Chapter Text
Within the sandstone walls of the Desert Tower, it was warm and cosy, exactly as Grian liked it. He’d designed the thing so it made sense it would adhere to his preferences, though sometimes, and maybe it was just Scar, it got a little too warm in here. That was after weeks of adapting to the heat, as well! Nobody could say Scar hadn’t tried because he tried, circular logic, but he just couldn’t get comfortable, so the conclusion was simple: the shirt had to go.
Only when nobody was around, of course. Grian had strictly told him — it was an open sign of vulnerability to have one’s bare chest exposed for the world to see, or a misguided and primal declaration of belligerence and offence, which Grian didn’t want staining their reputation just yet. Scar had placed a hand on his hip and pointed at Grian in response to that, accusing him of hogging the view of a shirtless Scar to himself, and Grian had promptly turned around, swift one-eighty, and grumbled a refusal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Not very convincing, but Scar obliged. It’s not like he disagreed, it was just fun evoking reactions out of Grian, was all.
So the Tower was warm. Scar laid in bed, arms folded and pillowing his head, studying the flickering refracted light of the candle on the ceiling. To and fro, it danced, to and fro, like a little robin puffing up its neck.
Void, it was difficult finding interesting things to focus on. To think that was the point thought was the wrong impression, Scar was, all things considered, meant to be fast asleep and getting shut-eye that moment, but what could he do about his inability to do just that? In the grand scheme of things, it was an advantage that he was wary of his surroundings, not a drawback, though perhaps the tease of stinging eyes and the harrowing fate of staying awake was an occasional cause for concern. Still. If something slunk across the balcony right that moment, Scar would know, and he’d do something about it, was the point.
Grian was outside. It was cold outside, and the memory of that made Scar tilt his head to the side and study the picture-frame of the skyscape he had from the window. Stars, a sliver of the moon cut off by the wall, and serene darkness. Occasionally, a breath would come from outside, the sound of feathers moving indistinguishably, and Grian’s voice coming out as a sigh.
Ooh, maybe — Scar looked to the moon again. Was it time already? He couldn’t really tell, but that idea was actually a lot more interesting than another moment spent staring up at the flitting light inside.
Scar heaved himself up quietly, making his way across the dusk-lit room and pushed his head past the curtain and beads that was the front entrance to the Desert Tower. Grian was perched on the wall, his wings hanging at his sides and trailing on the dusty floor behind him. He hadn’t seemed to have noticed Scar watching, transfixed on the landscape laid out beyond their mountain.
“Hey, G,” Scar said to the air, lifting his chin up expectantly.
Grian made no move to turn.
“G…” he repeated, a little more firmly.
That’s when Grian flinched, swivelling around to blink at Scar with wide, dark eyes.
“Wha. Scar, hello.” He hovered with his words for a moment, flicking a glance back at the desert, the forest, the moon, then back to Scar. “It’s not…”
“It is,” Scar finished for him, stepping out through the curtain and letting it fall behind him, releasing him into the world of desert chill. “It’s time for you.”
Grian made a narrowed expression, seemingly thoughtful for a moment. “I’m not tired. I’ll be alright, you go back to sleep, yeah? Get some rest.”
Scar hummed contemplatively, though not really, because Grian wasn’t going to sway his predetermined conviction. He let himself lean into the wall beside him, arms crossed out in front of him, and Grian rolled his eyes, hanging his head with a sigh. Then, he shifted so he was facing Scar more readily. He’d picked up on Scar’s language by now — good.
“You said that same thing yesterday, if I remember correctly,” Scar drawled, and Grian flicked a feather ear crossly. “And it didn't work.”
Grian sighed again, narrowing his eyes at the floor, when a gust of cold air blew right into them, sending Grian clinging onto the wall with hands and buffeting his feathers against the chill. He shivered slightly, drawing himself up indignantly.
Scar raised his brows at Grian pointedly. “That’s really interesting what you just did there.”
“It’s fine. Just go back to sleep, get yourself warm,” Grian grumbled.
“I’m warm enough for the both of us, trust me,” Scar assured him not unkindly, and Grian cast him a look. “You on the other hand…”
Grian shifted his weight on the wall, hovering precariously on the edge, seemingly uncertain. Outside or inside, lookout or shut-eye. The wind seemed persistent in having Grian make up his mind, because a moment later, a breeze rolled over onto the balcony, and Grian braced against it, his wings tense and perked up. His face was scrunched up bitterly for a moment before he released the tension and went slack, letting one leg drop down to touch the ground. Scar picked himself back up, opening his arms out with a smile.
“There we go,” he crooned, looking over his shoulder as Grian shepherded himself inside and followed him in. He sat himself down on the bed, dragging a hand across his face for a second, before rolling over and pushing himself up by the wall. Scar joined him, stretching his arms out and shuffling downwards to lay down.
As soon as Scar made a dent in the bedding beneath them, Grian whipped around instantly, a look of disbelief pulling his face taut and his wings spread in agitation.
“What are you doing?” he let out.
Scar smiled sweetly. “What you told me to.”
But Grian was having none of that. He propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at Scar with a frown.
“If you’re going to be in here, I need to be out there,” he hissed.
“Do you really want me to leave? Or you, back out there?”
That made him pause. The room was warm. Grian had his back to Scar’s side, his heels lightly touching Scar’s calves, and Scar could feel how cold his extremities were, the harsh wind outside leaving his cheeks dusted with pink. Scar glanced down at where their bodies met and was aware of every slight touch, like ice.
“Jeez, Grian,” he murmured.
Grian scowled, glancing away, and his feathered ears pricked to shroud his face. “You weren’t kidding about you being warm.”
“I’m a man of my word.” Scar let himself loosen up into the bedding, hands folded neatly on his stomach, and he closed his eyes against the feeble candlelight.
In the darkness, Scar could make out Grian shift somehow. In his mind it played out like this — Grian slowly lowered himself before completely giving in to the soft bedding with a hush from the fabric; he made a soft sound as he twisted some way, not quite discernible in which, until Scar felt something press against his arm, like a chin fitting in the downwards slope that met his chest, and he peered down momentarily to find confirmation. Grian, sweetly nestled into his side, the plumage of his face covering most of it and keeping out the light, and the wings at his back curving over his shoulders and released out by their feet.
“Just for a bit, ‘kay?” Grian mumbled against the tricky position, jaw locked, but it seemed fatigue was just as much of a playing factor. His eyes remained closed, his expression slowly but gradually easing up into something peaceful.
“Of course, you night owl,” Scar whispered back, dropping his head back into the worn, and practically flat, pillow under his head. Comfort at last.
Grian mustered one last thing, something not really legible, and Scar didn’t think that mattered too much.
“Hey, G…”
Silence. Then, a grumble. In the darkness, Grian’s head lifted ever so slightly off Scar’s chest. Hey, that seemed like a response enough, right?
“It’s been, er… a bit . Do you think I should go now?”
There was no reply for a long time, as though, in his stupor, Grian couldn’t work out the meaning of such a long string of words, but eventually — and he must’ve understood, because his cheek sank right back onto Scar’s chest with a quiet noise — his arms around Scar’s stomach lifted higher to rest somewhere along his diaphragm, fingers reaching out far, and he pulled him in close. With as much energy as he could muster quite asleep.
That, Scar thought, was a no.