Work Text:
Orange dusk settles on Grian’s back as he dutifully digs in the square hole. It’s familiar, working with sand. The way it settles under his nails, in his hair, his wings. Maybe it would have bothered him in the past. When the wounds were fresh, alone with the memories of the gore. But it doesn’t. Grian has too many games under his belt for it to matter anymore.
His sweater is thoroughly damp with sweat. It’s disgusting, really. And ironic, Grian figures, that the garment with sweat in its name can’t handle a bit of manual labor.
Sighing, he sets his shovel down to take a break, but is momentarily distracted by the scuttling of sand above him, followed by a silhouette peering down the hole.
“Oh! Why hello there, Grian!” Shouts Scar. He looks grizzled this season, settling into the cabin core aesthetic of his alliance, wearing a lumber jack sweater. Grian does not think about how unfitting it is for the desert. They don’t live in the desert anymore.
“Whaddyou want?” Grain calls.
“Can’t a man just visit a friend?” Scar hides the boat he was holding behind his back. “You should really put a sign up, I almost fell in!”
Grian giggles, pillaring out of the square hole to see Scar eye to eye. “That’s the point. I want you to fall in.”
“Well that’s not very nice,” Scar frowns. Grian peers behind him to prove what he already knew.
“Scar, are you trying to prank me- again might I add- with the same boat?”
“This is a totally different boat- I mean, noo! I would never prank you!”
“Scar, I can literally see the boat behind you-”
“Boat? What boat? This is actually a bowl!” Scar proudly presents his boat bowl like it's the best idea he ever had. “Think about all the soup you could fit in here,” he nods.
Grian stares at Scar, dazed. He’s too wet and slimy and dirty and, now that he thought about it, tired to deal with Scar’s antics. At least, now that dusk is settling, it’s cooling down.
“Wow, Grian,” Scar grabs the end of Grian’s sweaty sweater. “You look like a mess.”
“Huh?” Grian blinks, and suddenly Scar is in his face, and they’re in their desert again, and even just for a moment it makes his heart ache for a Scar that might as well not exist.
“Must be hard work, digging out the square hole, do you-”
“Scar, stop.”
Grian pulls Scar’s hand off of his sweater. He doesn’t need this right now, not when he was finally getting over it. Not when his allegiance is to the Villies.
“Stop what?”
“Just, stop.”
He turns around to start walking back to the lighthouse. Scar catches his hand before he can even take a step.
“G, wait.”
Grian tentatively glances back and immediately regrets it. Bathed in twilight, Scar frowns with big, pleading eyes.
“I just- I just miss you, okay? Please, can I stick around for just a little. I’ll help out. It… I dunno, it just feels right.”
Scar doesn’t know. There’s no way he could know, he even admitted it himself one time, but Grian lets himself sag a little. If it means he can dull his aching heart, maybe he’ll be selfish this one time.
“Okay,” he whispers.
Silently the two walk around the square hole and up the unfinished lighthouse. Grian sits on his bed and pulls off his sweater. Luckily, Gem and Pearl are out on a nether trip, so they wouldn’t have to see his traitorious acts. Something about needing more building materials, but Grian suspected they just wanted a girls night out. Not that he minded, considering what he was up to.
Scar sits down next to him, and Grian spreads his wings.
“Can I..?” Scar asks. It hurts that he even has to. Grian nods.
Slow, gentle hands brush through his primaries, and Grian wonders why he even tried to push Scar away. Even now, he seems to know exactly where to touch, and he melts into the preen, finding relief he didn’t even know he needed.
“You wanna know something weird?” Scar asks quietly. Grian doesn’t respond, Scar is petting his feathers into place. It’s honestly a little distracting. Scratch that, very distracting. Scar doesn’t seem to mind.
“I keep having these dreams of my sunflower field,” Scar starts. Grian hums. “I get them every night. I’m always alone, but sometimes, I think I see you.” His hands pause, and Grian tilts his head to look at him.
“It never is, of course, I just thought… Do you get dreams like that too?”
Oh Scar. He could feel his heart breaking.
“...The sunflower field, that was from the game you won, right?”
Scar nods. Grian is quiet, so he resumes preening. Grian shivers.
“I get dreams of my game too. The one I won. It was in a desert.”
“You don’t see anyone?”
Grian stills. He couldn’t tell him. How could he? How do you tell your past lover that you dream of his death by your hands, every single night? Those bloody, bruised, hands, that hurt, hurt, hurt, and that damned cactus ring surrounding them. The deaths on your watch and your sworn allegiance. The hot, simmering days and the cold, cruel nights. Their one reprieve on Monopoly Mountain, rigged to blow by your own hands. The hands that loved him. The hands that needed him. The hands that hurt, hurt, hurt…
But tonight, he was being selfish. And tonight, he had Scar.
“I see you, actually.”
Grian imagines what Scar’s face might look like, but can’t settle on one.
“I guess this makes sense then.”
You have no idea.
Scar, despite never preening his wings in this life, makes quick work of it. Grian would be impressed if he hadn’t been preened by him before. He did a damn good job, and he feels like a new man.
“Scar, can I show you something?” Grian asks.
“Sure, of course,” Scar says, hushed. Grian gestures to the ladder the two climb to the next floor, wallless with a clear view of the stars, still under construction. Night has fallen, and the cold desert harbors a cloudless sky.
“After each game, a constellation appears in the sky corresponding to its winner,” Grian explains. He points to a collection of stars.
“That one?” Scar asks, pointing at the constellation next to it.
“No, no, that one’s Joel’s. It’s a car, see?” Grian guides Scar’s arm to the left. “Your’s is the sunflower.”
Starstruck, Scar can only manage a breathy “oh.”
“Pretty cool, right?”
Grian grins. Scar nods in agreement. He watches as Scar traces his constellation with his finger, warmth blossoming from his chest despite the cold. Content, he sits down.
“So, which one’s yours?” Scar asks, settling next to Grian.
Grian reaches over him to point out a sun constellation. “That one.” His wing wraps around his back, instinctively blocking Scar from the cold. Scar has half a mind not to point it out and ruin the moment. He lets Grian blabber on about the stars as he falls asleep on his shoulder.
And when Grian is sure that Scar is asleep, he brushes his hair away and presses a soft kiss to his forehead.