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“Ta-da!!!!” Grian did jazz hands in front of their newly built home.
Scar uncovered his eyes, and gasped in pleasant surprise. “It’s… very tall,” he said.
Grian laughed. “Yes, it is. Do you… like it?”
“It’s amazing. Can’t wait to see the interior, which I’m sure you spent so long on.” Scar smirked at Grian. The latter was infamously bad at interior design.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Grian chuckled as he followed Scar inside.
Scar looked around for a while, exploring every nook and cranny of the house. Eventually, he joined Grian in the front room.
“It’s amazing! Just… missing something,” Scar started.
“Missing what?”
Scar, without hesitation, placed a jukebox on the ground. He immediately chucked a disc inside, and music began to play. He started dancing by himself while Grian watched.
“Dance with me!” Scar exclaimed, extending a hand to Grian. Before he could even respond, he was pulled in to the center of the room, now suddenly finding himself dancing with Scar, moving forward and then back to the beat of the music. Soon enough they were laughing as Grian failed miserably to follow Scar’s movements. He wasn’t very much of a dancer, sue him.
Besides, a death game wasn’t the best place to be dancing and having a good time like normal.
Oh well. Screw the watchers. He would do those things anyways.
He smiled as Scar slowly attempted to demonstrate how the dance was done. Grian had always had “two left feet”--what kind of phrase is that, by the way, it makes no sense--and therefore could barely comprehend what Scar was doing for the life of him. Which, honestly, made it all the more fun as the two tried and failed once more. By the third attempt, they were both a giggling mess, simply choosing to give up on dancing and just enjoy the music. The goofy song--Stal, by C418--fit their mood perfectly. For once, Grian thought, maybe things could actually go smoothly for the two of them. As long as they stuck together.
---
Poke. Poke. Poke.
Grian’s eye twitched, but he refused to give any attention to the man beside him. He had work to do, and he wouldn’t let Scar distract-
Poke.
Scar had been poking him for the past half hour probably, while Grian tried to ignore him and just carry on with sorting the chests. He’d always thought of himself as a stubborn yet resilient person. That image of himself may have to change in light of this new experience. Scar was, somehow, even more stubborn and resilient.
Grian had given up on asking why Scar was doing this, or telling him to stop, about twenty-five minutes ago. The only explanation he’d gotten was “I’ll only stop poking you if you give me more attention.”
Naturally, Grian, ever the rebel, decided to do exactly the opposite, just to see what would happen. A choice he slightly regretted, but a choice he would stick by. In his defense, he hadn’t expected Scar to be so persistent.
Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke.
Ignoring the fingers tapping his shoulder, he continued to organize. It would have been relaxing to do this, if it weren’t for Scar. He loved his friend, but sometimes, he really wanted to throw him off Monopoly Mountain.
Poke. Poke. Poke.
Okay, that’s it-
He suddenly stood, whipping around to face Scar.
“Scar, I swear to the Void, if you don’t stop-”
He cut himself off as he realized Scar was holding back a laugh. He’d failed to not give Scar attention.
He sighed. “Okay, you got me. You got my attention.”
Scar smiled wider, and eventually burst out into laughter. “Oh, my god, you should’ve seen your face!” he said as his laughs turned into chuckles.
“Yeah, yeah, Scar, I get it. Now, was there a reason why you wanted my attention so bad?”
“Oh, nothing important. I just wanted to see you do something other than work. You’re always busying yourself. I thought you could use a break.”
Grian couldn’t bring himself to be mad. Though he’d been annoyed before, he couldn’t help but smile. An accidental death had blossomed into a beautiful, caring friendship.
“Yeah. Maybe I could use a break. Got anything specific in mind?”
Scar gave him a Look™ that said that he very much did have something specific in mind.
---
“We’re almost there, I promise.” Grian chuckled as he was led further away from their home. He was covering his own eyes with one hand, using the other to hold onto the llama he was riding--Pizza. This wasn’t the first time he’d been led around this way, though, admittedly, he’d never done it with his eyes covered. It did worry him a little bit, how long this was taking. Oh well. He trusted Scar. A bad idea, according to most people, but he didn’t quite care.
“Aaand…” Scar said dramatically. “Open!”
Grian uncovered his eyes to find himself in a nice little forest clearing. On the ground, there was a checkerboard red and white rug and a barrel likely full of food. He smiled at Scar.
“Did you really set up a picnic in the middle of a death game?” He asked, constantly impressed by his friend’s ability to keep things chaotic in the best ways.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. Now, come on. You need something to help you relax!”
As Grian hopped off of Pizza, Scar began rambling. He wasn’t really paying attention--he usually didn’t--but just the sound of Scar’s voice was comforting. This was the voice he’d grown used to hearing every day and sometimes at night, the voice which had once spoken of great plans to steal the desert, and the voice which had lowered dangerously when they had realized they couldn’t monopolize the dark oak. He tried to focus on the words themselves rather than the voice, only really catching random tidbits. Something about Pizza, something about the food--he’d managed to bake a whole cake somehow; a determined Scar was not something to be trifled with, clearly--and other various lighthearted subjects.
“So, what do you think?” Scar asked out of nowhere.
“I’m glad you’re here, Scar,” Grian practically whispered his response, as though saying it any louder would break the illusion. “This means a lot to me.”
“Hey, don’t get all sappy on me,” Scar said, wiggling a finger at Grian. “This is supposed to be fun, not emotional!”
Despite his words, Grian could tell that Scar was just as happy to talk about something emotional as he was to talk about llamas and cake.
Before he realized it, he was wrapping his friend into a tight hug. Scar began to question, but Grian shushed him.
“Just let me have this.”
---
The hot sun bore down on the two as they worked on their weird makeshift border. Cacti and lava. Grian couldn’t keep track of how many times he’d nearly burned himself, how many times he’d pricked himself by accident. Scar, having done about half as much work as Grian, was dramatically sighing every now and then, making a show of his exhaustion.
“Y’know,” Grian said, unable to keep the smirk off his face. “Maybe this would go by faster if you stopped complaining and started working.”
Scar placed his hand over his heart, pretending to be offended. “Excuse you! I am working, thank you very much. Just slowly. Besides, I thought you were supposed to be doing what I want, not the other way around?”
Grian shrugged. “Not my fault you offered to help.”
“I couldn’t just leave you out here alone! What if an enderman got you?”
Though the duo would often bicker, it was moments like these that Grian treasured; moments where the genuine care would shine through. Maybe to some it would seem that Scar only wanted Grian to stay alive so he’d have to stay in his service, but Grian could see just how much Scar really did have a soft spot for him.
They continued to work, covering the edge of the desert with their little makeshift barrier. At some point, though, they bumped into each other, having both been walking backwards. They both turned around, practically in unison, and found themselves very much closer to the other’s face than they had anticipated. They kind of just… stood there, for a moment, neither of them sure what to do.
After a moment’s hesitation, Scar spoke. “Your nose.”
“What? What about my nose?”
“It’s so… boop-able.”
“What.”
And suddenly, a finger was placed on his nose only to be taken away seconds later. Scar had booped him. Really?? He blinked a few times, processing.
Scar laughed, waving a hand in front of Grian’s face. “Hello? Earth to Grian?”
Grian let out a soft chuckle. “Hi, yes, I’m alive, you haven’t broken me yet!”
“Yet. Keyword there.”
---
Grian decidedly hated the sun.
It wasn’t something he’d thought about before. The sun used to actually be helpful--it kept mobs at bay, gave him light to work with, and, most importantly, kept him and all of his friends warm. But now, living in the desert, it was nothing but hot and annoying.
Scar decidedly hated the moon.
It wasn’t something he’d thought about before. Sure, it was pretty, but the moon didn’t really do all that much useful, in Scar’s opinion. It called the mobs to come out, it lit up the night a little bit--torches were better, mostly due to the fact that they repelled mobs. Scar had a…not so good relationship with creepers.
Grian sat out under the moon as it set, on Monopoly Mountain, right next to his bad accidental self-portrait of a house. He did this often, keeping watch outside their home. Sometimes paying respects to Pizza. Sometimes just thinking. Sometimes genuinely looking for threats. Sometimes, when Scar noticed and came to attempt to drag him back inside, they’d sit together and just talk.
Tonight would end up being one of those nights, it seemed, judging by the soft footsteps in the sand behind him.
Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. Just before Grian could turn around to see what had happened, hands were placed on his shoulders roughly. He gave a weird squawk, physically jumping, turning around as well as he could while sitting with someone’s hands on his shoulders.
“Boo!” Scar laughed, clearly giddy to have successfully snuck up on Grian for once. He often tried and often failed. “Got you!”
Grian, sighing, smiled. “Yeah, yeah, you got me. I hope you know I knew you were there. I just wasn’t expecting you to stop.”
“Uh-huh. And that squawk, that was… what, exactly?”
“Excuse you, I did not squawk , thank you very much,” Grian said, placing his hand over his heart in mock offense.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Would squeak be a better word?”
“That’s basically the same word!”
Scar laughed, but he sat down next to Grian. By the fire in front of Pizza’s grave. The laughter died down into a comfortable silence. It was practically tradition, whenever Scar caught Grian out here, that he would join his friend.
They kind of just sat there, together, for hours. The moon began setting, the sun rising. Despite his lack of sleep, Grian wasn’t very tired. He could tell Scar was, though. His eyelids were drooping, and he had at some point rested his head on Grian’s shoulder. Grian smiled. Maybe the sun wasn’t so bad if he had the right person to share it with.
---
3, 2, 1, go.
The spectators counted them in. Grian leapt at Scar, fists raised, vision blurring with tears.
He didn’t want to do this.
He and Scar had lived together, laughed together, loved, together. They’d been together through this whole game. Ever since that stupid creeper which Grian had grown to be thankful for, in a strange, twisted, selfish way. That creeper which had sealed their fate.
He missed his first punch. Scar accidentally backed his way into one of the cacti surrounding them. After a few missed punches, something finally hit. Grian felt skin beneath his hand as he hurt someone who was supposed to be his friend, his ally, his other half.
He had Scar backed into a corner--well, as much of a corner as the ring had, considering it was supposed to be a circle. He could win this. He could-
He could kill his best friend.
Scar threw another punch at him, fighting like a cornered rat. Only, not really. Because he’d barely actually hit Grian at all. He was holding back. The realization hit Grian hard enough that he stepped back, the tears threatening to fall. He accidentally let Scar escape, let him back into the rest of the ring.
They kept on punching, mostly missing. Neither of them could bear hurting the other, but they had to. There was no other way out. The spectators were chanting, chanting for death, for blood, for entertainment. That’s all this truly was, wasn’t it? It was entertainment. A game, but it wasn’t fun for the players. Only the watchers.
At some point, Scar began to run outside of the ring through the gap that had previously held fire, but now held only smoke.
“Scar, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Grian yelled, throwing more punches and giving chase. Why had he ever agreed to this? Worse, why was he still going? Why would he-
“I’m sorry too!” Scar shouted back.
What were they doing? Why would they ever have done this? Why not just call it a double “win”?
Scar’s pleas were cut off as the life left his body.
Oh no.
Oh no no nononononono.
“Scar? Scar! Scar, I’m sorry!” He wasn’t sure why he was still apologizing, why he thought it mattered.
Scar was dead.
And the blood was, quite literally, on his hands.
One more life to go, a voice who sounded very much like Ren, whispered in his mind.
Happy would not be the word to describe the feeling he felt when he realized there was a way out of the guilt, out of the pain.
Relief, maybe.
He took a deep breath. Stepped closer towards and then around Pizza’s grave. Looked over the desert which he and Scar had tried to claim. For the last time, he looked. He could feel eyes on him, familiar presences. One more prominent than the others, he could practically see the Scarred ghost in front of him. But that was the thing. A ghost. Scar was dead. He was gone. No getting him back. But joining him was still on the table.
“It’s been amazing,” he said, to no one specific spectator. He wasn’t sure if he was even speaking to the spectators at this point, or if he was speaking to something of higher power. “Goodbye.”
Folding his useless wings in, he took a singular step forward.