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Grian’s never been an early riser. He hates the way the sunlight stings his eyes in the morning, hates dragging himself out of bed when he could really just stay in his cocoon of blankets all day. He's never found anything wrong with this; in fact, he thinks to himself as he sits up in his bed, it's the morning people who are wrong. How can anyone enjoy the feeling of waking up early, when none of your bones seem to want to work with each other? He stretches his wings out behind him and hunches over, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Maybe he can sleep in, just a few more minutes…
As he yawns, stretching his arms up and his wings out even further, he gets the slightest whiff of something… unusual. The smell of butter and syrup wafts through the air, and then he starts to notice other things: the crackling of a stove, the gentle humming. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with him and realize what must be going on downstairs.
Grian slips out of bed and, once his feet hit the floor, stretches again, arms as far up as they can go. He checks himself in the mirror to make sure he's decent, and when he decides that the pair of shorts and tank top he slept in will do just fine, he makes his way to the first floor of the sandstone castle.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Scar grins, without turning to face Grian. He's standing by the stove with a wooden spatula in hand, watching the pan in front of him intently. In the pan, Grian can see a beautifully shaped pancake, its golden-brown hue indicating it's already been flipped once. To Scar’s left is a mostly-empty bowl of batter, a ladle, and a plate, with a tall stack of similarly golden-brown pancakes, standing proud in the morning sunlight shining through the sandcastle windows.
“What's all this?” Grian asks with a hint of amusement in his voice as he descends the open staircase. He pulls his wings into his back to avoid knocking into anything.
“Oh, y'know, just a little something to get us goin’,” Scar replies with his familiar drawl, “The lovely folks down at Dogwarts let me borrow some flour. Imagine that!” He chuckles as he pushes the spatula under the pancake, lifting it from the pan and uniting it with its brethren.
Grian sighs. “You stole from them this morning, didn't you?”
Scar gasps in mock-offense. “Me? I would never do something as heinous as that! I'm an honest man, Grian!”
Grian just snorts as he finishes his descent. He sits on one of their two chairs (Scar wanted more, but Grian insisted that it'd be a waste, considering how dedicated Scar seems to making an enemy out of everyone) and watches Scar as he pours more batter on to the pan. “How long have you been at this?”
“Oh, only…” Scar checks the clock on the wall. “About thirty minutes. I've been up since sunrise. Did you know your face scrunches up when you sleep?”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, I've been meaning to ask,” he says, finally turning around to face Grian, with his upper thighs leaning against the counter next to the stove. “Do you like chocolate? Because the lovely folks at Dogwarts–”
“Scar, you don't have to steal chocolate for me,” Grian snickers.
“...What do I do if I've already stolen the chocolate?”
Grian stares at Scar for a moment before they both start laughing. He can't help himself; Scar’s energy, his whimsical way of doing damn near everything he does, is contagious.
Scott had asked him, once, why Grian bothered, and Grian didn't really have an answer. Seeing Scar, standing by the window, face illuminated by the rays of morning light, laughing like the world isn't falling apart around them — Grian feels like he might've found his answer. He'd never be able to put it into words, of course, but maybe that's for the best. Maybe his answer is a secret he can hold with him for the rest of time, or at least until he knows how to share it.
Grian hops up on the counter next to Scar, sitting on the granite with his feet dangling and his wings pulled in tight. Scar pays no mind to him for a moment, flipping the pancake that had been crackling away on the stove. Then, he sets his spatula down and situates himself between Grian’s legs, kissing him softly, like a promise. Grian wishes he could know what the promise was, but he doesn't ask. He kisses Scar back, just as gently, as if moving too fast could break whatever spell had been cast on their kitchen. They move as if in a trance, in and out, like some intricate routine they've been rehearsing with each other for as long as the sky has been blue. Grian wraps his arms around Scar’s neck, and Scar puts his hands on Grian’s hips, and then they're not kissing anymore, just staring into each other’s eyes.
But then, as quickly as this gentle moment comes, it disappears. Scar pulls away to grab the wooden spatula and lifts the pancake from the pan, making the stack one pancake taller. Grian wonders how they're supposed to eat all of these, but then, that's not the point, is it? The point has always been that, no matter how much Grian says he's indebted to Scar, there is the fragile truth, one spoken in only whispers in the dead of night, that they've always been indebted to each other.
“Breakfast is served,” Scar announces, lifting the plate of pancakes and carrying it to their small dining table.
Grian smiles and reaches into the cabinet next to where he sits on the counter, grabbing two plates. Scar has already found forks and knives for the two of them, before Grian has time to even hop off of the counter. Grian carries the plates over to the dining table and takes his seat across from Scar, passing him a plate as Scar slides a fork and a knife over.
They talk as they eat, discussing everything they've yet to have time to discuss. Grian finds himself getting lost in the simple domesticity of it all, waking up to find someone he trusts in their shared kitchen, engaging in a simple act of servitude. The absurdity of their situation gnaws at the back of his mind, of course; it always does. They're sitting in the middle of a death game, eating pancakes and talking about Star Wars. But Grian can't imagine himself in any other place, wouldn't have it any other way. For a moment, he feels at peace with the world.
He'll accept any fate that befalls him, so long as Scar is there with him.