Work Text:
It's late at night when it happens.
A loud bang echoes through the apartment, shaking Grian out of his slumber. Before his mind has even managed to properly wake up, he's already sitting up, knife in hand. Staring into the dark of his surroundings.
His brain fortunately wakes quickly, so he lets his eyes graze over he room. Over the dresser in the corner, the nightstand beside him, and the window just beside him. Beams of moonlight stream in from the gaps in the blinds, lighting the room up in the most minimal of ways.
Someone is inside. Knowing his occupation, that someone can only be one thing.
As slowly and as quietly as possible, he gets out of bed. Hesitates, before grabbing the wooden stake resting peacefully on the nightstand. Being quiet won't do much against their heightened senses, but he tries anyway. The carpet below his feet help muffle some of the sound, which in turn helps calm his somewhat racing heart.
Carefully, he steps out of the bedroom.
The main room looks just as empty as his bedroom. Opening the door leading into the bathroom, he finds it in the same state. The dishwasher is still running, creating a quiet, continuos humming sound that hinders him from listening for noises. He already has an idea of who his guest might be, and as much as he expects them to mess up in someway, he expects to be caught if he doesn't stay on his toes.
Ultimately, it seems his guest hasn't come here to play hide and seek. Grian suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder, and it's only half a second later that he's lunging forward, pinning them to the ground. Seemingly a man, by the way they're built. They run cold, which only confirms his suspicions.
The knife is at his throat a moment later.
"Who are you?" he hisses at them, all earlier signs of drowsiness now completely gone.
He's met with a chuckle.
"Talk," he demands — and just to make a point, he shoves the knife just a little closer to the skin. Dangerously close to breaking, based on what his mortal sight allows him in the dark room.
Suddenly, the body beneath him disappears. The sound of someone hissing in pain follows as Grian falls onto the floor with a thud.
"Damn it, G," the stranger finally says, and Grian is on his feet in a millisecond. "Silver? That's mean."
The man before him is standing in front of his balcony now, letting the moonlight from the window fully frame his body. At once, he realizes the stranger isn't a stranger at all.
He then feels like an idiot. How else would he have been able to get in?
Scar crosses his arms, and Grian feels that familiar hate simmer in his veins. Red eyes stare at him with a glint of smugness he knows all too well, and he stares back. To lesser success.
Red eyes stare through him, maybe. Most vampires can't, but Scar had never been like most.
Grian swallows down all the words he wants to say, and instead lets out a clipped, "I don't play fair. You know that."
"All too well," Scar replies lightly, and he sounds almost fond.
Unsettled, Grian merely raises an eyebrow. He remains quiet, though, trusting Scar to understand what he means.
Instead, Scar looks around. "You've got a nice place. I didn't know you were into interior design."
Grian scowls.
"I'm not," he says, slowly. Wary. "Pearl helped me."
He doesn't know what he expected for their first encounter since… last time, but it wasn't for it to go like this — and it certainly didn't include one of them acting like nothing happened.
Humming, Scar nods. "It's in a nice neighborhood. Must've been hard to get."
"It gets a lot easier when people respect you," Grian then snaps, and he doesn't really mean to — but he doesn't feel bad about it after, either.
He can feel the air shifting, just slightly. Scar's red eyes blink at him in the dark. Then, he lets out a hum.
"So… is this how they reward you?"
Grian doesn't dare break eye contact for even a second. "Does it matter?"
"No," Scar laughs. "I just thought they would've had better security to keep my kind out."
Grian swallows, eyeing the man up and down. Based on his silhouette, he looks just about the same as he recalls. Aside from the considerably longer hair and slight change in his stature.
He doesn't mean to sound bitter when he speaks again. "I'd thought so too."
Scar lets out a sort of wounded sound. "Aw, G. You're breaking my heart."
Grian means to tell him that he doesn't have a heart — not a functioning one, anyway — but then, Scar takes a step forward. Instantly, his training kicks in, and the next second, he's pointing the knife at him again.
He can see the way Scar's eyes briefly widen, before smoothening out into that unbothered smugness they're used to again. He bites the inside of his cheek, feeling the skin get close to breaking. He stops just in time, though.
"Why are you here?" he asks, finally. It comes out monotone, like he's made of steel. Even though he isn't.
Scar merely smiles. "I missed you."
"No," Grian immediately denies. "You didn't."
The red eyes narrow, and Scar tilts his head to the side. "How come?"
"You know why."
Based on the way the red eyes relax slightly, Grian knows Scar knows. Anyone who isn't absolutely mental would. Anything that had ever existed between them is permanently gone, and it will never return no matter what. Grian doesn't want it to, and Scar doesn't either. He's sure of it.
After all, a hunter can never love its prey.
"I'm willing to move past all that," Scar says, and he sounds so light when he says it. Grian doesn't know how he does it, pretending that what's so obviously right under his nose doesn't exist at all. "We make each other better. You know we do."
Better.
Grian's grip around the stake tightens. He scoffs. "The only thing you make me feel is the want to drive this stake right through you like I should've when I first saw you."
A short silence follows. Grian doesn't break eye contact this time. Scar does — and then he takes another step forward.
"Do you know what it's like?"
Grian can feel his knuckles whitening. "Do I know what what's like?"
"The Ward, Grian," Scar explains, and he's still smiling in that way that makes Grian's skin crawl. He takes yet another step towards him, and Grian is now forced to take one backwards.
"They put you in a cage," he continues, and the red of his eyes are fully glowing now. "They put you in chains made of silver, so that you can't teleport out. And it burns."
Another step closer. Grian takes another backward — until he's stopped by his back hitting the bedroom door. He hadn't realized he closed it.
Swallowing around the dryness of his mouth, he looks up as Scar crowds him.
Even in the dark, he can see clear as day when the man smirks, sharp fangs gleaming in the moonlight. "Do you want to know the best part?"
Grian tries to swallow again. "No."
"They don't let you feed, Grian," Scar says anyway, leaning in. "I'm starving."
And that's all the warning he gets.
Grabbing onto the handle of the door behind him, Grian lets the door fall open behind him. In doing so, he falls backward and the stake falls out of his hand — but he ignores that and rolls out of the way as Scar stumbles forward with a surprised sound. Then, he kicks out his leg to trip him over. A moment later, Scar falls to the ground with a loud crash.
Grian rushes back to his feet, and his hands find the switch on the wall. Light floods the room, and Scar lets out an anguished sound as he tries to stand up. Grian doesn't let him, though, instead jumping at him from behind to push him back down.
Using the knife in his hand, he stabs Scar in the back, drawing another pained yell from the man below him. The silver material of the blade means that the skin won't immediately heal itself, incapacitating any vampire exposed to it. Then, he moves the knife back against his throat.
Grian reaches for the stake — but then Scar surprises him by grabbing onto the hand reaching for the stake and throwing him to the floor. Suddenly, they're flipped as Scar proceeds to grab the knife in his other hand, wrenching it out of his grip. Scar lets out another pained sound doing so, the skin of his fingers sizzling as the silver burns it, but he throws it to the other side of the room.
And then, Grian's caught.
"Pinned like a butterfly," Scar smirks, and he does sound at least a little out of breath. "You haven't lost your touch, at least. That's good."
"You've gained one," Grian quips back, struggling as Scar holds him down despite knowing of its uselessness. "Thought that I— That I'd never see the day."
"Oh, you don't mean that," Scar chuckles, and he sounds so fond again. It makes the hairs on Grian's skin stand up. "You like my touch."
Grian debates whether he should stake him as soon as he's free or get the institution to send him right back to where he came from. "How did you escape?"
"I have my ways," Scar answers easily, fangs gleaming. "None of which are really relevant right now."
He licks his lips. "Say — do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?"
Grian smiles bitterly at him, panting. "I've never been easy."
"I know," Scar sighs, sounding almost sad for a sudden moment.
It's enough to catch Grian off guard, meaning he's not expecting it when Scar suddenly leans forward and lets his teeth sink into his neck. His eyes widen and he intends to protest the intrusion — but what ends up coming out instead is a drawn out whine of some kind as the venom enters his blood.
There's fear as well as embarrassment for a brief moment, the knowledge that Scar most definitely intends to bleed him dry in the most literal of ways — but it all leaks out of him like molasses yet still moving at an alarming rate.
He's had small doses of their venom at the academy, but it's in this moment that he realizes those doses were nothing like the real thing.
Scar is drinking gleefully from his neck already, sounds of wet slurping echoing in the empty room. Briefly, Grian mourns the beige carpet underneath them before that thought also leaks out of him. It's a strange feeling, getting your blood sucked out of you — but once the initial discomfort disappears, he almost starts to think it feels nice. Comfortable. Like being lulled to sleep by sweet lullabies as your very insides get drained like a vacuum. While someone you used to trust with your life consumes it all like it's liquid gold.
He's dying, he knows. Scar wants to kill him for what he did, and he will. No matter how much Grian wants to, he can't move his limbs a single inch. He doesn't think he blames Scar for it. If he's honest with himself, he probably deserves it. He should be honest with himself, now that he's dying.
The sudden urge to say something befalls him. Maybe apologize, perhaps something else. His tongue is just as frozen as the rest of him, though. Scar is still drinking.
Is he sorry? He's not sure.
There's red everywhere, he slowly realizes. Crimson. Scarlet liquid. That's blood. Oh.
He's heard of people volunteering to have their blood drunk. Begging for it, just to feel a slight whiff of the venom vampires carry in their fangs. He's never understood why until now. It's like a drug you can't get away from. A constant high. Ecstasy. Perhaps he wouldn't mind going out like this. Not if it's Scar.
And just as he's about to close his eyes — it stops.
A long silence follows. Scar is still, having seemingly decided to simply watch him. Grian doesn't mind, thoroughly knocked out from the feeding.
He isn't entirely sure what happens next, but he briefly feels himself being lifted. Then there's something cold and wet at his neck, and he feels himself subconsciously tensing up before it's gone again. He's cold for a bit, and then he's back in his bed again, the covers pulled over him. He thinks he hears Scar leave the room for a bit, until he hears the door open up again and feels a weight sit down in the bed next to him.
They stay like that for a while, silence as the only thing keeping them company. Grian's not used to there being any silence when Scar and him are together, but times have changed. And he couldn't talk even if he wanted to.
Sleeping is more appealing than ever. He feels dizzy.
A cold hand grabs his, and another cold hand cups his cheek. There's a quiet sigh somewhere above him, before lips he knows all too well ghost over his face. Then, a soft kiss on his cheek is planted by those same lips.
It doesn't take long after that until Grian falls asleep to vague dreams of a time long gone, and the distant sound of a washing machine.
⋆⋅ ༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻ ⋅⋆