Chapter Text
Sometimes writing came with a natural flow and ease when Grian decided that he wanted to actually work on his English coursework. Today was not one of these days.
He stared at the empty page, trying to will the words to magically appear. The assignment was open, meaning that the class was allowed to pick one topic and write ten pages minimum on said topic. In class, Grian thought that this would be the easiest assignment of the year, especially as it was worth 20% of his grade for the term, alas this was not the case. But inspiration could pop up at any time from anywhere right? The radio could be inspiring. Yeah! he could definitely find something to base his essay on. He just needed to listen and then the ideas would spawn in.
Sure.
“And on this day in 1988, we see an increase in rain with the temperatures being at a low of 7°C and a high of 11°C. We may see some sunny spells with there being a 30% chance of-”
That was enough of that. How would weather inspire him to write the next literary masterpiece of the century? He already knew it was cold and wet, because it was England, which meant constant downpour and temperatures that would make you stick to metal.
Grian could quite literally see the rain from where he was sat behind the counter at his part time job of working as a barista, which sounds simple enough, spending the day counting cash and pouring basic coffee drinks, but he found it tedious at best. That’s why he normally loved to take early and late shifts; the lack of people to converse with meant that he could dedicate his precious time to what he loved most. Writing.
The coffee shop (eloquently named “The Blocky Bean” by the owners of the store, Impulse and Skizz) was a quaint little cafe on the corner, with large windows in the front and twinkly fairy lights strung up around the interior. The outside was decorated with striped awnings above the door and fake vines creeping up the chipped maroon bricks. The tables inside were made of a dark wood, and the chairs cushioned with fluffy backs, creating a cozy atmosphere that was rather appealing to onlookers.
The lights inside were soft and warm, and the counter was tucked away in the corner of the cafe, leaving room for a small stage at the back of the room where the owners often hosted open mic nights and local bands to come play for the patrons. Behind the counter were large chalkboards with the different variations of coffee that had become popularized in the past few years, as well as special sweet treats baked by his colleague, Scott, and various other drinks.
Overall, Grian would not be ashamed to admit that this place was actually quite calming, when, of course, there was no-one to serve. Or talk to. Or look at. But he knows he can’t have it all, so instead he chooses to push through the pain of talking to others and practice his ability to communicate by always working the counter.
Focus.
Grian thought to himself, he needs to stop dawdling and actually do some of his work. He tapped his pen against his lips, as if that would suddenly help him to have a eureka moment that would lead to a high grade in his class, but of course, it didn’t work.
It was definitely not easy to focus when his colleagues, Scott and Cleo, were talking so loudly in the broom cupboard they called a ‘break room’. He tried to decipher what was so funny and why it required for them to be almost shouting in response to each other, but alas, he couldn’t tell. Maybe if he could hear them, it would inspire him. What a shame.
Grian stared at the page once again, when all of a sudden;
CRASH.
Startled, he looked up. He expected for something to have been knocked over outside due to the wind, or maybe even a cutlery pot on a table to have been placed askew and thereby have fallen off, but no. In front of Grian, was a person. Surrounded by papers, and a cutlery pot.
At least he was partially right?
Grian froze. Was he meant to help the person? Should he stay put in case he needed to get one of his colleagues to come help? The person looked far too tall for Grian to lift in case of concussion. Oh stars what if there was a concussion? What if they had passed out? Or broken a bone? He started to hyperventilate at the thought of severe injury, unable to do anything, when he heard a chuckle come from in front of him.
What?
The chuckle grew louder, into more of a proper laugh, and the person started to move their arms and push themselves up off the floor, gathering papers as they went.
What.
As they slowly started to rise onto their feet, Grian started to place their, no, his, features in his mind to discern if he knew the stranger. He lived in a small town in the North of England, so there was always the small chance of bumping into someone you knew out in the wild.
The first thing that Grian noticed was his eyes, ones that could potentially be mistaken for those of a cat, or a shiny rock. And, if he squinted hard enough and readjusted his glasses just a little, Grian could even see small flecks of teal around the pupil, further cementing the idea that his eyes were that of a precious stone or mineral.
The next thing that Grian focused on was the hair. The guy’s hair was long. Not so long to be considered feminine, but above the shoulders, and parted down the side, giving it natural volume and curves. It was dark brown and thick, which would seem normal, if not for the pure white streak that blended into the hair over his face naturally. Very peculiar, and yet,
intriguing.
His skin was tan, but not an unnatural shade, and covered in this small pale scars from his face to his hands. He wore what looked to be a uniform of sort, consisting of a pale seafoam green shirt and dark brown pants, and a name tag that read “Scar”, yet over top he wore a dark denim Sherpa-collar jacket. This definitely did not seem like uniform standard.
Scar.
Where had he heard that name before?-
“Uhh… Hello..?”
Grian jumped.
“Is anyone home in the head of yours or are you going to stare?”
He snapped out of his trance. Had he really been staring for that long? Surely not, he was taught at a very young age that ‘staring was impolite!’
“What?” Grian responded.
“Oh good, you can speak. I was worried that you had been distracted by my killer looks!”
Dear stars. This is just what Grian needed to distract him. An arrogant, self-centered prick-
“You might want to clean the floor, I might have bled on it just a little bit,”
Oh.. right… that.
Grian looked to Scar, then to the floor, then back to Scar’s head. There was a small gash slowly forming on his forehead. That was not good.
“You’re doing that staring thing again”
Crap. Staring. Right.
“We have plasters behind the counter, if you want to… uhh… come back… here..?”
Why was he stammering like a maniac? This was completely normal. He’s just a regular guy, who’s a regular amount of tall, with regular long brown hair, and regular, gorgeous green eyes-
“That would be great! Thanks a ton!… Grian?”
How did he know his name? Oh stars, Grian really didn’t want to deal with something paranormal at this hour of the morning.
Grian looked down.
Oh right,
Nametag.
Scar made his way over behind the counter, dropping the papers he so diligently stacked in his arms all over the place as he came. Upon further inspection, these papers seemed to be some form of magazine? Or maybe some form of booklets? Whatever they were, there seemed to be too many of them for Scar to carry.
“So, what about that plaster huh?”
Grian glanced up and suddenly Scar appeared in front of him. How long had he been there? Grian really needed to get that staring thing under control.
“Right, yeah. Sorry about that.” He said as he reached below the counter to the green first aid kit that they were legally required to have on hand at all times. He placed it on top of his English work (not like there was any work actually on there), and opened it up.
*Contents*
Bandages
Dressings
Antiseptic
Scissors
Tweezers
Adhesive tape
Alcohol pads
Cotton wool pads
Safety pins
Manual
Right. He needs antiseptic. Definitely. And cotton wool, obviously. And dressing. To cover it up when it was cleaned.
Grian reached into the box to grab said antiseptic and cotton wool, and applied the now soaked cotton wool to Scar’s forehead,
“This is going to hurt. Don’t move.” Grian muttered. He was more so saying this to himself to stop himself from throwing up or crying. Injuries were definitely not his favourite thing in the world. He just needed to focus and keep calm and nothing bad would happen. right?
“Ow!” Scar yelped as he pulled away from Grian’s hand. A glare crept upon Grian’s face. What part of ‘Don’t move’ did Scar not understand? It’s fine. He just needed to finish up the cleaning, and then he can dress it. That would be simple enough.
He tried again. This time with more success. He finally managed to clean off the blood from the wound, and applied the dressing with a practiced sort of precision that came from who knows where.
“You’re all cleaned up.” Grian exclaimed with a sigh. Boy was he tired. It was now 8am. How had an hour already passed? He really needed to get back on track with his writing. Maybe this could be his inspiration.
“Oh boy, you’re a lifesaver! You know I’m such a klutz sometimes, I really should get a first aid kit of my own!” Scar declared with a cheery grin. How could he be so positive in this situation? He literally just hit his head. This has got to be down to the head injury.
“Now, how bout’ a coffee to make me feel a little bit better?”
What? Does he seriously want a coffee at 8am? He’s going to be hyper from the caffeine for hours. Wait… does he mean-
“For free..?” Grian asked warily.
“If you insist!” Scar responded in a chipper way that made Grian just that little bit more annoyed.
What. Did he seriously just try to con him for a free coffee? This was insane. Is Grian going mad? Would he even be able to tell?
Staring. Again. Don’t.
You know what? He’s too tired for this and just wants this exchange to be over and done with so that he can get back to not writing his paper.
“Fine. Cappuccino or Espresso..?”
“Hmm… Surprise me!”
Great. Which one takes the least effort? Espresso probably takes less effort. He’ll just get on with that and be done with this interaction.
But he looks like someone who would like a cappuccino. He’s got that sort of look about him that screams ‘I eat straight whipped cream with a spoon and I am proud to do so’ that makes Grian feel both nervous and a little sick.
And so he made the drink. He ground the beans and steeped and foamed the milk, he layered them together and started to douse the drink with a layer of cocoa powder, and before Grian knew it, he had gotten carried away and started painting tiny hearts on the top of the drink with more milk foam.
He stopped himself.
That was not normal.
He looked up, shook, and there was Scar, intensely watching him with the focus of a laser beam. What was so interesting about coffee? Surely he was mortified at Grian. Anyone would be. Painting hearts on a drink is not something you do for someone you just met, was it? No. That’s the sort of thing you do for someone who you like, or are dating, not for someone who you just met and already infuriates you deeply.
“Are those… hearts..?” Scar asked with this innocent look on his face,
Stars. He noticed.
“Because if they are, they’re really cute!”
Excuse me?
They were not ‘cute’. They were weird and stupid and a mistake. Scar’s obviously making fun of him. Why wouldn’t he?
“I’m sorry. That was totally unprofessional of me,” Grian exclaimed while stirring the hearts into the coffee so that they would disappear. He was completely mortified at his actions. He should just quit his job altogether-
“Wait don’t get rid of them! I really liked them!”
He… liked them?
Well. That was new.
Grian really looked at Scar in detail for the first time in this whole interaction. He looked to all the little things. The way his brows furrowed when he was concentrating, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.
And those scars.
They were fine scars, ones where if he chose to, he could easily cover them up with some of his girlfriends makeup, but he chose not to. He chose to wear them with pride.
That says something about a man.
Grian found himself automatically reaching for more milk froth, and repainting the hearts on top of the coffee, but this time with a new found precision that came from somewhere Grian wasn’t quite ready to face.
Three hearts. All in a row.
“Are you staying or am I putting this in a to-go cup?” Grian asked, not quite sure what answer he would expect as this whole morning had been full of unexpected moments and scenarios.
“Hmm. I guess I do deserve a break, so how about I stay here and keep you company? You must get awfully lonely in the morning when there’s no one else around.” Scar said, while maneuvering around booths to pull a chair up to the counter, making an incredibly loud scraping noise as he went.
He really couldn’t just carry it could he?
Grian thought to himself, already regretting his decision to even bother asking whether or not Scar wanted to stay or leave. Alas, he was staying now so Grian might as well find a way to kill time. He cleared away his books. He could finish his writing another time, there was no point trying to focus with Scar being here. Grian made sure that there was sufficient space on the counter in between him and his only customer, and searched in the cabinet under it -that was mainly meant for ingredients, might he add- and reached for the pack of cards that he keeps hidden in case of a ‘solitaire-based emergency’.
“Pick a game.” Grian said while shuffling the deck like his life depended on it, praying that he picked something simple that didn’t require much effort.
“How about… Go Fish? You know how to play that right?”
Of course Grian knew how to play Go Fish. He’d spent many evenings with his best friend, Mumbo, just playing game after game, continuously losing, as his friend was a machine when it came to games. You’d think that after a while, Grian would get sick of being beaten, but it seemed like the more he played, the more he fell in love with games.
Grian dealt out seven cards for himself and then Scar respectively, and looked down at his hand.
Two of Hearts
Three of Hearts
King of Clubs
Seven of Spades
Ace of Clubs
Eight of Diamonds
Jack of Diamonds
Not the worst hand in the world, Grian thought to himself, but by Scar’s reaction, things were not looking good for him. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were pursed in this ridiculous manor.
“I dealt, so you can go first.”
Scar looked up at him as Grian said that, still looking unhappy with his deck.
“Okay,” Scar said, “Do you have any… Sixes?”
“Go fish.” Grian replied with a small smile painted across his face. He missed this feeling, of just being in this other world where nothing can affect you, other than the other player and Lady Luck herself.
Scar sighed as he drew a card from the deck. Then, as he looked upon his newly drawn card, a mischievous grin crept up his face. Surely that meant he had gotten a card he wanted. God, it must be difficult having such a poor poker face.
The game continued on for around half an hour, with back and forth banter being thrown from one person to another as they claimed each other’s cards, until they finally reached a breaking point where they each had three cards each. Grian could only assume they were on the same page of having three of the same cards in their hands from the way Scar kept looking from his cards back to Grian’s face with an increasingly goofier expression. All Grian needed was a Three of Hearts to win the game.
“Do you have a Three of-?” Grian asked Scar slyly. If he did, then Grian would have won the game, and he could finally shoo Scar away and get back to his original work. But as Grian asked the question, a thought arose in his mind:
Did you want the game to end? Do you want Scar to leave and to most likely never see him again?
That was the most likely scenario. If Grian won then Scar would leave. And the game would be over. And Scar would probably forget about this interaction and never come back.
Wait.
Was Grian… Enjoying himself?
Surely not, he’d only met Scar an hour and a half ago, and if one things certain, Grian does not warm up to people easily. It took him months to hold a full conversation with his co-workers, and even longer to be able to laugh around his best friend Mumbo, so this was definitely not the case. He doesn’t even know Scar’s last name for stars sake. There was no way he could actually be having fun.
“-clubs?” Grian finished his sentence.
“Nope! Go fish!” Scar sang to Grian, grinning from ear to ear like he was a child on Christmas and beating Grian was his biggest present.
Grian picked up a card from the pile and-
Three of hearts.
He won.
He’d won the game and now it was over. That was a good thing right? If it was a good thing then why did his stomach sink. He had to put his cards down and claim his victory, and as he put his final book down onto the counter, he looked up at Scar, who’s face matched his. They locked eyes for what felt like forever and a split second simultaneously, and Grian could tell that Scar was on the same wavelength of not wanting this game to end.
Scar’s face fell onto the counter with a bittersweet smile and muttered,
“Good game Grian. I should probably leave now that the game is over and I finished my drink though. I’m sure you’ve got work to get on with, and I know I should really get back to my shift shouldn’t I? Uni isn’t going to pay for it’s self!” Scar ended with a laugh that seemed wrong. Grian could tell he was having fun.
As Scar turned to leave, Grian looked down at the counter, yet he couldn’t help but ask after him;
“What uni do you go to?”
Scar stopped.
“Lilac View University. I’m an Education major.”
Hold on. Grian knew that he knew Scar from somewhere, But he never guessed that they would have been going to the same uni. A spark of hope came across Grian’s eyes as he looked up at Scar once more, and locked eyes with him.
“I go there too.” Grian exclaimed quietly. “I’m a lit major.”
Scar’s face lit up. He pulled out a scrap of paper and a blue pen from his satchel and scribbled something down, then handed it to Grian without a word.
Dorm 32, floor 2, Building A.
-Your new friend, Scar :)
Same building as Grian, only three floors apar-
Friend.
Why had he put that? They weren’t friends, were they? They had only played one game of cards, and Grian knows he doesn’t make friends that easily, stars knows he’s tried. He’s only made a couple friends at uni so far, and that’s only because one of them was his cousin and the other was his cousin’s best friend so they refused to leave him alone.
He looked up at Scar again, but this time the sad expression on Scar’s face had dispersed, and had instead been replaced by a timid smile.
Before Grian could respond, Scar spun on the balls of his feet made his way to the door, but before he opened the door to leave, he turned one final time, and gave a small wave to Grian then opened the door for Grian’s first ‘official’ customer of the day and left without a word. The whole interaction felt like it hadn’t happened. It was over before it had really started, wasn’t it? What was Grian supposed to do with an address? Why did Scar call himself a friend?
The new customer was followed by an onslaught of others coming in during the morning rush, but Grian barely payed attention to them and just made the drinks they requested without giving it any thought whatsoever. All he could think about was that morning and how strange he felt after it. There was just something about Scar that felt off but Grian just couldn’t put a name on it. It was weird, like he’d known Scar for years, and yet didn’t know him at all, but whatever it was;
Grian didn’t like it.
—————————————————————————————————————————
The rest of the day went on as normal, Grian finished his shift around an hour after his enigma of an encounter ended, and he had made his way to his lectures on time, having written all of three words of his paper on the bus, but that was good enough for Grian, as he had spent the rest of his journey listening to music from his Walkman. The longer he avoided the work, the more motivation he would have to write, right?
His lectures came and went without any problems, and all of a sudden, Grian found himself back at his dorm, sat at his desk, staring at the note once again.
Friend.
He kept circling back to that one word. It was probably a throwaway sentiment, but what if it wasn’t? What if this meant that Scar was expecting something of Grian? Surely people only really make friends if they want something. But there was something different about Scar. He seemed genuine. Nice, even. Was he actually just being nice? Could Grian take that risk? He already knew he needed to make more friends, so he could treat this more like an experiment! If he could learn what it’s like to befriend people in a normal manner, then surely he could replicate it and become friends with other people.
Then, Grian could feel himself reaching for his notebook and tearing a page out, and writing something down with his favourite ink pen, a gift from Mumbo when they were fourteen.
He left his dorm and descended the dingy stairs that were littered with empty wrappers and cigarette butts, and approached Scar’s dorm, hesitating before pushing the note through the letterbox. What if this was a practical joke? What if Scar didn’t mean it? A million ‘What if?’ questions entered Grian’s head as he faltered, but he pushed them all away as he slipped the note through the shutters of Scar’s letterbox and walked off without a word.
Dorm 60, floor 3, Building A
-Your new friend, Grian.