Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

cover art by inkystaarart

Day 1

The sun beat down, scorching. Grian squinted against the glare and the heat haze to make out the building in front of him. The villa was built primarily of pale wood, with bright red, sweet-smelling flowers climbing the pillars, it perched on top of a  beach. Bright, and airy, and romantic. 

It wasn’t the worst place to die in, as far as deathplaces go.

Grian glanced at the seven people standing in a line beside him. In a few weeks, they would all be dead. In a few weeks, he could be dead. He just had to make sure that didn’t happen. Grian was tempted to look closely at each of them, to gauge each of their strengths and weaknesses, but he kept his gaze straight ahead. Wouldn't allow himself to look nervous now, when there were people watching. 

In a distant tree, the red lens of a camera blinked. 

Grian didn’t need to look at them anyway. He already knew about each of their names, even if they didn’t yet know his. To his right, Scott, Martyn, Cleo. To his left, Scar, Bdubs, Jimmy, Ren. Some were smarter than others, some more cunning, some more entertaining. Grian wouldn’t need to worry about all of them. He just needed to worry about one, but whose hands his fate would rest in was yet to be decided.

Eight randomly selected participants from the hundreds of applications, each with their background carefully combed through, each monitored to see if they would be entertaining enough for national television, each of them complete strangers.

Well. Seven randomly selected participants. Seven complete strangers. Grian was far from random. And he wasn’t a complete stranger, at least to one of them. He fought the urge to glance to his left.

The air was still. The eight contestants tried to pretend they weren’t staring at each other. The heat hung over them like a cloud. Finally, a voice booming across the island, making the blond one, Jimmy, jump. From Grian’s side, Scott shot him an amused look. 

“Contestants,” shouted a robotic male voice, loud, carrying, from everywhere and nowhere. “Welcome to Life Island, where you’ll be competing to find the love of your life—and 100,000 dollars!”

Nervous titters spread across the group.

“The rules are as follows: this island will be your new home for the summer. You’ll be paired off with a stranger to be your partner! This person could be the new love of your life — or not. Over the next weeks, you’ll face challenges that will either drive you apart or bring you closer together. As you spend time together, you can decide if you want to stay with them or move on to someone else in our recoupling events. Remember, every week the audience will vote out either a single person or a couple they don’t like, and the last couple standing gets a grand prize of 100k — and a love that’ll last forever!”

Now, Grian knew, at the homes of millions of viewers who had tuned in for the brand-new, highly advertised romance reality TV show that was airing live, there would be a brief segment that played on each of the contestants, cheesy pop music playing as they enthusiastically relayed their name, showcased their personality, and revealed their reason for joining the island—which were all pretty much identical. 

There were some people here for the chance at a grand, romantic love after a lifetime of failed chances — and some other people here for the 50k they’d be getting for themselves when they won. Both groups were desperate people who’d signed up at the promising ad they’d seen, completely unaware of what they were getting themselves into.

It was a little bit their fault, Grian thought. A hundred thousand dollar prize? Which idiot would even fall for that? 

But then again. He was also here. He supposed he was no better then them, at the end of it, despite the way he got in being vastly different. 

Grian was jolted out of his thoughts by the booming announcement continuing, “ You’re about to be paired up with your new partner! Check your communicators and gooood luck!”  The intercom cut off. It wouldn’t speak again. 

Ding. Ding. Ding. The chimes went off all at once in a chorus of cheerful sounds. One by one, the contestants glanced at the giant watch-like devices strapped to their wrists, serving as their communicators after they’d had to turn in their phones. Grian stared at his communicator, silently willing that he’d get paired with someone with at least a modicum of intelligence. Scott, maybe, or Martyn, both clever people. Cleo frightened him more than a little bit, but she would also be helpful for trying to—

Ding .

YOU HAVE BEEN PAIRED WITH SCAR GOODTIMES. 

You’ve got to be kidding me.

He looked to his far left, to where a tall, broad man with green eyes and brown hair stood in the center of the line, staring at his communicator, blinking. He looked up. “Which one of you is Grain?” he asked. 

Grian’s eye twitched. “Grian,” he said, stepping forward. “It’s Grian .”

Scar smiled at him, blindingly. “Hey there, partner!”

Grian surveyed him carefully. “Hello,” he said politely. 

There went his chances of winning. 

Scar’s smile slipped for half a second before it was back again, but smaller this time. Grian spared a look at the other duos, eyeing each other with a kind of shyness, already talking and laughing. He noted Martyn’s grin and copied it onto his own face, quite accurately in his opinion. He looked back at Scar, who’s smile widened into something genuine. 

Grian felt a wave of foreboding for the work to come trying to keep the both of them alive and on the island. He wondered if there was a way he could convince the viewers of their “romance” and then immediately dismissed the idea. His best bet was making them interesting enough for the first few weeks so they wouldn’t be voted out and then immediately recouple when the opportunity presented itself. 

“Well—” Grian coughed. “What now?”

Scar’s head turned, searching the island, as if the answer would present itself in front of him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess we just—talk? I’m not quite sure where we’re supposed to go. They were really… vague.”

He doesn’t remember , Grian thought, half hysterically. He really doesn’t remember . 

It shouldn’t matter, it was probably better that he didn’t, but he couldn’t help feeling a little offended. 

Grian hummed agreement to Scar’s statement, shrugging. Rocked back on his heels, surveying the island like Scar had, the long stretch of sand that gradually sloped up to where the bright villa perched at the top of a short hill. The hill dropped off to a sharp, jarring cliff face, grey rocks jutting out of the sea. At the bottom of the cliff was a beach with more pale sand. Palm trees littered the island, and Grian for a brief hysterical moment was reminded of Lord of the Flies. The world, that understandable and lawful world, was slipping away.

The answer to What now? was apparently to—according to the brief message that pinged on their communicators—head to the ginormous bathroom and walk-in closets to get changed for Dinner. There were two of them, and the pairs were split off into each room. He assumed that when they dressed down in front of each other, the producers wanted it to be special. 

They had all been expected to just strip down in front of each other, forced casualty and intimacy designed to make them more comfortable for some reason. Grian hung around in the hallway and waited for them all to head out before going to change himself, not bothering to play along.

In the ginormous closet were neat white shelves, each column labeled with one of their names. Scott. Martyn. Cleo. And then, Grian .  The clothes were the kind that seemed casual but were probably ridiculously expensive, and also, somehow, perfectly tailored to their sizes. It was slightly alarming. Grian was given a large amount of various jumpers, but the rest of the clothes provided were all skin-tight turtlenecks and see-through tank tops and—was that a crop top? 

He pulled on the oversized jumper and a pair of jeans. 

Grian rolled back the sleeves of his sweater and went out to face his dinnerly demise. 

The dinner table was on the outdoor patio, sleek and silver, a few feet away from the bar. There were no seats at the head of the table, only down the sides, four on each. The island was obsessed with symmetry. Grian sat down next to where Scar had already taken his seat, giving a quick upturn of his lips that could barely be considered a smile when his partner waved. The food was somehow already on the table in steaming platters, and from the way the contestants glanced at each other as they took their seats, none of them knew who had prepared the table. There were no staff on the island, no crew, only the blinking cameras and them. 

There was a vast variety of food—a veritable Vitellius’ Feast: stuffed turkey topped with glazed syrup that glinted in the warm hanging lights of the patio, surrounded by mashed potatoes and corn, piles of rice, a plate of sausages and corn and beans, platters of fish and crab in all manner of forms, a tray of various breads and biscuits that smelled of spice. An entire display was entirely centered on various deserts. His eyes blurred, taking in all the lavish colors. At least, Grian thought more than a little bitterly as they all served themselves, they would be having nice final meals. 

Spoiled for choice, he stared awkwardly as everyone else lumped food onto their plates. In the Facility, he’d mostly subsisted on instant ramen and the occasional sandwich. He noticed Jimmy had a sweet tooth while Martyn stuck to the greener food options. Ren seemed to be piling as many meats as he could on his plate, while Bdubs hummed and hawed, picking up something with a ladle and then changing his mind and setting it back down. Scott simply took a large piece of bread, some rice, and corn, drizzling gravy over it. Grian followed suit, substituting corn with potatoes. Beside him, Scar picked at his salad. 

There was a silence as everyone dug into their food, then looked around awkwardly as they realized they would probably have to make small talk. 

“So,” Bdubs said with an awkward cough, “What do you all… do for a living?”

“I’m a teacher,” Cleo volunteered after a beat. “Middle schoolers.”

“Oh, wow,” Grian said. “Really? You must have the patience of a saint, I could never deal with children.”

Cleo laughed, slightly dry like he’d heard the same bland remark one too many times. “Yeah, I get that a lot. What about you?”

“Me? Oh. Uh. I’m a TV show producer.” It didn’t really matter, did it? There were millions of TV shows out there, it didn’t necessarily mean this one. 

“Huh,” said Scar. “I remember you majoring in biology in college.”

His head shot up, turning to meet Scar’s steady gaze. He remembers? “Well, yeah,” he said, laughing weakly, “You know. Things rarely go how people expect them to.”

“You guys know each other?” Martyn asked sharply, eyes flicking between the two of them. 

“Oh, yeah, a little,” Scar said casually, “We went to college together.”

“I genuinely thought you had forgotten,” Grian said, still a little taken aback. 

Scar grinned. “Forget you ? Never.”

Grian wondered if the mocking tone in his voice was imagined. They had certainly known each other—very briefly—in college, and it hadn’t been a very net positive experience.

A thud. Another thud. A crashing sound and the wail of a cat. Grian’s eyes snapped open in anger and he sat up straight in his bed. 

A loud curse, audible through the wall. Groaning, Grian slid off his shitty dorm bed, stomping over to the door and swinging it open, marching over to the room beside his and rapping sharply on the door, once, twice, three times. 

Silence, and then the door opened, just a crack, just enough for Grian to see bright green eyes blinking at him. “Hey.”

“Hello,” Grian said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing.”

The door opened wider, enough for the man—boy, really—to gesture to the hammer in his hands and the various wooden panels strewn along the floor. “Assembling!”

“Assembling. What.”

“A shelf!” Scar gestured. “For my cat.” As if on cue, from the corner of the room came a meow. 

“You’re assembling a cat shelf. In the middle of the night.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Could you. Not. I’m trying to sleep…”

“Scar.”

“Okay. Could you do this in the morning. I need to sleep.”

“No can do, Grian!” Grian hadn’t even given him his name. “I’m busy all day tomorrow, so this is the only time I’ll get to do it.”

“You—” Grian gritted his teeth. “Could you do it quieter, then? Please?” 

Scar blinked at him, then closed the door. In his face. 

When Grian returned to his room and his head hit the bed, the banging started again. He covered his ears with his pillow and groaned. 

They had gone back and forth in trying to annoy each other for months, after that—Grian playing overloud music and Scar knocking on his door every day at four in the morning to give him all black coffee because he ‘ just wanted to check in’ and trading barbs in the hallways and scowling at each other across the room. Within a few months Grian requested to get moved somewhere else and they hadn’t seen each other again after that.

And now his life was in Scar’s very clumsy hands. Fantastic.

His attention was drawn back into the conversation with a start, everyone trading various work stories. Scar was an architect, apparently—Grian restrained himself from making a pointed barb at his mediocre furniture assembling skills at that, but Scar’s eyes glinted at him like he knew what he was thinking, like it was an inside joke they were both sharing, and the comment died ugly in his throat. 

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, perhaps more than smoothly for Scott and Jimmy, who were already flirting and staring at each other moony-eyed. A bit heavy handed, but aiming for votes early on was a decent strategy. From here on the patio, the cameras must be broadcasting fifty different angles of them. Scar leaned close, and whispered in his ear, “Bet they’ll kiss by tonight.”

Grian’s mouth twitched. “Do you really think so?”

“Look at them,” he snickered, jutting his chin to where Scott was watching Jimmy ramble, chin in his hands. Grian laughed with him.

“What’s so funny?” Cleo said. 

“Nothing,” they said simultaneously. She traded the same amused look with Bdubs that the two of them had done at Jimmy and Scar’s antics. Grian felt suddenly uncomfortable. “Well,” he coughed, standing up and pushing his chair back. “I’m full. I’m gonna—look around the island.”

The others gave him looks ranging from confusion and concern, but he just smiled, patting Scar awkwardly on the shoulder before walking away. When he was out of hearing distance from the group, he let out a shuddering sigh. Dug his gnawed-down nails into his palms to distract himself.

He hiked up to the slope of the cliff behind the villa, gazed down at the water below. Thought of the seven other people sitting at the dinner table. Bile rose in his throat. A roaring tide, getting steadily closer, and he—

Swallowed down the bile. Unclenched his fists. Closed his eyes, inhaled slowly. The communicator on his wrist felt heavy. Grian stepped back, conscious of the thousands of eyes watching him. The roaring in his ears died down. He couldn’t show fear—there was nothing to fear, after all. 

From behind him, a sudden eruption of whooping and cheers. Grian spun, squinting at the villa. 

Ding. 

He checked his communicator.

SCAR GOODTIMES WHISPERED:

called it lol 

 

They got their kiss after all. On the first night. A wolf whistle splitting through the air.

The cameras and viewers would, right now, be completely focused on Scott and Jimmy. Grian took his chance. 

“Hey,” he said, to the empty air. “I know you can hear me.” This was stupid, and ridiculous, but he knew the Facility enough to risk it, and he was angry enough not to give a shit. “Listen. You may think you’ve won , stuffing me in here, but—” He swallowed, throat clicking. His jaw worked as he searched for the words. “—if you touch them,” he whispered, deadly quiet, “If you lay a hand on any of them, if you carry this out—I’ll kill you. All of you. I will burn this island to the ground. I promise you.” 

For good measure, he flipped both his middle fingers to the sky. 

The very island seemed to still, listening. There was a silence. Grian stared at his communicator, and after a moment, let his wrist drop in resignation. 

He sighed, rubbing his face, and paused when he noticed something silver glinting in the sky. Squinting, he reached for it as it slowly, slowly drifted down into his palm. A purple balloon, attached to a small silver canister. He turned it over in his hands, and then twisted the cap, the canister popping apart in his hands. 

Sitting in the parcel was a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter. 

There was no note attached. This was message enough.

You want to burn the island to the ground? Go ahead and try. 

RULES OF LIFE ISLAND

1. The use of technological devices aside from the communicators gifted to all members of the island is not permitted, including but not limited to: phones, computers, smartwatches, etc.
2. Attempts to disable or remove the communicator by members of the island is prohibited, This is for the members’ own safety.
3. The use of clocks or time telling devices such as watches are not permitted on the island. The island will automatically keep schedule through reminders.
4. Island members are required to dine, shower, and attend events and meals according to the schedule set by Life Island.
5. Upon the voting out of member(s), the ex-members must immediately get onto the boat provided and leave the island.
6. Members might be sponsored by viewers in which they can be donated various gifts that will be deployed in mini parachutes. These gifts may be at the participants’ request or can be whatever the generous donator wishes to provide.
7. Substances such as cigarettes and other drugs are not permitted to have or use on the island. The provided alcohol can only be consumed in limited amounts.
8. Nudity is not allowed on the island, including during showers, except for in the Private Chamber.
9. Failure to abide by these guidelines will result in immediate eviction from the island.

*＊✿❀  ❀✿＊*

The beach was beautiful at night, just like the rest of the island. The sea breeze wafted lazily over the sand, quiet waves lapping at the shore. The moon shone in the inky darkness. The dinner had long since ended, and the other members sat in a huddle near the bottom of the stone outcropping which supported the villa, laughing, shoving each other into the water and yelping at the cold. They had spent most of the day exchanging stories and getting comfortable with each other. Scar had learned a lot about the members of the island. Martyn, sharp and witty and definitely here just for the money, but he stared at Ren when he thought he wasn't looking. Ren was always looking. Sweet Jimmy and shrewd Scott and wary Cleo and extremely loud Bdubs, and—Grian, who was. Silent. Scar’s eyes sought out the familiar silhouette sitting away from the group on the left side of the beach, hidden under a small cluster of palm trees. 

Scar slunk over to where Grian sat, back turned. He’d been shredding something in his hands, and when Scar approached he flicked the pieces into the water. “Why are you moping in the corner by yourself?”

Grian's head tilted to the side to glance at Scar from the corner of his eye. He huffed, smoke curling out of his mouth. “I’m not moping.” 

Scar glanced down in surprise at the cigarette in Grian’s hand. “I didn’t know you smoke.”

“I don’t.” Grian said. He didn’t elaborate. Scar remembered, vaguely, a younger version of him, more talkative and more weathering of Scar’s questions. Wondered what happened to him. 

“Huh. Okay.” Scar didn’t point out that smoking wasn’t allowed. No need to repeat what Grian already knew. Instead, he said, “I don’t think they’re going to be happy with you having a lighter.” They didn’t need to be clarified, a certain and heavy weight.

Grian scoffed. “They don’t care,” he said with certainty. 

“Well, in that case,” Scar plopped down next to Grian, knees bumping. “May I?”

“No.”

“Aw,” Scar pouted, expecting the answer. “Come on.”

“I only have one,” Grian said.

“We can share ,” Scar said. “We’re partners, aren’t we?”

Grian’s face did something complicated. “Fine,” he spat. “Come here.”

“Aw, thanks, partner—” he reached for the cig. Grian’s hand drew back. 

“Open your mouth.” 

Scar paused. Blinked at him. Grian stayed unmoving, staring back flatly. Swallowing, Scar did as he was told, jaw dropping softly. 

And then Grian’s mouth was on Scar’s, eyes dark, and he exhaled, breathing smoke into him, and it had been a long time since Scar had smoked at all, and even then he hadn’t made a habit of it, but he refused to cough or pull back, even as his eyes watered and throat stung. Grian’s eyes were seemingly pupilless, and in the quiet night they looked frighteningly empty, and as he sighed poison down Scar’s throat the moon shone, outstretched, silvery palms to cup their faces.

After a few seconds or an eternity, Scar pulled back, eyes watering. He cleared his throat and it turned to a hacking cough. Grian made a sound that might be a laugh. He turned away, staring back out into the sea.“Go away, Scar,” he said, voice low. It was the first time he’d actually said his name.

Scar acquiesced. 

*＊✿❀  ❀✿＊*

Grian sighed, flicking the cigarette ash into the water. He hadn’t been lying — he’d really thrown out the pack, but he couldn’t stop himself from nabbing just once to take the edge of. He hadn’t smoked since he was a stupid high schooler — but he might as well. He’d been ruder to Scar then he intended to, would’ve felt bad in any other circumstance. Right now he was just—tired. Nose wrinkling, he realized he would be having to share a bed with Scar tonight. Oh, well. 

Grian pulled himself to his feet, brushing sand off his trousers. He felt for the lighter in his pocket, turning it towards the moonlight, the metal flashing briefly. Not nearly anything strong enough to do real damage—besides, there were fire sprinklers situated all around the island. Grian would know, he’d been the one to suggest them. He was being toyed with, already. A false imitation of what he wanted dangled in front of his face, just close enough to what he really wanted to set his teeth on edge. He pocketed it again and turned to climb back to the villa. He was the last person left on the beach, and he could see the light of the bonfire up ahead as the rest of the group sat clustered on the benches, their laughing audible from below. He felt strangely cut off from the far-off glow, like an animal watching civilization from behind trees, a pair of eyes peeking from behind a bush. 

He ambled up the wooden steps, squinting against the sudden bright light as he stepped onto the open porch of the villa, gaze shifting to the other contestants sitting around the bonfire. Scar wasn’t there. Martyn glanced up, noticed him, and waved. The rest of the group turned to look at him, smiling politely in unison. He felt strangely like he was being examined like a bug, the fire reflecting the white in their eyes to a curious, clinical gleam. 

“Come join us!” Cleo said with a laugh, a glass of champagne in hand. The others were also lounging with glasses, all with various amounts of drink left. Bdubs looked halfway past tipsy. Grian vaguely recalled there being a drinking limit. Someone should probably stop him. 

He shuffled forward, taking a seat on the far end of the red couch next to the bonfire. Next to him, Scott took an empty, delicate glass from a tray and poured him champagne, extending the drink to him. Grian grasped the stem, fingers brushing briefly with Scott, the man sending him a wink as he settled back. 

Loyalties hadn’t been built completely, not yet. He still had a chance. 

Scar would be fine, he was more than charming, and more than handsome. He’d find a new partner easily enough. 

Grian allowed himself to fall into the conversation, dipping under the wave of voices with the fizzy sweet champagne on his tongue, laughing when appropriate, piping in occasionally. Bdubs was dangerously close to being properly drunk, and Grian slowly nudged the glass out of his hand, smiling back as the man’s face dipped into a bright grin. 

Soon, midnight began to recede into the waning light of the moment before dawn, and everyone was almost half asleep. They shook themselves awake, and the group trudged to their now-dim sleeping quarters, a large shared room with four decent-sized beds (not too large, mind you, they still needed dreamy shots of the couples cuddling) pressed two to each opposing wall. Scar had already collapsed on the yellow bed, spread out and snoring. Martyn laughed when they saw him. “Tires easily, does he?” he said. 

Grian shrugged. “Seems so.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he has more than enough stamina,” Scott said with a wink. Grian was too buzzed and tired to muster more than an annoyed grumble as the others laughed quietly. He sat on the edge of the bed as everyone tucked themselves into bed, not bothering to change into their sleeping clothes. Squinting down at Scar, he was struck by how flat his expression was, none of the characteristic expressiveness of his wakefulness. He wasn’t sure if he preferred it or not.

With a tired sigh—he suspected he would be doing a lot of that now—he slipped under the blankets, curled as close to the edge of the mattress as he could, but still able to feel the other man’s body heat, and tried to sleep. 

Day 2

Scar woke up before Grian did. He remembered this, from their days at university—Grian always stumbling in late to lectures, hair a mess and shirt wrinkled. He was the farthest thing from a morning person.

The communal bedroom they shared had no windows, only the thin strips of LEDs around the room, glowing and dimming according to the schedule the entire island ran on. Like a giant ticking clock—Life Island hummed with, well life , almost invisible. Gears all moving together, silent mechanics they couldn’t see. It was sort of incredible. You had to marvel at it. 

Something buzzed in the very air of the island. Maybe Scar was being corny, but he hoped it was love. He turned his gaze to Grian, sleeping soundly next to him, mouth open, drooling. Suppressed the smile he felt warming his jaw. 

His hand floated dangerously near the side of Grian’s face, fingers curling back a centimeter from his skin, a tentative moth to a lamp. Pulled back a second early, feeling immediately awkward. Calm down, Scar. You’ve only been reintroduced for less than a day.

Clearing his throat despite having not said a word, he scooted off the bed slowly, as quietly as possible. The bed creaked and Scar paused, heart jumping without cause. He tried easing himself up again, the bed creaked again. He paused again. 

Grian grumbled wordlessly, still asleep, turning over. A frown etched his face, eyes scrunched closed. Shuffling around, his arm hit Scar’s. 

Scar froze like he’d just been burned. Don’t be weird, he told himself. Don’t be—

Grian’s hand absently curled around Scar’s wrist. Scar leaped back, heedless of the thud of his feet against the polished wood. Grian’s arm dropped back down. He didn’t stir. No one else in the room did, either. Abruptly, Scar remembered the tens of cameras probably watching him right now. Didn’t flush in embarrassment, and definitely didn’t flee the room.

Breakfast was more comfortable than the previous night’s dinner, maybe because everyone was too tired to bother with pretense. Turns out, staying up till dawn had its adverse effects. There was a great deal of yawning and rubbing of eyes. All of them had gone to extra measures to make themselves look presentable, combed back hair and ironed out clothes and in some cases, makeup. But Ren was wearing sunglasses, probably to hide the bags under his bloodshot eyes, and Grian was pretty sure Martyn hadn’t even bothered brushing. Not very glamorous or made-for-TV, but then again, Life Island was special in that way, wasn’t it? No makeup team, no careful PR people, no scripted lines on what to do or not do in a situation. Here was the drama, the excitement: eight people left on their own devices for who knows how many weeks. What could possibly go wrong? A disaster in the making, anyone could see that from a mile away. Then again, watchers loved disaster. Both kinds of them.

The early morning conversation was quiet and more companionable than the previous day, vague murmurings you might find between any group of friends and not near strangers stranded on an island. 

A ding on his communicator. Grian suppressed a flinch. In unison, all eight of them glanced down at their wrists.

A NEW EVENT HAS BEGUN! PLEASE PROCEED TO THE PAVILION IN ONE HOUR AND AWAIT YOUR INSTRUCTIONS!

They all groaned, too tired and too early to bother with hiding their annoyance.

“Are we going to have to be doing events every day? What, we’re not nearly interesting enough?” Martyn asked wrily.

“Apparently we need to step up our game. Scar, get your abs out,” Cleo called.

Grian groaned as the entire party devolved into laughter. “ Not again ,” he snapped.

“AGAIN?” Jimmy crowed as the laughing doubled. “What did you guys get up to in college?”

“Be quiet,” Grian said, high pitched, “We didn’t even like each other.”

“Ooh, no?” Scott giggled. “Is this an enemies to lovers thing, then?”

Grian wrinkled his nose at him. An arm wrapping around his shoulder and Grian had to suppress a flinch. “Correction,” Scar said, breath gusting against Grian’s ears, “ He didn’t like me . I had no problem with him.”

Grian opened his mouth indignantly to recount the tens of various, extremely irritating pranks Scar had pulled on him, when Scar pulled his arm back, ruffling Grian’s hair as his hand retreated. His mouth closed with a click. 

The conversation moved on easily, but Grian could barely pay attention to it, the fleeting touch of Scar’s hand in his hair replaying senselessly in his mind. 

They are, as ordered, at the pavilion in an hour. “Contestants,” boomed the same grating announcer voice from the first day, “Welcome to… The Pavilion!” A dramatic pause as if any of them didn’t know what the small structure they were standing in was. Grian noted the screen on one of the dark wooden pavilion walls. That was sure to be trouble later. “Here, we will conduct a variety of very exciting events meant to strengthen your love and test your bonds! Our first event is very simple: Skeletons in the Closet!” 

Scott snorted.

Oh, for fucks sake.

They all took a seat on the benches as the announcer droned on to explain the game, which wasn’t really a game at all but rather some sort of awful icebreaker: everyone went around in a circle and told their deepest, most shameful secret. Not actually their deepest secret, mind you, no viewer wanted to hear about a contestant’s struggle with depression or substance abuse on their romance reality TV show.

After the announcer’s voice quieted, the secret sharing began. They ranged from mildly off putting (Cleo’s side hobby when she wasn’t teaching children was knife collecting) to bawdy stories (Martyn. Of course, Martyn) to inoffensive (Bdubs still slept with a stuffed animal) to—

“ You’re a virgin ?” Scott repeated, delighted. Grian was sure Jimmy was turning a shade of red previously thought impossible by humans.

“Well, you don’t need to make a big deal out of it,” Jimmy grumbled.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Ren assured him. 

“Yeah, it’s just—unexpected,” Martyn said. He paused. “Well, maybe not that unexpected.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimmy snapped.

They argued for a few minutes, probably making for some very entertaining TV. Grian kept quiet, trying to think of a secret that might be interesting enough to tell. He didn’t lead a very interesting life—well, aside from working for a murderous organization killing people for entertainment. 

Scar called his name. His gaze snapped up, and he realized he’d completely missed the call for his turn. They all stared at him expectantly. Grian wondered if he should just make up an entertaining story like he was sure Martyn had done. He recalled Jimmy’s answer. Decided to go with the truth.

“I’ve never been in love.”

A sudden silence. Grian blinked at them in confusion and found identical expressions of disbelief on all of them. “What?”

“Never?” Bdubs echoed, shocked.

He shook his head.

“Not even like—a little crush?” Martyn wheedled.

“No,” Grian said, a little annoyed, now, and a little panicked. Was that something he shouldn’t have said? How would the audiences react to that? Too late, he realized that a group of people who’d signed up for a game like this were sure to be extreme romantics, and the idea of someone never being in love was unbelievable and maybe horrifying for them. Drama queens. He looked at Scar, whose face was—blank. His default pleasant expression on his face, eyes unreasonable. With a start Grian realized he’d completely missed his secret. “But I—” he stammered for a second, before doubling down, “That’s why I wanted to do this. My whole life has been sort of—well. Missing something. And I’m hoping Life Island will help me find it.”

A chorus of aws . Scar’s face remained unreadable. Grian’s gaze dropped. 

Day 3

The purple balloon that had been so kindly gifted to Grian wasn’t an unusual occurrence, it was in fact one of the rules written into the island. If a viewer liked a contestant enough, and was rich enough for it, they could donate an item to float down to said contestant, deposited from who knows where. The lighter Grian was given was directly from the Facility, of course, but future donations to anyone else would be from the viewers themselves.

The first true donation was given to Jimmy. In hindsight, it was probably more out of pity than anything else—the man was really quite sad sometimes. It was a set of cookies, pretty, red, and flower shaped. Most gifts would be something like this, pretty and meaningless but enough audience participation to make the viewers feel good about themselves. There must’ve been a story behind it that Grian was missing though, because he saw the way Scott glanced at Jimmy and Jimmy smiled back. But Jimmy still shared the biscuits with the rest of them, and the cream melted butter-sweet in Grian’s mouth. They were the nicest sweets he’d had in a long time. 

A few people took seconds. Jimmy let them, but Grian saw he’d set aside five for Scott already. He didn’t even eat one. Grian squinted at him in the midday sun, at his bright smile and brighter laugh, and a stone settled in his gut. 

The Facility did not like kindness. Considered it weakness. And weakness had no place on the island. 

Grian lay back in his seat, could not bear to look at Jimmy, so he settled on looking at Scar, the sun slanting over his skin, licking icing off his fingers. His palms were rough with callouses. Grian looked away, then back, saw Scar staring at him, looked away again. It felt wrong to stare. Despite the fact that he was his partner, despite the ridiculous romance reality TV show they’re on—it felt a little too much like giving in to the game. Maybe he needed to, to win. It would probably be wiser for him if he met Scar’s gaze head on.

Still, he did not look back again.

While Grian mostly kept to the side and stewed in his own thoughts, half paralyzed by the constant twisting in his gut to do anything properly, love bloomed in the rest of the island. Jimmy and Scott were an already sickeningly sweet given. Scott wasn’t as touch-prone when they were with the others as Jimmy was, but everyone knew what they did when they retreated into the villa’s garden to themselves. There had probably been multiple dreamy montages on the show. 

Bdubs and Cleo were a strange one. Grian didn’t completely understand their relationship, wasn’t even sure they’d kissed yet, but they had some sort of weird flirting-teasing thing going on that might keep in the game longer. 

And then there was Ren and Martyn. The two had a sort of instant camaraderie, but over the days Grian had watched it become strained and awkward. Ren was able to throw himself instantly into the relationship, but Martyn was far more careful. Keeping a bit of distance, allowing himself to get comfortable with the rest of the island members. He was keeping his options open. Ren knew this too. 

Grian and Martyn had had a few easy conversations in the past few days, and Grian dared to hope that when the recoupling event came he could convince Martyn to pair with him. If not, well, he might repair with Ren, who while charming lacked some sense in a way similar to Scar, or he could pick up someone else who got caught in the crossfire. Really, all Grian needed was someone to instigate a recoupling, and he would be—hopefully—sorted.

Grian wasn’t really looking for anything in particular, just sort of wandering around aimlessly, or maybe it hadn’t been aimlessly at all, really, because everyone knew each pair liked to keep to a certain place, and Ren and Martyn gravitated towards the villa’s patio. 

Grian wasn’t in the patio, rather he sat on the balcony at the top of the villa that happened to be above the patio, and from there he could hear Martyn and Ren, lounging on the outdoor couch while he himself was obscured by the various plants on the balcony.

Ren was rambling about some sort of bizarre story involving his dog and hiking and, bizarrely, a turtle. Grian was understanding absolutely none of it but the two of them were in hysterics as Ren recounted the story and Martyn occasionally chipped in with a witty remark. 

“No, no listen—” Ren said earnestly, drowned out by Martyn’s cackling. “This turtle is gigantic, right? It’s a huge turtle, it’s shell is super big, it’s probably like two hundred years old or something—”

“Right, right,” Martyn snickered. “A very menacing turtle. And it starts chasing your dog—who I’m assuming is the speed of a turtle.”

“Alright, listen, man, it was very terrifying at the time—”

“I’m sure it was!” They both dissolved into laughter. Grian sat there increasingly awkwardly as he realized he would very much like to leave but now he couldn’t without making himself obvious. Wondered how the viewers of Life Island could stand it, watching all of this, without feeling like a permanent uncomfortable intruder. 

There was a silence for a long moment, and then Ren said, very quietly, “After this, I’ll take you to that mountain and you can see the extremely dangerous turtle for yourself.” The words were meant as a joke but came out too slow and too serious to be taken like one. Another awkward silence. Then, Martyn, “Yeah. Sure.”

The sound of the waves crashing on the shore. The wind rustling palm trees. 

“You know,” Ren said, “I’m. Hm.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m really glad I met you, man,” the man said earnestly. “I know that’s, like, weird to say. We’ve known each other for what, four days?”

“Three,” Martyn corrected, suddenly quiet.

“Three days! And I feel like—well. I feel like we’ve known each other for ages. I don’t know, even if we don’t win—I’m really glad we met, yeah?” His voice grew soft. “But I’d like to win. With you.”

Martyn cleared his throat. Grian got the feeling he was choking some feeling back he didn’t know what to deal with. And here was something else about Martyn: the reason the Facility chose him was because he was quick, and cunning, and willing to do anything to win, and also because when they conducted the contestant interview, he bluntly said he was only in it for the money, and for that reason he would throw himself headfirst into the game. But there was something else, even behind that—a glimmer of something uneasy and hopeful in him. He’d had no significant relationships with anyone in his entire life. Obviously no one signed up for a romance reality TV show if they weren’t looking for something more than money. 

And Grian knew, immediately, that Martyn would not be recoupling this week, possibly not even the week after that. As Martyn murmured something back, before the two could kiss, Grian crept away as sneaky and quick as he possibly could, which wasn’t that sneaky, but it didn’t even matter, as wrapped up in each other as Martyn and Ren were right now. The entire island could burst into flames and they’d still be staring at each other.

Grian felt sick. 

He slunk his way down to the pool where everyone else had gathered, lounging in the water. Well, Scott and Cleo were lounging. Jimmy and Scar were in the middle of a splash fight between two grown men. 

Grian came to sit at the pool coping near where Scott and Cleo were floating, watching Scar and Jimmy with amusement. “What are they doing ?” he asked.

Cleo scoffed. “They’ve been at this for ten minutes now,” she informed him. 

“Get him in the eyes!” Bdubs called from where Grian just realized he’d been laying under an umbrella. “Punch him in the stomach! Yeah!” He cheered as they both dunked each other under the water. It was unclear who he was yelling encouragement too.

Grian shared a look with the other two, rolling their eyes. 

“I can’t believe that’s my partner,” Scott said, and Grian almost agreed before he registered the tone of his voice. Exasperated and endeared. Adoring. Almost—. He looked at Scott who was looking at Jimmy, then back at Jimmy who surfaced from the water to look back. 

Oh dear, he thought dimly. They’re in love.

In theory, he knew this was supposed to happen. That was the entire point of the island. And yet. It almost didn’t seem real. Shove eight people on an island, give them enough time and they’d what? Fall in love in a few days?

Grian didn’t dare look at Cleo, didn’t want to know what sort of besotted face she might or might not be making. Just stared fixedly at the pool refracting sunlight over the chlorine water. Glanced up for a second and met eyes with Scar, drenched, shirtless as always, who flashed him a beaming smile and a cheerful wave. Oh dear, he thought again, staring at him. Oh dear, I’m stuck with you, aren’t I? They’re all going to die and I’m stuck with you.

Day 4

“Where do you want to go after this?” Scar asked, one bright evening. Each couple had, on unspoken agreement, drifted off to be alone, Scott and Jimmy in the flower garden, Cleo and Bdubs holding fort by the pool, Ren and Martyn on the wooden villa patio. Grian thought he might as well try making some sort of effort, and so he and Scar wound up sitting in beach chairs—not on the seaside beach but the artificial one above the cliffs by the villa, next to the volleyball court. Grian had for the past day been trying not to think about the fact that he was stuck with Scar while also thinking of nothing else.

“What do you mean?” Grian replied, only half-listening, the sun making him languid. A watermelon slice dripped in his hands. 

“After the show is over, when we win the grand prize,” Scar waved his hands in the air, drawing shapes—a house, a mansion, a castle. “A hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

“ If we win,” Grian corrected. “And I’d only have fifty thousand.” The heat made him tired and irritable, and he didn’t feel like giving a properly optimistic show-worthy response.

“We can share,” Scar said, glancing at him, saving his answer. He really was disarmingly charming. Grian was beginning to feel like he was the deadweight between the two of them now. “So, what d'you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” Scar weedled, propping himself on his elbows, tilting down his sunglasses to look at Grian properly. “You entered the competition, didn’t you? You don’t have some grand plan on what to do with your riches?” 

He snorted. “Pay my bills.” Did he even have any bills to pay? His apartment had been Facility owned, and now—well. Clearly they didn’t expect him to win. 

“And then what?”

“I don’t know,” Grian bit out, too harshly, and Scar blinked in surprise, pupils shrunken in the blinding sun. Grian rocked back instinctually, biting his cheek.

“Well,” Scar said after a beat. “I’ll tell you what I would do. I’d open a big cat reservation.”

“A… cat reservation,” Grian said skeptically. 

“Yes!” A grin spread across Scar’s face, blindingly white. Grian could almost see the cheesy cartoon sparkles “I have a cat named Jellie, she’s the most amazing cat in the world, and if I open a big cat reservation, I’d have a bunch of big Jellies to cuddle whenever I want.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to play with big cats,” Grian said, wondering why he even had to point it out. “They’re dangerous. They’ll just bite you.” He almost pointed out the animal rights violations before he stopped himself cutting his tongue on hypocrisy. 

“Don’t be jealous, Grian,” Scar said mischievously. “I’ll let you visit too. I’ll even give you a special VIP pass.”

“I’m honored,” Grian said drily, something in his chest twisting. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back on his chair. 

Martyn and Ren had gotten more comfortable with public displays of affection near the others now. Well, Ren had gotten more comfortable, using every chance he could to snake an arm around Martyn and full him close, burying his face in his neck even as Martyn pretended to squirm away, rolling his eyes and complaining while not actually pulling back. Even Bdubs and Cleo had moved somewhat past their weird flirting into giving each other chaste kisses on the cheek. Scott and Jimmy were—well. 

Grian looked away every time. He could claim awkwardness, but every time he saw the others beam helplessly at each other and wrap each other in their arms he could hear, in the back of his mind, a quiet ticking.

Day 5

Scar knew Grian didn’t like him. Or at least, he thought he didn’t like him. In reality, Grian had no strong feelings for him one way or the other except in the sense that he was generally incompetent, and while usually this would be nothing but a minor annoyance, it caused problems when his very life depended on Scar being competent. Surprisingly intelligent in one moment and abruptly oblivious the next, something about him set Grian’s teeth on edge.

So. This then. This back-and-forth of queasiness and half-hearted flirting and the mutual agreement to stay out of each other’s way, watching each other warily across the island. Days passed like this. Each night, on their shared bed, Grian tried his best to lean to the very, very edge of the mattress. Out of a desire held by the universe to cause problems for him and because of Scar’s ridiculously muscular body mass, the luxurious, cushy bed dipped right at the middle. Grian was unceremoniously pressed next to Scar, who refused to wear a shirt while sleeping , valiantly trying to fight gravity and the traitorous mattress foam and failing.  

Scar moved in his sleep. A lot. He rustled and frowned and sighed and, on one occasion, kicked, and Grian had to lay very still and withstand it all. He stared at the back of Scar’s head and considered smothering it with a pillow. He wouldn’t, of course. But he could, and the thought comforted him. 

Scar grunted, turning over, brow furrowed, and then his arm came down on Grian, pulling him to his side. Grian let out a yelp as Scar burrowed his face into his hair and he was shoved against Scar’s very shirtless chest, all while the man snored loudly. He tried to push him away, but Scar’s steel grip stayed. He could shake him awake, but he was conscious of the cameras and how it would look. Grian sighed, going limp. Scar’s grip loosened minutely, but not enough to let him go. Grian stared at Scar’s sleeping face, mouth now curved into a small smile. With another aggrieved sigh, Grian turned to the side and let himself drift into an uncomfortable sleep. 

Tick. Tick. Tick .

Day 6

He woke with the brightening of the LEDs along the wall, squinting against the spots in his eyes before he jolted up and away from Scar’s thankfully loose hold. His partner was still asleep, luckily, but Cleo was very definitely awake, sitting up in bed with Bdubs draped over her, and she shot him a look, which he studiously ignored as he stood up, brushing his clothes of invisible dust before straightening and heading to the washroom. If Cleo said anything, well—

Well it didn’t matter, anyway. It didn’t mean anything. He was pretty sure he’d heard Martyn and Ren making out under the covers one night, non-consensual cuddling hardly made it up on the list of scandalous things the contestants had gotten up to. 

He was still warm, from Scar’s phantom embrace. His sweater almost felt too hot for him. 

They were herded to the net right after breakfast for a game of volleyball. Grian suspected it was half a ploy to get the contestants into wearing skimpier clothing as it had to be over 30 degrees outside. It worked—everyone was wearing either very see-through tank tops or completely shirtless. Scar, of course, was shirtless. Grian sighed at him. Scar just grinned back. “Looking good,” he said approvingly. 

Grian didn’t bother feigning embarrassment for the cameras. He was wearing an oversized tank top and there was truly nothing to see. “Thanks,” he said anyway. “You’re looking… clothesless.”

The man winked like Grian had said anything remotely flirty. He was absolutely ridiculous. 

The teams were Bdubs, Cleo, Ren and Martyn against him and Scar, Scott, and Jimmy. It would’ve been more dramatic if they’d split up the couples to fight against each  other. An oversight. Then again, maybe it was too early in the series to try pitting them against each other like that. 

They played.  It was a stupidly long game, both times yelling rather pathetic trash talk to each other, and halfway through their excitement became infectious and Grian found himself genuinely trying to score a goal. Scar, it turned out, was tall enough and muscular enough to score the win despite Bdubs’ rather pathetic playing, and they won.

Scar grabbed him, laughing, and Grian couldn’t help but laugh with him, yelping as Scar spun him around. “We did it!” Scar exclaimed. “We did it!”

Grian grinned down, impossibly wide, echoed, “We did it!”

They stared at each other, suddenly hesitating, noticing the closeness between them. Slowly, Scar’s hand reached out to cup Grian’s cheek. A beat. For a moment, nervousness caught itself on Scar’s face, out of place. Grian yanked him close, catching his mouth to wipe the expression off. 

It was more tender than he was aiming for—he’d been angling for something that would come across as a glorious, heat-of-the-moment-type kiss. Instead, their mouths met softly, Grian’s fingers tucked around Scar’s neck from where he’d pulled him in, one of Scar’s hands curled in his hair, noses brushing. Scar’s mouth was warm, his whole body was warm, baked under the early morning sun. Grian felt Scar’s tongue brushing against his teeth and opened his mouth to let him in when—

Scott coughed.

Grian wrenched back. The other members were staring at them in a mixture of shock and amusement. “Er…”

Scar laughed loudly, uncaring, swooping in for another quick kiss on the corner of Grian’s mouth. “Scar,” Grian hissed, shoving him back, uncertain of why he was so embarrassed. 

“Wow, get a room,” Martyn snickered, and everyone laughed with him. Maturely, Grian stuck out his tongue.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” he said.

“You won one game,” Ren huffed. He glared faux-angrily at Scar. “Next time, man, I’ll kick your ass.”

“You can try ,” Scar smiled sunnily, baring all his glinting teeth. 

Grian avoided Scar for the rest of the day, missing lunch just to hide at the pool, feeling rather uncomfortable. He didn’t really know what Scar would want from him after the impromptu kiss—perhaps another, perhaps some kind of tender confession, maybe—

Scar plopped over next to him, and Grian jumped in surprise. He hadn’t even noticed him. He was holding— something —in his hands. Grian squinted at it. It was a knife. And not a kitchen knife, but some sort of fancy engraved piece, encrusted with what might be real jewels. It was so ornamental it probably couldn’t even cut through a piece of rope.

“Why do you have a knife.”

Scar flipped the item in his hands. “I got it from Cleo,” he said, which really explained nothing, except where she got it from. She and Bdubs must have been getting more comfortable, for the viewers to like her enough to send her the gift.

“They just… gave it to you?”

“Nooooo, we traded!” 

“With… what?” Grian asked slowly. They had allowed 0 material possessions on the island—leave everything at the door, including your dignity. 

Scar made dramatic jazz hands in the air. “ Reputation points .”

“Scar. What are reputation points.”

Scar smiled, showing off his weirdly sharp canines. “You know, like in fantasy games? There’s those points that show how positive your relationship with a character is, and the more you have the better stuff you get? Like that. It’s stats.”

“With… who?”

“With me, of course!” Scar said. “I told Cleo, listen, if you give me this, you’ll go up plus ten points in reputation, and then in the future if I get a donation that you like, you can have it, or if I stumble on any interesting information I’ll tell her.”

Grian blinked. “And she believed you? ”

“Hey! I can be very convincing.”

“I guess so,” Grian muttered, staring at the item in Scar’s hands. He wondered if he’d underestimated the man, if he was smarter then he let on. No, he decided. Scar might have some ability to persuade people, but he wasn’t smart enough to use it on the right things. What was he even going to do with that? Well. It wasn’t his problem. “What about me?” he asked drily.

“What about you?” Scar blinked. 

“How many reputation points do I have?”

“Oh! Hah! You don’t have any, that’s silly. The reputation points are for both of us!”

“Oh. Really?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t they be? We’re partners, pard’ner,” Scar winked.

Grian scoffed, turning away. That answered his question, then. Scar after a kiss was the same as Scar before one. He wasn’t sure if this boded well or not for them. 

Day 7

Grian and Scar were back on their beach chairs, uncomfortably silent. It was high noon. Grian was pretty sure Scar was asleep. 

“ Grian! Scar!” came a shout, and Grian turned to see Martyn running towards them, panting. He sat up, panicked. 

“What?” Scar said alertly, taking off his sunglasses. Not sleeping, then. “What happened?”

“It’s Jimmy,” Martyn wheezed, bending over. “He got voted out.”

“What?” Grian shouted, stumbling off his chair, almost falling over. “Why didn’t we get the notification?”

“It got sent through a letter. Through one of the fucking balloons. The first time needed to be special, I guess. Scott’s devastated.”

“Shit,” Grian hissed. “Shit, shit, shit .” 

Martyn and Scar sent him a surprised look. 

“You okay, Grian?” Scar asked strangely. 

“Where is he?” Grian’s voice was strained. The sun seemed to be getting dimmer, moving further away. Everything spun. “Where did he go?”

“He’s leaving through the north side of the island, there’s a boat waiting— Grian! ” Martyn shouted after him. Grian was already sprinting down the sand, heart in his throat, trying to—what could he do? He could do nothing. There was no point in saying goodbye, no point in sending him off to his death.

He kept running anyway.

He finds Jimmy at the north side of the island, just where Martyn said he would be. A motorboat was in on the shore not far away from them, the same ones that had brought them to the island. From the cockpit, the windows were too shadowed to make out the pilot.

“ Jimmy,” Grian shrieked. “Jim—” the yell died on his throat as Jimmy turned to look at him questioningly, eyes wide at his alarmed tone. He swallowed. “You got—you got voted out?”

Jimmy’s face warped into a sad smile. “Yeah,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not really a surprise there, is it? I—hm. Good luck.”

“Where’s Scott?” was all he could ask, nauseous. Jimmy’s eyes darted behind him, and Grian turned to see the distant silhouette of the man in question, watching them from the top of the cliff. “He didn’t—” Grian paused, swallowed back the crack in his voice. “He didn’t want to say goodbye?”

“He already did,” Jimmy laughed. “Refused to come see me off. Don’t tell him, but I think he’s heartbroken,” he added in a stage whisper, eyes crinkling in amusement. Grian could say nothing, just stared at him numbly. Jimmy’s smile faded, regarding him with concern. 

“Well,” he coughed. “I’ll—be going then.” He picked up his suitcase from the ground. There was hardly anything in there, anyway. They’d just been told to leave the island with a suitcase to represent—something. Fuck knows. Jimmy turned away.

“Timmy,” Grian called. Jimmy looked back. “Be careful,” he said, sick. 

Jimmy smiled at him again. “Don’t worry, Grian,” he said, “I’ll be fine. See you later, alright? You still owe me breakfast.”

“Alright,” Grian said.

And then Jimmy climbed into the boat, and left, leaving Grian breathing hard at the threshold, watching him go. 

Grian did not talk to anyone. Does not look at anyone. Cannot even bear to see Scott. Did not dare to let himself think of anything. Regretted throwing out the cigarettes. Considered flicking open the lighter, burning his skin on it and burning out the memory of—

He slunk to the bar on the patio and poured himself a drink. And then another, and another, and—

For anyone else, there would’ve been a warning message on their communicator. Cease or you will be removed from the island. He can’t be removed from the island. They locked him up here. So he kept drinking the shitty watered down alcohol, wondering how many it would take for him to black out, how many more it would take to calm him down.

The room is spinning again. He blinked, lights coming in and out of focus. 

There was a touch on his shoulder, gentle, gentle. He stumbled. Blinked up at Scar’s concerned face. His skin is wet. He must’ve just come out of the pool. “Come on, Grian,” he murmured. “We’re about to have dinner.”

“No,” Grian batted him away. “Can’t—can’t eat anything right now. I’ll just,” he hiccuped. “Throw it all up.”

Scar’s face creases into an expression his addled mind can’t decipher. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I can get there myself,” Grian hissed. Desperately hoped the cameras were focusing on anyone but him right now. 

“You really can’t,” Scar said, patient, always patient, always waiting. Grian hated him. Almost says it, stops himself. Scar, warm, gentle, hooks an arm around Grian and almost dragged him to their communal bedroom, and that was all Grian remembered. 

People sleep in 90-minute cycles over a night. They begin with Non Rapid Eye Movement 1, in which hypnagogic sensations—illusionary sensory experiences—occur. This is where people might feel like they’re falling and suddenly jerk awake. As one relaxes, they fall into Non Rapid Eye Movement 2, which lasts about 20 minutes, before falling into Non Rapid Eye Movement 3, lasting 30 minutes, where it becomes difficult to wake up from. 

After NREM 3, instead of descending further you begin to ascend. If someone was monitoring your brain waves they would see them become rapid and saw-toothed. Your heart rate rises, your breathing becomes rapid and irregular, your eyes begin to dart around behind your eyelids. This is where you have your most vivid and immersive dreams. The Rapid Eye Movement stage lasts only ten minutes, but it’s the most dangerous part of the sleep cycle. In those ten minutes, anything can get you.

There is a light, searing and all-encompassing.

No, that’s not right. 

There is a void, hungry and all-consuming.

No, that’s not quite right either.

There are eyes, millions of them, watching you. From them, around them, wherever around is,  something is buzzing.

The eyes blink, not in unison but rather as if they were trying to be, and so millions of eyes blink in different intervals, shuttering and opening and shuttering and—

You hear the sea. 

HELLO.

You do not respond.

The humming grows louder.

HELLO.

You will not respond.

The humming grows louder again.

HELLO.

h e l l o.

A roar of satisfaction. 

HELLO, again, demanding, a child poking a toy.

h e l l o, again, tiredly. 

YOU WILL FIGHT.

The sea is getting louder, and so is the humming. As the volume pitches up, you realize the sea and the buzzing are the same.

YOU WILL WIN.

A pulsing, seething creature grows. Blinding, huge, unfurling, infinite, grotesque violet.

YOU 

WILL 

FIGHT. 

YOU 

WILL 

WIN. 

YOU 

WILL

Grian eyes snapped open. He didn't scream. Stared, stone cold sober, at the dark ceiling. There was a pressure on his chest. It was Scar’s arm, thrown carelessly over him. Around them, the snores of the other sleeping contestants. He wondered if Jimmy was already dead. Obviously, his death wouldn't be shown to the normal viewers, who were just there, heedless, to watch a nice reality TV show. No, that would be broadcasted to the other watchers.

The left side of Scott’s bed is empty. 

Grian can do nothing but turn his face to Scar’s and close his eyes again.

Chapter Text

Day 8 

Every Sunday night on the island (or at least, Grian assumed it was Sunday today, there was no clock nor calendar on the island, and time was beginning to slip away from him dangerously), before the new week started, the contestants would get their mics and cameras turned off for an hour as the entire island was cleaned by their invisible, probably robotic, hosts and whatever needed to be fixed or changed with the show was done so somewhere miles away in the Facility. There was no footage for the hour, and talking about relationships was prohibited, not that Grian thought it would stop anyone. It had been Grian’s suggestion, actually, a brief moment of reprieve from the chaos for the contestants, he thought, and a chance to fix any issues.

The members of the island had drifted to the lower beach that sat near the cliffs, and so did Grian and his partner.

It was surprisingly cool that night. Grian, sat criss-crossed on the sands, shivered. Scar glanced at him with what might be worry. He was still shirtless. It was ridiculous. The man might as well be a human space heater.

Grian hoped Scar didn’t comment on how easily Grian got cold. He hoped he didn’t say anything at all. He wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. 

“Do you miss Jimmy a lot?” Scar said.

Nevermind. Fuck this. Let Scar ask him as many questions as he wanted about the weather. They could have hours-long talks about the climate patterns of the island if he wanted. Grian wondered if he could get away with abruptly changing the subject to something like the clouds. Probably not.

He decided to answer as honestly as he could. “Not really.” And it was the truth. He hardly knew the man, had probably three full conversations with him. But he couldn’t get his face out of Grian’s mind, I’ll see you soon, okay?

“Are you sure?” Scar asked bitterly. “Ever since he left, you’ve been pretty down. Does Scott know?” 

“I’m fine,” Grian snapped. Did Scott know what? What was Scar getting at? That he was—what? In love with Jimmy? Grian almost laughed. Of all the—

“Well, you don’t seem fine,” Scar said, flatly. 

“Can you just lay off?” Grian snarled suddenly as he stood, feet kicking up sand, louder than he meant to. “It’s not a big deal!” From behind Scar, he saw the silhouettes of the others’ heads turn to look at them. He was very glad there were no cameras watching him now.

“God, Grian, he was just voted out, and you’re acting like he died !” Scar shouted, standing too.

Grian reeled back. Scar inhaled, eyes flicking over Grian’s face, and they must’ve found something there, because his face went suddenly blank.

“Grian…” he said, slowly.

He was really too smart for his own good, Grian thought. His breaths were coming too loud. A prickling heat crawled up his neck.“What?”

Scar just kept looking at him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Grian said, voice ringing false in his own years. “Everything’s fine.”

Scar’s jaw ticked. Grian stepped back. “I’m… going to go to sleep,” he said, as if that was going to get him away from Scar. A tense silence. Grian stared at Scar, daring him to say something. Their communicators dinged back online. Scar stepped back.

“Good idea,” Scar sighed. “See you later.”

Grian kicked the sand, stepped backwards. Didn’t let himself turn his back on the man. “Yeah,” he said. “See you.”

Day 9

Grian kept his distance from Scar. Didn’t want to talk to him, not now, didn’t want to talk to anyone, just found himself staring at the hole where Jimmy once was. Wondered how much bigger it would get with him.

How easily he had snapped at Scar, when the blinking red lights of the cameras and microphones switched off. An easy echo of who’d they’d been, years ago. Of who he still was. Bitter. Quick-tempered. The island might be making a kinder version of him yet. 

He lay, drowsy, on a bright pink pool floatie, soaking in the sun, keeping close enough to the contestants on the other side of the pool amidst boring conversation to not seem like he was purposefully isolating himself but far enough to not get roped into the talk. Grian’s eyes were closed but the sun still shone through his eyelids, a dim red. He should’ve gotten sunglasses from the massive closet. Irritated, he covered his eyes with his hand. 

The sun’s light suddenly disappeared. Grian dragged his palm down his face, looked up even though he knew who it was. Scar’s bulky, perpetually shirtless figure blinked down at him, outlined by bright rays. Grian, for a single genuine moment, considered telling him to fuck off before Scar handed him a pair of glasses. Grian’s confused hand closed around it and held it dumbly for a few moments before he remembered what one does with sunglasses. Clearing his throat, he put them on, but not before he noticed that it was the same pair Scar was fond of wearing. The smudges on the lenses said it wasn’t another pair but in fact the same ones he wore. A momentary flash of disgust flared, then embarrassment. The memory of the kiss weighed, ever present, in his mind.

Silently, Scar sat on the edge of the pool next to him, legs kicking into the water, a light spray leaping into the air and catching the sun’s glare before hitting Grian. Scoffing, he kicked his heel into the pool in retaliation, sending a much more aggressive spray onto Scar. Grian was ready to go for another kick when a hand encircled his ankle. He almost jolted up in surprise, managed to stop himself and ended up doing a strange brief jerking motion. 

Scar’s hand was a heavy, warm weight around his shin. Grian stayed very still. Waited for Scar to let go. 

Scar did not let go. Grian exhaled, laid his head back against the floatie and closed his eyes.

Day 10

Scott was numb to everything. Sure, he occasionally talked to the others, piped in during conversations, laughed during the night as they crowded around the bonfire, but he walked down the beach alone, or, more often, was found sitting in the flower garden, amidst the poppies. The rest of the participants kept their distance.

Grian worried. Scott was committing the worst crime — he was being boring.

Grian found Scott in the garden, as always, sitting on the bench. “Hey,”

“Hey, Grian.” Scott didn’t look up at him.

Grian sat down next to him awkwardly, staring fixedly at a hedge. “How’re you—how’re you doing? With what happened to Jimmy.”

Scott barked a laugh. “Christ, you make it sound like he died. Here to give funeral condolences?” He teased. “Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry your partner recently passed, may he rest in peace in the heavens—”

“That’s not what—” Grian’s voice was strained, and he coughed. “That’s not what I meant. Are you—planning on finding a new partner?”

Scott tilted his head at him with a grin. “Tired of Scar already?”

“No, no, we’re—fine. We’re good. He’s—a lot. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Okay, wow, I really don’t need to know.”

“What— not like that! ” Grian shrieked. Scott erupted into laughter. Grian cracked a smile. “But seriously, are you… planning on pairing up with someone?”

Scott sighed, absentmindedly uprooting a poppy from a nearby flower basket. “What, and steal someone from their partner? I’m not stupid enough to try that.”

“Maybe someone new will arrive on the island?” Grian offered desperately. 

Scott started slowly removing the petals of the floor in his hand. He was quiet for a moment. “You know what? To be honest, even if someone new came to the island, I don’t think I’d recouple with them.”

Grian stiffened. “Really.”

“I’d feel like I was betraying Jimmy,” Scott continued, even as Grian mentally pleaded for him to shut up. “It wouldn’t feel right. Is it stupid that I miss him?”

“Not at all,” Grian said, voice pitching high. “But, considering the circumstances, wouldn’t it be smarter if you chose someone—”

“Grian,” Scott’s voice was brittle. “Leave it.” His voice softened. “Please.”

Grian exhaled. Nodded. Stood up and left. Scott had sealed his fate. There was nothing he could do.

Day 11

Seeing Scott’s empty, shell-like state kickstarted Grian into panicked action. Where previously he tried to keep his distance, now he would not let himself leave Scar’s side. He didn’t try to talk to him, either. Just shadowed him from a small (very small) distance, watched each conversation play out, interjected when needed. Let Scar pull him into his side once or twice, skin always glowing warm from the sun. 

Grian bitched at him enough about making sure he put sunscreen on his back that Scar had just asked him to do it, and Grian had awkwardly done so. Tried not to dig his nails too tight into the rough skin of his back, or into the lavish food they ate, or the too-soft bedsheets they slept in. Cannot help but do so, anyway. Dig in. 

At night, eyes follow him. Whisper at him, angrily, a thousand shouting voices.

YOU WILL FIGHT.

YOU WILL WIN.

Here is what happened: there had been Grian, pulled into something out of his control in an investigation into a kind of pulsing signal, a sign of life carved deep inside a cave. 

Here is what happened: they had found what it was, a deep gash into the world that did not belong, glowing purple, and Grian had simply stared at it, throat clicking as he swallowed. It seemed to reach out invisible tendrils, roots sending out a message, and in them Grian could sense the same hunger inside them that grew in his own heart. 

Here is what happened: there had been a Facility, already, for years, running tests and experiments and sending things into the pulsing rift and jotting down notes when they didn’t come back. Wires set up, and flashing lights, and beeping, and things Grian didn’t understand, but he got the general gist, the gist being that now they could talk to the unknowable, apparently, could talk to whatever lived beyond the veil. Who , not what, and multiple whos, and they demanded blood. They demanded entertainment.

Because of course, the bloodthirsty eldritch creatures that emerged from the rip in space-time wanted to see a romance reality TV show where they all tried to unknowingly kill each other. Because that made sense.

(It hadn’t gone exactly like that, really, there had been the knowledge that they loved carnage, and competition, and betrayal, and most importantly tragedy and love and how it tore people apart. It had been Greg’s idea, fucking Greg the intern, who said “Uh… like reality TV?” and the Facility had taken the idea and ran with it.)

Grian was long past mulling over the strangeness of his situation. He’d accepted it, mostly, or at least was able to look at the situation in his mind the way someone might squint at the sun, out of the corner of his eye without really staring at the full thing for fear of blinding oneself from their own stupidity, but with the knowledge that his entire world revolved around it. 

Here is what happened: Grian had been enlisted on the job, had originally been bright-eyed and keen to help, delighted with the game, with the idea of entertainment. Had been a producer on the show itself, had helped pick contestants. And then he’d watched as it had grown and molded into something almost hideous, something devastating, and there had been—a shitty attempt to stop it. Not worth talking about, so pathetic he couldn’t believe he would have ever thought it would have worked, even in the panicked state he was in.

The Facility was angry. They could’ve just killed him then, but. But they thought of something that would entertain even The Watchers themselves. Put one of their own old members into the game, with a knowledge of how it worked, watch as he tricked everyone around him. Dramatic irony.

He hoped, bitterly, that they were entertained.

There was certainly more to it than that, enough to mull and chew over for days and weeks, but Grian had no time to look into the past, not when he was so desperately trying to avoid his certain future.

Day 13

Grian was able to stand two days as Scar’s shadow before it became too much. The island was wearing on him, on all of them, but on him most of all. Every day, wake up at the scheduled time with the brightening of the lights, take a scheduled bath, eat scheduled meals, have repetitive, meaningless scheduled conversations and flirting and drama, all droning and ear-ringing and it was all so fucking boring , all while an invisible clock ticked down and he couldn’t sleep at night. 

Scott drifts. Grian was tempted to drift away too.

Scar kept him tethered, infuriatingly, irritatingly. Bizarre and unpredictable and, for some reason, steady despite it all. He kept laughing, and kept pulling Grian in, and kept igniting idiotic drama, keen and desperate to win. Grian couldn’t fucking stand him. 

They were sitting by the bonfire, for the upteenth time, all of them, well all of them except two, Jimmy dead and Scott in the gardens, being even more boring than the other contestants were. Scar was sitting next to him, or he was sitting next to Scar, Scar’s hand on his wrist, too hot, always too hot. Scalding. Everyone was laughing about something. Grian’s ears were ringing. 

Scar giggled about some joke or the other, something to do about Grian apparently, as he tugged Grian’s wrist closer. 

Grian snatched his hand back like he’d been burned and stood abruptly. Everyone’s gaze snapped up to him — Martyn’s first, eyes cutting. He’d been the most tense after Grian since Jimmy had been voted off, playing the game harder than anyone. Knowing any wrong move might spell his end from the island. 

Scar asked something, tone questioning, but Grian’s ears were buzzing too loud for him to make out what it was. Numbly, he fled.

*＊✿❀  ❀✿＊*

Scar found Grian sitting in the dark on their bed in the communal bedroom, back facing the entrance. He was hunched over, head in hands, rubbing his forehead. For a second, Scar thought he was crying. Then Grian turned to look at him, startled by some sound he made, face pale but free of tears. His face went through several emotions—blankness, a flesh of something like fear, and then a small smile that was more like a grimace. “Hey,” he said.

Scar shifted on his feet. “Hey there, partner,” he said with false cheer. “You—you doing all right? You kind of ran out on me there.” He kept his tone light.

Grian looked at him blankly, as if all that was coming out of Scar’s mouth was static. “Hm,” was his only response. His hair was an uncombed mess, and the dark circles in his eyes had grown more and more prominent by the day. Jimmy’s exit had permanently unsettled him, unsettled him all the way out of his body, so that every hollow second with him felt like Scar was with a ghost. Scar wanted to grab him, shake him back into existence, said nothing instead. The others were beginning to look at him with trepidation. Certain that, after Scott, Grian would be next. Grian knew it too, and when he dared to meet eyes with the other contestants Scar saw fear in him. 

Didn’t know where the fear came from. Didn’t know why it seemed to travel through the air of the island like an electrical current. 

Scar stepped forward, slowly, careful not to spook Grian somehow, who had turned back around to stare at the floor. Sat next to him, his weight dipping the bed. “Hey,” he whispered, for no reason, both of them intimately aware of the cameras that must certainly be focused on them right now, the microphones in their communicators and around the room picking every rustle of fabric up. “Hey, man, are you—”

Grian’s head snapped towards him, so fast Scar flinched back. “Scar,” he said. “We can’t lose.”

“I—” Scar stammered. “Um, well, Gri, I’m not exactly planning on losing either,” he laughed uneasily. 

“Scar,” Grian said lowly, again, twice in one conversation, and wasn’t that rare, Grian often preferred to just call him hey, or come here, or listen, or not call him at all. He liked the way his name sounded in Grian’s mouth, rough, the r stopping short in a soft ah sound. “Scar, you’re not going to leave me, are you?”

Scar laughed again, high pitched, “Of course not, we’re partners, aren’t—”

“Good,” Grian bit out, and then lurched forward, fingers curling into Scar’s hair, pulling him close with surprising force, nose to nose. “You better not,” he murmured as Scar’s body sang with adrenaline, and then he kissed him, melting like sticky taffy against Scar’s mouth, mouth open and panting. His lips were chapped, his teeth were digging into Scar’s tongue, and he was practically trembling as Scar’s arms circled around him, shaking furiously with the force of fear or desire or rage or something else Scar couldn’t identify. Scar kissed him back, couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the way the terror in Grian seemed to bleed into him, staining him, slick with dread. 

Something is wrong . Grian’s hands slid into his shirt, fingers biting cold.

Something’s not right. His mouth on Grian’s neck, where his pulse scrambled for survival.

Grian pulled back, Scar couldn’t help the pathetic whine that he let out. Grian laughed shortly, almost meanly, and patted him on the shoulder. Ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to straighten it and ended up with it sticking up worse. Scar’s hand twitched and he stopped himself from reaching out to fix it himself. Brushing his clothes off, Grian gave him one last tight smile and left the room, leaving Scar panting in the dark.

Day 14

Scott was voted out, of course he was, and they watched him leave from the edge of the villa, watched him step into the boat and wave goodbye. They waved back, staring at the little motorboat piloted by a silhouette they couldn’t make out in the shadowy cockpit as it drifted slowly away to little more than a speck on the horizon, then disappeared. Grian watched it vanish over the sealine and thought, I wonder if they just sink the boat. A self-deploying un-floatation device. Water filling his lungs. The driver would sink with him—the facility didn’t care about losing lives. Maybe they’d just watched him die. He felt a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat and had to stifle it under a cough. Martyn shot him a curious look. 

Grian turned away from the railing and walked away. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to say goodbye to Scott. He could feel multiple stares burning into his back, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Scott was dead. Jimmy was dead. Who would be next?

Not us, Grian swore. Not us. 

When I became us was unimportant, because at this point, the two were synonymous. Grian needed Scar. Scar needed Grian. The rest of the contestants left on the island—Ren and Martyn, Jimmy and Cleo—well. They needed a god of some sort, which they weren’t going to find here. They would have to die, for Grian to survive. For Grian to survive, he would need to encourage their deaths. He closed his eyes. Opened them again. Somehow, he’d ended up in the villa’s garden. Bright bushes of roses and lilacs beamed at him, and from the hanging flower baskets, poppies bloomed. Grian stared numbly. The ground spun. The ringing in his ears began again. 

He left.

“Man,” Scar said. “I’m going to miss Scott. He was a really nice guy.”

They were sitting in bed, the only people in the bedroom as it was the evening. Grian, brimming with anxious energy, had dragged Scar into it, mashing their mouths together, a buzzing filling his chest that didn’t soothe as Scar’s hot mouth trailed down his neck and his hands roamed his back. He wasn’t brave enough to go farther than kisses, just tipped himself into Scar’s warm embrace.

Grian wordlessly hummed acknowledgement, eyes closed. Scar’s lips skimmed his shoulder blade. He laughed. “But hey, we’re that much closer to winning, right?”

Grian swallowed back bile, and nodded. 

That night, he dreamed of nothing.

Chapter Text

Day 15

The next morning came. Grian slept through the brightening of the lights calling them awake. Scar reached out a hand and jostled him, and Grian startled up, almost jolting forward in surprise before Scar’s hand on his sternum stopped him.

They stared at each other, Scar’s green eyes narrowed with concern and something like suspicion. Yesterday’s memories came rushing back to him and he wanted to vomit.

Instead, Grian collapsed back on the bed, head sinking into the soft pillow, staring at the lights beaming from the wall above him until spots gathered in his eyes. He did not want to get up, considered just staying still forever and refusing to move until everything on the island, even the plants, died and withered away. 

Everyone had already left the bedroom. Scar got up and left without a word. Even he must be getting tired, Grian thought, of having to be Grian’s personal babysitter. He was supposed to be—romancing. Less like romancing and more like digging his feet into the sand as Scar struggled vainly to get them to move forward. 

He closed his eyes, exhausted.

A ding on his communicator.

Grian didn’t even bother to check it, knew what it would say. Grian, you need to get up. Grian, you must begin the process of getting ready for the day and meet the other contestants for breakfast. Grian—

Grian dragged a hand over his face. Got up. Walked over to the closet. Picked the same red sweater and jeans he always did. Washed his face, combed his hair neatly. 

At breakfast, he arrived late to the rest of the contestants chattering away. They saw him and quieted. Grian sat down and looked at the spread of food in front of him. Sweet rolls with jam, steaming coffee, orange slices, waffles glistening with syrup. None of it seemed appetizing. The other contestants kept glancing nervously his way, but said nothing. 

Ripping into a bread roll, Grian said lightly, “So. I heard you were planning on doing some kind of competition today? A race?”

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Ren muttered, “Uh… yeah man. A swimming race. By the north side of the island.”

The smile froze on Grian’s face. Jimmy’s silhouette, disappearing into the distance.

He propped his chin on his his hands, let his smile widen to bare his teeth, the way Scar liked to do. “Well,” he said, “Try not to be a sore loser again.”

Ren spluttered, outraged while Cleo and Bdubs erupted into laughter and Martyn jumped to his defense. Grian turned his gaze to Scar, grin bright, to see him not smiling at all. His flat eyes met Grian’s for a few seconds, and Grian’s smile dropped.

They race at noon, all of them struggling to cleave through the water, shoving and splashing and yelling at each other angrily, laughing all the while. The sea reflected the sunlight, throwing it up into the air in bright sparks.

Grian tried his best to keep his mind empty, focusing on swimming and joking and keeping a smile on his face throughout it all. He was doing a decent job at it, too, his thoughts reduced to an empty buzz. Then his gaze landed on Scar, sitting with his knees folded to his chest on the sand, watching the proceedings blankly. 

Grian nodded at him. Scar didn’t do anything, just kept looking at him, almost through him. Unease twisted in his gut. 

There was a screech from behind him, and Grian was shoved headfirst into the water. Spluttering, he surfaced to Bdubs’ delighted cackling. In exaggerated anger, he pushed Bdubs over, resulting in a loud splash fight.

He tried to forget about Scar.

It was Sunday again, so they were sitting on the beach. Scar was staring at him. Grian was staring at the ocean. 

Grian could vaguely hear the distant murmurings of the other contestants. They’d used to be so much louder, when Jimmy and Scott were there. 

“Grian,” Scar said finally, breaking their silence. The warning note in his voice made him twitch. “Scott and Jimmy aren’t okay, are they?”

Grian’s head lurched, and he looked at Scar’s stony face, betrayed by the paleness of his skin and his trembling hands. 

“Are they?” Scar repeated.

The mics were off. Their communicators were cold on their wrists, dead. Whispering rose in Grian’s ears, or maybe it was just his imagination. The weight of thousands of eyes on him. Jimmy’s silhouette. Scott, alone in the garden. His head filled with ringing. 

There were bags under Scar’s eyes. His hair was a mess. It was almost like Grian had shed his sorrow like a snake and left Scar to pick up the pieces.

Slowly, Grian shook his head. “They—” What the hell. What the fuck. He might as well say it, write it off as a joke later somehow. “They’re dead.”

Scar jerked forward and vomited into the ocean. And shit. Maybe he couldn’t play it off as a joke, actually.

“Uh,” he said awkwardly. Scar poured seawater into his mouth to wash it off, which really couldn’t taste good.

“Jimmy,” Scar whispered, fingers curling into his hair, shuddering. “And Scott, oh my god—oh my god —” His voice cracked, the words ending in nothing more than a murmur swallowed by the sound of the ocean.

“You believe me,” Grian said stupidly. All the ways he’d been trying to forget about the truth of their situation were erased by his sudden, idiotic confession. Good god, he thought. Good god, all it took was a single question from Scar and his carefully kept secret was ripped apart at the seams. 

Scar laughed, hollowly, and said, “I know when you’re lying.” Which was an absurd thing to say about someone you’d known for two weeks and previously had a brief college rivalry with, but. Well.

Grian explained it. Well, most of it. More like half of it. Stumblingly, carefully aware of the one hour before the mics turn back on. When Grian mentioned how he’d been involved with the creation of the show, Scar’s entire body twitched and Grian was afraid he might try and punch him. But other than that, Scar just stayed still, still slouched staring at his reflection in the sea, as if afraid he was going to vomit again. Grian really hoped he didn’t. The other contestants might see. 

“Scar, could you just say something?”

Scar didn’t look at him, face hidden from view. 

“Scar, please, I know you’re scared, but—”

“How much?” Scar whispered.

“What?”

Scar turned to face him. Grian stumbled back, surprised by the anger on his face. “How much of it was fake?” he snapped. “The—the romance . The affection. You—”

Grian startled. “Are you kidding me?” he hissed. “ That’s what you’re worried about?”

“I thought you loved me,” Scar said numbly. 

Grian’s thoughts hit a wall and scrambled to a halt. “I—I care for you, Scar,” he said, even as it felt like a heavy leaden weight had been dropped on his chest. “I do. But. I was trying to save you.”

“No,” Scar said, shaking his head. “You were trying to save yourself .”

“I couldn’t do both?” Grian snapped.

“Grian, tell me honestly. If you were paired up with any of the members, would you have bothered to save me? What were you going to do?” Scar asked. “If we made it out? Just—what, pretend none of this happened? Won’t people get suspicious when six people who happened to be part of the same show disappear?”

“When I win—when we win,” Grian said, as honestly as he could — Scar’s eyebrow twitched — “I am going to hide somewhere, far, far away and not worry about any of that.” He didn’t answer the first question Scar had asked.

But Scar saw the answer on his face. He sighed, turning away, burying his face into his knees. Grian’s fingers, absurdly, spasmed for a second as he felt the urge to put a hand on Scar’s shoulder. Instead, he curled his hand into a fist and let it drop to his side. Wondered if Scar would start crying and really hoped he didn’t.

A ding. Communicators were back on. Grian stood up abruptly, fear racing through him as the reality of all he’d just revealed set in, the fear that he might tell someone. The cameras were streaming, now. He didn’t know who they’d be focusing on. He prayed Scar didn’t say something stupid. Instead, Scar just sighed, stretched, and slipped into the water. “I’m going for a swim,” he said flatly. Grian really hoped he wouldn’t try and swim far enough to get hit with the electric field that circled the entire island, shocking anyone who tried to escape. It was too far away, he thought.

“Scar—” Grian started, the word feeling sour in his teeth.

“Go away, Grian,” Scar said, turning his back as he sunk into the water with hardly a ripple. 

Grian acquiesced.

Scar does not come to the bedroom. The others glance at Grian alone awkwardly and with a hint of pity, the same way they’d look at Scott when Jimmy had been voted out. The comparison made disgust well up in him.

Day 17

The island was quiet.

Scar didn’t know why this was the first time he’d noticed this, somehow hadn’t realized how deathly still the entire place was. Devoid of life.

The wooden swing he was sitting on creaked. From here, the balcony outside the bedroom, Scar  could hear the sea waves striking the beach. In a normal island, there might be the chirping of crickets and buzzing of summer bugs and the cawing of seagulls and pigeons, but here, in this manmade monstrosity, there was just the wind and the sea. 

What else was manufactured, he wondered, eyes skipping from the sand to the trees to the flowers climbing the pillars of the villa. Everything, probably. It would be easier to count the things not created by—what had Grian called it, with so much fucking distaste in the words it sounded more like a thorn he would choke on? The Facility. 

The love was manufactured, too. His fingers twitched with the memory of Grian’s mouth on his, on his hands against his stomach. Teasing smiles and laughter. 

Grian, with his cutting remarks. Grian, drunk out of his mind. Grian, yelling. Grian, a ghost, unreachable.

Scar felt less like he had been plunged into water and more like he’d been pulled out of it, pulled out of the ocean into the biting sun and wrung out to dry. Wide awake from a lovely dream.

He heard a smattering of loud arguing from the patio, Bdubs and Ren’s voice coming in the loudest. They would be—

Scar swallowed down bile. Curled his fingers into a fist. Grief turned anger, imagined closing his hand around Grian’s throat.

He caught a flash of something from the night sky, and looked up to see something purple floating down towards him. Scar grabbed the small parachute from the sky. The knowledge of where it had came from filled him with revulsion, but still he opened the package.

Blinked.

Held the object in the air.

Danging like a pendulum, the gold pocketwatch glinted. 

Day 18

Grian and Scar were back where they always seemed to end up—chasing and avoiding each other. Every moment Scar talked to another member made Grian’s shoulders tense and anxiety buzz in his throat, certain that any second would be the moment that Scar revealed it all, and then—what? The Facility sent down a bomb to the island to kill them all, or maybe bring a firing squad, or maybe just forced them to fight to the death as a more direct way of entertaining the Watchers. 

The tense mood of the island was surely caught on by the Facility, and so the contestants had gotten notifications on their communicators to gather at the pavilion for a game in the evening.

The six of them were playing Never Have I Ever, but Grian was less focused on the game and more focused on Scar. They weren’t sitting next to each other, the group deciding to switch things up today. Grian wound up sitting between Martyn and Bdubs, Scar in front of him. Scar was sprawled on the seat, elbow perched on his knee, blankness gone from his face, replaced with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. There were bottles on the table in the middle of their circle of seats, but each of them were nursing only small shot glasses. After all, there was a limit on the amount of alcohol they would have. A rule Grian had broken in the first week of being here, but the Facility had been happy to ignore him.

The urge to get completely drunk and forget where he was was countered by the five others next to him, and the fact that they would probably need to keep their wits about them tonight. The Facility wanted them to spend as much time together to make up for the previous few days of awkwardness. 

“Never have I ever,” Cleo drawled thoughtfully. A wicked grin grew on her face. “Slept with someone I hated.”

Scandalized cackles from the group, which grew even louder as Scar picked up his shot glass. 

“ Seriously?” Martyn said.

“Man, of course, who else,” Ren laughed.

After a moment, jaw working, Grian picked up his own glass. Everyone’s gaze swiveled to him. Laughing hysterically, Bdubs collapsed against Cleo, who hadn’t picked up her own glass. Her grin grew wider. 

Amidst the giggling of the other contestants, Scar and Grian’s eyes met. Tipping their glasses back, they swallowed at the same time. 

It was night. They were in bed. 

Scar’s arms circled punishingly tight around him, pulling him so close it almost hurt, face pressed into his neck. Grian did not move, did not pull away. His pulse fluttered like a rabbit’s under Scar’s palm and he, swallowing, wondered if Scar would crush his windpipe like he must so desperately want to. Wondered if he deserved it. 

Grian drifted to sleep with the thought, in the bird cage of Scar’s hands.

Day 19

Morning came, and with it a slight headache from last night’s game. Grian opened his eyes, realized he was still in Scar’s arms. Peered up to see Scar staring at him. That hadn’t been in an uncommon occurrence before , Grian often waking up to Scar’s intense gaze. Back then he’d just laughed it off. Now there was something almost eerie about it. 

Scar looked at him for a few more seconds, then pushed himself off the bed, the loss of his weight making the mattress rise. The rest of the beds were empty, the rest of the contestants probably already having breakfast.

Grian pressed his palms into his eyes. There was a rustling sound, probably Scar putting on the shirt he chose not to sleep in. “I’m sorry.”

The rustling stopped. Scar laughed, light and false. “For what?” he said, voice projecting around the room. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry, anyway.”

Steady footsteps, Scar’s shadow enveloping the fluorescent lights. A gentle brush of lips against his forehead. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, voice calm and distant. And then he left.

After lunch, everyone lazed around in the sun. Martyn came to sit next to Grian on the patio. Grian raised a hand in greeting, shaking himself of his thoughts of Scar. So far, he hadn’t said anything, and hopefully he was smart enough not to.

“Fuck, it’s hot out,” Martyn groaned. Grian shot him a look. Cursing was allowed on the island, but only to a certain extent to keep the viewers ‘comfortable’. Out of all of them, Martyn was the one who liked to push that rule the most. “Are you ever going to change out of that fucking jumper?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Grian snapped, perhaps a little too defensively. Somehow, the constant wardrobe was a comfort to him, similar to what he would wear when he wasn’t in this paradisal hell. A small rebellion against the tank tops and beach clothes meant to display everyone’s perfectly tanned skin to the hungry viewers.

“Well, I never said there was. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Martyn shrugged.

“Mm,” Grian said, still grumpy. A silence. 

“What’s up with you and Scar?” Martyn asked to break the quiet, eyebrows waggling.

“What?” Grian said, too sharply. “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong.”

Martyn stared at him in puzzlement. “That wasn’t… what I meant. How’re things progressing?”

“Oh.” Grian swallowed. Curled his fingers into fists, slowly uncurled them. Calm down, Grian. He couldn’t go back to the dumb stupor he’d been in after Jimmy being voted out. He’d lost pretty much an entire week of appealing to the viewers, had only been saved by—well.

“Not very well, then, I’m assuming?”

“Everything’s fine,” Grian laughed. “What about you and Ren?”

Martyn’s face shuttered, which took Grian by surprise. He’d thought they were the most dedicated, if not downright obsessive, pairings. This was an interesting development. 

Come to think of, normally at this time Ren and Martyn would have been sitting on the patio, being disgusting with each other. After Jimmy and Scott, the two had been the closest couple, and now with them gone Grian would think they were on their way to winning.

God fucking knew what the Facility would do with the winner. It had been the original plan when Grian was still a part of the project that the winner would, in fact, get their prize money and get to fuck off to wherever they wanted. After all, a bloodthirsty competition only paid off if there was some sort of prize for the winner at the end. Grian was still chasing the finish line, of course, but after what he’d stupidly told Scar—well.

Speak of the devil. Grian saw Scar’s muscled silhouette approaching them, grinning with disarming friendliness. “Hey guys,” he said cheerfully, sitting beside Martyn.

“Hey there, big guy,” Martyn waved. The two of them started talking animatedly, gesturing and laughing. Grian couldn’t focus on the words as he once again zeroed in on Scar, sitting comfortably just one person away from him. 

“Do you trust Ren?” Scar said randomly, brining Grian’s attention to the conversation. Grian shot him a look. What was he doing?

Martyn’s brow furrowed. “Do I—of course.”

“I mean, I’m just saying, I wouldn’t,” Scar said, “If I were you.”

“What do you mean?” Martyn said sharply.

Scar shrugged, putting his hands up as he leaned back, looking for all the world like an innocent man expressing concern for a friend. “It’s just—” his voice dropped to a whisper, “I saw him. With Cleo.” Grian tried not gape.

“So?” Martyn said uncomfortably. “They get along.”

“Get along a little too well,” Scar said. “Do you know he has a dog?”

“No, but… it suits him, doesn’t it? He’s got kind of a… golden retriever personality.” Martyn laughed awkwardly. 

“He didn’t tell you? Huh, he was telling Cleo all about it.”

Martyn’s face twitched. “Did he.”

Scar nodded. “He did.”

Grian sat, tensed, through the whole conversation, glancing at Scar in disbelief every few seconds. 

“I’ve got to go,” Martyn said abruptly, standing up to leave.

“Oh?” Scar said in mocking surprise. “Alright. See ya!” When Martyn was comfortably out of eyesight, he sat up, grinning at Grian. “How’s that?”

Grian opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “What — what was that?” he asked finally. 

“My powers of persuasion!” Scar said gleefully, so at odds with his cold attitude earlier that Grian wondered if he’d somehow been hit in the head and forgot the last few days. “Do you think Martyn fell for it?” he whispered conspiratorily. Automatically, Grian’s head twitched to look for cameras, coming to a short when he realized that no, they didn’t need to hide this conversation, because—and then it dawned on him. Scar was playing this up for the cameras, throwing hatchets in the relationships of others to show that he was fighting to win, and, by bringing Grian into it—fighting with Grian. Together. 

He’d—forgiven him, or at least, was able to move past Grian’s betrayal to focus on survival. Grian could laugh in relief. “A bit heavy-handed,” Grian admitted. “Martyn knows what you’re up to.”

Scar laughed. “Well, of course he does, but it doesn’t matter, does it? He’s going to go fact-check with Ren, and when he figures out I was telling the truth—” he mimicked an explosion with his hands. “ Boom.”

Grian scoffed, shaking his head, couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Why would Ren even hide that from him, anyway?”

“Martyn’s allergic to dogs,” Scar snickered.

“But why would that matter to Ren, it’s not like— oh. ”

Scar nodded. “He definitely wants them to move in together, after the island, so—”

“—he was scared telling Martyn would push him away from that,” Grian finished, the answer sour in his mouth. He looked down at his hands awkwardly, then back up at Scar, who was looking at him like he knew exactly what Grian was thinking, had been thinking the exact same thing. It didn’t matter what Ren’s plans were for the future, or any of the other contestants for that matter. They weren’t going to live long enough to fulfill them.

Scar and Grian, though. They would fight to make sure they did.

Day 20

Grian and Scar went to breakfast at the same time, went to lunch at the same time, stayed attached at the hip. Casual touches, low murmurs in each other’s ears, giggling at inside jokes. Kept laughing, laughing at everything, laughing even as someone mentioned what they were going to do after the island and their eyes cut to each other, laughing even as they were surrounded by ghosts from the future, soon to be dead. Tomorrow. Tomorrow one of them would be voted out. 

Ren and Scar were wrestling in the pool, as some kind of revenge after the volleyball loss or the tens of other mini competitions they’d engaged each other in over the past few weeks, from staring to arm wrestling competition. Surely their played-up rivalry made for entertaining TV.

Grian watched as Scar tackled Ren into the water, the other man letting out a shriek as the two wrestled, hitting and kicking each other. He shook his head, a smile blooming on his face against his will. Idiot , he thought, with perhaps too much affection.

Scar resurfaced from the water, water droplets falling from his chest, cheering triumphantly, and turned to Grian. Grinned when he noticed him staring at him. Grian looked away, face heating. 

The sun beat down on him, the two of them having decided to dry themselves off in the beach chairs. This was the same place they’d been sitting the first week, when Martyn had run to them and gave the news of Jimmy’s removal. Grian swallowed, aware of the cameras watching them, aware of the eyes peering out behind them. “Scar,” he said. 

Next to him on the beach chair, the man in question shifted. “Grian,” he responded flatly.

“If—if anything happens.” He paused. “To us. If one of us gets — voted out. I’m glad to have known you.” He resolutely does not look beside him. Silence.

“I’m glad, too,” Scar said, quietly. Then, abruptly, he laughs, shattering the tension. “Don’t act so glum, Grian. We can always meet up again after.”

Grian didn’t respond. Scar sighed. Stood up and crossed over to where Grian sat. 

Grian peered up at him from behind his sunglasses. Well, not his sunglasses. Scar’s gift.

Scar reached out and pulled them off his face, curled his other large hand around Grian’s cheek, his thumb sitting under Grian’s jaw. Grian exhaled. Scar leaned down till there noses brushed, pressing his forehead against Grian’s. From the corner of his eye, Grian caught sight of one of the palm trees that he knew had a camera angled directly to where they sat. 

Grian curled a hand into his hair as Scar brought their mouths together softly, heatedly. He was incredibly warm, as always, so burning hot to the touch and looming that he almost seemed like a dragon turned human. Grian could almost imagine smoke coming out of his nose, out of his mouth, exhaling the grey smoke into Grian’s mouth so he choked on it.

Day 21

The six members gathered around the bonfire, eyeing each other warily. Someone would be voted out today. Scar put a hand on Grian’s thigh. Grian put his hand over Scar’s. 

They sat there awkwardly for a few minutes, a few members trying to make idle conversation, but eventually falling silent, checking their wrists periodically.

In unison, their communicators dinged. In unison, they looked at their communicators.

TWO MEMBERS WILL BE VOTED OUT FROM THE ISLAND!

A chorus of horrified gasps. Grian couldn’t make a sound. Just stared numbly at the words, uncomprehending. That wasn’t—they couldn’t—

The Watchers must be getting impatient. They needed to hurry up. The game had been dawdling too much. There hadn’t been enough drama. A shocking vote had to be made. Grian, miserably, found himself praying. Pleading to whatever god there was that it wouldn’t be them. 

REN AND MARTYN HAVE BEEN VOTED OUT OF LIFE ISLAND. PLEASE COLLECT YOUR BAGS AND LEAVE. 

A shocked silence. Grian looked up. The two said members looked as bewildered as he was. Bdubs and Cleo were murmuring words of shock. He turns to the side, to Scar, who looked—sad. Sad but unsurprised. His ears began to ring.

The shock on Martyn’s face was replaced by anger, going through all the stages of grief before settling on acceptance. Ren just seemed devastated, almost to the point of tears. Grian just sat there as everyone else rushed to comfort them. Then he, too, stood up, going over to them and patting Ren on the back. 

Both Ren and Martyn pulled back from everyone, though, hands reaching out to seek each other. They didn’t want pity consolation from the other competitors, the ones who couldn’t be as sad as they appeared, not when they would benefit from their absence.

No one said anything after that, just descended into a strange, funeral silence as Ren and Martyn headed towards the doomed north side of the island. Grian turned to leave, not wanting to bear the sight, but Scar’s hand on his wrist stopped. He tried to pull out of his hold, but Scar’s grip was steel, and so were his eyes. He tipped his head to the retreating pair. The message was clear.

Grian watched them get on the boat, hand in hand. Watched them wave as the boat drove away. Watched Bdubs and Cleo wave back. Scar’s fingers were digging hard into his wrist. When Grian looked at him, he was staring resolutely out into the water, mouth downturned. Not a single tear in his eye. Grian tried to remember if he’d ever seen him cry. Tried to remember if he himself had ever actually cried on the island. A match made in heaven, the two of them.

The four remaining contestants trekked back up the stairs of the villa. Bdubs and Cleo went straight to the bedroom. Grian paused in the patio and turned to Scar, pulling him down by the lapels on the shirt he had shockingly decided to wear today and kissed him soundly. Scar returned the kiss with an almost possessive fervor, hands coming to rest at Grian’s back. 

They pulled back robotically, stepped backwards robotically. “Scar,” Grian said slowly. “Is there something I should know?”

Scar paused, face carefully blank. “No,” he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

Grian watched Scar leave to the bedroom, and wondered when Scar had started lying to him. 

Chapter Text

Day 22

They were on the beach again. This was getting repetitive. 

Grian and Scar were both sitting, Scar a little further ahead, ankles in the water, toes digging into the wet sand. In the two minutes that the communicators had been off (Grian had been keeping careful track in his head), Scar had refused to look at him or say a word. It was disconcerting after the past few days spent attached at each other’s side. It dawned on Grian for the first time that Scar might’ve been faking his forgiveness. 

“Are you mad at me?” Grian asked, and he meant to sound incredulous, but instead his voice came out small and sad.

“No,” came Scar’s voice, muffled. “I’m—glad you told me. I just. Hm.” He turned his head just enough so his side profile was visible, one eye piercing Grian. There was a beat as they stared at each other, both searching each other for something the other could never provide.

“Are we going to tell the others?” Scar asked. 

Grian had been dreading this question. “No,” he said. “We’re not.”

Instead of looking horrified, Scar just nodded, as if he’d expected this. “Can I know why?”

Grian hated the question. Can I know why — as if Grian was planning on keeping anything more a secret after this. “There can only be two winners,” he said. “If they knew—the competition will be worse. Or they’ll say something stupid and get us all killed.”

“What if they find out themselves? They already know something’s not right.” This was true, the previous air of uneasiness tripling with the fact that they had halved in numbers.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Grian sighed. “I want to save them. I can’t.”

Grian wondered if Scar would offer to sacrifice himself — to pair off with someone else and let another person take his place as Grian’s partner so they could win instead. Someone with a family that worried about them, someone that had people who depended on them outside the island. It was, perhaps, what a good person would do.

He didn’t, of course. Scar wasn’t a very good person. 

“Well,” Scar said after a beat. “All that’s left is Bdubs and Cleo.”

Grian closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Do you think we’ll beat them?”

“I…” Grian trailed off. “I don’t know. I didn’t even think I’d make it this far.”

“Really? Why not?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not really the romantic type.”

“Nonsense. You’re plenty romantic,” Scar sighed. “Or at least, you do a good job at pretending to be.” The words weren’t said bitterly, but Grian cast a look at Scar anyway.

“Scar…” he started hesitantly.

“Right!” Scar interrupted. “We need a way to win. To prove that our relationship is stronger then theirs. How do we do it?”

Grian cast his mind back to the laboratory, trying vainly to remember anything that could give them an advantage. “We could just continue with what we’ve been doing so far, it’s been going…” The word well died in his throat as he remembered the past three weeks. “Oh! But there’s also—” his mouth clicked shut. 

“What?” Scar straightened, turning to face him properly and pinning him with the full force of his gaze. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Grian said quickly. “Nothing that would be helpful to us, anyway.” Scar would never—not after—

“Grian,” Scar said seriously. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I want to win this. I want to win this with you .” Grian blinked at him, caught off guard by the tone in his voice. His mind stuttered over the word you. 

Oh, well. “There’s always—the private chamber,” Grian winced.

“The what?” Scar repeated in bewilderment. “The private chamber —is this some sort of 18th century thing?”

“No, Scar—” Grian sighed. “It’s. A room. For two people. Alone. For the whole night.”

Scar blinked. Blinked again. “Oh. Oh. Ohhhhhh .”

“Yes, oh ,” Grian said bitingly. “So, clearly, there’s no—”

“Okay.”

Grian reeled back. “Okay?” 

Scar nodded. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

“What?!” 

“I mean, as long as you want to. I don’t have any problems with it.” Grian spluttered in exasperation at Scar’s easy answer, feeling like he should be flailing around. Instead, he stayed stock still.

“There will be cameras the whole time, Scar.”

Scar gave him a puzzled look. “So? I came to do a romance reality TV show . I didn’t expect to be doing absolutely innocent stuff.”

Grian didn’t know what to do with the idea that Scar might’ve been waiting for an opportunity to— canoodle . “But—with me?”

“Grian, have you looked at yourself. Of course. But,” Grian dropped his gaze. Scar’s face froze. “Are you fine with it?”

“I don’t care,” Grian lied. He did care, quite a lot, about the idea of Scar’s arms and mouth and fingers being—there. On him. It wasn’t an unpleasant idea. Was as far as he was willing to admit to himself.

“Are you sure? You’re not a virgin or anything, right? Oh my god, please tell me you’re not a virgin, tell me I’m not deflowering you—”

“I’m not a virgin!” Grian yelped, perhaps a little too loudly as he heard a snort from across the beach. His face flamed, and Scar knew this anyway, was just trying to make him squirm.“It’s fine. I’m fine. Okay?”

“Okay,” Scar said, grinning in amusement. “Okay! Awesome!”

“Great,” Grian said awkwardly.

“Wait.” Scar paused, brow furrowing. “How do we do this—private—chamber—thingy?”

“Um,” Grian cleared his throat. “Well. It was supposed to be an event appearing in the last week. I don’t know if they’ve changed their plans since…” Scar’s stare grew colder. “Since I was last there. But it would be there to. You know. Make the stakes bigger. Give the viewers something to—view. They’ll probably start the ‘event’ sometime in the middle of the week, and the viewers will get to vote on who—er—”

“Got it,” Scar nodded, taking pity on him. “So we just have to really amp it up.”

“Amp what up?” The question ended in a high pitched voice crack. Grian winced.

“This,” Scar said, and promptly wrapped his hands around Grian’s waist and dragged him into his lap. Grian lurched away on instinct, but Scar’s grip circled him, keeping him caged. “Easy,” he laughed, breezy as ever. “Come on, how are you supposed to get used to this? At least try to pretend you’re not scared of touching me.”

“I’m not,” Grian snarled, going limp in Scar’s arms to prove his point. “Scared of touching you.”

Scar tucked his chin over Grian’s shoulder, hummed thoughtfully, the noise rumbling through his chest. “No?” he said. “That’s good to hear.”

They stayed like that, quietly, Scar’s chest rising and falling, until their communicators dinged back online, and even after that.

Day 23

The next day, Scar woke him with a kiss and Grian spluttered awake, batting him on the face as Scar laughed loudly. Bdubs and Cleo were getting out of bed and stared at them in brief bewilderment before cracking a smile. Here was the advantage they had—Bdubs and Cleo were far less physically close with each other, preferring to stick to their strange form of insults-mixed-flirting and bizarre banter. Scar, however, was more than willing to grab at Grian whenever the opportunity presented itself, and sometimes when it didn’t.

As the day progressed however, they also proved themselves to be able to change that. It devolved into an almost laughably obvious competition of who could be the most lovesick and glued to each other while still remaining believable. 

They spent time with their partners, they spent time with each other’s partners, on every corner of the island for hours, suddenly lost without the four missing contestants while desperately trying to pretend they weren’t.

Scar and Grian were on the north facing beach. They were talking about plans, after the island.

“What am I going to do, after this?” Scar wondered aloud. The us was left unspoken, a heavy weight in the air.

“I guess—I guess you can just… do whatever makes you happy,” Grian said, sighing.

Scar paused, jaw tucked over Grian’s shoulder. “You make me happy,” he whispered. A secret. A confession. 

“Do I?” Grian laughed, tempted to squirm away. He didn’t.

“Yes,” Scar said seriously. “You do.”

“Well,” Grian said belatedly, after a beat. “You make me happy, too.”

“What are you going to do, after?”

Pay my bills, was the instant answer that came to mind. Now, though— “I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t think that far.”

“Did you think you weren’t going to win?” Scar asked lightly, fingers trailing through the sand.

Grian chose his words carefully. “I’m trying to win.”

“Have I made it harder?”

“No,” Grian said instantly. “Well, yes, but—” You did all the heavy lifting, anyway.

“Am I still making it hard?” 

“No,” he said. Definitely . For different reasons, now.

Scar laughed like he heard it anyway. Tackled him into the sand, wrapped a warm arm around him, pressing him to the ground as Grian squirmed and protested. 

There was something, here, something too beautiful for words, something so light it sat heavy in Grian’s throat. Scar buried his face in Grian’s neck. Grian let him, staring out into the open sea, wondered what would happen if he just jumped in and started swimming and didn’t let anything stop him. 

There was nothing for him, out there. He turned his attention back to Scar. 

Day 24

The next day, there was a notification.

WE WILL BE BEGINNING A NEW EVENT: THE PRIVATE CHAMBER. PLEASE COME TO THE PAVILION TO RECEIVE THE INFORMATION ON THIS EVENT.

The four of them gathered in the pavilion, eyes glued to the TV screen as it began spouting new rules.

Grian and Scar pretended to look surprised and intently focused on the new information being presented on their communicators. Bdubs and Cleo murmured to each other. When the realization dawned, they sat up and eyed each other with a tinge of apprehension.

THE VIEWERS WILL NOW VOTE ON THE PAIRING THEY’D MOST LIKE TO SEE IN THE PRIVATE CHAMBER ;)

Grian only started paying attention when the voting began. Scar was holding his hand next to him. They watched the numbers on the screen go up and down. Grian & Scar: 24,643, Cleo & Bdubs: 27,379.. . He tensed at the difference in numbers and also by the surprising scale, eyes widening as the numbers climbed higher and higher. Grian had known, theoretically, that there were thousands of people watching Life Island, but he hadn’t truly realized how many there were, and the fact that they were voting on which pair they’d now most like to see—

Grian wondered if it was possible for any of the Watchers to have figured out how to vote in the event. The very concept disturbed him and he grimaced for a second before he was able to smooth it into a smile.

Finally, the count stopped. There was a winner by a very thin margin.

Next to him, Scar blew out a sigh of relief.

GRIAN AND SCAR WILL GET THE PRIVATE CHAMBER TONIGHT.

Besides them, Bdubs and Cleo made a series of complicated facial expressions before settling on strange, flat smiles. “Well,” Cleo said with a grin, “Congratulations.”

“Um,” Grian said.

Scar pressed up against his back, sliding his arms around Grian. “Thanks,” he purred, smile evident in his voice without Grian even having to look at him. Lowering his voice and ducking closer, he murmured, amused in Grian’s ear, “ If we’re both alone in separate bedrooms, what does the Private Chamber matter?” 

Grian elbowed him. “Rules,” he muttered back. No full nudity except in the bathrooms and the Private Chamber. An Event. He felt himself beginning to scowl, not out of any prudishness or unwillingness but rather the fact that this was all going to be a public fucking spectacle. God. Whose idea was this?

Yours, a voice laughed at him. He tuned it out.

Bdubs and Cleo smirked at both of them whispering at each other, and suddenly Grian couldn’t stand any of it. He pushed Scar’s arms off of him and walked away, Scar’s grip already loosening as if he’d sensed Grian’s motives. As he left, he heard Cleo coo, “ Aw, he’s embarrassed .”

His jaw flexed and he kept walking.

“So do we just—take our clothes off?” Scar asked.

Grian groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes. “ Seriously?” he hissed into the room glowing with ‘romantic’ red light. After an awkward dinner full of mostly the sounds of chewing, Grian and Scar had been directed into a room at the far end of the villa the contestants hadn’t even known existed—except for Grian. Since they’d entered the room he’d tried not to concentrate too much on the roses littered around the room, the pink sheets and the ridiculous heart clustered and bursting from the walls.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Scar laughed, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat besides where Grian was lying down. He removed Grian’s hands from his face, forcing Grian to look up at him. “I’m really glad to be doing this with you,” he said sincerely. Or—maybe sincerely. Possibly. Grian felt a stab of annoyance that the very nature of the island meant most of what was genuine from Scar during this would be hidden from him, then felt abruptly silly.

Despite himself, the words made him relax. “I’m—glad too,” he cleared his throat.

On cue, the lights of the room dimmed. This, too, made him relax further. 

“Do you have a plan?” Scar whispered in the dark, and Grian saw his cat-green eyes flashing in the low light. He swallowed, feeling ridiculous. Shoved the covers over their heads as their hands fumbled for each other clumsily. Through the speakers, some shitty radio hit song started playing, the singer’s voice crooning into the silence save for the rustling of sheets.

Absently, Scar started humming along.

“Scar,” Grian said, eyes closed.

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

Scar cackled quietly, fingers reaching under the hem of Grian’s shirt, and he shuddered. “Come ooon,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against Grian’s neck. “This is—romantic.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Grian hissed, eyes snapping open. 

Scar laughed, and then ducked his head forward, breathing into Grian’s ear. “Is this okay?” he said quietly. “Do you not want to me touch you?”

“No, it’s—” Grian’s voice stopped. “It’s fine.”

This close, he could see Scar’s brow furrow. “I’m going to need more then ‘fine’, Grian.”

Grian closed his eyes again. “It’s good.”

“Great.” He could hear Scar’s grin. 

“Get it over with, Scar,” he hissed quietly. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Scar hummed, calluses on his palms catching over Grian’s skin. His voice seemed to deepen, rough and honeyed syllables wrapping warm hands around him as he drew impossibly closer, lips barely brushing, the passing flirting touch of feathers. “I think I’m going to take my time with you.” Finally, he sealed Grian’s mouth with his.

The next moments seemed to pass in a blur and drag on slowly like molasses. Everything felt trapped in amber and Grian’s pulse roared in his ears.

Scar’s skin was warm under his hands. Grian pressed upwards, Scar pressed him down. Open-mouthed caresses down his neck. His nails dug into Scar’s back. He was heedless of the endless, watching cameras, heedless of the ocean between them and salvation, heedless of a hundred different things. Time slipped under them like sand, there was only Scar’s soft murmurings against his throat and jaw and—

He dug in, and in, and in, into Scar’s heart to flutter there like a wounded bird. For a single moment, he did not want to leave the island, content to stay here caged in Scar’s arms.

Scar thought he could die here, just like this.

Day 25

The next morning came slow and honey sweet. For the first time in god knows how many months, Grian woke with hardly a struggle, eyes opening easily. He sat up abruptly, his internal clock develop from weeks of routine telling him they’d slept far past the scheduled waking time. A groan beside him, and Scar’s arm wrapped around his bicep, pulling him back into the man’s very naked body . Grian yelped in embarrassment, despite—everything last night.

“Five more minutes,” Scar sighed into his hair. Grian’s fingers twitched, and, after a moments hesitation, his arm curled around Scar’s back.

They emerged from the Private Chamber (what an awful name, whose idea was that, fucking Greg the Intern , Grian swore when he got out of here the first thing he would do was wring Greg’s neck) to a series of extremely loud and salacious cheering and wolf whistles considering only two people were making them. 

Grian scowled, face heating as he turned away even as Scar laughed loudly, grabbing Grian’s arm and pulling him back flush against his chest. “ You’re going to have to learn how to deal with this for the rest of the day,” he snickered in Grian’s ear. “Best start now.”

The irritated face Grian pulled at him only made Scar laugh louder. He let Scar lead him to the table to eat and face the jeering of Bdubs and Cleo.

Day 26

The sun was high in the sky—it was noon. Grian kicked his feet in the pool, feeling surprisingly—not light. Not with the knowledge of the people that were still left to die for him to win. But he was almost hopeful, brave enough to put a word to it. He might make it out. He might actually make it out. And then—what?

A shadow beside him. “Hey, Scar—” Grian’s voice died in his throat as he turned up to see Cleo standing there, eyes crinkled in amusement. “Oh. Hey.”

“ Wow. Good to see you too, Grian,” Cleo laughed, plopping down next to him.

“It’s not—I—thought you were someone else.” 

“I bet,” she snickered. Grian’s mouth flattened as it always seemed to instinctually whenever someone implied something about him and Scar. “God, you really love him, don’t you?”

“What?” His head jolted up to stare at her. “I don’t love Scar.”

“Who said anything about Scar?” Cleo said. Grian shoved her. “Just teasing! But seriously. You can’t be that idiotic to not see how you feel about him.”

“I’ve never—” Grian said automatically.

“I know you haven’t,” Cleo shrugged. “But things change.”

“It was only a few weeks ago,” he said weakly. Cleo grinned, or more like bared her teeth. He was viciously reminded that his victory was at the cost of her success, and she knew it. “That’s sort of the point of the island, isn’t it?” she laughed.

“Right,” he said numbly.

“So?” Cleo’s eyebrows shot up in question. “Do you?”

“I—” He blinked. Cleo’s smile grew. 

“I don’t need you to tell me. Just think about it. Don’t break his heart.” She paused. “Or let him break yours.”

“What do you mean?” Grian snapped.

Cleo shrugged. “I’m just saying. Be careful.” Grian squinted at her incredulously as he turned her gaze to the pool. She didn’t say anything for a long while. “We’re not safe, are we?” she said.

Grian snapped his eyes away from her, determinedly looking everywhere but her. “What do you mean?” His voice was strained.

“Come on,” her voice was sharp, “Don’t play dumb with me now. We’re not safe, are we ?”

He kept his head pointed up at the sky. “I think you ask too many questions.”

She scoffed.

“And you should be careful about what you say.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “The cameras are too busy with Bdubs and Scar now.”

That made his head turn toward her. He tensed. “What do you mean?”

Her face had become a stone cold sneer. “You ask too many questions. It doesn’t matter what I say, anyway. I’m being voted out anyway.”

“You don’t know that,” Grian said weakly. “It could be someone else.”

Cleo sighed at him, the sound full of pity. It made his hair stand on end. “Be careful, Grian,” she said, and then stood and left, leaving the air feeling suddenly cold behind her. Grian shivered.

That night, as they got into bed, Scar kissed him, full mouthed and on the edge of possessive. Grian returned it, pressed up against him until there was an awkward cough from Bdubs and Cleo’s bed. They pulled away and crawled under the covers. Scar’s arms looped around his stomach, pulling him close, chest rumbling with happiness not unlike a cat. 

Grian turned to face him, and Scar’s hands instead moved, lightning fast, to his neck. His thumb rested on Grian’s Adam’s apple. They looked at each other, wide-eyed with surprise for a second. Grian swallowed, felt Scar’s fingers tighten in response. His pulse fluttered erratically. Scar’s eyes drilled holes into him for several minutes until Grian understood he wasn’t going to remove his grip anytime soon, so he closed his eyes, despite knowing he wouldn’t get any sleep like this. After a few minutes, he heard Scar’s breath even out and deepen.

Turned out he was wrong. Grian could get sleep like this.

Day 27

The four of them were eating an uneasy breakfast when a notification dinged on their communicators. With surprise, they checked their wrists. It was rare for a meal to be interrupted with the announcement of an event.

DUE TO POPULAR REQUEST, TWO MEMBERS OF THE ISLAND WILL BE REMOVED THIS WEEK. ONE WILL BE VOTED OUT TODAY AND THE OTHER WILL BE VOTED OUT TOMORROW. PLEASE WAIT FOR UPDATES.

They sat in dull shock for a minute. Cleo pushed her plate away and stood. “Well,” she said. “Let’s go to the north side of the island, then.”

Bdubs stood immediately, rushing to hold her. “Oh, come on, no,” he said. “You don’t know if you’re going to be—”

“Bdubs,” she laughed, so hoarsely that he let go of her forearms. “Be serious. I’m surprised I even got this far.” Her eyes flashed at him. “And don’t be so glum,” she cooed, patting his cheek. “You’ll be next.”

Bdubs tensed, eyes cutting to Grian and then back to her. “I—” he opened his mouth to defend himself and paused.

“Well,” Scar said after a moment of silence as they all stared at each other with suspicion. “You heard what the lady said. Let’s go.”

Bdubs whirled at him. “You be quiet ,” he snapped, but something in Scar’s face made the rest of his words die in his throat. Grian felt immensely uncomfortable. Just a bit ago, he’d felt burdened with the knowledge that no one else had. And now, he felt burdened with the knowledge he didn’t have that everyone else seemed to.

Unconsciously, he stepped closer to Scar. Just as unconsciously, Scar’s hand went to his elbow, and he bumped Grian’s shoe with his. 

Another ding. 

PLEASE GO TO THE NORTH SIDE OF THE ISLAND TO SAY GOODBYE TO THE CONTESTANT WHO WILL BE VOTED OUT.

“Well,” Grian said. “You heard what they said,” his words came out lilting and mocking. “Let’s go.”

Cleo was voted out. Of course she was. They watched her leave, all three of them, down the steps, and Grian didn’t even feel the urge to look away. Looked at the retreating boat taking her to her death and felt—nothing. Empty.

He turned to Scar. The past few days of Scar’s lying, his mysterious disappearances, Cleo’s cutting comments—pieces were starting to come together, and Grian. Well. Grian wanted to hear it from the man himself.

“Scar,” he said. “What did you do?”

Scar sighed, dragging a hand over it’s face. “I’ll tell you later, Grian,” he said. 

“No,” Grian said, angry now, shouting now, “No, I think you’re going to tell me now .”

“Okay, guys,” Bdubs said nervously. “I think—this conversation seems like it should be handled privately—”

“Shut up,” Grian snapped. “Scar. Listen to me. What. What did you fucking do? ”

Scar looked down at him, face blank, and Grian telt a faint trickle of fear. 

He didn’t answer. Bdubs did it for him.

A clink, and Grian turned to see a clock dangling from Bdubs’ fingers, a fine gold watch ticking. It was nine am, he registered distantly. He thought it was eight. He looked at it uncomprehendingly, didn’t understand what it meant except that it meant something. He looked back at Scar, and it was the expression of deep and painful guilt that made the meaning knock through the barrier of denial he’d erected for himself. “Sorry, Grian,” he said. 

Grian stumbled back, the air knocked out of his lungs. “What—” he choked. He stepped back again, almost tripped over himself. “You and—you and Scar?” he asked to the air that suddenly felt thin. 

Bdubs made a noise of affirmation. Grian didn’t even look at him, eyes still trained at Scar. “For how long,” he choked out. “For how long?”

Scar’s gaze fell. “Since you told me.” Told him what he didn’t clarify. Didn’t even need to as Bdubs brow furrowed in confusion.

Grian said nothing. He just turned, and left.

Day 28

There were three people left on the island. Someone would be voted out today.

Grian went down to the beach and stalked the sands, pacing. Waiting. It wouldn’t be him, it couldn’t be him—but if was he wouldn’t let Scar see his face as he was given his death sentence. He pretended to sleep in the sands, didn’t want the cameras to catch him pacing the beach throughout the night like he was the insane person he definitely was, but he kept his ears open as he lays in the sand, twitching at every sound. He rose with the sun, looked back to the island turned grey by the early dawn light. His stomach growled — weeks of precisely timed meals having him experiencing an almost Pavlovian reaction. Grian wouldn’t go to the patio to eat, however. There was no reminder on his communicator for bathing or breakfasts, either. It put him on edge. It was almost like the island has abandoned its concept of schedule, of order, of civility. 

He walked up the beach, besides the cliffs, and was struck for the first time by how entirely empty the island was. Palm trees waving lazily in the wind, an expanse of swimming pools and beach chairs and towels and seating and volleyball nets—dead quiet except for the whistling wind. Eight different people had once been on this island—now they were down to three. Five dead. Grian would not let himself become one of them.

He didn’t know what to do while waiting for the announcement. His last moments, perhaps. Hadn’t really considered what he’d do, when his time finally ran out. Hadn’t let himself consider the end with any sort of weight.

Finally, he turned to the villa. It was unlikely, he thought, that Scar and Bdubs would be waiting there. They wouldn’t want an altercation with him. Or maybe that was exactly what they wanted. Who cared? He climbed slowly up the wooden steps crawling up to the villa, made his way to the pillars overgrown with vines, down by the wall, and to the flower garden, where Scott had waited for the end he knew was coming. Or the false end he had thought was coming. Maybe there was a moment, at the true end, where he realized what had happened to Jimmy and was going to happen to him. Grian hoped not. Hoped it was something like the sharp prick of a needle on his neck and then nothing. Hoped it did not hurt much, hoped Scott never realized the true horror of his situation, hoped it wasn’t turned into a spectacle for the Watchers. Grian would not be given the same luxury. 

He sat, in the middle of the flower garden, in the grass that was now a little overgrown, because there was no one to tend to them. An oversight. It tickled his ankles. He runs his hands over the flowers around him. Poppies. Lilacs.

Grian sat, and he waited. 

Grian didn’t know what day it is. Didn’t know how long he’d been here, in this hell of his own making, where time was malleable and empty. A ding. Grian didn’t look at it.

Another ding. 

He ignored it.

Minutes passed, or hours. Another urgent ding. His ears began to ring. Voices rose in his ears. The sounds of the ocean roared.

Finally, he lifted his wrist to look at, the communicator feeling like an anvil tied to his hand. Stared uncomprehendingly at the message repeated thricefold.

It was not a message saying who was being voted out.

RECOUPLING!

SCAR GOODTIMES HAS CHOSEN TO BE RECOUPLED WITH BDOUBLEO.

GRIAN IS NOW SINGLE.

 

RECOUPLING!

SCAR GOODTIMES HAS CHOSEN TO BE RECOUPLED WITH BDOUBLEO.

GRIAN IS NOW SINGLE.

 

RECOUPLING!

SCAR GOODTIMES HAS CHOSEN TO BE RECOUPLED WITH BDOUBLEO.

GRIAN IS NOW SINGLE.

 

A slow, shocking numbness spread through him. “ What ,” he whispered, and then, louder, for the mics, “What.”

PRIVATE MESSAGE FROM SCAR:

TRUST ME.

 

Grian suddenly, bizarrely, found the communicator was able to be removed from his wrist. Who knew if it had always been this way and he just hadn’t bothered testing it or it was one last privilege being given to him. He ripped it off and threw it on the ground. And went out to look for Scar. 

He finds him at the pool. 

“SCAR,” he shouted, and jumped into the water, heedless. Scar looked at him, the small smile that had been on his face falling, and Grian punched him in the mouth. Surprised, Scar fell backwards into the water. Bdubs yelped, scrambling after him, but Grian paid him no mind, attention still on Scar as he dove in after him, pulling him back by his shirt out of the water and punching him again, feeling something snap under his fist. Satisfaction rose ugly in him. “ Scar, you traitor, ” he snarled.

“Grian—”

He raised his hand for another hit, and stopped when another hand circled his wrist. He turned. Bdubs. “Lay off him,” he snapped. Grian’s teeth grinded.

“Get off of me,” he spat.

“Stop it!” Bdubs shouted, eyes perfect circles of horror. “Stop it! What are you—what are you doing! Calm down—just calm down!”

Grian stared at him in bewilderment, shocked by how frightened the other man looked, how incredulous, panting with fear. The difference between them crashed onto him. Here he was, here Scar was, liars and cheaters killing others to keep themselves living their own pathetic lives, and here was Bdubs, and here had been Jimmy, and Scott, and Ren, and Martyn, and even Cleo, frayed as she’d gotten by the end. Normal people. Normal lives. Families. And he— And he—

Bdubs gasped suddenly, and Grian was jolted out his daze to see the man clutching his stomach. Uncomprehending, Grian followed his gaze to see red staining his shirt. 

And then, behind him, Scar, holding the knife, slid neat between Bdubs’  ribs. The man stared at Grian, eyes wide and non blinking, stammering as Scar, expressionless, pulled it out and watched the man collapse into the water with a splash. 

The pool clouded red around Grian’s ankles. He felt like he should be surprised. He wasn’t. Felt like he’d been yanked out of the water into a nightmare worse than the one he’d previously been in. 

“Scar, what have you done ?” he whispered, stumbling backwards and away, pulling himself out of the pool, away from the scarlet creeping towards him. Scar just looked at him as he, too, climbed out. 

“They’re not going to let us out, are they?” Scar said. “Not really.”

“Of course they are,” Grian choked out, feeling like the air had been scraped out of his lungs. “We’ll win, and they’ll let me—” he faltered. “And they’ll let us out.”

Scar smiled, and it was hollow. “Okay, Grian,” he said placatingly. He kneeled, on the concrete at the edge of the pool. “You can kill me.”

art by kaz/@bloodcrownedking

Grian stumbled back. The breath was knocked out of him. The night stars spun dizzily around his head, and he thought he might collapse on his feet. “What?”

“There was only ever going to be one winner, wasn’t there?” Scar was smiling, he shouldn’t be smiling, why the fuck was he smiling , kneeling there, holding out the knife for him to take. It was Cleo’s knife. The one he’d so cleverly traded her for in the beginning. “There was always going to be one winner. This is the only way it could’ve ever happened.”

He was—

Right. He was right.

“How long?” Was all Grian could ask. “How long have you known?” 

Scar shrugged. “I realized last week, when we talked about what we’d do after. ‘ When I win’— ” he laughed, “I was so mad.”

“‘ Was?’” Grian echoed, distantly, ears ringing.

Scar’s smile grew impossibly wider. “It’s hard to stay mad at you when I love you.”

It was a punch to the stomach. Grian sunk to the ground. “You—” he choked. “You—” There was no expectation in Scar’s words. No need for reciprocation.  “It can’t end like this.”

“It has to,” he said. “For everything you’ve done to keep me alive this long.”

“ You’ve kept us alive!” Grian said. “You—you—” Kept me alive. His affair with Bdubs, carefully spun, the drama to keep them both in, but Scar knew it wouldn’t paint him in a favorable light, not with the viewers, not with The Watchers. It would only cause—sympathy. For Grian. Rooting for the underdog, the scorned lover. “You idiot,” he said. “You fucking moron.”

Scar took Grian’s hand in his and brushed a feather-light kiss to his knuckles. He turned it over, fingers tracing the grooves of his palm, and the warmth of his hand was replaced with the cool press of metal. 

Grian’s hand shook. “No,” he said, scrambling back, the knife falling with a splash into the pool. “I won’t. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair . We’ve both won. We’ve both—” It had made so much sense, at the Facility. Another tragedy for the Watchers to feast on, another grand story—and then maybe the Watchers would give them the secrets to what lay beyond the pulsing purple veil. But now. What a despicable creature he was, to have done this to himself and then fall in love anyway.

Scar stood, matching him step for step. “It’s okay, Grian.”

“No it’s not ,” Grian snapped. “We can’t do this. I won’t let you do this. You can’t sacrifice yourself for me.” 

There was a silence. Scar didn’t say it, but he knew what they were both thinking. Scar had been sacrificing himself for Grian ever since that cold night on the beach. He wasn’t going to stop now.

“At least make it a fair fight,” he said desperately. “I won’t use the knife. I won’t.”

Scar’s eyes softened. “Alright, Grian,” he said. “We’ll make it a fair fight. For you.”

Grian couldn’t say anything to that, could not say anything to the hundreds of confessions that were spilling out of Scar like blood, pooling around their feet, dripping down into the pool. He just grabbed Scar’s wrist, and pulled him past the villa, to the top of the black cliffs overlooking the grey beach they’d sat on for so many weeks. He sat criss-crossed on the rock, looking out to the still inky sea, to the moon reflecting light upon it. Scar sat next to him, a warm weight pressed to his arm. Grian was possessed with the wild urge to kiss him, to wrap himself around the man and never let go. But the only eyes watching them now, after Scar’s violent display, were the eyes that wanted blood. There was no reason to. There was every reason to. Would Scar even let him? It’s hard to stay mad at you when I love you. No. Yes. No.

He didn’t try his luck. Grian didn’t have much left to spare. Instead, he pressed his face into the juncture between Scar’s head and shoulder, let Scar wrap his arm around his side and pull him in, listened to Scar’s steady breathing, and drifted into the twilight.

When he woke, it was to the bright rays of the sun beaming down at him. He blinked against the light, raising a hand to block it out. 

Beside him, Scar shifted. Grian turned to see him looking at him, wide awake, eyes unclouded with sleep. He’d been awake for a while. Grian wondered if he’d even let himself sleep. The knowledge that Scar could’ve easily killed him choked him. The knowledge that he didn’t was worse. 

“Scar,” Grian said quietly. “We have to—we have to fight.”

“Alright,” Scar smiled, wide and honest, standing up, pulling Grian up with him. Grian’s hands stay clenched in his. “Let’s fight.”

“Scar—” he said desperately, “Scar, I don’t feel good about this.”

“No, come on, now, we have to fight! One of us needs to win! Otherwise…” Scar trailed off. He shrugged. Stepped back, fists tightening as if preparing for a battle.

Grian’s hands flinched out as if to stop him. A yawning chasm, between the two of them, standing on this cliff. “Scar,” he said, again, and again, as if repeating his name will convince him of something, a prayer to a nonchalant god. “Scar, can we just say that—no matters what happens, we both won?”

A light breeze flit through the air. The sun was bright and warming, the sea perfect and still. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. The day was beautiful, and Grian was about to kill Scar. 

“Sure,” Scar said, still smiling that wide, easy, smile, and Grian wanted to punch him. Maybe that was the point. Then Scar socked him in the jaw. 

Grian stumbles back, startled, and before Scar could get another hit in sent a fist into his stomach, then reeled with what he did, with the realization of what Scar was trying to get him to do. “Scar—” He was cut off with another punch, which he caught. He twisted the arm as far as it would go until he heard a pop and a groan of pain, kneed him in the stomach, and kicked his legs out under him. Scar fell to the ground with a gasp, Grian following him down. “Scar,” he shouts. Scar, Scar, Scar—

Scar keeps kicking up at him, throwing weak punches. “I’m winning,” he laughed. “Grian, I’m winning—”

“You’re really not,” Grian said, slapping away his hands, struggling to keep him pinned down. He wanted to say something , to say anything , to say the words that had been tied down into his ribcage, gasping to be let out, and he could say nothing because Scar was now trying to bite him, what the fuck— “ Scar,” he said wetly, “What are you—” And then he said nothing, because he managed to succeed in biting him, hard, on the junction of his neck and shoulder, drawing blood, and Grian—

Scar’s skin was warm under his hands. Grian pressed down, Scar pressed up. He beared down on Scar’s throat, heard him gasp. There were nails digging into his back. A punch to his mouth, splitting his lip on his own teeth. In retaliation, Grian kneed him in the stomach. Hands, scrambling. Scar, falling, Scar, flying, Scar, laughing, Scar, Scar, Scar—

I’m sorry, he gasps. I’m sorry—

Scar was laughing hysterically, and then Grian was joining him, they were both wheezing with pain and the cackles racketing through them as the agony stretched on forever, and Grian thought this must be what love felt like.

A loud snap.

Scar’s skin was cold.

Grian stood. Stumbled. He was bleeding sorely, from his neck and his face and his arms and his back, and he felt a pang in his chest. Less of a pang and more like a gunshot, so painful he doubled over from the force of him, gasping weakly. A rib fractures, probably, a punctured lung. His ankle was twisted, most likely from him tackling Scar to the ground. Everything only registered dimly. His gut turned. He thought he might throw up. He didn’t look at the body behind him. 

He felt eyes on him, countless eyes, and heard voices rising in his ears, a rough humming, a buzzing, and surely some of those voices demanding blood belonged to Jimmy, and Scott, and Martyn, and Ren, and Bdubs and Cleo, and—

And all the people he’d ended. All the lives he’d cut short. All the love he’d destroyed. He couldn’t bring himself to feel too bad about them, not when there was a corpse slowly losing heat a few feet away from him, blood pooling into the grey rock. “I don’t feel so good,” he said, “I don’t—”

The voices grew louder, louder in his ears, and he wasn’t even sure if he was imagining it or if this was some kind of tool of The Watchers, of the Facility, of a god he did not believe in. There were hundreds of eyes on him. It was Sunday, he realized, hysterically. Sunday confessional. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, prayed, pleaded, to the hundreds of eyes watching him, to the one watcher he actually cared about. “I’m sorry. Thank you all for watching.” He dragged himself to the edge of the cliff. Stared out into the sea. The voices roared , a tidal wave engulfing his senses, blocking his eyes and ears. “Goodbye.”

He jumped.

It was finally quiet, after that.