Chapter Text
Scar’s boots crunched over the sawdust-strewn ground, the smell of popcorn, cotton candy, and animals filling the air. He paused for a moment, taking it all in—the swirl of bright canvas tents, banners flapping in the wind, the faint smell of hay and horses somewhere nearby. The Hermit Circus had been running for a few weeks now, and Scar still hadn’t quite gotten used to the chaos—or maybe he had, in a way that made him feel like he belonged.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Grian. The younger Hermit was perched high above the main tent floor, swinging on the trapeze with effortless grace. Sunlight glinted off his hair as he soared from bar to bar, a wide grin stretching across his face, and Scar’s chest tightened a little.
Grian loved this. Loved the thrill, loved the applause, loved the way the children gasped and clapped, their eyes wide as he flipped and twisted through the air. Scar leaned against a post, pretending to be casual, though his gaze never wavered.
“Hey,” Mumbo’s voice cut through the hum of the crowd. Scar jumped, turning just in time to see Mumbo grinning at him. “You staring again, mate?”
Scar’s face warmed. “I—uh… just watching the act set up,” he muttered.
Mumbo snorted. “Sure, ‘watching the act.’ You’ve been glued to that trapeze for half an hour.”
Bdubs wandered over, carrying a bucket of confetti, and laughed. “You’re in love,” he teased, tossing a handful of colorful paper into the air. Scar ducked, coughing, and scowled at him, but didn’t deny it.
The trumpet sounded. Time for the show. Scar straightened his jacket and slipped behind the tent’s edge, keeping an eye on Grian. The younger Hermit climbed the trapeze platform, moving with agility that made Scar’s stomach twist in admiration.
Grian leapt. Scar’s breath caught. High above the crowd, he twisted, somersaulted, and caught the bar with effortless precision, landing perfectly before the children erupted into cheers. Scar’s heart hammered in his chest—pride, awe, and something else, something he refused to name.
“Look at him,” Scar muttered quietly. The way Grian’s face lit up when the children cheered… Scar couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Mumbo appeared at his side, grinning. “I told you, mate. That boy’s got magic in him. Not the flashy kind, but the kind that makes people… happy.”
Scar nodded, barely able to speak. “Yeah… he really does.”
The act continued, Grian swinging back and forth with flawless timing, flipping, catching, twirling. Scar found himself inching closer to the edge of the stage, not wanting to miss a single moment. A little girl tugged his sleeve, whispering, “He’s amazing!” Scar ruffled her hair, smiling. “Yeah… he is.”
Finally, Grian landed on the platform with a bow. The audience erupted, applause echoing through the big top. Scar’s lips curved into an involuntary smile. Grian’s eyes swept the crowd and, for a fleeting second, landed on him. A wink. Scar’s heart skipped, and he quickly looked away, pretending to check the ropes.
Even in the chaos of the circus, amidst the laughter and the lights, Scar felt a warmth in his chest. This—Grian, the Hermits, the circus—it was where he belonged. And watching Grian soar above it all, smiling for the children and, unknowingly, for him… Scar felt like the luckiest person alive.