Archive of Our Own

Grian remembers the first time Scar gave him flowers.

He’d been sorting through the shelves at the library, glasses perched on his nose as he reminded himself to wear something lighter the next day, and the man’s voice had broken through the barrier.

“Um, Grian?” Scar called, and Grian knew that voice well. The man had been in almost every day for the past couple weeks, he’d said that he wanted to get into reading but he often struggled, so Grian had helped him find the ones with audiobooks, and he’d just… kept coming back. When the librarian turned, he saw Scar standing there, cheeks and ears flushed pink as he looked anywhere but at Grian, his hand curled around a bouquet of poppies and lilacs. Then, he pushed them out towards him, squeezing his eyes shut.

Grian couldn’t help but think about how cute it was.

“For you,” he managed out, but Grian couldn’t stop looking at the flowers in awe. They were gorgeous, perfect, not a single dying petal or leaf, and despite the odd combination he couldn’t help but find it beautiful. A bouquet of remembrance, hope, love. When Scar realised Grian hadn’t taken the bouquet yet, he squinted an eye open, finally looking at him. “Is it…? Sorry.”

Scar opened his eyes fully then, and only when he started pulling them away did Grian realise he probably took his hesitation as rejection. So he swiped them from Scar’s hands and held them close, taking in the man’s shock with a little guilt of his own. “They’re pretty. Thank you.”

“Uh— oh— yeah, sure, my pleasure,” Scar stuttered out, scratching the back of his neck, and Grian couldn’t help but let his eyes drift to his arms, defined muscle moving with his fingertips. Each part of the man was carefully curated, perfected to be who and what he wanted to be. “Um, I was wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner some time?”

And Grian should’ve been nervous, or flustered, or shocked, but he wasn’t. He was happy, and seeing Scar in such a state after only knowing him for a few weeks filled him with an odd amount of smugness. So, instead of stuttering out a yes, he smirked, leaned forward, and said, “Are you asking me out on a date, Scar?”

Which only made him struggle for words even more so, flinging his arms around and sounding out words as Grian chuckled, taking another step forward so they’d be less than a foot apart. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand to card through Scar’s dark brown hair, a little knotted but soft, the man clearly having washed and conditioned it the night prior.

“I would love to.”

Scar’s smile had been blinding.

❀

“So,” Gem started as she seated herself on Grian’s kitchen counter, the man himself turned around boiling the kettle to make them something to drink. Gem was his half-sister, only a few years younger than him and a built-in best friend. It had been a while since she’d been over to the house, so he’d decided to invite her over for some lunch while they both had the time. “Where are the flowers from?”

He just didn’t expect the interrogation.

“I wouldn’t know,” Grian decided to reply, scooping excess sugar into his own mug as he felt sharp emerald eyes bore into his back, “They’re from… a friend.”

“A friend?” Gem inquired, and the emphasis told him everything he needed to know about her suspicions.

That she was dead on.

“What friend? Mumbo?”

“His flowers haven’t bloomed yet,” Grian explained, waving a dismissive hand over his shoulder, “He’s trying out this new contraption in his greenhouse to convince them to bloom later on in the year.”

“Joel? Well, Lizzie would probably be more likely.”

“Just drop it, Gem.” Grian grumbled, pouring water into both of their mugs as Gem groaned behind him.

“Come on, tell me who gave you them.”

“Look,” Grian started as he pressed the tea bag against the side of the mug, watching the water darken by the second, “He’s just a guy I met at work.”

“Great,” Gem replied, and by her tone it did sound great, though he wasn’t entirely sure why until she followed it up with, “So when’s the date?”

And Grian froze.

Being confident around Scar was one thing, but Gem? Gem, who had been waiting for this very day for years, who had been egging him to get out there and woo everyone with his hypothetical charms.

Though freezing answered her question better and quicker than any words Grian could’ve managed would have.

“Grian!” She practically cheered, jumping off of the counter to grab his arm and shake it, excitement rippling through her. “Oh my god, tell me everything! Is he hot? Kind? Thoughtful—? Well, obviously he’s thoughtful, he got you flowers.”

So Grian told her everything.

He told her that they’d already gone on their first date—an outdoors cinema with a picnic followed by a quiet moonlit stroll through the park—and that the flowers now in the vase were to replace the old, wilted bouquet first given to him, that Scar intended on bringing more. He told her that it was weird, that he never thought he’d be here— happy to go on a date with someone, upset that they hadn’t kissed him, waiting for that moment where everything finally clicked into place. He told her that he was extremely attractive and way out of Grian’s league and so he would never be letting him get away.

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” Gem had said after that, punching his shoulder as he frowned, raising an eyebrow, “I’m sure he’s not that far out of your league.”

It was at that point he’d taken out his phone and showed her the recent photos of their date, specifically one of Scar crouched by a tree where a cat was looking to him for scratches, the man grinning down at it brighter than Grian had ever seen.

Which was an achievement in and of itself, considering Scar had the brightest smile Grian had yet to experience even before that evening.

“Nevermind, I completely get where you’re coming from,” Gem huffed, nudging him with her elbow, “How did you manage that one?”

Grian wasn’t entirely sure he heard her, too busy smiling contentedly at his phone, at Scar.

Scar, who wanted to take him on another date, and another afterwards.

Scar, who was his personal embodiment of the sun.

Scar, who was possibly the most handsome, pretty man Grian had ever seen.

But then he remembered he had a tea to drink, and tried his best to distract himself and his still-smirking sister beside him.

❀

“This is ridiculous.”

“What do you mean? This is awesome!”

“Scar,” Grian started, sounding more exhausted than he intended to, “When you said you wanted matching lock screens, I didn’t think it would entail this.”

This being holding a bouquet of poppies up to his face, vibrant with colour and life. Scar was standing somewhere in front of him, camera held up as he probably stuck his tongue out between his lips as he often did when he was concentrating, taking a million and one of the same picture just to get the, quote unquote, perfect one.

“It looks fantastic, Grian!” He almost cheered, a subtle go-ahead to pull the flowers down and look over at the photos taken.

They matched his red jumper quite nicely.

“These are really good, Scar,” Grian told him genuinely, because they were. From an aesthetic standpoint, there was little-to-no empty space, the background didn’t distract too much from the foreground, and the subject was perfectly central.

The subject being Grian, of course.

All because Scar wanted him to be.

Scar wanted him.

And wasn’t that an amazing thought?

“Come on then, your turn.” Grian beckoned, gently shoving him a little ways away, and the man needed no instruction to raise the bouquet of lilacs to his face, hiding his features behind a wall of light purple. He was only wearing a black tank top that day, specifically chosen by Grian so he could see Scar’s arms whenever he looked at his phone, perhaps his only motive (besides seeing that glowing smile) to entertain him on the matter.

Grian took a few photos of his own, definitely not as artistically good but they did the job they needed to. But, when Scar pulled down the bouquet, there was an innocently upset frown on his face.

So Grian walked up to him and placed a careful hand on his cheek, checking him over for anything wrong only to come up short. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Scar replied, sounding honest enough, but then he pulled up the bouquet and spun it around, revealing a single dead flower, “I didn’t realise.”

Until then, all the bouquets had been perfect, full of life and promise and longevity.

The streak could only last so long though, he supposed.

“That’s alright, not every bouquet is perfect,” Grian reassured him, planting a light kiss against his lips before letting his hand drop to Scar’s, squeezing it tight the moment their fingers interlocked. “Let’s get back, put these flowers in water.”

Scar didn’t give a reply, but he did nod and walk alongside him, and, for that moment, it was enough for Grian to keep walking.

But it wasn’t enough for him to shake the bad feeling in his chest.

❀

When Grian went to Scar’s house for the first time, it looked exactly how he’d expected. Two floors but small— a cottage, perhaps. Everything inside and out was rustic, old-looking but not nearing its end, with vines climbing the bricks and multitudes of flower bushes out front. Inside there were paintings hung on dark green walls, the floorboards a dark oak with cabinets to place things on. On one, Grian saw a framed photo of the two of them beside another with his cat Jellie.

Jellie, who was already prancing down the hallway to greet her owner.

“Hello angel,” Scar greeted in the high voice he often used on Grian’s cats, crouching down to stroke her. The cat immediately leaned into the touch, purring rather loudly.

It had been two months since they made it official, and Grian was only just seeing Scar’s home for the first time.

Though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

He knew Scar lived alone with his cat Jellie, that his travel to work (an architecture firm) was a ten minute drive every day, that the house itself was a twenty minute drive from the public library Grian worked at. But never had he been there.

Nor had he ever heard of anyone who had.

Maybe that’s why he found himself nervous as he sat on the sofa, a little stiff as a tea was passed to him, Scar falling beside him so their knees brushed, sending a familiar spark through his body.

“You okay, G?” Scar asked after a moment, only causing Grian to somehow freeze more. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine,” Grian almost squeaked out, sipping his tea only for it to burn his tongue. Without missing a beat, Scar took it out of his hands and placed it on the coffee table, turning to properly face him with a frown, one hand resting over the top of Grian’s where it was gripping his knee tightly, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

“What’s up?”

Slowly, Grian turned to face him, meeting sage green eyes, each individual line in his irises making up the colour (some darker, some lighter, some in the form of loops). The outer circle was a darker green, only making the overall colour more vibrant, and the colour nearer to the pupil was a light brown, similar to the hair on his head that was almost falling into his eyes with how long it was getting.

For one of the first times around Scar, Grian found himself speechless.

Which only seemed to worry Scar more, brows furrowing in a completely adorable way as he leaned closer, observing Grian’s face himself to figure out the problem.

“Gria—“

“Why now?”

Scar paused, worry dissipating and being replaced with confusion.

“Why… what?”

“Why have you only just invited me round?” Grian insisted, trying his best not to sound hostile, just curious. He must’ve done it well enough, considering Scar’s face blushed a severe red, gorgeous eyes suddenly looking anywhere but him.

“I— just— look,” Scar started, grip tightening on Grian’s hand again, their fingers now interlocked between them instead, arms almost pressed together in their proximity, “I don’t invite just anyone around. My mum will come over for my birthday and that’s about it. This home,” Scar explained, looking around with purpose now, taking in the decorations he was bound to know by heart, placed by his own caring hands, “It’s my safe space.”

“And… you wanted to make sure you wanted me here?”

“No,” Scar replied immediately, lifting his spare hand to brush Grian’s blonde hair away from his eyes, fingers tracing his cheekbones, memorising the pattern, “I knew I wanted you here, I just wasn’t sure if you felt as strongly about me as I do about you.”

Instead of replying with something horribly stupid, Grian decided instead to close the distance, kissing Scar with such fervour the man fell back onto the sofa, Grian on top of him as he held them both steady, one hand on his hip and the other on his cheek, guiding him.

In all of his looking, Grian failed to see the bouquet of poppies and wilting lilacs on the windowsill.

❀

“Stay calm.”

“I am calm,” Gem assured him, as she bounced along beside him, her smile bright. “Super calm.”

“Gem, I mean it,” Grian continued, fixing her with a sharp glare, “I don’t want you to scare him off.”

“I won’t! Promise,” she reassured him, not that it did much to convince him. Then she stopped walking, causing Grian to look over at her with a raised eyebrow. “Is that him there?”

“Hm?” Grian asked, turning to find Scar, but he wasn’t where he said he’d be. Instead he was crouched next to a kid, a toy in hand that was extended to them. The kid in question nervously took it as they stepped closer to their mother, who smiled sweetly at him and very obviously thanked him before walking off. “Uh, yeah.”

“Handsome, good with kids, unbelievably kind— where did you find this man?” Gem asked as she gaped, turning to face Grian again as he chuckled, shaking his head.

“How many times do I have to tell you, he found me, I simply…” fell in love. Too much too soon, he supposed. “I just said yes to a date.”

What Grian only just realised was the two bouquets he held in his spare hand, only visible once he stood. One was familiar—lilacs and poppies—but the other was new, a stunning array of lavender heather, pink dianthus, and baby blue forget-me-nots. Only after Grian spotted them did Scar look over, his fond smile being replaced with something joyful, the man almost skipping over before holding out the new bouquet. “These are for you, Gem. I picked them out especially, I thought you’d like them.”

“They’re gorgeous,” she insisted, and Grian knew she wasn’t lying by the genuine sparkle in her eyes, gently pressing her fingers to the petals with pure admiration. “Thank you, you didn’t have to.”

“And these are for you, my love,” Scar said as he turned to Grian, a hint of sarcasm in his tone that told him the pet name was just said to piss him off, though he did happily accept his bouquet as always, inspecting his own just as Gem had.

And he couldn’t help but notice the lilacs looked a little more wilted than usual.

Maybe it could be down to them being out of season, and that’s probably what it was, but when he looked back up at Scar something felt off.

Something about the way he held himself, something about his smile, something about the sparkle in his eyes.

But outwardly he seemed okay, so Grian decided it was just his paranoia speaking.

“Alright Scar, you planned the day,” Grian huffed, Gem pausing in her ministrations to look at him and then at Scar, who was offered an elbow for him to hold.

As always, he accepted.

“Lead the way.”

❀

Months passed faster than Grian could count, and suddenly he found himself standing outside of Scar’s home, a new, cold, unfamiliar metal pressed against his palm.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to watch the door unlock, slipping the key back into his pocket. “Scar! I’m back!”

The man immediately rounded the corner of the living room, grinning brightly before pulling Grian into a tight hug, burying his face into his hair. “I’ve missed you.” He whispered, and Grian didn’t doubt it for a second, hugging him back just as tightly. The key was a new thing as of the week prior, but Grian had too many things at home and work to sort out to catch a minute to go over and test it out. But, for then at least, he was there, and to them that was all that mattered.

“Come cuddle,” Scar insisted, already attempting to drag Grian up the stairs, but the librarian was stronger than he looked and was able to resist, if only for a moment, pulling himself back in the opposite direction with a chuckle, Scar only holding him tighter in response. “I’ve missed you, let me hold you for a bit.”

“I’m hungry.”

“We can eat later.”

“Scar.”

“Grian.”

And with that, Scar lifted Grian into his arms, the man squealing and immediately trying to thrash against it.

Even if it did feel quite nice to be pressed against his partner’s chest, to be in his steady hold, to feel his laughter against his own skin.

“Let me go!”

“I promise I’ll feed us— just give me an hour—“

“An hour—?!”

The argument was pointless, really.

Because after his long week, after months of being alone in his apartment, after a year of having to message or plan to meet up with Scar, all he wanted to do was be held and hold him back. All he wanted was to spend a quiet moment in the arms of a man he trusted more than he’d ever trusted anyone, a man he trusted to never stop holding him, to never leave him.

Maybe it was optimistic for a one-year-long relationship, maybe it was out of character for Grian to be optimistic for once in his life, but something in his heart told him Scar would be with him until he couldn’t be.

And how couldn’t that be enough?

When they finally settled into Scar’s bed, the mattress plush but Scar’s chest a little more comfortable, a blanket pulled over them, Grian wanted nothing more than to bury himself in the warmth that surrounded him. With quietly whispered sweet-nothings, a soothing hand sifting fingers through his hair, and a slow rising and falling of his partner’s chest, it was inevitable that Grian fell asleep.

Maybe that’s why he wondered, in his half-asleep state, if Scar really had whispered a quiet apology to him, lips ghosting the top of his head as he pulled him closer.

A figment of his imagination, he supposed.

The act of Scar pulling him closer was unrelated, after all.

In his dreams, Grian watched lilacs wilt, and hoped for summer to roll around and bring them back to life.

As always, summer never came.

❀

Ever since he was a kid, Grian’s hated hospital waiting rooms.

He remembers sitting in there with Gem for hours upon hours, alone with no one for company but the strangers that all stared at them, asked if they needed any help.

And Grian remembers replying with “No thanks, unless you can save my mum.”

The woman who had asked had just awkwardly apologised and walked off, so Grian just pulled Gem closer where she sat on his lap, and waited. Eventually, when the doctor came out and asked to speak to them in private, he knew what was happening.

They went to live with their grandmother thereafter, but Grian only remembered properly crying over her death on her first year anniversary, kneeled at her grave as he stared teary-eyed at the dead marigolds laid on the dirt.

He replaced them with a bouquet of chrysanthemums, stood, and left.

And now he was back, knee bouncing as he stared at the clock on the wall, the second hand ticking over to the next minute. Waiting rooms always filled him with a feeling of impending doom, no matter the reason for being there; it always felt like the walls were closing in around him, that eyes were watching his every twitch and jump, that the lights were trying to blind him.

Every moment he sat there was another moment to overthink, to underthink, to stress.

The fear from walking in to Scar passed out on the floor was still sitting in his veins after all, simmering on the surface waiting to be validated. He wasn’t sure how or why it happened, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, Grian had just called an ambulance, gotten him to the hospital, and started waiting.

He hadn’t woken up once since he found him.

And all he could think about was a late night, a sleepily imagined apology, the feeling that it wasn’t so imagined at all.

He looked down at his hands, at the bouquet of lilacs and poppies that Gem had dropped off before heading back home at Grian’s request, and wondered not for the first time why Scar had chosen those exact flowers.

Maybe he just thought they looked nice, or that they suited Grian. He would suggest he chose them at random, but when Scar truly cares about a matter he puts the due thought and effort in.

“Mr Emcee?” A doctor called, and Grian shot his head up, meeting her eyes. There was nothing especially foreboding about how she was holding herself, but equally nothing positive, letting the anxiety linger a little longer than it could have.

So he stood and followed, walked down the maze of hallways until they finally reached Scar’s room.

The place was sterile, dark from the late hour with a single lamp on, doctors evidently having finished the tests they needed to do that day. But he wasn’t able to approach the bed in time, the doctor turning to face him with a sad smile.

“You’re his partner, correct?”

“I am— do we know the issue?” Grian immediately inquired, watching her face fall a little, but it seemed she had predicted it, looking at her clipboard as she bit her lip.

“Mr Goodtimes was diagnosed a few years ago with a terminal illness–”

Grian didn’t really hear the rest.

All he could do was stare at the bed, at Scar sleeping with an oxygen mask fixed to his face, chest slowly rising and falling.

“Uh… Mr Emcee?”

“Just Grian is fine,” he almost whispered, still not meeting her eyes as he furrowed his brows, working through the passively taken-in information. “And… it’s getting worse?”

“We didn’t expect to see such a spike— we’ve tried different medications over the years, but none have really seemed to work,” she explained, but Grian still couldn’t take his eyes off of the other. Maybe he worried he’d disappear, or stop breathing. Not that he could do much about it either way. “It’s difficult to treat something when we don’t know what we’re treating.”

“So he’s been in here before? Because of passing out?”

“There’s not much more information I can divulge, everything else is up to him, but you have a right to know what caused the issue today,” she replied instead, and Grian supposed that was fair.

The only problem was that he wasn’t sure if Scar would tell him.

He hadn’t told him about it thus far, what was stopping him from continuing to keep his secrets? It wasn’t like Grian could hold it against him if he chose to do so.

“He hadn’t been in for a good year, we hoped that he was getting better but… I don’t know. Maybe his body was just putting off the inevitable.”

The inevitable.

Swallowing his sadness, Grian nodded, finally turning to the doctor only to say, “Do you think you could give us some privacy for a moment? I’ll alert you if anything happens.”

And she nodded, swiftly leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

For a moment, all Grian could do was stand by the door and watch him.

Scar had always been a symbol of strength, of support, so to see him so… down, it threw Grian a little off-kilter. To say he looked weak would be a lie, because any fighter couldn’t have an ounce of weakness in them, but something about seeing him in a hospital bed, attached to oxygen and IV, something about finding him passed out on the floor, made Grian wonder if maybe he’d been hiding other things from him.

Pains, fatigue, breathing issues.

Or maybe, like the doctor had said, his body had been putting it off and it all just… struck at the same time.

But it was with the knowledge that he was alive, that he was breathing and there, that Grian approached his bedside, sitting down in the chair provided and reaching out a hand to hold Scar’s own, squeezing it. The flowers were placed gently on his bedside table, and Grian refused to take his eyes off of the other.

Sure, this explained some things, questions Grian had never cared enough about to ask, but it left more unknowns than resolutions.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Grian whispered, leaning forward to rest his head on his spare forearm, eyes trailing the visible scars along his partner’s arms and neck and face. “I would’ve helped you, I would’ve— I would’ve stayed. How’d you think I’d react, Scar? Did you think I’d run? Hide?”

The only response he received was a slow rise and fall of his chest.

Over and over and over.

He hoped, watching it, over and over and over, would remove the image of Scar on the floor from his mind.

Limbs splayed, face to the side, mouth open, clothes rumpled.

He hoped it would remove the terror still in his heart, the fear that this would be it, that he would never be able to talk to him again.

Tell him he loved him.

Because he hadn’t, had he?

It had never been the right time to.

Now he just wished he’d said it from the start.

The moment Scar first approached him, with his charming smile and appreciative eyes, he should’ve said it.

Because he’d known since then.

Known that he would never feel this again.

“I love you.” He whispered, clutching Scar’s hand a little tighter.

And, just as before, he received no reply.

Maybe that had been his biggest fear of all.

❀

The months passed slower these days.

Even when Scar generally recovered from his fall, he was never as full-energy as he was beforehand. Some days, when he struggled to stand or make dinner or pet the cats, he’d have this almost guilty look in his eyes that made this horrible feeling curl in Grian’s chest.

It was on one late evening, as Grian was adjusting the vase on the windowsill, the lilacs more wilted than Scar would’ve ever let them get, that Scar mentioned it.

“You can leave, if you want.”

Grian had paused where he was fiddling with the flowers, turning to face Scar. Scar, whose own gaze was trained to Jellie on his lap, his hand slowly stroking up and down his back.

Since the passing out incident, Grian had moved into Scar’s house. They’d wanted to do it soon anyway, and he needed some support in a few regular everyday things, and Grian didn’t even hesitate before contacting his landlord and packing his things. But ever since, Scar had had this barrier up that he hadn’t before, a barrier Grian had yet to figure out how to cross.

“Why would I leave?” Was all Grian could think to reply, Scar shrugging. “Scar, there’s no place I’d rather be.”

“What, looking after me?” He huffed, voice far too self-deprecating for Grian’s liking. It was enough to make him cross the room and take the seat beside Scar’s and scoot so they were a little closer, close enough to lean into his eye line, fixing a stern look to his face.

“You deserve love and happiness just as much as anyone else. Just because you’re struggling doesn’t mean I’m going to care about you any less.”

“But you didn’t sign up for this—“

“Yes I did.” Grian immediately cut in, glad when Scar finally looked up, eyes wide and mouth ever-so-slightly agape. “When I decided I wanted to be with you, I didn’t care what it entailed, as long as I was with you.” At that, Grian rested a hand on Scar’s knee, squeezing it in quiet reassurance as he offered a smile, trying to pour everything he could into his mannerisms. “I don’t care what you are, I just want to be a part of your life. Well— I do care, I just— I worded that badly— you know what—“

And, for the first time in weeks, Scar’s laugh broke through his words, light and happy and enough to zip Grian’s lips shut, tugging them up into a pleased smile of his own.

“Oh Grian,” he started when his laughter died down, and this time, when his eyes met Grian’s, they sparkled with a renewed hope. “What god did I please to have found you?”

“You say that like it’s hard to love you.”

“And yet you do,” Scar hummed, resting his chin on his spare palm, arm propped up on the kitchen table, as he watched Grian with unadulterated adoration, only a lingering guilt left behind. “You love me anyway.” And then they both paused, realising the words.

“Uh—“

“You love me.”

“I—“

And Grian couldn’t say he didn’t.

Because it would be a lie.

And lying to Scar had always been something he struggled to do.

And he knew, by the look on Scar’s face, that saying it back was something of equal struggle to him.

Now, at least, Grian knew why.

“Look, Grian—“

“I know.” Grian whispered, and Scar’s shocked face was enough for him as he smiled, trying to shove down whatever pain was beginning to fester. “I know, Scar.”

I know you love me too.

I know you can’t say it back.

I know why.

And Scar nodded, took Grian’s hand in his, and pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles.

For now, and maybe for forever, this would have to be enough.

Behind them another petal fell from the lilacs, but the motion was too quiet for either of them to hear it.

❀

Not for the first time, Grian found himself walking up to a gravestone with a bouquet in hand a year after the funeral.

After everything, all the fighting and the effort and the support, Scar’s body couldn’t take much more.

He’d passed away just over a year prior, and Grian had not shed a tear.

Not until he kneeled by his grave and watched a drop fall onto the grass, his sniff a little wet as he set down a bouquet of chrysanthemums. He’d tried to find a bouquet of lilacs to match his lock screen, but they were apparently not in season and all of Mumbo’s had already wilted without a chance of perking them back up.

“I miss you.” Was all he could manage before a sob tugged itself from his tight throat, refusing to cover his eyes as he looked on, hands shaking as he sniffed again. “I want you to come back. I want to hold you, feel your heart beat a little too fast again and know that it was me that caused it.”

Finally, he let himself wipe his eyes, allowed himself to read the name engraved on the tombstone in front of him.

Scar Emcee.

“A new book came in today,” Grian ventured, moving off of his knees to sit cross-legged instead, resting his chin on his hand and letting himself smile ever-so-slightly. “About an inventor whose ideas changed the world, who couldn’t stay to watch the world change. It reminded me a little of someone.” He took a deep breath, sniffed, and said, “Mumbo.”

No laugh followed, but he could almost hear it echoing in the back of his mind.

“Kidding.” He said anyway, picking at the grass by his thighs and wondering what it must’ve felt like to have warmth pressed against them instead. “Though you did leave me with a lot of questions, no matter how many you answered for me. Like, why lilacs? Why poppies? Did you know what they meant? Did you like the look? The smell? Or did they simply remind you of us, or what you knew we’d come to be?”

As always, no one answered.

Maybe it was better that way.

Maybe Scar really had just chosen two random flowers on a whim but let Grian wonder otherwise.

Even if he had, Grian was sure he’d just laugh and shake his head, because no matter what they meant at the start they evolved into something new.

A symbol, of sorts.

It was with that that he took out the single poppy from his pocket, somehow hardly crumpled, and placed it beside the chrysanthemums.

A symbol of strength, of battle, of effort.

“I love you.”

For the final time, no immediate response came.

Grian didn’t stay long enough to notice the budding lilac in the dirt.