getting late, so he should send him home and let that be the end of it.
When Scar’s got his coat on and is gathering all his things, he’s standing on the porch while Grian’s leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He watches the fuzzy snowflakes drift to the ground, a feeling of calm and serenity washing over him at the peaceful sight.
“Oh, would you look at that, it’s almost midnight,” Scar says, once more studying his wristwatch. “Which means Christmas is practically over! What did you wish for this year?” He looks at Grian with a soft, hopeful smile, and that discernible sparkle behind his eyes. Grian’s breath catches in his throat and for a split second the air between them shifts. The way Scar studies Grian it’s almost like there’s something he wants Grian to say, but for the life of him, Grian doesn’t know what it is that Scar wants. Despite knowing the man for many years, he’s never been good at reading his mind.
Even as they stand at the threshold, the last two in Grian’s house after a party long since ended, wearing matching sweaters, with Scar smiling expectantly at Grian, he refuses to accept what is so obviously there.
Grian sniffs indignantly. “I wish that I didn’t have to wear this ridiculous sweater.”
Scar adapts quickly, bursting into a small fit of laughter. “Why, of course! I should have seen that coming.” He flashes Grian one last smile, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Merry Christmas, Grian.”
His heart beats thunderclaps in his chest, and Grian very nearly asks Scar to stay.
But the words that fall off his tongue are, instead, “Merry Christmas, Scar.”
He watches Scar go, craning his neck to ensure the man makes it to his car alright, before finally closing and locking the door. Grian groans and runs his hands down his face, unsure what he’s disappointed with, but sure of his own disappointment in himself.
“Dude.” Grian slowly turns to see Mumbo standing in the hallway, dressed in his pajamas and clutching his toothbrush, expression screwed up in disappointment. “That was painful to watch.”
Grian rolls his eyes at his roommate, walking over to grab the abandoned mug from off of the coffee table. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Intending to use Boxing Day to relax and decompress after all the holiday anxieties, Grian doesn’t have much planned for the day. He starts his day off with taking a shower and lounging around the house in his pajamas while making some tea. Mumbo has the day off work too, and is sitting at the dining table with his laptop, attempting to do the daily crossword while eating his breakfast. Grian walks by every now and again for the sole purpose of giving away clues he’s already deciphered that Mumbo has been stuck on, much to his roommate’s dismay.
He’s debating starting on the new Sherlock Holmes novel that he got himself for Christmas when he walks into the living room to see Maui pawing at something underneath the entertainment center. This is not the first time Maui has gotten a toy stuck under there, helplessly pawing and meowing at it until someone comes to dislodge it for him, it’s actually a pretty common occurrence in their house. So Grian sets his mug of tea down and gets down on his hands and knees to see if he can get to whatever toy Maui has gotten stuck under there.
After some blind grabbing and more than a couple scrapes on his arm, Grian is able to get a hold of the toy and pull it out from under the entertainment center.
But when Grian sits up and examines it, he finds it’s not a toy at all.
He walks into the dining room and tosses it onto the table just beside Mumbo’s laptop. “Found your wallet under the entertainment center.”
Mumbo looks away from his puzzle and picks up the slip of leather. “Um. This isn’t my wallet.”
Grian furrows his brow. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Mumbo opens the billfold and his eyes go wide. “I’m pretty sure it’s Scar’s? ”
“What? How do you know?” Grian asks, incredulous.
Mumbo holds up the opened wallet for Grian to look at. “Because there’s only one man I could think of who would have a picture of his cat in his wallet.”
Sure enough, there’s a small picture of a grey tabby stuck on the inside of the wallet. Grian’s expression drops and he takes the wallet back from Mumbo, fighting off the urge to thumb through the contents of it.
“It’s probably got his license as well,” Grian says as he takes out his phone, shaking his head. “He could have been in massive trouble if he had been pulled over.”
“Classic Scar,” Mumbo says, already working on his crossword once more.
Grian saunters into the kitchen as he pulls up Scar’s contact in his phone, beginning to type out a message.
(You) scar
(You) you left your wallet here last night
He angrily sips his tea and waits for a reply, despite knowing realistically Scar would be sleeping in today. It could be hours before he sees Grian’s messages, but Grian waits anyway.
It works out, in the end, because a response miraculously comes through less than a minute later.
(Scar 🐈) Oh dear! How did I forgot it xD
Grian lets out a huff as he types his reply, leaning back against the counter and using it as a support.
(You) wanna tell me how it got under my entertainment center?
(Scar 🐈) LOL
(Scar 🐈) I will come get it soon
He lets out a little squawk when he sees that. Mumbo doesn’t even turn his head from his laptop, he’s gotten used to Grian’s little vocal tics.
(You) absolutely not
(You) its got your license in it
(Scar 🐈) Oh yeah! LOL
Grian bangs his forehead against the cupboard, already detesting himself for what he’s about to offer, because there’s no way he’s going to make Scar drive all the way back to his house just for his wallet.
(You) i will bring it to you
(You) are you home
Scar’s response takes a little longer this time, so Grian has the opportunity to quickly scarf down half a bagel and finish out the rest of his tea. He doesn’t know what Scar would be up to today, but the fact that he’s even awake must mean he’s doing something.
Eventually Scar’s reply comes through and he confirms that yes, he is at home, so Grian officially seals his fate. He rinses out his mug and leaves it in the sink, making a mental note to wash it fully when he makes it back.
“I’m going to run Scar’s wallet to him,” Grian says, matter-of-factly as he exits the kitchen.
Mumbo nods idly, his eyes still glued to the screen of his laptop. “Have fun with that.”
Before sauntering off to his room to get dressed, Grian peers over Mumbo’s shoulder one last time and studies the clue Mumbo’s pulling his hair out over. “Exemplify,” he says with a cheeky grin.
“Grian!”
He throws on some clothes, runs a comb through his hair, and brushes his teeth before allowing himself to leave the house. Scar didn’t seem too desperate to get his hands back on his wallet, so Grian feels okay to allow himself time to pull himself together.
It’s not too long of a drive to Scar’s apartment complex, but the roads are slick and for some reason unbeknownst to him there’s people everywhere. He makes it to his destination unscathed, and makes the trek through the cold to the building. Scar has to buzz him in on his end, but thankfully Grian warned him ahead of time so he gets into the building quickly enough.
Scar’s apartment is on the first floor so Grian makes it there relatively quickly. He does end up spending a few minutes waiting outside the door impatiently, before he hears the locks click and the door opens inward.
“Well hello there, Grian!” Scar greets cheerfully. He smiles at Grian in that effortlessly charming way he always does and Grian, for a very small moment, nearly forgets how to breathe. The sound of a cat meowing breaks him out of his trance, and soon enough they’re both looking down to see the feline looking up at Grian with wide eyes.
“Yes, Jellie, it’s Grian!” Scar says, pulling the door closed a fraction to keep her from running out. “You can’t go out though, I’m sorry!”
While Scar coos over his own cat, Grian pulls the wallet from his coat pocket and holds it out. “Your wallet.”
Scar bends down and hoists Jellie into his arms before taking the wallet from Grian, a testament to his true priorities, here. “You’re amazin’ for bringing this back, thank you!” He slips it into his own pocket, one arm still holding Jellie against his chest. “Where did you say it ended up, again?”
Grian pockets his hands, now that they’re free, trying to remain nonchalant. “Under my entertainment center.”
The brunette giggles to himself, gaze pointed at the cat mewling in his arms. “How odd!” He scratches Jellie’s stomach idly before letting his eyes flit to Grian. “Thank you for returning it, Grian.”
He nods, swallowing hard as Scar’s eyes stare right through him. “No problem.” He shuffles his feet a little, the tension between them so thick he could cut it with a knife. “I should probably go now.”
“Of course, of course!” Scar says. He uses both arms to hold Jellie against him, now, but the smile he gives to Grian feels like it’s meant for him and him alone. Grian almost wishes Scar wasn’t so willing to let him leave so early, but there’s not really anything he can do about it, is there? It would be rude to invite himself into Scar’s apartment, and even if he did, what would he hope to gain from it?
So Grian begins taking a few steps backward, intentionally shuffling a bit awkwardly so he can keep his gaze even with Scar’s. He points accusatorily at the other man. “Don’t leave your wallet at my house again.”
Scar makes a goofy salute with two fingers. “Aye-aye, captain!”
With nothing else to say, Grian turns on his heel and retraces his way down the corridor to the front lobby. He hears Scar’s door shut and the locks click behind him, offering Grian the satisfaction of knowing he’s being intuitive about his own safety, something he’d had gotten on Scar’s case for in the past. It’s a big city, you never know what creeps are lurking around!
When Grian makes it to his car he just sits there for a moment before even turning it on. Part of him wishes he had said something more when he’d been in Scar’s doorway, and the other part of him is glad that he didn’t. He wonders how that reflects on him.
After a long day at work and discovering he’s somehow run out of tea without realizing it, Grian isn’t particularly in a great mood when he goes to bed. Maui lays with him as he gets settled under his covers, and just as he’s pulling out his phone to set an alarm for the morning, a text message comes through. He clicks on it immediately, finding that it’s a message from Jimmy to the group chat between him, Grian and Joel, with the message containing a singular image.
It’s a badly cropped image of Jimmy in a dark room, with him looking concerned in the corner of the picture. The rest of the photo is made up of what looks like Jimmy’s dimly lit bedroom, with his boyfriend, Tango, perched on the other side of the bed, doing something with his hands and his posture looking terribly uncomfortable. Grian isn’t quite certain what point the photo is trying to get across, but thankfully for him, Jimmy’s explanation comes through as its own message a few seconds later.
(Timmy) hes building lego in bed 😭
When Grian looks closer at the image, he can pick out the individual colorful plastic pieces splayed out on the bedspread around Tango. He had assumed it was a universal rule that legos stayed on a flat surface, like a table, to prevent any block-related injuries, but apparently not in the Jimmy-Tango household. Suffice it to say that Tango is interesting like that, and that Jimmy’s taste in men is questionable at best (no offense, Tango).
(You) despicable
(Joel) at least you know what his priorities are
(Timmy) OI
(Joel) [image] don’t worry Jim I’m not much better off
Grian clicks on the image Joel’s attached to enlarge it: it’s a similarly angled picture with Joel’s face in the corner, who also appears to be in bed. Lizzie is opposite him, facing away, and cuddled up to a comically large axolotl stuffed animal. Grian rolls his eyes playfully at his friends’ antics, minimizing the photo and definitely not feeling jealous over their luck in the relationship department.
(Timmy) CUTE 😍
(You) i think shes replacing you Joel
(Joel) I never should have bought it for her.. that was my first mistake
He types out a response and stares at it, wondering if it’s a good idea to send it. He’s never been one for tearing others down over their successes— especially when it comes to his friends—but it’s been a long day and he doesn’t quite have the brainpower to flip this around and make it more teasing than poorly timed venting. So he presses send and almost immediately the guilt eats away at him.
(You) at least you two have partners you can complain about
Seconds later, the replies come in, and Grian almost doesn’t look at them out of shame.
(Timmy) Grian 😢
(Joel) oh come off it.. what about scar?
Grian nearly spits out his water when he reads Joel’s response. His face flushes, expression screwed up in embarrassment as he types up his defense.
(You) ???
(You) what do you mean ‘what about scar’?
(Timmy) 👀👀👀
(You) stop it with the emojis Tim
Joel’s typing bubble appears and disappears quite a few times before his response comes, which doesn’t at all stress Grian out. He’s now sitting up in bed and just staring angrily at the screen, watching as the typing bubble disappears and reappears for a good minute or so.
(Joel) don’t you have a MASSIVE crush on him?
Grian scowls at his phone, and only now realizes how hard he’s been gripping it. He sets it down on the bed for a moment while he gathers his composure, running his hands down his face with a long groan.
(You) that is none of your business
(Joel) ok well.. pretty much everyone knows about it so
(Timmy) OOOOHH 😳
(You) SHUT UP
(Joel) so if you really wanted to you could just date him, problem solved
(You) how does that solve any of my problems
(Joel) idk man, don’t ask me
(You) ???
Yeah, his friends are no help whatsoever, he doesn’t even know why he said anything.
(Timmy) Grian i bet if you just talked to him everything would turn out great 🤩
(You) CUT IT OUT WITH THE EMOJIS OMG
(Timmy) 😔
Jimmy might have a point, though. As much as Grian has been dancing around him for the past few weeks and been dropping miniscule hints about his intentions with the future of their relationship, Scar has given no indication whatsoever that he’s aware of Grian’s feelings. So maybe talking it out with Scar and laying all out on the table could get him somewhere! Who knew advice from Jimmy might just be helpful?
Grian pulls up Scar’s number in his phone and stares at the contact photo he selected. It’s a goofy picture of Scar cropped from a group photo they took who knows how long ago, most likely during one of their movie nights with Mumbo, Pearl and Impulse. Scar’s unabashed smile and bright, twinkling eyes have made that photo one of Grian’s favorites that he has of Scar; it so perfectly encapsulates his energy.
He steels himself with a deep breath and begins typing out a message.
And then he immediately deletes it. Who knows if Scar is even awake right now? Does he even want to start this conversation over text? What if Scar’s response is bad and it tears down their carefully curated friendship?
Grian turns his phone off and pulls the covers over himself. He’ll sleep on it.
New years eve: one of Grian’s favorite excuses to have a random party. This year it’s Pearl who has volunteered to host, so they’ve all piled into her fourth floor apartment in the city to drink and ring in the new year. Since Grian hosts the Christmas party he’s off the hook for the new years eve party, and is allowed to be as chaotic as he wants—and get a little tipsier than he’d let himself at his own events.
Pearl is a great hostess and is very in her element here. Her shared apartment with Gem has been decorated to the nines with inexpensive new years paraphernalia, from gold and black banners to faux sparklers in little jars along the countertops. They’ve set up a mix-your-own drink station in the kitchen and the dining table isn’t even visible under all the various bowls and plates of snacks, the most grandiose of all being the charcuterie board that he’s pretty sure is Cleo and Scott’s doing. Pearl’s pomeranian, Tilly, trots along as the party rages, a little gold and silver speckled bowtie replacing her usual yellow collar. There’s a stack of board games in the living room and a live countdown on the TV, with a perfect view of the city nightlife through the glass doors leading to the balcony. Pearl has even supplied them with a plethora of noisemakers and confetti-filled party poppers to use when the countdown reaches midnight.
It’s about an hour till midnight when Grian is fixing himself another drink, and when Joel slides up to join him at the makeshift bar.
“Any updates?” Joel asks sneakily, his voice lowered against the loudness of the party around them.
Grian frowns as he ladles some ice into his cup. “Updates on what?”
Joel nudges him with an elbow, a cheshire grin tugging at his lips. “You know. You and Scar.”
Grian stiffens, but instead of playing the fool, he indulges Joel because he does, in fact, have an update. “As a matter of fact, yes.” Joel’s eyes light up and Grian looks around them to make sure no one is eavesdropping before leaning in close to whisper to Joel. “I’m gonna kiss Scar at midnight.”
When Grian pulls away, he’s wearing a smirk and pretty proud of himself. But Joel just stares at him, incredulous.
“That’s it?”
“What do you mean?” Grian asks, grabbing his finished drink and taking a swig of it. “It’s the perfect plan!”
“What’s the perfect plan?” Jimmy asks, joining them in the kitchen with two empty cups of his own.
With a sour look, Joel beats Grian to the punch. “This idiot thinks he’s going to kiss Scar at midnight.”
Jimmy’s expression lights up and he grins widely at Grian. “Wow, congrats!” He shimmies past Grian and begins fixing two separate drinks. “So you two finally talked, then?”
Joel looks at him expectantly and Grian, ashamedly, shuffles his feet. “No…”
“Seriously?” Jimmy says as Joel shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re just gonna kiss him and then— and then what?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far!” Grian admits with a shrug. Joel’s head is in his hands. “I was thinking I would just run away after that.”
“You can’t just run away from your problems, Grian,” says Jimmy as he plops a couple ice cubes into the drinks. “Trust me, I know that from experience.”
Grian scrambles for an adequate response to that. “What am I supposed to do, then? Talk to him?”
“Yes!” Jimmy and Joel say in unison. Grian just rolls his eyes in response.
Before anything else can be said on the controversial situation at hand, Tango darts into the kitchen like a whirlwind and swipes one of the drinks out of Jimmy’s grasp. He plants a kiss on Jimmy’s cheek as he does it, and runs off back into the living room, calling “Thanks, honey!” as he goes.
Jimmy lets out a little dreamy sigh once he recovers from the shock of the whirlwind that is Tango. Joel pretends to gag and Grian snickers.
“Oh, come on!” Jimmy says, his shoulders hunching up like a distressed bird’s feathers. “Why is it gross when I do it?”
Joel shrugs meagerly in response. “Dunno.” He turns back to Grian, lighthearted expression giving way to a more serious one. “Now, Grian, back to the whole kissing situation—”
“What’s that?” Grian interrupts, swiftly making his way out of the kitchen. “Sorry guys, someone’s calling my name, I gotta go!”
“This isn’t the end of this conversation!” Jimmy calls after him as Grian ducks out of that awkward situation, laughing a bit to himself.
He’s only been in Pearl’s apartment a few times before so as he exits the kitchen he gets a little turned around, before ending up in the main entry hallway, only to stumble upon the very man of the hour.
Scar stands all by his lonesome in the entry hallway, for whatever reason. Grian stops in his tracks and clutches his red solo cup against himself, the pleasant buzz in his chest from the drinks bringing an unwilling flush to his face just from being in the same room as Scar. It’s still an hour till midnight but simply being alone with Scar amidst a busy party makes him a little giddy.
Until it dawns on him why Scar is in the entry hallway—he’s putting on his shoes and coat.
“Scar?” Grian asks, announcing himself. Scar, surprisingly, doesn’t startle, instead smiling up at Grian in welcome.
“Well hello there! Enjoying the party?” Scar asks, zipping up his coat.
Grian nods, a little slowly. “I am, yeah. Um. Are you leaving?”
Scar pockets his hands as he gives a little nod. “Yep!” he says simply, unaware of his own sabotaging decisions.
There’s absolutely no way that Grian can stall him long enough until midnight, Scar has foiled his plan entirely.
“Why?” Grian finds himself asking, even though it’s a little rude.
“Well it is past my bedtime, and Jellie gets pretty lonely at night! And I already talked to Pearl and she said it’s okay I’m not staying for the whole party.” He pockets his hands, like it’s no big deal he’s going to sleep through the celebrations and fireworks and the devious midnight kiss Grian had planned.
Grian clears his throat, not wanting to seem rude. “That makes sense. You’ll probably beat all the traffic, too.”
Scar’s smile widens and Grian wilts a little. “Exactly! I’m glad you understand.” His hand lands on the doorknob but he keeps his gaze fixated on Grian, and Grian selfishly doesn’t want to leave his line of sight. “Happy new year, enjoy the party!”
“Wait!” Grian says, rushing forward before he can stop himself. Scar pulls back from the door and pockets his hands, his full, undivided attention pointed at Grian. “You can’t leave,” Grian selfishly rasps out.
Scar cocks his head, his soft, brown hair rustling as he does so. Grian can’t bear to look away. “Why not?” Scar asks, curiosity leaking into his tone.
Grian struggles for an adequate response, and he must look pretty idiotic as he stands there, opening and closing his mouth over and over. Scar patiently waits it out, most likely giving Grian the benefit of the doubt since most of them are tipsy already.
He finally finds his words, but they’re not the right ones. “Someone wants to kiss you at midnight,” he ends up saying, immediately kicking himself for it.
Scar’s eyes widen and he raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh?”
Grian nods, trying to play it cool. “Yeah.”
“Who is it?”
He draws a blank, realizing that he’s backed himself into a corner here. Scar waits for his reply, looking more and more suspicious as Grian fumbles to find something non-idiotic to respond with.
“Mumbo?” Grian says, but it comes out more like a question. Scar blinks a couple times in response as Grian inwardly cringes at himself.
Then Scar starts laughing. Grian’s brow furrows in confusion. “Oh, I see what’s going on here. Good one.” He turns the handle and steps into the doorway, smiling his brilliant smile at Grian one last time. “Goodnight, Grian!”
Grian is left hanging as Scar slips out into the hallway. His empty hand balls into a fist in anger at himself—he had the perfect opportunity to do something about all these embarrassing and awkwardly timed feelings, but he somehow still managed to mess it up!
Maybe this is just a sign from the universe that they’re not meant to talk about it.
And if that’s truly the case, then Grian decides he can find a way to make peace with that.
It’s been a bleak January thus far and Grian is already longing for the comforting rays of sunshine that accompany summertime. Despite being more well-equipped for winter when it comes to his wardrobe, he hates having to deal with scraping frost off his car and having snow blown in his face every time he leaves the house.
When Grian makes it back to the house he hasn’t even finished fishing his keys out of his pockets when the front door swings open. Illuminated by the warm lighting behind him, Scar glows like an angel as he smiles down at Grian, a hand cocked on his hip as the other braces against the doorpost.
“Grian! You’re just in time!” Scar greets with that radiant smile of his. Grian nearly chokes on the feelings forming a lump in his throat, the shock of Scar being in his house rocking him to his core.
Frozen with his hand still digging for his keys in his pocket, Grian squints up at Scar. “What are you doing in my house?”
He knows that Scar knows where the spare key is located, but he wouldn’t just pop over to Grian’s house in the middle of the evening without alerting Grian beforehand. Right?
Before Scar can answer, Mumbo pops into view just over Scar’s shoulder. “It’s marathon night!”
As soon as the explanation is offered, Grian recalls Mumbo saying something about how his and Scar’s favorite show was ending soon and they were going to have a marathon the day the finale was released. He doesn’t remember when Mumbo had said that the marathon would be happening, but apparently it’s tonight.
Bad timing for Grian, who is still trying—and failing —to get over Scar. It’s a lot harder when the person you’re actively trying to avoid is in your house, just a room over from you.
Grian steps past Scar into the house and sets to work removing his coat and shoes. “Are you going to be watching with us?” Scar asks curiously as he closes the front door.
He glances into the living room, where snacks are arranged on the coffee table, blankets are set up and the show has already been pulled up on the TV. Grian grimaces as he remembers the day Mumbo tried to get him into the show—he had to leave the room after the second episode because it was so obviously a Hunger Games ripoff, and it was so predictable that it physically pained him. He doesn’t understand what Mumbo and Scar saw beyond the cheesy plotlines and questionable actions of the characters, but to each their own.
“No,” Grian answers plainly. He stands up and shrugs off his coat, securing it on one of the coat hooks as he glances at Scar.
It’s very brief, but Grian catches the moment that Scar’s expression falls. In Grian’s honest opinion, Scar was a man born for smiling, or smirking, or some combination of the two. Seeing him frown just doesn’t feel right, especially right now when he looks so crestfallen. And all because Grian said ‘no’ to watching a poorly written TV show.
But Scar, a master of facades, quickly composes himself. The ghost of the frown is nowhere to be seen, replaced by Scar’s natural demeanor of charming nonchalance. “Alright, but you’re missing out!”
He brushes past Grian and joins Mumbo at the couch, where they debate over optimal positioning of the snack bowls to where they’ll be sitting for the marathon. Meanwhile Grian stands by the door, watching Scar and feeling like an utter fool.
Thing is, he knows that he should stay steadfast in his decision, that he should just go about his own nightly rituals and not feed into his personal delusions anymore.
But Scar had looked so sad when Grian said he wouldn’t watch with them. And even though it goes against his own principles to watch something of such poor quality, he knows that it would make Scar happy if he did.
He’s not getting over Scar any time soon, huh?
“On second thought,” Grian says, approaching the couch with his arms folded against his chest, “I might watch an episode or two.”
Mumbo’s brow furrows. “Really?”
Scar’s grin widens mischievously. “I knew you’d come around eventually! Quick, Mumbo, we need more blankets!”
That’s how Grian winds up sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Scar, all the lights dimmed as the show begins to play through its pilot episode. Grian is feeling pretty ashamed of himself for stooping this low just to please the very same man that he’s trying to repress his feelings for, but now that he’s seated it’d be pretty rude to just up and leave.
As the first fifteen minutes go by, Scar and Mumbo idly chatter about the character’s motivations and remark about certain elements being important later on. Grian keeps his thoughts to himself, remembering how red Mumbo had gotten when he pointed out all the little plot holes and lazy story writing when he was initially introduced to it.
When Grian reaches for the popcorn bowl, he finds that it is missing from its spot on the table, and is instead situated in Scar’s lap as the man happily munches away. Grian rolls his eyes and leans over the expanse of the couch separating them to grab a fistful of popcorn for himself.
“Why are they in the desert now?” Grian asks hushedly as he grabs for the popcorn, watching the two characters onscreen trudge through a sandy dune.
Scar gives a small smile at the question. “So they can start their monopoly!”
“In the desert?”
“Well the cactus rum trade is an untapped market at this point!”
Grian shakes his head as one of the characters onscreen trips and gets a faceful of hot sand. He scoots a little closer to be nearer to the popcorn bowl, and Scar must get the hint because he also moves towards the middle of the couch. Mumbo is curled up on the loveseat, attention completely captured by the TV. Grian manages to hold back a snicker at how silly his roommate looks right now.
Before Grian knows it, an episode or two goes by and he’s still sat on the couch, watching. Without even realizing it, he and Scar are practically side-by-side now, with one of Scar’s arms resting behind Grian on the top of the sofa. The show continues and Grian can practically feel himself losing brain cells as one of the characters falls for an obvious trap while Scar and Mumbo talk about the symbolism of the birds that fly by as the death scene plays out.
When the fourth episode ends, Scar hops up, startling Grian. “Bathroom break!” he says as he darts for the hallway, the now empty popcorn bowl somehow having found its way onto Grian’s lap.
“You gonna keep watching?” Mumbo asks as he takes the bowl from Grian to refill it in the kitchen.
Grian sinks into the back of the couch as he gives a shrug. “As much as I hate to say it, I’m invested now.”
Mumbo’s gaze narrows, but he says nothing besides a plainly stated, “Right.”
When the popcorn has been refilled and Scar has made it back, they resume the show. Grian instinctively curls into Scar’s side, a singular blanket now shared between the two of them, allowing their legs to knock against the other’s every now and again.
“That guy kinda looks like you,” Grian eventually says, pointing out one of the characters to Scar. The character in question is certainly older and a bit more rugged, but the resemblance is definitely there.
Scar huffs out a little laugh and Grian can feel it through the close proximity of their bodies. “It’s because of the six-pack, isn’t it?”
Grian shakes his head. “No, definitely not that part.”
Scar sticks out his lip in mock-offense. “Are you kidding? I’m so buff.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Grian snickers as he grabs another handful of popcorn, Scar scoffing the whole way.
Mumbo shushes them and Grian just rolls his eyes. Even though it’s a rewatch for him, the current scene must be important if he doesn’t want Grian and Scar talking over it. Grian lets it slide, because it’s his show, after all—
Grian goes as still as a statue when Scar’s arm drapes itself around his shoulders. The gesture is done ever so casually, as if it’s the umpteenth time Scar’s done it. Which, it probably is, given how long they’ve known each other, but Grian still can’t help from feeling a bit panicky about it. He realizes just now how he shouldn’t be this close to Scar right now, not if he’s trying to get over his stupid crush; but it feels so nice to be pressed up against his side like this, to share the same space so casually.
He cranes his neck ever-so-slightly to look up at Scar, who is staring straight ahead at the TV. His expression is relaxed, lips turned upwards lightly, his soft eyelashes brushing against his warmly-colored skin every few seconds. Grian’s throat feels like it might just be closing up right now.
He wants to say something—right here, right now.
But he’s not going to. He shouldn’t. It would be wrong to throw that bomb into the middle of their long-term friendship and offset absolutely everything. Knowing Scar, he’d be kindhearted and maybe a little vain about the whole thing, but he’d still let Grian down.
So Grian blinks away the tears before they can even form and sticks it out until the current episode ends. Then he announces that he’s tired and promptly goes to his room for the night. He doesn’t look at Scar longer than to tell him goodnight, because he knows himself.
It’s been nearly two weeks since the night of the marathon and Grian has been successful in avoiding Scar. He feels bad when he shuts down Scar’s invitations to hang out, but knows that it’s what will be best in the long run. Jimmy and Joel haven’t stopped pestering him to do something about his feelings, but the texts have been fewer and farther between these days. But it’s not like Grian is listening to their advice, anyway. He’s not going to sacrifice his friendship with Scar because of some silly, unwelcome feelings.
So when Scar invites him out for lunch one crisp Monday afternoon, Grian’s immediate response is to turn him down. But before he can type out some half-assed excuse in response to Scar’s text, he considers how the distance might be putting strain on their friendship just as much as Grian’s unsolicited feelings are. So he deletes that text and types out a different one, this time agreeing to meet up with Scar during his lunch break.
They agree to meet at a local teahouse just a few blocks away from Grian’s office. It just so happens to be one of Grian’s favorite places, so he was enthused when Scar suggested it. He clocks out for his lunch break and swiftly makes his way down the street to the teahouse, the chilly winds of late January buffeting against his coat.
When Grian rounds the corner and peers in through the window of the teahouse, he can see Scar already waiting for him at a table, so he quickens his pace, worried about keeping the other man waiting. The bell on the door jingles as Grian enters and he makes a beeline for the table, where Scar is sitting with a pleasant smile on his face and hands folded on the table in front of him.
“Well don’t you just look positively cozy!” Scar says in greeting as Grian approaches.
Grian shrugs off his coat and hooks it on the back of the chair opposite Scar. “I’ll go and place my order real quick.”
Scar’s smile grows. “No need!” He gestures at the other side of the table, where there is already a teacup and saucer, accompanied by a small plate topped with a scone. Steam still wafts off the cup of tea. It’s the exact thing that Grian always orders when he comes here.
For a moment all Grian can do is stare, dumbfounded. It’s such a simple gesture for Scar to have ordered ahead for him, but it’s so thoughtful that it feels like a shot through Grian’s already sensitive heart.
“I know your lunch break is only so long, so I ordered ahead for you!” Scar explains, expression ever-so-casual, like he hasn’t just thrown Grian’s whole world off kilter. “It should still be warm, so don’t worry.”
“Thanks,” Grian stammers out, slowly taking his seat. He stares at the teacup and scone for a moment, heart thundering inside his chest. The thing that’s getting to him is that Scar knows his exact order, and he knows how stringent Grian is about his lunch breaks. It’s so incredibly considerate and kind and makes Grian realizes just how much of a doomed man he is.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” Scar complains. “You’ve been so busy. How’s work?”
Grian struggles to find his words, lost in Scar’s emerald green eyes. “It’s— Well, uh— I mean—” He tries to take a drink but he can barely hold the teacup—his hands are shaking, he realizes. He can’t find his words and can’t even drink his tea, Scar must think he looks so idiotic right now.
But if he does, he makes no inclination of it. He just watches Grian with an amused expression, waiting patiently for him to find the words.
“Scar, we need to talk.”
It’s earth-shattering, in all honesty. Grian can feel the panic building and coming to a crescendo inside of him. He’s really about to do this, finally confess his feelings and throw everything out the window. It could ruin their friendship: he can’t imagine a world wherein his one-sided feelings don’t disturb their relationship in some way or another.
Except, they may not be as one-sided as Grian thinks. Scar has been acting a little strangely these past couple of weeks, too, could it also be a signifier of feelings from his side as well? Or is it all just a sort of response to how weird Grian’s been acting? There’s no way to tell for certain, but Grian does know that they need to finally do something about it. They haven’t talked about it, because why would they?
But he needs to say something, because if he doesn’t, it might just tear him apart.
Scar responds to Grian’s rather ominous question with open curiosity. “Oh? About what?”
Grian attempts to steady his breathing, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He decides to start with, “Well, first of all, I’ve kind of been avoiding you these past couple of weeks.”
The other man’s response is—to put it lightly—not what Grian had been expecting. “Oh, I’m so glad we’re addressing this!” says Scar, donning a grin that leaves Grian quite unimpressed given the serious tone their conversation should be taking right now. “It’s been hurting my poor heart that you’ve been ignoring me, I’ll have you know!”
“Scar,” Grian says, deadpan, leveling Scar with a stare.
“Right, sorry!” Scar says, waving his hands around before planting them palms-down on the table. “Please, continue.”
Grian takes a deep breath. “I have a good reason for avoiding you, okay, it’s because—” He clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “Because I’ve been dealing with some— Stuff, recently. Pretty serious stuff.”
Scar frowns. “You’re not sick, are you?”
“No!” Grian hastily amends, the panic getting to him. He feels really warm, all of a sudden—is it hot in here? “I’m not sick! Well, I guess you could say I’m sick, in a sense, but not like ill.” He pauses and looks at Scar, as if that’s going to help him in this situation, but Scar just appears confused, with a set brow and a curious look in his eyes. Grian wishes he could just come out and say it, but he can’t figure out the best way to do it without compromising everything. This confession is most certainly going to uproot their friendship, but he wants to go about this in the least disruptive way he can.
Is that even possible?
“Basically, I’m just—” Grian huffs, running a hand through his hair. “I have— You— I— ”
“Grian, it’s okay,” Scar soothes. He reaches forward and puts a hand on top of Grian’s. Grian stills, staring intensely at Scar and his ridiculously sweet smile. “I know,” Scar says simply.
Grian’s brow furrows. “You know? ”
“Yep!” he says, chipperly, explaining absolutely nothing.
“Know what? ”
Scar raises an eyebrow playfully as he reaches for his own drink—a mug of hot chocolate with two pumps of caramel and three jumbo marshmallows on top. “I’m not oblivious, Grian. I know you.”
Grian just sits there in stunned silence as Scar drinks from his mug. Are they both on the same page here? Has Scar really been aware of Grian’s feelings this entire time?
“You know?” Grian repeats, like a broken record.
Scar folds his arms on the table and leans a bit closer, smiling as he nods. “Uh-huh! And I also know that you’re not going to be able to say it.” He gives a little shrug. “But that’s alright. I wasn’t expecting you to do something about it today, though.”
Grian gawks, his face going red. “How long have you known?”
“Since the Christmas party.”
“And you just didn’t say anything?”
“I figured you needed to come to the realization on your own. Though New Year’s Eve was pretty funny.”
Grian feels like he’s being pranked. How on earth can Scar sit there, being so nonchalant about the fact that he’s known about Grian’s inner turmoil this whole time?
Then it dawns on him that Scar has said that he’s aware of Grian’s feelings, but hasn’t said anything about reciprocating.
“So you know,” Grian says, pointing at Scar, then at himself, “So do I know?”
Scar blinks a couple times. “Know what?”
“Scar!”
“Oh!” Scar says in realization. “Yes! Wait, no? No, yes! ”
Grian feels like he’s going mental. Even as they’re both openly acknowledging it, they still can’t talk about it!
Finally working up the courage, Grian reaches across the table and grabs both of Scar’s hands with his own, squeezing them tightly. He locks eyes with Scar, his brows furrowed seriously. “Scar, I have feelings for you.” He cringes at himself even as he says it, but the admission does offer him a sense of relief.
Scar smiles, something soft and fond. He squeezes back. “I know! I do, too!” His expression falls almost immediately, lips pursed. “I have feelings for you, not for myself. Jeez, that sounded weird!”
Grian puts his head in his hands—well, hand, singular. Now that he’s actually holding hands with Scar he doesn’t really feel like completely pulling away just yet.
He watches through the cracks between his fingers as Scar adjusts the position of their hands, so that their fingers are interlocked. It makes Grian’s heart skip a beat.
“Is this okay?” Scar asks, voice quiet and uncertain for the first time during this whole exchange.
“Yes,” Grian says, a little too eagerly. He clears his throat and tries again. “I mean— yeah, I guess.”
Scar nods, his lips curling upwards into a smile. “Wonderful.” He squeezes Grian’s hand one more time and it sends a little shock down Grian’s arm and across his body. His breath hitches in his throat as he realizes the enormity of the situation that has just unfolded.
“I feel like such an idiot.” Grian groans, turning away and looking out the window to his left to avoid looking at Scar—effortlessly kind Scar; handsome, rugged Scar; endlessly talented Scar; the man Grian has had feelings for for who knows how long, and the very same man who feels the same way about him.
“Aw, G, it’s alright!” Scar soothes as he reaches across the table and plucks the scone off of Grian’s plate. “I’m proud of you for finally saying something.”
Grian swats Scar’s hands away playfully. “Don’t patronize me.” He takes a large bite of the pastry and Scar watches with a smile. He thinks he could get used to Scar looking at him like that—it makes him feel floaty.
The rest of Grian’s lunch break seems to melt away as the two of them finally talk. Eventually they have to stop holding hands so they can both eat, but that doesn’t stop Grian from nudging his foot up against Scar’s under the table, yearning for some form of contact. He can physically feel all the stress leave him as the conversation goes on. All of his anxieties have been quelled, even though he’s still reeling from the reciprocated confession. He expected his feelings to blow up in his face, and honestly, is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But nothing comes of it. Instead, when Grian’s lunch break is up, Scar is jumping at the opportunity to walk Grian back to work, and holds his hand the entire time they stroll down the street. Yet another simple yet sweet gesture from the man that has Grian practically drowning in his admiration for Scar.
The walk is relatively short and the chilly weather has Grian burrowing into his coat for warmth, but he cherishes the moment all the same. He’s never really been one for PDA, but he can’t find it in himself to pull his hand out of the comforting grip of Scar’s. It feels like a dream, to be able to be like this with Scar out in the open, to not have to hide his feelings for the first time in weeks.
“Thank you for today,” says Grian as they get to the building where Grian’s office is located. They pull off to the edge of the sidewalk so they’re not in the way of the other pedestrians while they say their goodbyes. “I’m really glad we talked.” He can feel his ears tinge pink as he says it, even though it’s true. It’s definitely going to take some getting used to, the whole being openly affectionate with Scar thing.
Scar grins down at him, giving Grian’s hand one last little squeeze. Grian finds that he doesn’t want to let go. “I’m glad, too. And lunch was amazin’.”
Grian takes a step backwards as the telltale signs of goodbye begin to loom heavy over their conversation. “I should head in, now.” Their hands are still linked even as Grian steps back and Scar watches him pull away with a simple, wistful smile, not expecting anything more in their parting.
Maybe that’s why Grian does what he does next—because he’s always relished in the satisfaction of being able to catch Scar off guard, and wants to get back at the other man for knowing about Grian’s feelings this whole time and not saying a single thing.
Instead of pulling away and running off inside to the warmth of his office, Grian steps back into Scar’s space and goes up on his toes. With his eyes fluttering closed and his heart pounding in his chest, Grian presses a chaste kiss to Scar’s cheek. He keeps his hand in Scar’s the entire time, even as he feels a wave of bashfulness spread over him at doing something like this out in public.
When Grian pulls away and finds his footing, he gets to marvel at the sight of Scar recovering from the shock of the kiss. His cheeks are flushed—and not just because of the Mid-January chill, mind you—and his lips wobble upwards into a dopey smile. All the air is sucked out of Grian’s lungs instantly and he feels his own face flush with embarrassment. He really just did that.
Seconds later Scar’s expression shifts and there’s a mischievous glint behind his eye. But before he can say anything, Grian’s brow furrows and he points emphatically at the other man.
“Whatever you’re about to say; don’t.” There’s a clear warning behind his words, but Scar knows better than to assume malicious intent from Grian.
Instead, Scar mimes zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. Grian snorts at him, his icy facade melting away within seconds.
Then, remarkably, Scar’s expression softens. He looks at Grian with fondness painted all over his face, from the upward curve to his lips to the longing in his gaze. It’s the slightest of changes in his behavior, but to Grian it’s so glaringly obvious.
Horror steels over Grian at the same time as the realization. Has Scar always looked at him like that? How didn’t Grian figure it out sooner?
A sudden impulsive thought takes hold of Grian, but before he can embarrass himself on a public street even more than he already has and ruin their first kiss, he pulls his hand from Scar’s and prances over to his office building. He lingers in the doorway, drinking in as much of Scar as he can before he has to go back to work.
“Are you busy Friday night?” Grian asks sneakily.
Scar lights up, immediately catching on. “No, no, not at all!”
Grian smirks at Scar’s frantic response. He really should have caught on sooner. “I’ll pick you up for dinner, seven PM.” He’s about to turn on his heel and enter the building, but he twirls around at the last second and locks eyes with Scar one last time. “Be ready on time or else I’m eating all the tiramisu.”
Scar salutes him cartoonishly and it takes all of Grian’s strength not to dash forward and kiss that stupid smirk off his lips. “Seven PM, you got it!”
After one last look, Grian swivels around and enters the building. But the rest of his workday is pretty unproductive, as the whole time he’s distracted by the satisfaction of finally having talked to Scar, the promise of a date, and the hypotheticals of what comes afterwards for the two of them.
But Grian isn’t too worried about what their future holds. He’s not scared to face it anymore, and he’s confident that the two of them can brave whatever problems the universe decides to throw at them. They’re a package deal, after all.