Chapter Text
Pyro's back.
The thought fills Scott's head a hundred times a day. An hour. A minute, embarrassingly. Ever since Pyro waltzed back into their town a few days back, as casually as returning from a week long trip to trade with the closest town, the thought plagues Scott.
After eight long years, Pyro is back.
Now what the hell is he meant to do?
Scott hasn't talked to Pyro yet. He was out working when Pyro got back. Dead on his feet and ready to fall asleep where he stood, which only added an uncanniness to it for him. Like nothing at all had happened, there was Pyro in the middle of town. With his dad, talking to some of the men, holding his excited sister's hand. It's all of an image from the most mundane and gut wrenching dreams that Scott has.
Then Pyro turned and they met eyes. And…
Scott fled.
Okay, he walked calmly away to finish up his work and then went home. It was nothing dramatic, but it felt like something dramatic within himself. Maybe because his brain was screaming the whole time and the repeating thoughts.
Pyro's back.
Sighing, Scott dumps the new load of logs into the kiln. The bag of charcoal beside him is mostly full, but there's a couple hours of sunlight left, so Scott may as well take advantage of it. His mom always stressed the importance of being well ahead of winter preparations, so the fact that the chill of early spring is still clinging on doesn't put him at ease. Plus, keeping his hands busy at least half distracts his mind—
"Scott."
Scott jumps an inch off the ground, whirling around.
Pyro's back. He's right there.
Hand on his hip, a small smirk on his face, looking even more real up close. There's a few wrinkles on his face, dark smudges under his eyes, one of his teeth is chipped where it wasn't before. All of it making it more obvious that this is Pyro, real and truly, and not just the imaginings of his mind.
"I haven't seen you yet. Have you been hiding from me?" Pyro asks, leaning forwards with a near tease.
A stutter runs through Scott. He opens his mouth, left gaping for a moment before he wrangles his thoughts. "I've been working."
Scott tries to dust his hands off, but they're stained all over with the charcoal. All of him is probably smudged with it by now. He stops trying and sets his face as steady as he can.
Still, an amused smile stays on Pyro's face, making Scott's feel warm as he's scanned.
"Working. Sounds important," Pyro says.
"Yes, Pyro. Things do need done," Scott says, blustering. "I can't just ignore it all away to chase after you."
A bit too much heat in that one to not have multiple meanings.
"Okay, well. That proves you're angry at me then?" Pyro says, eyeing Scott.
"I'm not anything about you. I'm—I have things to do," Scott says.
"Instead of being angry at me?" Pyro asks.
"Yes, exactly," Scott says. He crosses his arms and forces himself to lift his chin so he's looking right up at the other man.
"That's good for me then, isn't it?" Pyro asks, all teasing edges.
It's such a him thing to say. To take someone obviously hinting at their displeasure and twist it about until saying as much would make one look ridiculous. And all the while, Pyro standing above with mischief in his eyes.
Gods, Scott missed him.
"How long are you staying?" Scott asks instead of all the things he should.
Pyro's exterior softens slightly at that, dropping his hands down so they hang at his sides instead. Which isn't the right reaction for Pyro to have, but—
"I'm back to stay now," Pyro says.
"Stay?" Scott asks, less disbelieving and more not comprehending at all.
Instead of being offended, Pyro steps closer with a shrug. He runs his fingers through his foppish hair, catching Scott's eyes.
"You can only run so long until you have to grow up, right?" Pyro says.
"…I guess," Scott says, blinking quickly. "Ah, how are you?"
Pyro cracks a smile. "That's supposed to be my line."
"I feel my answer will be far more obvious," Scott says.
"Same old 'Tegrith,' same old 'Scott?'" Pyro asks.
"I suppose," Scott says, brow furrowing.
He's knocked out of it by Pyro dropping his hand onto his shoulder.
"It's not all that different 'Pyro,' I'm afraid to say," Pyro says.
"You didn't travel around much?" Scott asks, unable to not be curious.
Pyro's hand is still on his shoulder. "A bit. I mostly settled in this one place, I was trying to get some footing there politically, but, well. Might as well just come home if I'm not traveling."
"That makes sense," Scott says.
"And hey! Maybe we can set up some bigger trades between Tegrith and there. That'd be something useful out of it, don't you think?" Pyro says. "I talked to your mom a bit, she thinks it's a good idea."
"Oh. That's good," Scott says, blinking.
His eyes keep sliding down to the fingers still lingering on him. When he forces himself away from them, Pyro is watching him, smirk returned to his lips. A stab of hot panic runs into Scott's heart.
He clears his throat and turns away, grabbing a poker to tend to the charcoal kiln again. Even without seeing Pyro's face, Scott swears he can feel the barbing amusement on it.
"It's good that you're back. I'm sure your parents are happy and, and your sister," Scott says, shrugging with a shoulder. "It'll be useful this summer. The grasses didn't grow back like they should've, so we'll have to take the livestock out further—"
"Yeah, sure, all of that. And you," Pyro says.
"Me?" Scott asks, voice grating. "Yeah, sure."
The waver that runs through his chest at the words burns. Like Pyro can see the vulnerable parts of him and is using that to make sure his words can catch alight and properly gain flames. He's always been able to do that. The combination of nostalgia and hurt feelings truly smolders inside Scott until he's forced to squeeze his hands around the poker to make sure they don't shake.
"It's so hard to believe that I'm happy to see you? Really?" Pyro asks.
"I think a lot of things that you've done are hard to believe," Scott says quietly.
Never in a million years would Scott have guessed that Pyro would run away. And never in a million years would he have guessed that Pyro would come back. So maybe he doesn't know the other boy—man—as much as he'd like to believe.
"Alright, so you are angry at me after all," Pyro says.
"Pyro, do you have to—?" Scott cuts himself with teeth in his lips.
"Have to what?" Pyro prods anyway.
When doesn't he?
"Nothing," Scott says, shaking his head.
At that, Pyro only sighs. Which is not the sort of thing he does frequently, since it's too close to giving in for the stubborn man. But Scott figures that it means Pyro will give in now, turn around, and walk away.
Again.
Scott's stomach feels torn in two as his face furrows, but he doesn't allow himself to even so much as twitch. This is fine. This is how things are. Pyro being back for now doesn't really mean anything.
When a hand slides around his elbow, squeezing gently, Scott is pulled around to look at Pyro. He's not sure whether he's literally pulled or if his body just moves on its own, but it's the same outcome. Looking up at Pyro, only a foot between them, something heavy vibrating there.
"Scott…" Pyro says, looking at him so openly that it almost burns. Same old Pyro. "I'm sorry."
That is not the same old Pyro.
"What?" Scott asks, unable to breathe or blink.
"I'm sorry," Pyro repeats.
It sounds just as foreign the second time. Pyro repeating himself, Pyro saying sorry, apologizing twice.
"For… what?" Scott asks, voice tight.
"For fucking leaving? I mean, I didn't think about how much it would hurt everyone… How much it would hurt you," Pyro says, eyes skittering away and shoulders sloping forwards.
Like he really is sorry. Like he feels bad for the hurt that he caused everyone. Sleepless nights, worry, not even knowing if he was alive or dead, and feeling such a sickening mix of relief and heartache when the first letter came, because at least he wasn't dead but that means he really did choose to leave him.
"The town really needed you, you know. And your family—" Scott tries to spit out.
Pyro cuts him off with a quiet word. "And you."
Scott's still open mouth makes a noise like a boot to the throat. Nothing close to words, but a dying version of them. Then nothing at all as he struggles to even process what Pyro is saying, let alone think of any response.
Pain twists in Scott's chest as shame simmers on his face. His eyes feel too horrifyingly heavy.
With a carefulness that Pyro's never carried, he scoops up Scott's hands. Holding them between them. Warm and gentle and embracing. Scott has to glance down at them to make sure that it really is happening, because surely it isn't!
But it is. Somehow.
"I'm sorry that I hurt you," Pyro says.
Somehow.
Scott shakes his head slowly, again, not comprehending. Why Pyro is saying this, and how he is, when his pride usually stops up his lungs like smoke. An inability which sometimes leads to a confident greatness, and in equal measure, a group of people in his wake coughing and wheezing.
That's how Scott feels still. Coughing, hacking, unable to breathe. His brain is definitely full up of the smoke, even when Pyro is being nothing more than a gentle breeze now.
Why? How?
Does he mean it?
"I don't know—how you want me to respond to that," Scott whispers.
"I guess you don't owe me a response of any kind. I just want you to know," Pyro says.
That's somehow even more upside down. Saying it solely for Scott to, what? He blinks quickly, only broken out of it by the fire cracking behind him.
When Scott turns his head towards it, Pyro catches his chin and pulls his face back.
Which certainly makes everything running through Scott ten times worse. The touch on his face burns or buzzes or something awful. Pyro's hand is warm against his wind chilled skin, and still lingering there for a few long seconds before it drops.
Scott feels his insides give a little, even as his shoulders remain tense. He frowns and struggles within the emotions. That he wanted Pyro to come back, didn't he? And he's apologizing for having hurt Scott? That's nothing he ever imagined, except maybe in his lowest moments right after Pyro left. Where surely it must have been a big mistake.
But that was eight years ago. So long, and only now…
Pyro's face is close from the proximity. Past his furrowed brow, his gray-blue eyes look tired and washed out.
It is just like Pyro to be stubborn about things, isn't it? So if he isn't being stubborn now, maybe that does mean something.
"I—Okay, Pyro," Scott says, looking down. "I am glad you're back."
"Yeah? Good," Pyro says, squeezing his hand that he's still holding. "It'd be pretty unfortunate if I came all this way and you would see me gone again."
"I'm sure your family would be happy to have you home no matter what. They really did miss you so much," Scott says, sympathy for the Dagmeares welling inside him.
While there was a little while when everyone was so sure that Scott must have helped Pyro, or at least known that he was leaving, that faded quick enough. Especially when Pyro never sent Scott any letters, or even asked about him in the scarce ones to his parents. Some hurt wells up in his chest too, but he ignores that. There's no point dwelling on it, and it's true that the Dagmeares had an even harder time of it. A new baby and their son gone.
Scott was happy to help how he could, when Igna started toddling about and an extra set of hands to shoo her away from danger was always appreciated. It leaves him feeling closer to the family than he was when Pyro was around.
"Right, of course," Pyro says, nodding with a shrug.
Shortly, Scott glances at the hand still holding his. Scott is wearing gloves so he can't quite feel him, but the pressure is still squeezing around around his fingers, unmoving. He's not sure why Pyro is still holding his hand, and he's not sure if he should be the one to pull away. Scott isn't holding back, so Pyro could just let go. Why isn't he letting go?
Scott clears his throat. "And your sister, she was always asking about you. She's great, right?"
"Yeah, she's a little… firecracker," Pyro says, nose scrunching up.
Scott laughs. "She reminds me of you. Better behaved though."
"Probably a good thing, that latter one, huh?" Pyro says, smiling with his teeth.
Scott just huffs again.
Everything is still hanging there, in the air and tangled horrifically in his chest, but it feels cooler between them. Scott can try to dissect the mess of it later, or ideally ignore it and just move on. Pyro is back, and if he really does stay this time, well…
Many people would be happy.
Smiling short and crookedly, Scott begins to turn towards the fire again. But those fingers on his, they stick.
It's painstakingly and stilted, but Scott pulls away. His heart thuds strangely as he does, but he ignores it deftly. Grabs up the fire poker again tightly, shoves it into the kiln. More embers fly out around them, excusing the heat on Scott's face and in his chest.
Behind him, Pyro shivers. He must not be used to the cold anymore.
—
If Scott knew that Pyro saying that he's going to stick around and help out would result in the man refusing to leave him alone, well—Okay, he wouldn't have not been glad for it, but it certainly would have complicated his feelings even more.
Like they are right now.
Scott hefts the fallen log upright, only for another set of hands to wrap around it and hold it in place as Scott tries to grab his axe. Admittedly, it does make it easier to hit the top of the post with the back of the axe to drive it into the ground, but a bit of annoyance still nips up inside of him.
Which is dramatic and kind of uncalled for. Pyro doesn't even make any snarky comments or complain as they go through, repairing the fences of the far grazing fields. It's repetitive and straining work, but not really hard. The sort of thing that Scott does by himself at this point.
Pyro has joined him today. And has been helping him out most days since he's been back. It is…
Scott doesn't know how to describe how it is.
Smashing the axe into the post a final time, it has shoved back into the earth by about a foot so that Pyro doesn't have to hold it steady. It's not a very tall fence, and between the posts is just roping. Made to encourage the livestock to stay in more than anything. Scott rolls his shoulders with a wince.
"Let me do the next couple," Pyro says, holding his hand out towards the axe.
"No, it's fine," Scott says, starting to walk again.
He can practically feel Pyro roll his eyes. "I'm not trying to call you weak, but we've been at it a while. Take a rest with that part."
Scott's lips smooth out and he doesn't answer.
Because honestly Pyro is right. Not that Scott needs a break, but if there's two of them working out here, they might as well take turns so that no one's muscles get overtaxed. Scott's already have a burn in them, sure to be stiff tonight.
But for some reason, Scott can't accept the offer. Can't do anything but clench his jaw and try to shove down the messy feelings within him.
They reach the next fallen post. Pyro grabs the end of Scott's axe before he can crouch or heft it up. Forcing eye contact with a raised eyebrow and tugging upon it in obvious gesture.
"Come on, we can't both be stubborn here," Pyro says.
"It's not stubbornness, I'm just working," Scott says.
"Fine, if you need to see it as me resting my wrists from holding the wood, then look at it like that," Pyro says, visibly rolling his eyes this time.
Scott blusters at him, firmly yanking the axe away. He's not glaring, but it's pretty close as his displeasure makes itself known. Coolly, Pyro just considers him, with a lack of comprehension in his expression.
"I don't need to see it as anything. I don't need you out here at all. I haven't in eight years, now have I?" Scott asks, too much heat for the situation.
Pyro sighs and crosses his arms. "I apologized for that."
"Great, and I am glad that you're back and helping out the town. We need the help," Scott says, gesturing with his hand. "I don't."
"Well maybe I want to help you specifically," Pyro says, throwing his own hand out in gesture too.
Scott scoffs, setting his jaw. But Pyro doesn't follow it up with any insults or degradation. Just letting it sit there like Scott is supposed to respond and it is, he is—
It's like everything that Scott imagined their life to be. Everything that he could ever want. The two of them, working together and protecting their town together. Even just admitting in his head how he wants it, has wanted it and imagined it in dreams that would leave him waking up feeling sick, it's humiliating.
Eight years and Scott has learned to shove that all down violently. To do it all by himself without a complaint or want for anyone to help him. It feels like touching a hot stove to challenge that now.
"Pyro, I don't—"
"Am I really so much of an asshole that you can't believe that?" Pyro asks, cracking a crooked smile. There's something like annoyance in the turn of his nose.
"I didn't say that," Scott says.
Pyro shakes his head and the short temperament is gone. "It's obvious that you can do it all just fine on your own, but I do want to help you. Not because you need it, but because…"
Scott looks at him when he trails off. "What?"
"Because I need you?" Pyro says, smile aflicker on his lips.
"What?" Scott repeats, a bit of a scoff in it. He's shocked by the words to the point of not really processing them.
Because of course his brain goes to all the wrong places when he thinks about it. Like Pyro could mean anything along the lines of needing Scott as a person, wanting to be around him, a type of care that goes beyond simply companionship.
He forces himself to take a step back at his thoughts alone, letting go of the axe in the process. Not that he quite cares about that when his heart is racing harder, brain searing with idiocy. As though being left wasn't enough on its own to make a fool of him, now this shameful layer to it.
Though Pyro has the axe he wanted, he barely gives it a glance before tossing it aside. Instead, he follows Scott's step away, taking another of his own. It brings them close enough to feel how warmth exudes off of Pyro. The pain in Scott's chest from scolding claws spreads all throughout him. Frustration, elation, hope, shame, fear, disgust, want, foolishness.
All of it mixed up, because he can't quite stand how happy he is that Pyro is back and mucking up all of his carefully crafted routines.
"Did you cry when I left?" Pyro asks quietly, tilting his face down so the dark circles under his eyes seem to widen.
"What?" Scott repeats, sharper than ever and flinching back.
"Did I really hurt you?" Pyro pushes.
"Pyro—what even—?" Scott stutters, everything falling out of him in favor of white hot hurt now.
It must show on his face, since Pyro is looking intently. But then Pyro takes his hands, again, something he's done again and again since he's returned, as though it is anything normal between them at all. It isn't, as Pyro is the sort to bump shoulders and elbows, perhaps tug on a coat's sleeve or an ear if he's really feeling touchy. Not grabbing or holding. Pyro is the opposite of an embrace in every aspect of himself, including his mannerisms.
And yet, here he is. Grabbing Scott's hands, refusing to let him find space, bringing up the pain for some purpose that seems to be beyond just hurting, but is also so blunt that it does.
The bluntness, at least, is right.
"I told myself that I didn't hurt you. Isn't that stupid, considering it's obvious that I did, that I would've? And yet, I still ran away without a care," Pyro says, eyes strange and distant, voice the same. "What stupidity."
Scott frowns, his own eyes feeling a heaviness within them as he refuses to blink. The fingers on his constrict so hard that it begins to hurt. With it, a twitch runs through Pyro's face, which only pulls Scott's concern up higher.
"Pyro…" Scott says quietly.
"But I did hurt you, didn't I? Badly?" Pyro says, zoning back in on Scott. He leans in close, breath dusting over Scott's face as his heart rises higher in his throat. "You never got over it?"
"I—" Scott stutters.
His eyes are shining so stupidly as he's forced to look down. He feels like the stupid one. Because of course he was! Hurt because he cared more than someone else, expected them to feel the same way that he did—not in that way, but just to care anywhere close to as much as Scott did about his friend.
Naive and weak, that's how Scott feels. It's the sorts of insults that Pyro would call Scott, padded in warnings. Be careful, Scott, or else you will be…
Yes, he was.
Though Scott sets his lips, they do still waver.
Pyro huffs with another twitch, and for a moment Scott thinks he's going to laugh. But when he looks up, any amusement that was possibly on his face has drained away. Now, he looks so sad.
"I don't know why I did it. Why I would ever go if it hurt you," Pyro says.
"I'm sure you had some grand reasons," Scott says firmly, trying to pull away. He isn't let go of. "And I dealt with things here."
"I know. But you shouldn't have had to. Can't I make it up now?" Pyro asks.
Scott's face furrows. "You can do whatever you please."
"Well, I please to help you. To be with you," Pyro says, somehow drawing them closer so now their elbows are brushing. "Won't you let me make it up to you?"
"I'm not the one that you need to make things up to," Scott says, face feeling too warm from rushing blood.
"You are, though."
One of Pyro's hands lets go, but only to grab Scott's face. He freezes all over as Pyro drags his thumb over his cheek.
"I don't—"
Scott is reading this all wrong. He's so confused and it hurts and he's quite certain his heart is going to burst out of his skull. Which would be far preferable at this point. To stop his thoughts from obsessing over touches and wants that he can't have and aren't there.
Yet, Pyro seems oblivious to it. Or worse, leaning in, leading them.
But no, that is impossible. It just is!
"Are you dense? I came back for you," Pyro says, huffing and rolling his eyes. But then he leans in even closer, smiling.
Too close. Scott slams his eyes shut, like that will do anything at all.
All that there is, the touch and the darkness. All the makings of wretched dreams. This is a dream, Scott is sure of it. He wills himself to wake up before he breaks his heart over Pyro giving him everything he ever wanted.
"Can you open your eyes?" Pyro asks.
Painstakingly, Scott does. Only an inch away, Pyro is still there. Those tired gray eyes framed by dark lashes and darker circles. He's too tired nowadays and it aches.
"It's me, isn't it? I'm here," Pyro asks.
"Yes," Scott says, eyebrows pushing together. "You're here."
"Good." Pyro smiles widely, seemingly genuinely overjoyed. "I promise I'll stay this time, for you."
Then, before Scott can even think about that, Pyro leans in the short distance left.
And kisses him.