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Scar is having the loveliest of lovely mornings.
It's a slow, relaxed Saturday in his and Grian’s shared apartment. Scar has set up in the living room, piled under blankets with a mug of hot cocoa warming his palms, while Grian potters around the house. They’re both still in their pyjamas, soaking up the festive mood of the gentle snow outside the window and the warm, glittering lights of the Christmas tree. It’s bliss, being able to do nothing much of note – simply watching movies and snuggling with his darling Jellie, an oasis at the end of a hectic week.
Then: “Scar.”
Grian's voice rings out from behind him, impatient and sharp. It snaps through him like a bolt of lightning, making his spine stiffen and his pulse rise.
Scar tries his very best not to look guilty as he turns slowly to look at his partner, cradling Jellie just a little higher in his arms, trying his very best to weaponise her adorable little face.
“Yes, Grian?” Scar bats his eyes and gives a show-winning smile.
To his credit, Grian barely falters. His eyebrows loosen a little, like yarn pulling apart, and the deep brown of his eyes clears just a smidge. Then, he shakes his head and adjusts his glasses, fury clambering its way back onto his face.
Darn.
“Nice try, Scar. You can’t fool me that easily,” Grian says, folding his arms stubbornly across his chest. His small wings flit behind him, twitching out of place as his feathers puff with annoyance.
“Why, I'm sure I don't know what you’re talking about!”
Jellie meows, corroborating his alibi like the perfect little princess that she is, before leaping out of his arms to dash under the Christmas tree. Traitor.
“Don’t give me that, you sod,” Grian grumbles, marching in front of the TV, leaving him dramatically backlit as he declares: “Scar, if you keep doing this, I'm going to divorce you.”
What!
“D-d- divorce!” Scar yelps, hand flying up to his heart as he cries out in dramatic agony. Grian mutters something about Scooby-Doo under his breath. “What a terrible fate!”
“I'm serious, Scar,” Grian’s lips wobble in a way that tells Scar he is not at all serious, and he is, in fact, fighting back a smile.
Well, two can play at that game.
“Gosh… warden, won’t you at least tell me my crimes?”
“You left your shirt on the floor - again!!” Grian steps into his space, dodging Scar’s socked feet as he tries to trip him up.
“Hm,” Scar pretends to think for a moment, the blankets slipping down just enough for his bare shoulder to peek into view as he moves to tap his chin. “That doesn’t sound like me. Silly Grian, maybe it’s your shirt? Or maybe someone else left their shirt on the floor! Or maybe–”
“Scar!”
“There could be a shirt ghost around these parts, Grian, you never know!”
The frustrated noise that Grian makes in reply is… garbled, at best. He sounds two seconds away from combusting, like a particularly violent teapot. Scar can’t hold back his snickering, as he finally manages to hook one foot around the back of Grian’s calf and swipe, until his lap is suddenly a whole lot fuller.
“You–” Grian goes down hard, red in the face. He scrambles in Scar’s layers of blankets like a cat struggling to swim, until finally righting himself and meeting Scar’s eyes with a disgruntled, “You’re unbelievable!”
Scar sings, “You love me anyway!”, as he wraps his arms around Grian’s middle, and traps him in place. It comes with the added bonus of Grian’s cheek landing right against his bare chest, too, which he looks suitably frazzled about.
Grian fixes him with a glare, placing his hands on Scar’s shoulders and shifting slightly to get comfortable, and- gosh, he looks just perfect like this! His birdsnest of hair is messy, as it usually is, and Scar cannot help but notice that it’s getting long. It falls in front of Grian’s eyes, framing his piercing gaze with golden strands.
Usually, Grian gets dysphoric if his hair is too long, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering him now. It makes him look… softer, younger, and Scar can feel himself melt under the solid weight of his partner in his lap. Isn’t it just wonderful that they get to be like this together? That they get to explore and experiment and change?
“Oh, Grian, I’m just so sorry,” Scar coos, and there is a certain giddiness rearing its head in his chest. It makes him want to swaddle Grian in blankets and never let go. “It won’t happen again, never ever, nuh-uh.”
“Likely story,” Grian mutters, his hands automatically going to Scar’s shoulders as he makes himself comfortable. His grip is warm, familiar.
“Would I lie to you?”
Grian sputters like a skipping record, an affronted noise catching in his throat. “Just yesterday you told me that you were running away to join the circus!”
“Whu- hey! I was really gonna, but it started snowing!” Scar whines, “I can’t be on a tightrope out in the snow, my abs will freeze off! Look at them, Grian, I know you don’t want that.”
Grian rolls his eyes, resting his head in the crook of Scar’s neck with a gentle sigh. They sit chest-to-chest, and Scar takes a moment to bask in the feeling of Grian’s breathing against his. His heart hammers against his ribs, like it’s trying to reach out towards Grian’s own, and- isn’t that a bit silly?
In this moment, Scar feels like he’s twenty-something again, seeing a pretty man across the bar and falling in love in an instant. The way he feels about Grian is just so… strong. Unwavering. That’s his soulmate, his better half; the only person that Scar wants to change and evolve and learn alongside.
The movie is still playing in the background, and Scar has well and truly lost his place by now (when did the main character turn into a dog…?), but it hardly matters. Not with Grian in his arms, not with Grian holding him just as close.
“Love you,” Scar says, pressing kisses to the other man’s hair.
“You’re still in exile.” Grian grumbles, but he leans into the touch even so. “I’m gonna make you sleep on the sofa until you learn to pick up your dirty clothes.”
“But, but! It’s so cold and lonely on the couch… How am I meant to sleep all by myself?”
A snort of laughter. It sounds like bliss, like golden weather and long, relaxing days. “You’ll figure it out.”
“So mean!”
Grian shifts again, tilting his head to peck a short kiss under Scar’s jaw, “You’ll manage.”
“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to… convince you?”
Grian stiffens against him immediately. He pulls back, eyes narrowed as he examines Scar’s face. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Uh- is it working?”
The hesitating expression on Grian’s face tells him all he needs to know, but Scar waits patiently for a reply even so. It takes a second, but then–
“... Next time, put your shirt in the wash basket.”
‘That’s what you say every time’, Scar thinks, and very wisely doesn’t say, as he presses their lips together with a grin.