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When Scar stumbles over the sand, he’s expecting a hard landing. He’s found himself collapsed into the dunes many times as the months went on, he is distinctly familiar with how the ground will welcome him.
Messily, and rough. Itchy sediments digging into open wounds, into the crevices of his clothing- living in the desert left him wondering where the sand ends and he begins. If, from the moment each grain of sand found its way into his shoes, he was destined to always become one with the ground he called home for so long now.
Sand is not the feathered pillows he’d prefer, or the gentle shoulder of a companion in the late desert night as the chill in the air draws them into each other’s embrace.
Or maybe, that is what the sand feels like, when the blood runs hot from the wounds that riddle his body.
“Oh, Scar, no-”
He finds himself able to focus, finally, on the image above him.
And there’s Grian, framed by the setting sun, hair golden with the glow.
There’s Grian, holding Scar- softening his landing to the ground and lingering. Cradling his head in tacky hands, soaked in blood Scar knows isn’t only his. Blood of his own, blood of the others who fought to win. Those who fought and lost.
Grian was a great fighter, Scar notes as his focus is lost again- eyes growing distant.
Grian was great at it all.
Grian was the best thing Scar ever took for granted.
Grian was the best thing Scar shared himself with.
Grian was the best thing Scar fought with- fought for.
Grian was the best thing Scar loved.
Scar tries, and fails, to raise his hands- to return the embrace. His limb falls, slowly- fighting to stay suspended, fighting to reach its rightful place against the feathers on Grian’s cheeks.
Grian takes pity on him, resting Scar’s head against his lap as he clasps their hands- and Scar wonders, too, if there was ever a moment where he ended and Grian began, or if they were always one.
Scar’s eyes sharpen in clarity, again.
Grian’s eyes glimmer like the stars had the night before. Stars that Scar won’t see again.
He’s thankful Grian is here, to give him one last chance at stargazing into a galaxy far more breathtaking than the one in the sky.
At this angle, he notices the tears well up.
“Oh, G, don’t cry over little ole’ me,” Scar tries to give a reassuring squeeze to their joined hands.
Grian scoffs, and it's the softest Scar’s ever heard it. He smiles.
“Remember how I went crashing into that ravine, all those months ago?” He closes his eyes, to paint the picture in his own mind. At the time, it was scary- embarrassing, pathetic. But now, he recalls it fondly.
Grian’s worried exclamation, and then his laugh at its ridiculousness. At how little Scar valued himself, to not even watch his step as they barreled through unmarked dunes.
Grian wasn’t sad, not then. Grian shouldn’t be sad now.
“And your girlish scream?” Grian tries to humor, but it falls flat when it’s said through choked back tears.
Scar hums, “I thought it was a pretty manly scream, myself.”
“‘Course, you did, Scar.”
Scar wants to joke about how it wasn’t a big deal then, how they laughed it off then, how it felt so much easier- but his mind drifts before he can find the words.
Scar’s head tilts into the warmth of Grian’s thighs, but his head is hoisted up again-
“No, no, please don’t sleep. Do- do you remember, when we-” his voice breaks, and Scar’s heart aches at the sound, “When we went and rigged the enchanter?”
“And stole BigB’s big cookie?” he breathes a laugh, voice softer than a whisper now. It’s all Scar can muster, as he fights the warmth claiming his consciousness.
“Yes- and stole that silly cookie. It’s like you don’t even care about our achievement!” Grian’s laugh is forced. Like the last thing he wants to do right now is laugh.
But Scar wants to hear it, the delightful yell. Obnoxious, unapologetic, loud. Sometimes, it bordered on a scream. Every time, it rang like music through their tower, a melody dancing along the dry desert air.
Just one more time.
“You know,” Scar begins with a mumble, and his eyes open again for just a moment, “Everyone talked about you having… having stock market syndrome.”
Scar gets his wish, “Stockholm, Scar. Stockholm syndrome.”
In Grian’s eyes, there is a familiar glint. A shine of amusement, and Scar feels that although he’s clearly lost this game, he can’t say he’s walking away with nothing. He got to experience Grian, and Scar would treasure it through every lifetime, because this one was not long enough.
“That’s what I said.”
“Uh-huh,” Grian blinks, and the first set of tears escape- Scar’s eyes watch as they roll down his cheek, watching them disappear into the thick collar of his cloak, “That’s what you said.”
Scar smiles.
“Did you?”
“No,” Grian says, and it comes out as a breathy whisper. A secret between two men, alone, a secret to die with them.
“Not at all?”
“No,” And it sounds guttural, like an answer the stars won't allow him to deny.
“Do you regret vowing your life to me?”
“Don’t make me say it,” Grian’s voice breaks again, and the tears come faster.
Scar’s heart continues in its ache, pumping feebly. He fights for focus, he fights for control over his arms, his neck, his head- and when he finds none, he forces it all into his face.
He forces himself to look at Grian, and nothing else. The setting sun means nothing to a man whose last breath will be long before its final dip over the horizon.
Grian, whose hand is shaking as it grips onto Scars like a lifeline- and Scar can’t even feel it.
Grian, who is raking his fingers through Scar’s hair, undisturbed by the grime.
Grian, whose face framing feathers glisten in the light like gold.
Grian, who left Scar wondering how one man could outshine a celestial body.
Grian, who looked best framed in the aftermath of an explosion as mania rolled off him in waves.
Grian, whose wings cradled him at night when the cold got too biting to fight off alone.
Grian, whose eyes glitter like gemstones when he holds back tears.
“You’re beautiful,” Scar says.
“Don’t say that,” Grian begs, “Not now. Don’t mean it.”
Thick tears fall from his eyes, landing onto Scar’s cheeks. Scar’s eyes slip shut again.
He’s always hated the rain.
“You can’t say that now.”
The drops fall harder, faster-
“You can’t-”
It’s a new thought, that maybe he took the rain for granted. Thinks, distantly, that it’s never been so bad.
He thinks there’s so many things he never appreciated, and maybe the stormy days were one of them.
Maybe tonight, being caught in the rain isn’t so bad. Maybe the wind isn’t so much howling as it is whispering sweet nothings to him.
The wind breathes to him, “I love you, Scar. Please don’t leave,” and the soft breeze leaves kisses along his face.
He doesn’t question why the wind sounds familiar.