Chapter Text
“Scar!” Grian called out, poking his head from the doorframe. Dusk had fallen—the sky an inky twilight with white stars littered over it. The crescent moon hung over them, its light casting a ghostly hue over everything, making the sand glitter. Scar’s figure was outlined by white—of course he wasn’t wearing his shirt despite the nights being quite cold. “Come inside, you’ll get a cold. And for the love of Pizza wear a shirt.”
“It’s fine, Gri. The cold fears me and my abs.” Scar flexed and Grian could vaguely make out a smirk on his face.
Grian huffed in amusement, “Sure it does.”
“Why don’t you come on out here? It’s not that cold.” Scar waved at him, beckoning him.
“It is cold.” Grian whined but it was quite difficult saying no to someone as precious as Scar. He took slow steps outside. It was cold as compared to the interior of their home but the longer he stood outside, the more comfortable he felt. He walked over to Scar, having to crane his neck just to stare at him. “Hi.”
Scar’s hand went to his face, thumb gently stroking his cheek. Grian found himself leaning into the touch, closing his eyes and relaxing. “Pretty.” He murmured and Grian felt flustered. This wasn’t the first time Scar called him pretty or the first time they came into such close contact. Hell, they had been closer to each other than this but it’s just that as much as Grian wants to believe he’ll always have Scar with him, this is just a death game they were forced into, only one can win, everyone else has to die. One of them will have to die. He couldn’t even imagine losing his Scar.
“So are you still cold?” Scar asked, a devilish grin tugging at his lips. He had something planned and Grian wanted to know what.
“Very cold.” He lied, “It’s freezing out here.”
“Guess I’ll have to warm you up.” Scar grabbed his hand and spun him. Grian yelped in surprise. Scar giggled which earned him a scowl from Grian. He placed his other hand on Grian’s waist and led him into a slow dance. Scar’s hands were soft, holding him as if he was a delicate poppy. Grian found himself lost in his emerald green eyes full with nothing but love for the avian. Love in a world of hate, blood and murder was like finding an oasis in a desert—Rare but absolutely the best thing that could’ve happened to you. The best thing until you realise that the love will one day end with one of you dying. Grian chose not to let his brain drift down that path, deciding to focus on what he had—Scar.
Suddenly Scar pulled him in close, their chests pressing against each other, Scar’s warmth and love enveloping him. “Grian.” He whispered, grabbing Grian’s chin and tilting his head upwards. He leaned in, his lips just a bit further from Grian’s, waiting for permission. Grian closed the gap between them, snaking his arms around Scar’s neck. The kiss was soft, delicate, sweet. It was everything Grian wanted and more. Scar was everything Grian wanted and more.
But the world didn’t care about what he wanted, did it?
If it did care, he wouldn’t be sobbing on top of Scar, pressing his hands to his wounds in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. The wounds Grian had inflicted on him. He had no choice. They were watching, he sensed them, their cold, cold gaze. He had to. If he hadn’t done this, the Watchers would’ve made both of them go through a fate worse than death.
But for Grian, this was worse than death. To have Scar’s blood all over his hands, his limp body beneath him and knowing that he caused this.
Scar’s eyes were growing glassier and foggier by each passing second as the life ebbed from him. “D-don’t cry.” He smiled and raised a shaky hand to wipe the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Don’t close your eyes.” Grian sobbed, “I can save you. I can!”
Scar smiled one last time, ran his thumb over Grian’s cheek one last time before his hand dropped to the side. His eyes stared into the distance and he looked… peaceful.
“Scar!” Grian screamed, wrapping his arms around him, letting his tears fall onto Scar, hoping that they had some sort of power where they could revive Scar.
But alas this wasn’t a fictional, magical world. This was real. Scar was dead and it was real.
Grian was a murderer and that was the truth.
He got up from Scar’s cold body after weeping so much that he had run out og tears, and looked around. All he saw was blood, destruction, the mess he dragged his friends in. His friends who no longer existed. Because of him. But he did it because of the watchers so could he blame them?
He needed to bury Scar’s body. That’s the least he could do for him. Scar would like to be buried next to Pizza’s grave.
He got a shovel and begun digging. His arms ached, sweat rolled down his forehead, mingling with the tears and blood, but he would not stop. He deserved the ache. He deserved the pain.
The grave was dug out now and the sun had just risen, causing everything to glow but Grian didn’t notice the light. How could he when the light of his life was snatched away from him?
He walked back to Scar’s body, blinking back tears that fought to cascade down his cheeks. He gently closed Scar’s eyes and pressed a kiss to a bruise on his face, where Grian had punched him.
He wrapped his arms around Scar’s body and with great struggle, lifted him up. Scar was bigger and taller than him so bringing him to his grave was a bit of a struggle. Carefully, he laid Scar in the grave, folding his arms over his chest. He looked so happy and calm even when dead. It wasn’t fair. Scar didn’t deserve to die. He deserved to win.
But maybe Grian winning this death game was for the better because at least Scar wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. He knew Scar would break at seeing Grian in the same state he was currently.
Looking at Scar’s face one last time, he dumped the sand back on his body. This time he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Once Scar was completely buried, he fell on his knees and mourned for Scar once again. Mourning would get him nowhere but maybe just maybe what he was about to do would lead him back to Scar.
He got up, not bothering to brush the sand off his clothes and walked towards the edge of the cliff. Each step towards the edge was tantalising. He finally reached the edge and looked down, trying to imagine the ghost of Scar standing there with his arms open, ready to catch Grian, hold him forever and never, ever let him go.
Grian looked over his shoulder only to realise there was nothing worth looking back at. All that existed for him was what lied at the bottom of this cliff. What lied at the end of Grian’s life.
He closed his eyes, took one deep breath and jumped. Funnily, falling felt a lot like flying. It felt freeing. He was finally free. Free from the watcher’s grasp, free from himself, free from everything that bound him to this world.
Agonising pain flooded his senses but none of it was strong enough to be proclaimed as death.
“Oh my god! Is he alive?”
“Just barely. He needs immediate medical attention.”
“Someone get Xisuma.”
And for some reason, Grian recognised the last voice but before he could pinpoint the person behind the voice, everything faded to black.