Archive of Our Own

Things hadn’t been going well for Grian. 

Sure, there was worse. There always was! But he’d like to believe no coins and no home was pretty bad. He wasn’t exactly a professional on this whole no-more-home thing, yet. Grian imagined that as time went on, the one thing that would stay true is that it sucked . Massively so.

Grimy clothing hung off of him, unwashed and heavy. Red layered over black, which wrapped around a small frame messily. In the summer, he was sure to have to ditch some of it. If Grian had the choice, he’d rather not die to the sun’s rays this lifetime. It wasn’t too much of an issue as of right now, though, with the cold nipping at his skin and pulling it thin.

Nowhere was warm this time of year, the scolding sun having faded into cool breezes and dead leaves on the ground. Poorly heated sheds paired with a prayer were basically his only means of comfort as of recently—and as of tonight, an isolated corner of downtown next to a grey and white cat with beautiful little beady eyes. It was a bit less lonely, like that.

Fluffy, well kept fur and the heat of another living thing met his hand, “Did’ya run away?”

No answer, surprisingly. A small head and even smaller purrs pushed into his palm, muscles untensing as chill dripped off. Cute eyes, shining green, stared up at him. The little thing wasn’t ungroomed or dirty, and an empty collar wrapped around its neck, so it most definitely wasn’t a stray—not with how this town was. 

Not this place, full with all too cruel people and one too many dark corners leaking with nothing but dread and something distinctly unsafe. If it was without an owner, he could imagine the scrapes and fractures that would litter its body. If it were lucky, Grian would have found it dead.

This small nook between buildings and the Greater World was, unfortunately, one of those ‘dark corner’ places. Somewhere hidden within the outskirts of town and backed up against the forest beyond the walls. Somewhere you’d expect a person to jump out at you from. Somewhere you felt watched in, not quite fully safe even being nearly boxed in on all sides. 

It wasn’t meant to feel safe like a tiny townhouse, or lively like a shop full of wares. Grian was also sure, however, that it wasn’t meant to throw a mysterious, growing mist and a creepy glowing grin in his face. Very quickly the whole ‘boxed in’ aspect became very unappealing, back hitting the wall behind Grian as he startled, unable to move. 

If this was how he died, Grian would feel inclined to protest to the gods themselves. Whichever ones were up there and whatever books were right about the holy figures up above, he would be complaining.

The stupid man—was it a man with those fangs? It couldn’t be a man with those wings—with the stupid grin rested a hand on his shoulder, giggling as it tried to keep itself from losing balance, “Well hello there!”

“I—Uhm,” its balanced swayed as he tried to shake it off, “Hi…?”

Green eyes, matching the cat now sprawled along his shoulders, met Grian’s own. Tears welled up as it laughed, grip tightening as it leant forward to get a better look at the bewilderment that adorned his face. Its other hand came up, grabbing his face and squishing his cheeks as it made Grian look up. “Woah. You’re warm, aren'tcha?"

Finally focusing, eyes sharp as they took it in, Grian saw fluffy, long brown hair that framed a sharp face. A large scar marred half of it, the other half riddled in smaller marks. Whatever it was wearing was…interesting. Dark robes upon dark robes stacked, and multiple earthy green shirts could be seen on top of one another from where the cloth drooped. Its pants looked heavy and thick, and gloves held onto fingers tightly. Nothing on it, save the face, left a drop of exposed skin on its body. 

“Hands off,” a smack sounded in their small corner, false confidence rushing to hide the holes that poured fright; voice and figure shaking alike, “Who are… ahem —Wh—Where did you… come from ? That’s a dead end, over there.”

“Hm? I just…y’know, magicked in!” It waved around abstractly.

Something between horror and confusion slipped onto Grian’s face, then, nose scrunching and eyes squinting as he looked on in disbelief at this thing in front of him. As much as he’d love to believe it was an insane man wearing a much too well made costume, something about this feeling in his heart screamed it wasn’t. That he was in danger, “I don’t…no. I don’t know , actually.”

The smile on its face fell into widened eyes and a blank expression. It looked him up and down frantically, holding Grian to his position on the ground as if he’d try to run. He wouldn’t. “You don’t? Is that why you’re so warm?”

“What.”

“Gosh, you’re human, aren't you! You’re an actual human , we really ought to get’ya somewhere safe!”

Grian’s arms were lifted as hands tucked under them, lifting him up. Thin, bony wings fluttered as it got him fully off the ground, holding him like a toy. “I can take y’back home, if you want. I don’t usually give people this privilege though, so you really should hope I don’t change my mind.”

Legs kicked halfheartedly as he protested, working to wiggle out of the grip, “No, no that’s…not possible—Just let me go, yeah? I can walk.”

It squinted, observing his legs as if they’d scream out the truth, “You can?”

“Yes! Yes, I can!” 

Testing Grian, he was lightly set on the ground. Hands gripped his sides, stopping him from falling and , ultimately, escaping. His heartbeat, afraid and trying to run without the rest of him, didn’t help in the slightest. Truly, to this thing, he must look ridiculously terrified. Felt it, too. The fabric that adorned his chest rose and fell quickly, and hands shook slightly with shock. The sweat kept his already freezing body unbearably cold, working to chip away at any small amounts of warmth that built up. 

It seemed equally amazed as Grian was frustrated at all of these facts, mouth forming into a little ‘O’. “Woah! You can stand! So you’ll be going home now, right? Gonna get outta my territory?”

Supremely awkward. Maybe not to it, but to Grian? Yes , horrifically so. “I told you, that’s not an option.”

“...Are you one of those homeless hoboes?”

“What? No! No—Okay, no. I’m…temporarily without a house. I am not a hobo.”

“Awh.”

Grian was going to kill this thing. Genuinely, actually, kill this weird creature. It was, put nicely, excruciatingly unbearable. No way it was going to talk about some territory like it was an animal. No way it was going to call him a homeless hobo, this creepy bastard. 

Really, there was no reason it should even be here. There’s nowhere it could have come from normally, not in this section of the city and not with how it managed to sneak up on him. Though, Grian supposed, as eyes looked him up and down once again, weird mist was about the most normal you could get in this situation. The books always told of much worse, so what was a little fog compared to that. “So,” he dragged the word as far as it could go, “Why are you…here?”

“This is my territory—Have you been listening?”

Cold seeped into flesh as Grian pushed it out of his space, frustration welling up, “Yeah. But why are you here ?”

That damned grin returned as cold encased all of his hand—freezing it in place against the creature’s chest. It felt as if the muscles were locked in place. “I felt all warm and stuff, y’know—Or, I guess you wouldn’t—So I go and take a little looksie cause, well, demons aren’t supposed to be warm! And, and, I find the culprit…you! And, I find the cause! That bein’ you getting all friendly with my familiar and petting her!”

Oh. Oh! ‘Cause of course this idiot wasn’t just some weird unknown creature. Of course it was a being of destruction and misfortune from all those musty holy books Grian grew up with, Of course it was! And, ‘course, his whole body tensed up while it was still watching him so closely. It made sense, kind of, given…everything. What else was told to have wings as ugly as that? Not much. However, that did not mean Grian was okay with this. Suddenly, the territory thing seemed a lot less silly. 

“Oh.”

The grip pulled him closer, sharp teeth and daunting wings encompassing his vision, “ Oh ?”

It let him push back, thankfully, as it had its laugh. On top of everything else, why wouldn’t this demon also find his suffering funny? Obviously it would. Really, he should be more mad, but at some point along the road his body completely gave up warning him of this danger; yelling at him to run and stop being unintelligent. At some point, it tired him to the point his heart slowed again and his knees tried to buckle. Grian was still very much not okay with this.

“Were you lying?”

Grian was getting even less okay, actually. “No. I said I can stand.”

Giggling like a little girl, It kept him up. Breath that smelt like mint and iron lazily floated into his space. “Sure, sure. You’re looking for a place to stay, then, right?” 

The words drawled out painfully slow, leaving them stuck in this proximity for much more than a beat too long. Demons, growing up, were always taught to be tricky like that, weren’t they? Grian certainly didn’t pay attention, but his mind nagged at him to remember the way they’d take advantage of a person when they got scared like this. The way they’d take control the minute you showed them a weakness or want. 

Right now, Grian was definitely beginning to wish he’d been a bit better at appearing stoic; about keeping his mouth shut. Especially so as his eyes sharpened and heart started working up again, the other’s breathing and the cat’s shifting became sensitive to his ears. Nothing about this screamed safe. Everything about this shouted, raw and high into the void, that this was a setup.

He couldn’t deny it, though. Damn him for playing into false promises of a place to live, it would be magnificent right now. “...Maybe I am.”

Two—maybe five or a hundred, not even the gods were counting—robes slipped off its shoulder as it perked up. Its hold on Grian kept him still, intent on keeping the conversation going, as uncomfortable as it was. “Right! Perfect, so—Let’s make a teeny tiny deal and—”

That, Grian did remember. “No.”

“Please?”

Please? Please , it asks, like he’d say yes. Like he’d actually think about it. About the possibility of warmth and a bed. Of the chance he might get safety and food. It asks like Grian’d even consider pitying it, as if it had a chance in hell— hah —to get him to say yes. Ridiculous, the entire thing was completely ridiculous. No matter the benefits he couldn’t, his resolve has never been that weak. 

Never, he shouted at himself.

 “I—Ugh…what are the, uhm…conditions…?” 

It beamed at Grian, the cat behind it slow blinking at him like he’d done some honourable favour. “Okay! Yes, yes, yes! Right—introductions, let’s do this proper, yeah? Cool. My name —Or, hm—What you can call me , is Scar. And, I know, you must be thinking, ‘ Wow, what a handsome name for this Scar character, he sure is grea t’, but—”

“Right, Scar ,” He tested the name on his tongue, rolled it around and whispered it into the darkness ahead, “Uh—Is it really a good idea for me to give you my name? Doesn’t everything tell me…not to?”

A whine, or maybe a weird sigh, left its—his? Grian thought he heard it refer to itself as such—mouth as it shook him gently, “Yes! Yes. I can’t do anything with your name, just give it—I wanna move on to the good part already.”

“You’re not lying—”

“I’m not lying.”

Grian wanted to call for lies. He wouldn’t, given he was about to desperately cling onto this whole potential housing opportunity, but the urge was there. As his mouth opened he couldn’t help but feel exceedingly stupid,“‘Kay. Uh—Grian. It’s my name.”

“So I assumed, yes. Okay , okay, so! Gri, my dear friend—”

“Grian.”

“—I would like to propose a tiny little agreement. A deal, one may say. I am willing to give you somewhere nice and toasty and cozy to stay for as long as you need. And you…well. Hm.”

Extremely serious pensiveness overtook Scar’s entire demeanour, the demon looking as if he’d never had to think of anything as important as this before. Nothing shifted as Grian stood waiting, its breathing having almost completely stopped now and blinking slowed down. 

After a few minutes, as if he discovered the most magnificent thing in the world, Scar completely washed away any signs of previous thought from his face and replaced it with that same smile as before. Words flowed as his chest puffed and smile became self-satisfied, “Maybe we can figure that out along the way! For now, let’s just say ya got some pretty deep payment you’ve gotta get to me before you keel over and die, mhm?”

So, maybe he would say yes, actually. That sounded like nothing short of a miracle. The whole repayment thing was a bit gross, given he wasn’t even told what to repay this creepy thing with, but if he could find a loophole—or just…pay it back somehow—it’d be worth it all. Grian could be overestimating his own skills, right now, and perhaps the whole of his worth as a human, but this was free housing . He wouldn’t have to throw away all his change to a landlord and beg to be allowed to stay as he clung to their skirt. In the end, that might’ve been what had Grian nodding. Nothing was better than a nice bed and warm bath to him, right now, “Mhm.”

“Mhm! Great, yay! You’re so smart, honestly. Now, here, gimme,” its hand outstretched, gesturing by grabbing at air and winking, “We gotta seal it.”

Out of everything Grian was waiting for as he grabbed that hand, whether it was a binding ring or weird piece of paper that would randomly appear to be signed, it was not what he expected. It was nothing obvious, nothing jarring or peculiar, just a gentle heaviness. Weight now sat in his chest, pulling his heart down and yet cradling it gently. It was like a thin thread that knit itself overtop of the organ, every pump of blood tracked and measured. The new pressure was watching; waiting.

Scar was dragging him through newly forming mist—Grian’s eyes being forced closed through the fog—before he could even think about it, humming as he sang about this newfound ‘friendship’, about finally being with somebody. Hell if Grian was actually listening to any of it. The cold that wrapped around his fingers was demanding his attention right now, anyway. It came in the form of another hand, intertwined and holding on tight. It came in the form of this stupid demon, loud and boisterous. 

—

When Grian opened his eyes, mist having dissipated, what he didn’t need to see was the humiliation that was this imbecile’s poor replication of a home. It wasn’t horrible, per se, but nothing about it sat right. Nothing was outwardly weird; nothing demanded attention for being otherworldly, but it was wrong. Walls sat crooked and tilted, windows placed themselves awkwardly low and high, and every single painting looked vague and fake. 

The furnishing, too—it was all obviously to Scar’s liking, not his, with the same earth-like greens and browns that adorned the broad frame of the other. Which wasn’t a bad thing at all, Grian supposed. If he got his own room, maybe he could change that up for himself. Overall, as he glanced around, it didn’t seem dangerous. Though maybe assuming something with such surface level knowledge was a bit of a bad move.

Silence was replaced with paws touching the ground, an annoyed yowl at the sudden movements and loud noise of her owner, “Tada! Now—Okay—I’m not sure what humans…live in…but Cub always said that it was kind of like our Elders’ homes! Just smaller, or whatever!”

“...Cub?”

As Scar began walking, Grian was forced to chase after. He was purely fueled by irritation for the lack of hosting ability. “So, I tried super duper hard and made this ama y zing little home in my domain! And, ‘cause I can’t have ya running away, I have my own little room too!”

So this guy was insane, actually. Ignoring the fact he physically couldn’t keep his mouth shut for longer than a second, who doesn’t know what a house looks like? Better yet, Grian couldn’t keep up with all this talk about things he hadn’t even been told about. People and domains , it had his head spinning. It stretched and pulled at his every thought, to be in a place like this. To be in a dream like this, Grian wouldn’t be able to mention it; wouldn’t say anything for fear of being kicked out, but the thoughts still lingered. 

The longer they walked, twists and turns left behind with every step, the more the air seemed horribly cold. “Cool. So, where do I…stay?”

His hand latched almost immediately onto Grian’s arm, holding it as muscles instinctively tried to tug away. Pulling him along through corridor after corridor, never slowing down, had Grian sick impressively fast. The door they stopped in front of was wooden and brown, sticking out from the painted whites. With perhaps not enough enthusiasm—it all seemed to go to the demon practically vibrating behind him—Grian’s hand touched cool metal, opening up the room beyond. 

What he hadn’t expected was a fully furnished room. Grian had assumed that in exchange for living here, Scar might’ve had him get his own stuff. He was wrong, luckily. Craftsmen were uniquely against helping him out ever since the old lady started making a fuss about getting him to leave.

The floor was cold underneath him, and as the door set further into the back of his mind, one thing in particular had his eye. In the corner, pushed up against two walls—one adorning a window that seemed to look out on a vast forest—was a bed . It sat above his knees and held what might’ve been the fluffiest pillows and blanket he’d ever seen.

Compared to the cold streets Grian was used to, having his own space like this was lovely. Against the foot of the bed sat a desk, metal legs meeting a wood top. Two tall dressers sat along the wall opposite to him, too. He suddenly felt as though he might cry.

Suddenly, balance was taken away from him as his body found itself falling forward onto the bed, and the demon plaguing his space wrapped his arms and legs around him, “See! I got you a room with a super cozy bed! Don’t’cha like it? Don’t’cha?”

Scar nuzzled into him much like a cat would, clinging onto Grian like his life depended on it. Just barely, he was able to fight his way through turning himself around and face the ceiling—or, what would’ve been if the idiot’s shoulder hadn't been in the way. Sandalwood overwhelmed his sense of smell as Grian worked on taking full breaths under this new weight. Muscles much stronger than his own worked to keep Grian in place, which wasn’t exactly endearing, but it was much more preferable to the fool lifting him up like he was a thing to be played with. “Yeah. Yeah, I like it.”

A maybe-death-glare met Grian’s eyes as he looked down, the demon pushing himself up and looking down on him, “Is it not enough? Are y’gonna leave?”

“... Leave ?” Was let into the air as no more than a whisper.

So he’s also extremely insecure, then. Lovely for Grian, who was going to be stuck with him for who knows how long. There was a chance that, maybe, Scar cared. Much more likely, however, he just needed some weird approval for his halfhearted good deed. Demons were probably self-centred, if Grian had to guess. Surely that was a sin somewhere.

Weight eased off of the mattress, letting it fluff back up to its full capacity, as Scar huffed and puffed. He didn’t look particularly happy, and Grian would throw away anything to not lose the plush that his body was sunk into right now. Apprehension laced his tone,“I’m not leaving. It’s nice, thank you—Thank you, Scar.”

Feet paused at the door ahead, spinning around to show the face of a very stunned and confused Scar. Quickly, it shifted into that same look he’d been plastering on his face every time Grian spoke, a sing-song tone accompanying it this time, “Oh, yes—Yes, no problem!”

Silence. Maybe Grian could ask for a place to bathe before he ran away. Maybe something to eat or wear.

“Oh, right, yeah—So, before I go…!”

Darkness overtook Grian’s vision as he buried his face into the blanket. It smelled vaguely like flowers and sandalwood. With how tired he was, he’d really rather not listen to this man ramble on further. “...Mhm?”

“Feel free to do whatever you’d like! Anything your heart desires, ‘kay? ‘Kay. And, more importantly, don’t try t’steal Jellie from me, I like you a bit too much to kill y’anytime soon! I feel what she feels—Connected, you see—So be nice, yeah?”

Before Grian could respond to that puzzle of a request, he heard the door gently closing, followed by receding footsteps heading to who knows where. So much for that meal or dirt-free skin after weeks of only being able to wish for it, Should he try and get on his good side before asking for any of that? Get closer and then get everything he can before being kicked out? An attempt could be made, he reasoned.

 Now, Jellie …Jellie? With much consideration arguably not consisting of Grian whispering the name to himself over and over, he got absolutely nowhere. A little somebody must’ve heard him, though, padding over to see what he was being loud about. Decided it fit to waltzed right up next to his head and block his airflow.

The tiny criminal, green eyes staring down at him, looked entirely unbothered as Grian jumped back from inhaling roughly seventy percent too much fur to be healthy. The tiny criminal being Scar’s…cat? Familiar? She wasn’t a pet, he didn’t think. 

Soft scratching filled the room as he indulged the little thing, giving her love and pets as she cuddled up close. In time with her purrs slowly making themselves known, he thought he might’ve heard something drop a few rooms over.

A few rooms over where Scar was.

“…Oh. Hi Jellie.”

—

A few days in, and Grian would argue he was getting used to it all.

The not quite right objects, the wonky walls, the horribly overwhelming amount of food Scar now refuses to let deplete after being asked for a snack once—he was getting used to it! Grian was given new luxuries now that had overrode all faults with this stupid domain thing. He could sit on nearly too-soft couches and beds, he woke up to the weird fake windows changing scenery from a beach to a forest to a field every day, he was able to do anything and spend his copper however he wished. 

It was fantastic , is what Grian was saying. Out of anywhere else in the world—and he didn’t want any of his religious authority figures to hear about this—he really would rather be in this demon’s grasp. Compared to his parents, the old lady, and most definitely the streets, he was allowed to live. He could live and move and just be.

Almost.

Nobody exactly told Grian that he was going to have a barnacle-like scarred creature attached, quite literally, to his being at all times. Which did kind of limit the whole moving and living thing. But it was fine! It was alright. As odd as it was, the heaviness that sat in his chest now let itself crawl back up to its spot behind the sternum when he was closer to the other. 

Asking about it only resulted in a rushed explanation, words fumbling to grab ahold of the air and make their way into Grian’s ear. Something about what Scar wanted to fulfill the deal. Which, in other words, meant he was probably leeching off of Grian in some way. Superb.

This day’s parasitic tendencies showed after what could have been the best day of Grian’s life. He’d woken up on the mortal world’s best representation of clouds as pillows, and a set of clothing Scar had given him after enough complaining about having nothing to wear at night. That being, a torn up shirt of Scar’s and loose shorts he was gifted by the demon after some minor manipulation. It was heaven compared to his usual rags, when all was said and done.

Being able to tell the time of day wasn’t quite an option until he left the maybe-maybe-not-house, given the windows weren’t actually real, but the tendency to wake up early morning stayed consistent. It was pretty easy to tell when exactly noon was, as well, from all the ruckus Scar made. A good internal clock and what-not. 

Warm water scrubbed at skin that was, as of the past while, ridiculously soft and free of any signs of dirt. Content washed through him, too, at something as pleasant as this. It spread through his veins and settled into his heart, pooling there and intertwining with the weight. Hair no longer sat greasy, either. Instead, foam settled gently on top of it as it was scrubbed clean and washed away. 

One small grievance, he had to blow his bangs out of his face one too many times during the whole ordeal. They sat stuck on his forehead, and seeing was rather difficult when you couldn’t do it, turns out.

Grian’s ultimate goal for today was unpacking. Along with the shorts he had haphazardly pulled out of one of many full bags, he’d also managed to nag other items of clothing from Scar. He didn’t really keep track after the fifth shirt and third pair of pants, but it was an unholy amount. And so came the tiring part of finally having material goods: Putting them away. 

Fantastic.

What was even more fantastic for Grian as he sorted, folded, and hung countless pieces of clothing, was the sound of the damned imbecile finally waking up. He seemed not to know anything about being quiet for other members of a household, stomping around, dropping things, and talking to himself all the while.

Gentle humming worked to wash away the clatter and clamour, blocking it out and taking its place in the back of Grian’s mind. Little tunes of things he’d heard sung to him when he was a kid mixed together as drawers filled and the closet held newly hung sweaters and shirts.

The not-so-artificial-looking sun from the windows filled in the missing gap that having no main light caused, and allowed for everything to be cast in yellows and oranges. Until, presumably, Scar deemed it fit to bring out the moon. A peculiar routine, but being able to avoid fiddling with oil lamps and rusted lanterns, countless issues coming with making a steady light source, was completely welcome.

It meant everything dusted itself in warmth as Grian worked. It meant he could have a little moment of peace for himself in the morning, away from people and expectations. More than anything, it meant a break from the phantom feeling of harsh winds and hard ground against his cheek that still clung onto his skin. Never too intent on letting go, it’d pull him tight and push down until the pressure gave way.

It’d linger in the back of his mind every time he indulged in his new amenities, and not much seemed to restrain it; take it away. Not much, but the sun was always a reliable fix for Grian’s problems, and this wasn’t an exception.

 If he let himself give into it, relax completely, he could feel his shoulders loosen and heart beat calmer than it ever has. 

If he let himself, the world drowned out and let itself be crumpled and thrown away as peace replaced it. Noises and touch left the front of Grian’s mind, and folding and putting away soft fabrics became mindless. Because it was safe in this room. Nobody would bother him and he’d be okay to let go for a second. 

A moment.

Shattered, messy and sharp. Grian’s steps were stopped as he tried turning around to grab the last of the clothing. Of course, the culprit took the shape of a certain scarred imbecile that had decided to sneak in and cling to him, arms wrapped around Grian from behind as he was held just tight enough his ribcage might not break.

And, of course, Grian’s response to this imbecile was very exclusively calm. No high-pitched squeals were let out and no flailing occurred. Certainly, Scar didn’t start laughing at him, head buried in the crook of his neck as breathy giggles escaped, warming skin. 

With no respect for a man in slight shock, the laughing persisted through every word, interlinking itself between spaces and gaps, “Hi, G.”

“Grian.”

Green eyes met his as cold hands tilted his jaw upward, “We both know I’m not callin’y’that.”

What was Grian saying about this room being safe? ‘Cause it wasn’t. Fingers worked to pry the leech off of him, escaping the chill that was beginning to seep deep into flesh and bone. Distantly, though he’d instantly tuned most of the annoyance out, Grian thought he’d heard a bit of whining from the oh-so-scary demon. 

Hip pushed against the taller man’s side as he was shoved aside, clothing roughly being placed next to the rest before being locked away with a slam. “Right. What d’you need, then?”

Arms shot up above the taller’s head, “To see you!”

“Ah. Here I am.”

Those same arms shot forward, shaking Grian and pulling him closer with no regard for the lack of air allowed to flow between them; keep them apart. Even closer than their bodies were, was the idiot’s face to his own, pulled tight like a thread and breathing that stupid mint right into Grian’s noise as he spoke, “That’s not enough! C’mon, I wanna talk, do something!”

Which was even stupider. “We do that everyday.”

Which became even stupider when Scar thought it fit to try and persuade and guilt Grian, pushing him back and grabbing onto his arms, “No! No, no! Something fun that humans do that I haven’t yet. Like—you guys sleep, and cuddle, and dance, and hangout and stuff! We don’t do that. I wanna do that!”

Stupid. “Uh huh.”

“Please?”

Grian wasn’t particularly sure what to do in this situation. There weren’t any guides on ‘What to Do If a Demon Wants to Cuddle' in the holy books growing up. He assumed he maybe shouldn’t indulge in it though, right? Right! So just say no and it’ll all be okay. Probably.

Or probably not, his brain reminded him. Not with this one’s streak with emotional manipulation.

“Uhm—We can…hangout?”

“Pick something else.”

Right, so he wanted something. Scar wanted something and Grian was going to end up giving it to him. God damn it. He’d probably be able to get out of the super intimate stuff—no way in hell was he actually cuddling that bastard—but, what could he do? No matter what it’d be humiliating, though out of his list there was really only one thing Grian could cut short; pull away from easily once he got into it and needed to throw it away. 

Words disturbed air less than even a feather might, traveling to the other as Grian looked down with hooded eyes. “...Dance?”

And that. That seemed to satisfy the idiot, who perked up with a gasp and started twirling them around much like one may with dolls. That same grin, warmth only rivaled by the sun, stuck itself onto Scar’s face, “Yes! Gri you’re amazing! Okay, okay—So—How do…are there steps?”

They slowed to a stop, Grian swaying and blinking for dear life to get his vision back. Shame still burned his cheeks, skin red at such a ridiculous prospect. “Uh—Steps? Right, yeah, steps—Uhm. Just…follow…me?”

“That doesn’t help a’lot, G.”

Yanking Scar forward, what may have been the world’s messiest dance began. It took a minute for Grian to remember where to place their hands, cold meeting warm as the imbecile was guided on positioning, but the actual movements were worse. He hadn’t ever really been taught , given he wasn’t one of the richer folk—and, well, it was hammered into many that boys ought to focus on hard labour rather than pretty spins and gentle rhythms. His knowledge ended at foggy memories of peeking at his mother teaching his sister what may have been a waltz in their kitchen. 

So he ran with it. Guessing and making assumptions, soft whispers getting the fumbling fool to work with him. It flowed poorly, it was awkward and Grian really would rather not have been doing it, but it happened. Nothing was magical and nothing was sweet, just pushing through Scar’s need for something to do. And maybe also helping him with that weird leeching thing he’s got going, but that was less important to Grian than making sure it looked like he knew what he was doing.

Cold burned into him as it went on, never warming and meeting in the middle as temperatures intermingled. Instead it stayed harsh. It melted the flesh and dug deep into bone and muscle, melding together and becoming nearly inseparable. Scar’s eyes were quite similar, too. They stared and looked on at Grian the entirety of their weird charade, never leaving even as the demon misstepped and tumbled forward. 

Which meant Grian was going backward.

Right now.

The floor wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever hit, luckily. Better than rocks or mud. Hardwood floors were still pretty bad, though. The idiot above him didn’t account for the fact he was much larger and much taller, either, letting Grian’s breath get pushed out of his lungs faster than any balloon could manage. 

At the very least, Scar was able to spare a bit—a lot—of sympathy. Large hands rushed to cradle his face, always having to be on him, “ Oh . Oh! Are you okay, G? Did I hurt’y’at all?”

With his very best attempt at a scowl worse than any weird supernatural being could ever give the imbecile, Grian looked up at him, “Uh huh.”

Head tilting like a cat’s might, Grian made out even more scars clustered about. Eyes traced down his shoulder and upper arm where robes let skin be seen. There seemed to be not even one area that lay untouched. “Gri?”

“Hm.”

“You’re okay, right?”

Honing back in on his face, Scar appeared as if nearly crying, words small and weighed down by guilt. He was gentle with Grian, as usual—he had a strange fear of ‘ my human dying from being so fragile ’, like he was made of porcelain. Like he wasn’t a full grown man. It was still concerningly convincing, eyes tearing up every time Grian got so much as a scrape, and hands immediately on him as they darted to his injury.

Should add being good at guilt-tripping to the list of Scar’s talents, then. 

“I’m…fine. Can you—Ugh,” he inhaled as much as possible, breath running out, “Can you move it ?”

The weak push Grian gave was all but unnecessary as Scar bolted upright himself, on his feet and pathetically grabbing for the man’s hand to lift him up in a second. How charming. Cold met warm, palms pressing against one another as Grian was lifted and brushed off by the fool.

Air pushed outward as Grian began to speak. With a total of one quarter of a word out of his mouth, the demon he was attempting to address was spinning on his heel and rushing toward the door. And after all of that, forcing himself to disrupt his morning to dance with a practical stranger, Grian couldn’t find a cell in his body that had the urge to move and chase him. 

Maybe he needed a nap. Maybe he wasn’t used to it all. Maybe Grian would figure out this clingy bastard a little faster if he rested. The weight in his chest lightened slightly.

—

A few weeks in, and Grian would have liked to believe he had formed a nice routine.

Jellie seemed to have taken a liking to him as she’d slowly gotten used to his presence, cuddling up and pushing her little head against Grian as he went about doing things. It was a habit, of sorts, he picked up to exist near her and watch her mess around. When she seemed particularly antsy and in need of attention, he’d play with her a bit. Nothing overly touchy like grabbing her or petting her—maybe he’d taken Scar’s warning to heart a bit too well—but nonetheless, spending time with Jellie. 

Which was why today was a big step and huge crack in his usual routine. 

Sat in his bed, supported by the corner it was pushed up against, Grian read. In time with his usual break for the day, something allowed solely because he hadn’t a need to find work, he laid back with a rough leatherbound book in his grasp. Pages brushed against each other, bending gently as they flipped, and new words revealed themselves. 

Fluff and faux fur surrounded him, a blanket pulled over his shoulders and wrapped around his body, and the small, quite rare, weight of his glasses on his nose sat nicely. Running along the bed, touching the floor before finally reaching the door, was the sun. Or, rather, an imitation. Today, it seemed, he was given a lovely field of flowers to look out upon.

What was new about this whole ordeal, however, was the adorable creature of mischief that sat on Grian’s chest now. Free hand ran through soft fur and held her tight, the other occupied with his book. For the first time since arriving, Grian was holding this little thing in his arms. Keeping her close.

Barring how damn cold she was—much like her owner—it was perfect. Quiet purrs met his ears, paper turning and his own breathing being the only other thing to fill the air. And, best of all, no banging could be heard from a certain scarred demon.

Best of all , until a minute of holding Jellie passed and suddenly one could hear running.

Best of all , until, without warning, a very hot Scar was bursting in through the door, surprised voice echoing through the room, “Did you mess with something?”

“No? Uhm—Why?”

Now, to be clear, when Grian says hot , he does mean the sweat currently dripping down this imbecile’s face, and the redness on his cheeks. What he doesn’t mean, is quite literally anything else that may have to do with being figuratively hot. Because he wasn’t interested in the aesthetic that was this man. At all.

Leather hit cushion as Grian’s arms were taken and pushed to their sides. Very luckily for the queen on his chest, she remained undisturbed—unlike the loud, bumbling idiot in front of him now. “‘Cause! I’m hot!”

As previously mentioned, he did not care. He did not look. “Seems like a non-issue, really, mate.”

A very real whine escaped the grown man in front of him, a pout following, “No—Okay, yeah —But! We don’t get warm—And I’m warm! And it’s your fault!”

Quite a rude accusation really. There wasn’t exactly a way for Grian to be at fault considering all he’s doing is reading. Unless, magically, he found a way to unknowingly mess with, may he point out, the horrifically cold temperature in this place, then no, he wasn’t at fault. Truthfully, he was fully willing to believe Scar had pulled something and needed to blame it on anybody but himself.

Vision tilted with Grian’s head, “Aren’t you, like…I dunno—A demon? Your guys’ whole thing is suffering eternally in flames, right?”

“You’re joking.”

“Negative.”

Scar plopped forward against a firm shoulder. For once able to feel something other than the painful cold, the vibration of the other’s voice hit Grian. As whiny as it was, listening and feeling was comfortable. He supposed he could let go of the fact his space was randomly invaded this time. “That’s like! The opposite! It’s so bad G, so bad! Just cold layered with cold until we die or get out on good behaviour. I mean—Like, okay—Flames are bad, I guess, but limb-losing-chills are so bad !”

Fair, Grian reasoned. What wasn’t as fair was the iron clad grip currently keeping his body stuck. Putting about infinite amounts of too much muscle power into it, and spite to get a little further away from the noise as Scar rambled on, he was eventually able to break free. Sinking further against the wall as he worked to nudge the demon backward, maybe to observe or maybe to get away from the fool, Grian tried to tune back in. 

“...Maybe Jellie’s connection with me does include temperature, though! Maybe that…plus…uhm—Well.”

Slowly, Scar’s almost-spiral toned down, fading off as he just stared. Like a creep. Eyes looked Grian up and down, taking in his appearance. ‘Cause that’s what somebody does after yelling to them about weird demon issues. Because they’re a demon. Of course.

With what seemed to be very strong will power to lock in on Jellie still peacefully resting, Scar stayed in very out of character silence. One hand rose, fiddling with his robes, as he just looked . Before it could move up and reach his cheek, the idiot was grabbing onto the furball and cradling her close to make sure she didn’t fall as he fumbled to a standing position. “Don’t…take her again.”

No response time was given as the room now sat with only one person’s beating heart present. A heart that grew a little less weighed down.

—

With extensive radio silence on the matter from the other—ten whole days, he had counted—Grian had gotten used to snuggling with Jellie as he read. And as he slept. And, well, as he did anything where holding a cat was an option. Tonight, where doing so was quite easy, was one spent with a book, as it usually was. 

Much nagging about no more stories or textbooks to read meant Scar had to do something, of course, so Grian got what he wanted and more. This ‘more’ turned out to be a whole library. Which was absolutely mental. Mental, but he worried that if he said anything that a cruel trick might be pulled and it’d be taken away. That left him to act as if thousands of books being conjured just for him was normal.

Nevertheless, Grian sat with his book and Jellie, relying on fake light from a fake moon to guide his eyes through the loops and lines that made up words. Flitting around in a distant room was Scar. Empirically, that meant no focus could be held in any meaningful regard—just so happens, that imbecile was a clumsy wreck. Background noise was always welcome, in the end.

So was this lovely peace for the night. Quiet floated around him as he let himself exist, relax further into the chair he was sat upon and hold Jellie closer. Slowly, Grian came into his usual state of tranquility, his eyes ignoring everything but the inked words in front of him and his ears tuning out the world save for distant purrs.

Which is similar to what he’s said every other time. Which has always been because he let his guard down. Which has always meant a certain disaster of a creature was about to rush into the room. 

And rush he did.

As if in time with some secret schedule, the scarred demon he was waiting for came in, all heavy footsteps and irritated demeanour, as he stole her majesty from Grian’s arms. Horribly cruel. “Man! I told ya, y’can’t be stealing Jellie!”

“You’ve told me off for that once. Practically a month ago.”

Without necessarily meaning to cause such a thing, Scar was left without words for a good moment. Quite obviously, whatever excuse he’d been meaning to blab on about wasn’t exactly going to work anymore. Great for Grian, awful for him. Warm hands found fur again, petting Jellie as she waited patiently to be let down.

It grew exceedingly more awful, then, as Scar stood stiller than a rock, beginning to fumble. Quiet whispering and stuttering over nothing became incredibly loud to the room of silence. Much like the first and only other time he had her taken away from him, the perpetually cold demon harboured cheeks that were painted a pretty pink and, slowly, the colour spread further down his neck. 

Seeming to be grasping for anything he could use to steer the conversation away from the mess that was himself, Scar did what he did best. Talk. “ Ahem —Well. I was actually, totally, gonna come to y’and ask something! I’ve been really, really , wanting to try more human stuff that our…species—Is it called a species? Who knows—Point is, it’s all stuff we don’t do. And! And, this time we don’t have to do any weird dances, I actually have something in mind!”

“Oh god.”

Forehead touched his own as Scar bent to meet him, and Grian felt a little bit weightless. Like his heart was able to beat free. Voice lowered as it sung, “Cuddle?”

“ Oh god .”

Giggles left the taller man, who seemed much too comfortable tossing the book aside without a second glance and lifting Grian up. Eyes always on him. Unfortunately, no amount of kicking his legs or protesting got Scar to stop, which meant he was subject to the hell that was inevitably having to share a bed with the fool. With Scar .

The nearly endless corridors that made up their home certainly helped a tad, though, as the demon’s grip on him was almost lost multiple times as Grian struggled. Less helpful, the difference in their strength stopped that from mattering too much in the end.

Embarrassing amounts of fiddling with the cold door handle on Scar’s part later, and Grian caught a glimpse of his room’s wall over a broad shoulder. Footfall slowed as the idiot walked leisurely now, and stopped completely at the bed. Which, of course, meant he was then being thrown carelessly onto it before being brutally smothered.

All at once, his body heat left him and, gentle laughter still making its way to his ears, Grian had large, sturdy pairs of arms and legs wrapped around him. Accompanying it was a voice he’d gotten much too used to hearing, “Am I doin’ it right?”

“Killing me? Yeah.”

Skeptically, Scar stared up at him from his spot against Grian’s rapidly beating heart. After a blink, or maybe five, he seemed to arrive at a conclusion he liked, his eyes widening with their sparkle, full fledged, and Grian being met with the usual grin he’s seen countless times by now.

“Ah, well we wouldn’t want that, would we?” 

The question was answered for him in no time. Careful not to disturb, Scar pushed himself up and laid his head on the top of Grian’s. Arms gently pulled him in, one hand tangled in his hair and the other against his back. It was comfortable, against all odds. He felt safe and at ease, even with the freezing cold of the other’s body.

Should he feel that with a demon being the one to hold him?

Nuzzling further, Scar maneuvered the blanket up with his foot, throwing it over them. His voice came out uncharacteristically soft. Quiet, “Wow, you really are warm. It’s even nicer than through the connection.”

“Hm.”

The imbecile held on tighter in response, chest meeting Grian’s face as he was smooshed—sandalwood filled his senses. Perhaps he assumed breathing was optional for humans. Grian would gladly give him a harsh lecture on letting his lungs do their jobs, if need be. The slight irritation, quite disappointingly, washed away as the stupid man spoke once more, “Nothin’. Y’know, you can relax, yeah?”

“I’m.”

A playful glare burned the crown of his head, deep vibrations from Scar talking being all Grian could truly bring himself to care about right now. A nice distraction, some background noise, he’d reassured himself. Shoulders dropped slightly as he felt the demon’s words, “I’m sure. Just keep those muscles of yours all untensed and we’re good!”

We’re good. They were good, Grian was okay. It felt right, then, to trace his hands up and intertwine them behind Scar’s waist. It felt right to hum in agreement and drift off, promising it was only because he was much too tired to deal with the other’s whining and complaining. It felt right.

Maybe he believed it was right, just a little. 

—

Scar had stopped bugging Grian about taking Jellie, after a month or so. Slowly but surely, lectures whittled down to huffing, puffing, staring from afar, which eventually became ignoring them entirely as they cuddled unless the demon needed her for something. 

In exchange for this generosity, Grian was brought face to face—literally, with their height differences—to Scar’s bare chest a few too many times. ‘ A few too many times ’ being every single time. Because he’d begun forgoing his shirt and robes completely. 

If asked with full honesty, Grian would say he’d be able to recall and trace over every mark on the demon’s body, even without sight or bare skin showing. 

After about the third time, in which being able to retain such information in his mind was flustering enough to do something about, Grian’d given up and grabbed him by the shoulders, sitting him down. Apparently, despite the fact he was supposed to be consistently and constantly unbearably cold, Scar had been warm . And so, in his mind, wearing no cloth at all was all but optimal given his tolerance for heat.

During the sit down, Grian’s mind certainly didn’t connect the dots of this new discovery with images of red cheeks and sweat dripping down skin. Nothing flashed in the back of his mind. Certainly.

With that unsavory subject in mind, he’d also started attempting to pick up on exactly when the idiot was overheating. And, as if to go against any possible logical conclusions, it was nearly constant when Grian did bother to watch out. Shame he’d only ever noticed it when he had Jellie. 

Whining about being hot and sweating his skin off in Grian’s face aside, Scar had also taken a liking to clinging onto him. Which is not to say he hadn’t before, he most definitely did. Now, however, it was whenever Grian wasn’t sitting on his break, playing with Jellie, or otherwise. It had even bled into when he was taking on his responsibilities of the household. 

Strong arms would wrap around him from behind as he cooked; a head rested on his shoulder when he read and her majesty wasn’t nearby to cuddle with. Even when he’d get out of the bath and took to drying his hair, the demon would be on him in an instant.

In much simpler terms, Grian was not given a moment of free time between the two of them. 

A lovely example of this showed itself on what could have been a lovely night. As usual, when these things happened, Grian was beginning to fully relax, muscles letting go after a long day. He leant fully back in his chair, nearly laying with how the blanket was to his nose, and had a resting Jellie on his stomach. Internally, he cued the imbecile coming in.

Flaunting wings, fully out, footsteps stopped at his open doorway for a moment. With one singular thin robe on—which, exclusively for himself and not the masses, might have been a hundred times worse for Grian’s being—-came the fool. “Gri!”

“Still not my name.”

Taking care to stay exactly to Grian’s internal script, the demon waltzed in and situated himself on the arm of the chair. One of these days, it was probably going to break right off with the weight the poor thing was enduring. For now, though, his periphery was destined to be blocked completely by a well built chest and, as he bent forward, the grin of an idiot who loved lingering near him. 

Cold seeped into his back and shoulders as one arm reached out and wrapped around to try to keep balance, the voice of the other heard directly in Grian’s ear, “Keepin’ her warm for me?”

“Mhm.”

Head hit his collarbone, “I can tell.”

Drawing out for far too long, passive white noise took over the room. It was pleasant until the inevitability of Scar getting antsy set in, as he was bound to any minute. Eyes shifting to the leech and praying not to need to deal with a scene, Grian searched nearly desperately for a topic of conversation. Anything that could be spoken about.

Gaze hesitantly returned to the ink on his book, “ Ahem —So, your wings are…bigger than usual? Or something? Usually they’re all folded up and half hidden.”

White noise carried on. 

“Is there…a reason for that? Or were you just getting tired of having them all—I d’know.”

Whatever hole Grian was currently digging himself in was getting deeper. With much trepidation, he pulled himself out of his calm and closed his book, embroidered front title touching his fingertips as he set it down. Upon looking over, the cause of the silence was both horribly confusing still and yet incredibly clear.

There sat Scar, dusted skin more intense than usual as he looked on Grian’s chest. The demon’s lips pushed inward of his mouth and eyebrows knit themselves together. In any small, pathetic attempt to save this, Grian spoke up for a third time, “They look…cool?”

Quite obviously, given the way Grian could feel breaths quickening and heard the disturbance of air in the form of flittering behind the imbecile, that hadn’t helped. At this point he believed nothing would, as evidently, whatever scheme Scar’d been conjuring up failed spectacularly and now he was left flustered and stumbling. 

Grian liked to wonder, sometimes, what these schemes could be. Things like this often occurred, where Scar would end up without words by the end of one of their conversations, and he’s always been awfully curious what exactly would have happened if, by some miracle, the demon wasn’t accidentally stopped in his tracks.

Would he be stealing back Jellie? Pulling Grian along for something stupid? Maybe, he would be doing a weird experiment only he cared for. Or, calling off their deal? Would he end up doing anything at all, when all was said and done and it was just the two of them? Something in his heart hoped not, as thread pulled it upward, loosening.

A low, soft voice came from Grian’s left, slowly growing as it grew more confident in its ramblings, “I—Well, I was gonna come in here and give y’something but I think you might be occupied! With Jellie! So, actually, I’m just going to leave—”

“Gift?”

Halfway off the chair, movement stopped completely and the robe dipped past his shoulder. “Maybe next time!”

Before the idiot got any ideas, Grian had himself fully sat up—cat was, unfortunately, off of him now—with the blanket spun up with the book inside. It hit the wall somewhere vaguely to their right. “No, no. If it’s ready, I wan’it.”

After a moment, where the demon realized that winning a staring contest wasn’t going to get the other to back off, huffs and mutters were let out, buried in the sounds of shuffling. Somehow, Grian learnt over time, Scar’s seemingly empty pockets were never actually empty. Case in point, he pulled out a small box from the left side one that looked flat and without anything inside.

Fiddling with it for a moment, the box was presented to him. Had Scar always looked so lovely with blush running down his every curve? “For you, then, G.”

Cold met warm, a new weight cradled gently in Grian’s hands. The lip of the box’s pristine top, on its underside, was smooth and rounded. Something he could never afford, surely. Working against whatever messed up design made the lid come off slower than any tortoise, and certainly any hare, the gift was brought out into the fake light of the fake mountains outside.

Sat in the box, cushioned nicely, was a necklace. A red jewel of some kind embedded itself, small, glistening, and beautiful, in the centre of simplistic silver loops and patterns. Digging gently into the fluffy pillow, it was let free of its case. The feeling of it in Grian’s hands was scalding hot as cold metal touched warm skin. 

An equally warm voice spoke from beside him, “Y’like it?”

“I do.”

Ultimately, that might’ve been his first mistake of the day. Newfound burst of energy being put to use, Scar had his hands on the necklace and maneuvered to link it behind Grian’s neck before he was given time to so much as breathe. 

Clasp securely closed, and suddenly he found himself staring at a concerningly fast fleeing idiot. It was like seeing a scared cat, the way Scar was booking it for the door, wings fluttering. “Glad you like it, G! Gonna go, uhm, find Jellie! Yeah. Dunno where she went!”

Which, like much this demon did, was stupid, because the cat in question lay very peacefully on Grian’s bed.

—

Anything Grian had said about Scar letting him have Jellie had now turned into something much different. No longer did he just allow it to happen, a small win for Grian that he let slip by. No longer did he try to steal her back at all, either. Sure, Scar looked sad on occasion as he walked by the room or stared at her as if she’d come right over to him just because of his longing gaze, but the thing he started doing that caught Grian’s attention was strange. It went against everything else.

He had begun to insist upon it.

More than that, really. The amount of cat deliveries Grian had randomly gotten was uncountable, and the number of times a blanket or two has been thrown in the mix with it remained very confusing. His brain failed to process, through fabric cruelly thrown at his face and a purring from the little thing in his arms, more than the fact it was out of place. 

Horribly so. What had made it worse was when Scar himself would take to wrapping Grian up, hands working to pull a much too fluffy blanket around him and then splaying fingers out against his chest to have him lay back. All the while pushing him to ‘ stay warm and cozy ’. 

In Scar’s mind, it seemed, he had set up an exchange of sorts to make up for the fact that he’d given up her majesty. Or, at the very least, something of that caliber. Either way, the end result remained the same: They spent time together.

They used to quite often during midday when both were able to justify being with what, at the time, was a stranger. But, now, that ‘ quite often ’ became almost every waking hour when Grian found himself completely alone.

Of course, Scar began clinging like the barnacle he was many nights ago, but what he classified as spending time together was very different. Stupid card games that often resulted in bickering or Grian losing stuff, sharing meals and talking, debating or discussing random topics, all of it spiked randomly.

It was nice, though, watching Scar exist so happily.

Grian thought that maybe he was feeling that way, as well. Somewhere along the way, he’d been able to pick up small jobs here and there, and when you’ve not got to pay for anything, that adds up. Exponentially so.

Soon, hopefully, he’d be able to find a way to close off their deal, however that may be. The only thing truly standing in his way was the prospect of repaying Scar, giving for his end of the deal. Though, with it being a ‘ pretty deep payment ’, according to the other, how exactly he was going to pull it off wasn’t easy to answer.

Grian remained insistent that this feeling in his heart was solely because he was scared of potential repercussions. Something going wrong once he left, or even just being told he couldn’t—Of course he was scared of the demon. Of course that was what the incessant burning was in his heart.

Until it had gotten to the point his mind nagged at him every moment of every day to get rid of it—this horribly unpleasant uncomfortability—Grian stayed silent. He stayed exactly how he always was, quiet and contributing. Nothing was done about it and he did everything in his power to make sure it didn’t seem like he was hiding anything. Because, really, he wasn’t. It was just that he didn’t want to talk yet. 

He just needed a little more time.

Asking about it was a task that needed to be done at some point, however. Whether that was today or years in the future, nobody and nothing would get anywhere with silence. So, for what may have been the first time since the beginning of their arrangement, Grian sought out the idiot.

Warped wood meant knuckles, skin stretched thin over a fist. “Scar.”

From beyond the door, what sounded strangely like sharp shards hitting the ground could be heard, paired with what may have been the best shriek Grian had ever heard in his life. Approaching the doorway, heavy footfall vibrating outward into the quiet air, the handle could be seen turning.

Out popped the exact, and only, demon he was looking for. Behind him, in the bedroom full of dark greens and blacks, sat nothing to imply a broken object. The nicer part of this picture in front of him, however, was rosy skin. It stretched as Scar rested his arm above himself against the doorframe, marks and healed flesh moving with it. Grian had half a mind to reach out and touch the blemished tissue. 

Throat cleared, attention brought back to his face, “G! What’cha need from li’l ol’ me? Especially t’come all the way over here!”

Hands moved behind Grian, interlocking and keeping themselves from moving, “Right, yeah, ah—Hypothetically—How would I…in relation to our deal, how would I pay you back?”

His grin faded, then. The one Scar’d worn whenever speaking to him washed away faster than it ever has, and cold met warm as Grian’s hands were stolen from him. Fully wrapped in it and being pulled against a chest, they sat failing to melt through the frost and left no choice but to join it. 

The two of them seemed to be in agreement to ignore the shaking of the demon’s voice as he spoke up, “Well! Aha—Gri, Grian , you’re…well. You’re human, at this point I don’t think you could repay it! Really, I think it’d be better to just…y’know! Just—Just, not leave?”

“Scar.”

It all fell on deaf ears, the other’s words fighting to pull themselves up from vocal cords and messily tripping over themselves. “It’s—Well, really—I’ll tell you right now, it’d be impossible! So, so—So… don’t try.”

Grian let his hands close around iced fingers, “I still’m. If you knew you weren’t gonna get anything out of it, what was the point?”

Rocking on his feet, back and forth, Scar stood with what may have been the saddest frown Grian’d ever seen on him. A man who’s always been cheerful and playful now stood desperately trying to reach out and grab on. 

Shoving down any hesitance, Grian pushed further, “ In fact , now that I think about it, this entire thing—This whole deal, the weird heaviness I felt after it was ‘ sealed ’, I don’t feel it at all. Not anymore.”

Scar forced him to take a step forward, Grian’s arms folding to keep his hands against cold skin. “If you—Well…I did get—I—I’ll figure it out. I’m sure you’re just used to it! If you want, though, I’ll…I’ll figure it out.”

Fighting against muscle trying to freeze and keep him there, and eyes of his idiot so close to his own, Grian made himself pull away. Air flowed freely between them, and hands were colder than they’d ever felt, now no longer pressed against a beating heart. 

“Tell me when you’ve got it.”

Nothing about the way Scar deflated, or the way his wings wrapped around himself, or even the way his cheeks flushed even more than a moment ago, none of it pulled against Grian’s heart. None of it latched onto his ankles and begged him to turn around as he walked away.

Certainly not.

—

Cold wood flowed through warm skin, frozen hands leaving Grian’s shoulders as their owner flitted about. 

Forced apathy solidified as a front, blank facial features pushed forward even when he wanted to laugh at his idiot; make fun and pull him to sit down as well. Wanting heart wasn’t forced to wait long as a meal, steam curling and dissipating into the air, was placed before Grian. Along with it, the small form of Jellie wandering over, and an excruciatingly nervous Scar.

The fool sat fidgeting, tapping and tangling his fingers together. Lovely wings flicked behind the other’s form and pink dusted his cheeks, nose, and neck. Last Grian had checked, Scar had gotten used to the heat. Even with limited contact since last they properly spoke, he’d noticed it over the time spent at a distance. Maybe it was worse today.

“Y’overheating, mate?”

“Nope! No, no way!” He shook his head, hurried and frantic. The corners of Grian’s lips shifted upward, slightly, eyes hooded with amusement.

The chill extended as Grian leant against the back of the chair, arms reaching downward to scratch behind her majesty’s ear. “Right. So…did you need something?”

Quick knocks hit the table as the demon failed to stay still. Teeth latched onto a lip and eyes avoided contact with the man in front of him. Scar was, over the last while, perpetually on edge. No part of him sat unmoving, leg bouncing and chest rising and falling faster than its normal pace.

He rapidly blinked, looking up at Grian. “I—Well. I wasn’t…I couldn’t figure it out.”

Gaze not being able to keep itself in one place, his eyes wandered over Grian, being pulled back whenever he tried to look away. Stare locked onto his lips when he opened his mouth, “And?”

“I’d rather…you just stay regardless. I think.”

Grian’s brows furrowed, hand reaching out for the fork in front of him to give it something to fiddle with. Meat was stabbed unforgivingly, sacrificed for his awkwardness. “Right…I’m not just leaving the deal be.”

Immediately, Scar piped up, eyes widening as he leant forward on his elbow, “You don’t have to! It's—You won’t have to.”

“Sure. I just don’t see the point in keeping me around.”

Which did something, definitely. At once, the imbecile had his hand, cold meeting warm, and pushed their foreheads together. Sandalwood invaded his senses, and Grian thought he missed contact like this, just a bit. His heart settled, loud voice echoing against the walls. “Don’t say that! G, there’s thousands of reasons to! Downsellin’ y’rself when you’re…you’re you —I… ahem ,” Scar’s back met his chair again, arms crossing, “Well. I am. I wanna keep y’around.”

His idiot shifted, head tilted to look at what must’ve been a very interesting spot on the floor. Words barely made it to Grian’s ears, “I don’t really want you to leave.”

Which was stupid. Because it was always stupid. Because Grian was always meant to leave. “Why?”

An uncharacteristic Scar sitting in heavy, viscous silence was never a good thing. Neither was the way his wings folded in on themselves and his entire body closed off. The demon was never shut in—he was lively and open and loud. He was not this.

No response, and Grian took it upon himself to get the imbecile to talk. Noses brushed momentarily as he settled on the ground. Gently grabbing ahold of Scar’s face, fingers smooshing cheeks, he asked once again. “ Why ?”

Breaths intermingled as Grian let himself get closer, head tilted to look Scar in the eyes; to get close. Left hand settled beside the other’s thigh on the chair. “You can’t just not tell me.”

He didn’t realize the way the demon sat there, leaned forward and eyes wide, one hand wrapping around his wrist. He didn’t realize the way the idiot didn’t respond, didn’t let himself move. Sigh let out, mint inhaled, and only then did Grian snap out of it. Realize he was much too close.

Much too close.

Scar was, too. Free hand that didn’t wrap around Grian’s right one was rested on his chest, a weak attempt to create distance. One that seemed to challenge if even little effort was put into the attempt. Dusted skin reddened to something much more noticeable on the man above him, and Grian felt as if he could feel himself warm as well.

The force against his chest morphed into a gentle hold, cloth gripped. It was as if he could feel the thread, the weight, around his heart unweave itself. A voice much too small for the demon in front of him left the other’s mouth, “I…maybe I just like y’too much for that.”

“Oh.”

The grasp pulled Grian a bit closer, a crack of an insecure grin slipping through and wings that struggled to sit still covering his periphery, “ Oh ?”

After a few too many beats—many, in actuality— of consideration, and if Grian wasn’t being the idiot for a change, it made sense. A little. Or maybe a lot. And it also made sense, then, that he didn’t mind this confession at all. How could he, when he was being looked at like that? 

Gradually, cold touches and a clingy imbecile turned into something sweet. Something Grian was more than fine living with. Over time, the presence of a chaos-driven, stupid demon became a thing he sought after. As time moved on, Grian grew a soft spot, of sorts, for the idiot. His idiot.

Should he feel that with a demon being the one he held this affection for?

Grian didn’t think it mattered much when he heard a distant voice asking if what they were doing was alright. Didn’t think much as he adjusted his grip to be cradling a jaw. Didn’t think much when cold met warm, lips moving against each other softly. Didn’t think much as he felt the heaviness of his heart fully lift. Fully lift .

Parting, cold meeting warm as Scar more than happily pushed their foreheads together, Grian spoke properly, “If that was your ‘ deep payment ’ I might kill you myself.”

Wrenching away the iron clad grip on his sweater, he allowed himself to lean back further; take a better look at this stupid man. What sat waiting for him, however, was an incredibly stunned Scar. Or maybe worried, if one accounted for the way nearly comical tears built up and threatened to trickle down his cheeks.

“So…y’aren’t gonna leave, right?”

Idiot. Giving back the same grin the demon would always throw his way, Grian tilted his head, “ I d’know …does that count as sufficient payment for that deal of ours?”

Whining and deflating in what may have been the most sweetly pathetic way Grian’d ever seen a man do, Scar leant forward, cheeks squishing as he moved further into the hands holding his face, and voice drawing out its words. “Yeah.”

Which, truthfully, was more than enough for him. He’d still push to be a nuisance, either way, though. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Giggling like a child might, Grian leant forward and softly pressed a kiss to a tear that was slowly rolling down the fool’s face. Quietly, he spoke against rosy skin, “Hm…I guess I ought to pity you, then.”

Wings fluttered gently as Scar was more than willing to jump on the opportunity, stopping him from going anywhere. The necklace clasped around Grian’s neck warmed, dimly and yet so strongly.

Thinking about his idiot in front of him now, he felt a spike of disappointment upon a realization. If he’d taken to grabbing Scar instead when he had free time, if he’d kept the demon closer, and if he’d been listening about that silly connection much earlier; put it together and went to Scar directly, instead of her majesty—maybe, then this could have happened sooner.

Shame he’d only ever noticed it when he had Jellie.