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It was storming out.
Grian shivered, leaning away from the window in what he hoped was an inconspicuous way. The sofa he was sitting on sagged underneath the shifted weight, but Grian only leaned away more, eyes trained intently on the dark outside world.
As if to protest his movement, the rain surged against the glass, hammering into it with enough force to make Grian flinch.
Breathing hard, Grian swiveled his head to make sure he was still alone. He was.
It was all he could do not to fly from his seat then and there. The desire to leave was strong in his mind, the storm outside fueling his fear to the point that it was overwhelming.
He wanted to go. He wanted to go.
But…but he couldn't do that.
Grian cursed under his breath, wiping his sweaty palms on his bottoms. He risked another glance outside, the anxiety tugging on his stomach and twisting. He felt kind of sick.
The waiting was always the worst part, in Grian's opinion. Staring through the glass into the dark nature beyond, knowing that at any moment there might be a twist in the weather, a lightning strike, thunder. . .
As if on cue, the sky lit up brightly, the zigzagged pattern sprawling across the sky. Grian flinched again, breathing hard, already bracing himself for the defeating roar of the thunder.
When it came, he shook, placing his trembling hands over his ears to try and block out the noise. He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping for air, struggling–
“You okay?” a voice asked.
Grian jumped, opening his eyes. The thunder had stopped for the moment, though he wasn't sure how long ago.
Swallowing thickly, Grian turned his head to see Scar. The man was standing there, leaning on his cane, balancing two cups of tea in his other hand. He had a look of barely perceived concern lighting his features as he studied the avian shaking on his couch.
Grian could feel his face heating, but he shoved it away and forced his tired mouth into what he hoped passed for a smile. Oh, yes, I'm perfectly fine, no reason to worry.
Based on the way Scar's own lips tugged downward in worry, Grian was pretty sure it looked more like a grimace.
Grian glanced away quickly, his gaze falling back to the dreaded window. He tried to remember Scar's question, tried to force himself to think. He needed to say something. He needed to–
Outside, the wind howled, splattering the house with sharp rain that seemed to slice into the glass. Grian tensed, yanking his head away, heart pounding.
He wished the stupid curtains were closed.
“You okay?” Scar asked hesitantly, and it dawned on Grian that it was a repeat question.
Grian felt his face darken more. The embarrassment was almost as strong as the panic and he couldn't seem to make his brain work properly.
If Scar noticed, he didn't comment on it. He just held out a mug for Grian, and the avian took it, cold fingers wrapping around the warm base like a lifeline.
But despite that, the tension didn't fall away. Instead, the question just sat heavily in the air as Grian tried to conjure an answer.
Scar patiently waited, lowering himself into the adjacent armchair next to the window.
Grian swallowed, casting another look outside just as lightning flashed. The sudden brightness made him tense and he quickly turned away, bracing himself for the inevitable booming thunder.
Sure enough, a few moments later, the roar sounded, and even though he knew it was coming, Grian still flinched.
Stars, he wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his fear.
Grian tried to credit it to how tired he was. It was a poor excuse, but it held a small amount of merit. It was late at night, close to twelve, and he had been busy that day.
For the morning, he'd spent a while focusing on building at his base. He had a lot of unfinished projects that he was trying to wrap up, and he was so, so close. But eventually, like usual, he'd lost motivation about halfway.
To combat that, Grian had flown to Scar's. He spent most of the evening there, talking without a filter and doing miscellaneous tasks at Scar's request. They ate dinner together, played games.
But as they spent time together, they day flew by, and neither of them noticed the approaching storm until it was too late.
Now, they were both huddled in a Scar's living room, listening to the sounds of howling wind and screaming thunder.
Trapped.
Typically, Grian spent storms in his nest, curled around blankets, fighting hard to ignore it all. To pretend it didn't exist, to pretend he wasn't shaking, wasn't crying.
It was just–so loud, and scary, and he didn't like it. The memory it brought up, the scars it resurfaced…
No. No.
He'd known it was supposed to storm when he went to Scar's, but he figured he'd be back safely at his own base by the time it started. Safe enough to at least freak out by himself.
Wrong. Instead, the two of them had been mid conversation when the first sounds of rain had started. A steady pitter patter on the roof, innocent until proven guilty.
“Oh, no,” Scar had breathed, and Grian had looked up nervously.
A little rain, he thought he could handle. It was supposed to thunderstorm, but maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it was just this, just the light drizzle over their heads. He didn't like it, but it wasn't the end of the world.
He could handle it.
But, of course, that wasn't the case. After all, 90% of weather predictions were accurate up to five days.
So, no, it didn't just rain. That was only how it started, how the ball began rolling and morphing into a beast with sharp claws and thunderous roars.
Wind. Thunder.
Lightning.
There was no way Grian could be expected to walk home in that, and flying was definitely, completely out of the question. In fact, it was against most guidelines because it was so dangerous to use elytra in that type of weather. The same thing applied to avians.
And while most rules Grian didn't have a problem breaking, this was one he followed religiously.
He knew the consequences of breaking it. He wore the marks like branding on his skin.
After it became clear that travel was impossible, Scar had offered to let Grian stay the night. There wasn't much Grian could do, and the answer was a soft yes, spoken through a fake smile and anxious looks.
Now, looking back, Grian couldn't help but regret it the tiniest bit. Scar didn't know about his…aversion to storms, and that was how Grian liked it.
He didn't need people knowing how weak and pathetic he was.
“I'm fine,” Grian finally answered, the words almost sharp. There was a small bite to them, an unintended residue of his bitter thoughts.
Scar blinked at the tone, the surprise on his face lifting his eyebrows. Grian felt his cheeks flush; he hadn't meant to snap. The apology fell from his lips quickly: “I'm sorry.”
Scar just looked more confused. His green eyes were wide and perplexed as he studied Grian's too-tight grip on his mug, the way his nails went white with the force. Grian forced himself to relax.
“Are you…sure?”
Scar's tone was soft, gentle, and Grian unconsciously leaned towards it. Something in him twisted and he opened his mouth, but as he did so, thunder broke loudly.
Grian stilled at the noise, fear mounting in his stomach in time with the booming. His eyes locked onto Scar's, who looked back with vibrant concern.
Grian could only imagine his expression. Terror, fear, plain as day, etched onto his face for all to see. A deer in headlights, his mouth still hanging open, panic nipping at his eyelashes.
The thunder was almost deafening, stretching and cracking across the sky. Grian could hardly stand to listen to it; it was everything he could do not to cover his ears again.
Finally, after what felt like forever but was probably only a few moments, the thunder died down again. Comparatively, the left over pounding rain and swirling wind were a melody of soft noise.
Grian swallowed thickly. He wanted to turn his gaze away from Scar, but he didn't want to look out the window. Instead, he glanced to his other side, face flaming.
No one spoke.
Grian's thoughts were a whirlwind. He'd never been very good at hiding his emotions, but he knew he'd given away everything he felt in those few moments. The panic, the fear…
Scar had seen it all.
Grian cringed harder. Scar was his friend, logically, he knew that Scar wouldn't judge him. But still. He couldn't shake the knee-jerk reaction to hide things, to bury his feelings so that no one could find them and use them against him.
He was safer alone.
(But he wasn't happier.)
Scar cocked his head to the side at the uncharacteristic silence. His hair was in need of a cut, so it was longer than usual. Deep brown locks crossed his vision. He reached up to swipe at them, not taking his gaze off of Grian as he did so.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Scar murmured, “You're not a fan of storms, huh?”
Grian tensed. His face felt hot, body on fire as his mouth stuttered. He couldn't seem to form a response, could only sit there gaping as if he hadn't just given himself away.
It was a long moment before he managed to turn his head to the side and whisper, “No.”
The word was barely loud enough to be heard over the rain.
But it was.
Scar seemed to crumble, a little bit. At least, his shoulders dropped and his face looked heavier in the dim light. Grian risked a small glance, surprised at the concern on the man's face.
He knew he shouldn't have been. Scar had proved time and time again how caring he was, how kind and gentle and soft he could be, even in the roughest places. He soothed the harshest parts of Grian, his friendly company, an anchor in the sea.
But for some reason, just then, it was hard for Grian not to feel the sharp sting of shock. To most people, the fear of storms was childish. It was pathetic. What kind of adult was scared of the rain, of the lightning and the wind and the thunder?
Grian knew the answer to that. There was none.
And yet…
The avian risked another peek at Scar, searching the man's endless green eyes for something. A hint of disgust. Judgment.
Pity.
But…nothing. Just the ever-present recollection of pine and the surging swell of concern, or softness.
For some reason, Grian's own eyes burned. He reached a hand up to touch his cheeks, shocked when his fingers came away wet.
Was he--was he crying?
Thunder boomed suddenly and both men jumped. Grian's eyes burned harder, a fire, a pain developing in his throat like the feeling of choked sobs.
Stars, what was wrong with him?
He was being pathetic. He needed to get a hold of himself, stop being such a bay, just learn to deal with it–
“Grian, Birdie,” Scar murmured, suddenly there, settling next to Grian as if he belonged in that spot. “Shhh. It's okay.”
Grian shook his head, ducking his head to hide his tears. His hands were shaking where they clutched his mug, the forgotten tea still puffing steam into the air. He couldn't form any words, his breathing was coming in small pants to match the speed of the rain outside the window.
“It's alright,” Scar continued, ever softly, voice a gentle rise in fhe face of the chaos. He wasn't really looking at Grian, per se, but he was close enough that the avian knew the expression of care was meant for him. “You're safe.”
The words, the two simple words, swelled and pounded into Grian's mind. His brain latched onto them, repeating, echoing in his head, and suddenly a sharp sob burst from his throst.
The noise took both of them aback, but Scar recovered quickly. He snatched Grian's cup and set it aside as if he had been waiting for the cue. Almost immediately, his arms were open widely, and he gathered Grian up and pulled him in.
Grian sobbed again at the movement, the horrifying sound spilling out without permission as he practically fell against Scar. He wanted to push away, wanted to shove the man comforting him, but he was too weak. Deep down, he didn't want to pull away.
He wanted to stay.
Lightning flashed from outside, lighting the room with its eccentric glow, and the panic was so blinding that Grian dug his nails into Scar's back.
It was an instinct, a habitual move, and yet immediately he regretted it. He braced for the yelling, the anger–
But for some reason, Scar didn't shove Grian away–he didn't lecture or scream or anything like that.
No, instead, he pulled Grian closer, rubbing the spot between the avian's wings with soft, concerned fingers.
“Im sorry,” Grian finally managed to gasp out. The words had been burning on his tongue, a fire in his throat until he couldn't hold them back anymore. He knew he needed to get a grip on himself, but it felt impossible. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry–”
“No, no,” Scar quietly interrupted. His voice was a soft breeze in Grian's ear, so unlike the howling wind outside that the avian froze. “You don't have to apologise. It's okay.”
Grian shivered at the words, pressing closer without meaning too. He suddenly felt cold, tea left abandoned on the table next to him. He had goosebumps.
He was still crying.
But despite all that, Scar simply held him; he didn't pry, didn't question.
Just…sat there, arms loosely around the avian, comforting in the face of the hurricane.
Grian wasn't sure how long they stayed like that. A long, long time. His sobs rose in strength and volume whenever the storm surged, and then died down again in time with the rain.
Grian kept expecting Scar to change his mind. To stop being so nice, so caring, when it was the last thing Grian deserved.
But he didn't. He just sat there, murmuring softly, his touch as light as a feather. At one point, he started preening through Grian's wings, arms wrapped around the avian to reach, and while preening was generally something Grian did alone, it felt so nice.
He wasn't strong enough to tell Scar to stop. Instead, he sank into the touch, an addict in withdrawal, a drunk man stumbling home.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours. The storm did not relent; in fact, it seemed to grow stronger with every passing moment, the window lighting with the sharp flashes of electricity. Without his permission, a whimper slipped from Grian's mouth and he borrowed closer to Scar.
Scar took it in stride. Carefully, he leaned back a little, eyes kind and gentle where they connected with Grian. Over the storm, he said, “Let's go somewhere else, yeah?”
Grian didn't respond. Instead, he just scrambled to his shaking feet, out of Scar's embrace. From force of habit, his hands curled in front of him, fingers strangling each other in a tight grip.
Scar didn't comment on that. He just turned, leaving the tea mugs on the table, and led the way towards the descending stairs in the corner, hidden by a thick door that he pulled open. His cane cracked loudly on the floor.
They were thick, stone steps, ones that led to the basement, and even though he wanted to, Grian didn't question Scar as they started down. Besides, even if he had tried to speak, he doubted any sound would come out. Certainly not anything loud enough to be heard over the storm.
But, actually…the deeper they went, the quieter it got. The sounds of harsh weather faded to a dull roar, replaced by the whirring of machines as they finally stepped onto the cold concrete floor of the cellar.
Grian thought he understood it, even through the emotions swirling in his mind. Scar was leading him as far from the storm as possible, to the quietest part of the house where there were no windows, no way to see out into the flashing darkness.
It was…more kindness than he ever expected.
Scar didn't make a big deal of it. He just gently lowered himself onto a soft couch in the corner, leaning his walking stick on the wall. Grian only hesitated a moment before doing the same, his freshly preened wings trembling slightly behind him.
Despite its old age, the couch was comfortable, the cushions caving to allow people to slump in it. It was an old sofa, one Scar had tossed down here rather than throwing it out. At the time, Grian had thought that was stupid.
“Why not sell it and make money?” he'd asked.
Scar had shrugged. “Never know when you're going to need it.”
How ironic.
“How are you doing?” Scar asked, the first words spoken in a long time. In the small basement, they seemed to stretch and bulge, louder than anything else. Grian grimaced.
At first, he couldn't answer. His heart just kept pathetically beating, pumping deoxygenated blood through his pitiful arteries to his aching lungs and back again. The process felt loud and Grian was sure Scar could hear the rush.
Finally, the avian licked his chapped lips. “Um…I'm okay.”
The words were a whispered lie.
Scar listed his head. Distantly, Grian realised the man did that a lot. Like a dog. “Are you sure?"
A gentle, unaccusatory question.
But Grian still retracted.
“Yes,” he snapped, his defenses rising to cover the way his face was pale, the way he had started to shake. Or maybe he had never stopped.
Scar blinked, taken slightly back by the small outburst. He looked like he wanted to say something, but after a moment he thought better of it and closed his mouth. Silence settled again and far away, thunder rumbled.
Grian closed his eyes at the sound. I'm safe.
Even in his head, the words sounded desperate. A plea.
When he finally opened his lids, he saw Scar studying him closely. A look of blossoming concern had overtaken his features, the worry sparking sharply in his eyes.
Grian looked away quickly. His face felt like it was on fire. He hated that look, hated the emotions it made swirl inside of him.
The silence was awkward. Neither of them seemed strong enough to break it, that probing quietness a force to be reckoned with. It just fostered in the air, a disease, a hopeless creature that pawed at their lips.
Finally, the creature won and Grian's guilt got the best of him. Without looking at Scar, he murmured, “I'm sorry.”
Two words. But they held a lot.
“It's alright, Birdie,” Scar said, softly, so quick to forgive. There was a small pause. Then, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Grian shivered at the question.
No. He did not.
But he knew he should.
He hated himself for knowing that, for being smart enough to realise that if he didn't speak, Scar would think he didn't trust him. Of course, that was the farthest thing from the truth, and Scar would probably know that, but Grian still couldn't bear that thought.
So he swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, parting his trembling lips with as much strength as he could muster. Thunder tried to stop him, but the words were already tumbling out. “Storms…they s-scare me.”
The pitiful confession wasn't met with ridicule. Scar just leaned forward, like he might scoop Grian up, but he didn't touch him and Grian didn't reach out.
“Why?” Scar asked instead, gently.
Grian chewed his lip, the answer burning as he twisted his fingers in his lap. After a moment, he forced his tongue to move. “One time, when I was younger, I–I got caught in one.”
Scar sucked in a breath, but Grian continued before he could say anything. “I was flying home. I was so high up, and, and it started out of n-nowhefe. Rain. And wind. And thunder. And, and–”
He couldnt finish. his voice cut off suddenly and painfully.
But he was sure Scar could guess.
And lightning.
Grian risked a glance at Scar. His mouth was open slightly, eyes wide and concerned.
“Birdie,” he said, softly, finally reaching a hand out.
Grian allowed himself to be touched for a moment. But before he knew it, he was slumping to Scar, falling limply into the hug like it was the last thing holding him together.
It was.
But the feeling faded as something flashed in his mind and he flinched.
“I, I have scars,” Grian suddenly blurted, pushing away, scrambling to his feet. For some reason, the familiar feeling of pure desperation had grabbed him. He needed Scar to know this.
For his part, Scar just looked puzzled, lost, but his expression quickly morphed into horror when Grian lifted his trademark sweater, the one the covered both his arms, to reveal sparkling Lichtenberg Figures.
For some reason, Grian was heaving, looking down at his retched body. The marks were sprawling branches, reaching across his skin like fingernails on a chalkboard. They were dark, noticeable, easy to spot if you knew what to look for.
And Grian knew.
He also knew the statistics of having permanent scars from a lightning strike. The chances were very, very, very low.
And yet…
Scar had slipped a hand over his mouth, covering it, like that would stop the horror from creeping in. Grian knew it wouldn't, he knew nothing would stop the nightmares, the pounding fear, the sound of the thunder as his world went white and his skin burned and–
“Oh, Grian,” Scar breathed, finally, still staring. He couldn't seem to look away. The words were a whisper, torn from a harsh throat, and Scar stumbled towards Grian.
Grian pulled away the slightest bit, emotion welling in his throat as he looked back at Scar. “They're awful,” Grian told him, honestly, but for some reason the words made him want to cry.
“Stop it,” Scar snapped.
Grian shook his head sharply, anger and fear and a thousand other emotions balling up inside of him. “They're ugly.”
“Grian,” Scar sounded desperate, “stop it!”
“I hate them!”
“Stop!”
They both froze, their words a crescendo as they stared at each other, gasping, panting in that little basement.
And then all at once, the fight drained out of both of them. Scar swallowed and reached forward, yanking Grian's sweater down to hide the mark, and Grian let him, breathing heavily.
“I'm sorry,” they said in unison. They both looked at each other for a long moment.
“It's okay,” Scar finally murmured, sitting back down. Grian hadn't even noticed they'd stood up.
Grian followed suit, forcing his body to relax onto the cushions. He felt guilty, regretting what had happened, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. The desire to flee was strong, but he couldn't.
He was trapped.
But the feeling faded when, after a long moment of hesitation, Scar reached out, and Grian let himself be pulled back into the embrace. The tide going back out to sea.
“You're okay,” Scar whispered into his hair when thunder boomed, loud enough to be heard, and Grian flinched. “You're safe.”
For some reason, Scar's voice was heavy, and Grian glanced up to find the man's eyes filled with tears.
Before he could ask, Scar said, “Im so sorry for what happened to you. I'm sorry I never knew it.”
Grian froze, body stilling as he mulled over those words.
Scar hadn't known because Grian hadn't told him.
He hadn't told anyone.
“It's not your fault," Grian finally told Scar, burying his head in the man's shoulder. They both squeezed the other, and it became impossible to tell who was comforting who.
But maybe…maybe that was okay.
As the time dragged on, slowly and achingly fearful, despite it all, Grian's eyes started to grow heavy. His posture became more sagged, his wings dropping and thumping behind him. He registered how late it must have been. At least two in the morning, but more likely three or four.
Scar didn't comment on it, just slightly changed position so Grian was leaning comfortably on him. The basement lights were still on, but that didn't stop Grian's eyes from slipping closed of their own accord.
He could feel himself drifting towards sleep. But before he could, he forced himself to open his eyes again. To look at Scar, who's own eyes were tired and slumped.
“Thank you,” Grian whispered, the words lighter than wind.
Somehow, Scar heard him.
“You're welcome, Birdie.” A pause. “Go to sleep.”
And, with the sounds of fading rain and thunder, with a friend right by his side, Grian did.