Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was hard to say if life got more or less hectic in light of Scar’s new consciousness. In some ways, it absolutely was easier for the three in charge of caring for him. Problems could be voiced more accurately, no one had to worry about lifting a limp form as often, and he was able to keep down medicine, water, and food much better. 

The new issues on the table, however, were far more abstract than what could be solved with basic bedside manners. For example, Scar’s spurts of energy did not seem to follow any specific pattern or match up with the expected circadian rhythm. 

It made sense, in hindsight, when accounting for the times in which he would jerk awake in the middle of the night previously due to the effects of the poison. Their new routine worked in much the same way. The only difference now was that he was mentally aware during each of those occasions.

And while that didn’t sound like the biggest deal in the world, Grian could never emphasize enough how utterly strange it was to be woken up in the middle of the night by a grown man staring down at him. 

“Sorry, Grian,” Scar apologized the second Grian opened his eyes on one such occasion. He had grabbed the trash can from the floor next to his bed and was cradling it to his chest. His dry heaving had been what had caused the vet to stir. It was, however, the sound of his voice and immediate attention that made him jerk into the land of the waking completely.

Groggily, he sat up, praying his bedhead wasn’t too terrible. “It’s fine,” he said, ignoring how badly he wished to turn over and go back to sleep. “You feeling okay?”

“Super nauseous, actually,” Scar croaked, resting his chin on the edge of the bin. “Nothing you can help with. I didn’t– ugh… mean to bother you.”

Grian wanted to agree with the sentiment — there really wasn’t anything he could do to ebb the other’s nausea, and therefore, he didn’t have much of a reason to be awake at all. He wanted to be upset about the fact that he was, wanted to have the strength to turn over and go back to bed. Except, he couldn’t, because this was Scar, and Grian never actually wanted to ignore when Scar was hurting.

He stood without complaining and put himself in the chair beside Scar’s bed. The sickly man gave him a strange look, somewhere between a frown and a smile. “What are you doing, G? I just said you couldn’t really help with this problem.”

“I know,” Grian yawned. He leaned forward, propping an elbow on the mattress and resting his face in his hand. “But I can stay with you until it’s over.”

Scar’s face softened. He smiled fully, and then allowed the nausea to overtake him again. Grian rubbed circles on his back while he heaved into his trash can. In the end, it took him another hour to actually throw up, and twenty more minutes of groaning about a stomach ache to fall asleep again. Grian stayed with him, watched as the crease between his brow dissipated, and unconsciousness took him again. Only then did the vet let himself go back to bed too.

It wasn’t always quite so seamless, though. There were nights in which Grian would open his eyes to see the upright shadowy figure of Scar and startle.

For example, there was one such evening in which Grian vaguely registered the increased beeping of the heart monitor from outside of his dreamless slumber. He turned over, planning on just visually getting a read on the situation before drifting off again, but his blood went cold as his eyes landed on a silhouette.

Scar was sitting up in bed, highlighted only by the shallow light of the room around them. His arms were clawing desperately at his chest and noises like a zombie come back to life were ripped from his lungs. It shocked Grian, causing him to freeze from his place in bed. As his sleepy brain forgot his situation, he experienced the briefest second of fear traveling down his spine. 

Then, the shot of adrenaline brought him back to the present, and he was rushing over. 

“Breathing exercises, Scar,” Grian chided gently. “Remember. Slow, deep breaths. Come on, do them with me now.”

Luckily, it was rare that situations became bad enough for Scar to fail to hear him, as he had in the past. Once he’d begun the exercises, it was just a matter of waiting out the worst of the fit. It was nothing the two of them hadn’t been through together before. Sometimes, that could take quite a while, but on this occasion, it was only a handful of minutes.

After his patient was safely confirmed to be over the majority of the pain, Grian felt inclined to ask a few questions. “What happened, Scar? Heart problems again?”

“Um, yeah,” Scar replied, breathy and distant. It was hard to see in the dim lighting, but his eyes were wide, and not really keen on remaining still. “Yeah, a bit? I think it was night terrors too. I woke up in a huge panic and then it escalated, y’know?”

“Night terrors?” Grian leaned forward, intrigued and worried at the same time. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for a sick man to get nightmares, but these were the sorts of questions that couldn’t be asked to a person while they were unconscious for weeks. “Did you see something that particularly bothered you?” 

His companion shrugged, sighing, “Not exactly. It was the kind of dream that only makes sense while you’re in it, but it’s silly when you’re awake. I’ve had a lot of those since getting shot.”

Grian hummed in vague acknowledgement. Silence settled over the room, the whisper of wind outside giving a subtle whistle. The vet wondered briefly if maybe the weather had something to do with Scar’s sudden nightmare, or if his current condition was indifferent to air pressure changes.

“I saw you there,” Scar said, seemingly out of nowhere. “In my dream.”

“Oh, really?” Grian replied, tilting his head, “I was in it?”

The vet realized he’d pried into something personal and unsavory when it caused Scar to stiffen, right in time with the rising beeps of the heart monitor. The recollection of the dream obviously disturbed him. Grian cursed himself inwardly for being too tired to think before speaking. 

“You… were,” Scar said quietly, sounding almost as though he were forcing the answer out. “I couldn’t tell you what happened, since it didn’t make sense, but you were there with Lizzie and Jimmy, and I just… knew something bad was about to happen. Didn’t see it or ever get an explanation, but it woke me up, I guess.”

“Mhm,” Grian hummed. “Typical bad dream, it seems. I’m sorry it was bothering you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Scar replied, shuffling slightly. In the darkness, his hand ghosted over Grian’s arm, as if ensuring it was still there. That brief brush sent shivers up the vet’s spine, and a jolt of adrenaline through his veins. “It’s not real. You’re here, and safe. We’re both alright… So, it’s fine.”

Grian smiled weakly, though he was not entirely certain his companion could see his facial expressions. He let his own hand drift nearer to Scar’s, almost enough to imply the intertwining of their fingers, then stopped. At that moment, he remembered his inward promise to himself, to delay these feelings of his until both of them were on equal footing. 

Even this one moment of contact, this one intimate touch disguised as a comforting gesture, was simply tempting fate. Giving in to these hidden intentions, especially when they could go nowhere for the foreseeable future, wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Comforting Scar was one thing, but he couldn’t let it go to his head, couldn’t let his wires cross, couldn’t confuse assisting his patient with nearness to the object of his affections. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, pulling away in favor of resting his head on the edge of the mattress instead. “We’re alright.”

If Scar noticed his hesitance, his withdrawal, he didn’t mention it. “Shouldn’t you go back to bed?”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Grian said. He wished he were a stronger man, wished his brain could think of sleep. His pulse was much too quick for any amount of relaxation. “I’d rather keep sitting here.” 

Scar shifted, and put his head back on the pillow. “Suit yourself. Don’t complain if you end up with a crick in your neck, though.”

Grian didn’t reply. He stayed there, listening as Scar’s breathing evened out, his heart rate returned to a consistent rhythm, and the wind ceased its relentless whistling. Eventually, he too fell to the effects of sleep. 

Of course, Grian had a crick in his neck the next morning, and of course, he complained about it endlessly. It was uncomfortable and irritating, but his voiced annoyances made Scar laugh every time, so it was — at least, the slightest bit — worth it.

Around five weeks after Scar had been poisoned, Grian finally felt comfortable removing his IV and oxygen machine from the equation. 

The fluids themselves had been a precaution in case of large, unpredictable spurts of unconsciousness, and the oxygen mask accounted for issues with Scar’s air intake during his fits. However, both were redundant as he began waking consistently, keeping down food and water more often than not, and regulating his breathing with only minimal help. 

Needless to say, Grian and Scar were equally excited for the elimination of the needless tech from the equation. Even if they agreed that the heart monitor was useful for tracking worrisome attacks, and it needed to stay on a good majority of the time, this minor amount of freedom was well deserved. 

“Alright, all done,” Grian told him as soon as it was officially removed. Scar shook out his arms, wincing at the tightness that was sure to be there. “I’ll keep the equipment around, in case the poison decides to be annoying again, but we’re finished for now. How do you feel?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Scar replied honestly. “Uh, weak, I guess?”

“Hm, yeah,” Grian sighed. “I suppose that makes sense. You’re not totally better, and you’ve been stuck in bed for ages. We’ll probably have to do some physical therapy to get you back up and used to your own legs again.”

“Oh, I take it that means no villainous activities for a while longer?” Scar frowned, clearly already knowing the answer before he got it. 

Grian confirmed his fear. “Not unless you want to trip over yourself and get caught in the most pathetic display of your life.”

The vet stood to wheel the IV and oxygen tank over to a corner of the room where they wouldn’t be in the way as much. Jellie watched him curiously from the cat tower – making good use of it where Pearl and Maui never had before. He supposed she probably liked it because of how little it smelled of the other two cats, who had lately taken to mewling at her under the door when they were bored.

“I’ve had some pretty pathetic displays in my life, man,” Scar laughed. “More than I would ever admit to you. Getting dragged off because my legs feel like butter might not even be in the top ten.”

“Butter?” Grian shot an amused look back at him and crossed his arms. “I’m not sure that’s the phrase.”

Scar pursed his lips. “No, I think it is. Butter isn’t very stable, and it can melt under pressure, so it wouldn’t be a good material for legs.”

The vet approached the foot of the bed to level Scar with a baffled stare. “It’s jelly. Your legs would feel like jelly, Scar.”

“Okay, if that’s the hill you want to die on,” Scar hummed, something glinting in his eyes. In an attempt to gauge what exactly it was, Grian rounded the bed and sat himself on the edge of the mattress by the other’s hip. Mischief was waiting for him there, layered with another emotion that was hard to read. “We all have to be wrong sometimes, G.”

“And I’m wrong, am I?” Grian gave him a playful scowl, dangerously aware of how it caused his companion’s mouth to tip upwards at the corners. “There’s no world in which you’re the one that's mistaken? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Obviously,” Scar replied, sitting up straighter. It was only when his gaze slipped down Grian’s face briefly that the vet realized how little distance was left between them. Suddenly, the air was thin, and the room was hot. “I’m always right.”

The vet dug his nails into his palms to keep from doing something drastic at the sight of the grin that spread across Scar’s lips. He tore his eyes away, forcing his mind to jump to a new topic. “Well, now that you’re free of your IVs, what do you want to do first?”

“Now that I’m–?” Scar blinked, glancing down at himself. “Um, I’m not sure. Is there something I should want to do?”

“I can’t tell you what you want.” Grian shrugged, standing to give himself more control. He hoped his ears weren’t as visibly hot as they felt. “But your arms are mostly free now.”

“True,” Scar said. “I’m excited not to sleep in rigid positions anymore. Tonight is going to be great.”

Grian glanced around, attention wandering to anything beyond his companion, when an idea came to him. He snapped his fingers. “There is one thing that you might enjoy.”

Scar raised a curious brow. 

“I know you’ve gotten pretty sick of those sponge baths Tim’s been giving you,” he reminded him, and gestured at the door. “All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be too difficult to get you to a real tub if you wanted.”

Sponge baths had, predictably, become a little more troublesome with added consciousness. Jimmy continued his job diligently, but Scar was usually awake and aware for the whole encounter. It was always described as something necessary and appreciated, but completely awkward. 

The idea of being independent enough to not have those be a requirement anymore was definitely an appealing prospect. As expected, the other man brightened the second Grian suggested it, a gasp leaving him. “Oh, wait! That does sound awesome! I could take a bath all by myself?”

“Well, mostly,” Grian laughed lightly. “You’re still pretty tired, so getting there would be a process in and of itself.”

“Ah, right.” Scar deflated a bit. “Should I wait until Jimmy’s available to help me?”

Grian bit the inside of his cheek. “How long do you think it’ll be until that happens?”

“No telling,” Scar sighed. “These matters can take a while if the people we’re threatening feel like fighting back.”

Jimmy was unavailable for the time being, supposedly due to some sort of minor territorial thing to do with a group of criminals elsewhere in town. The vet didn’t understand the politics of the city’s underworld, but the Bamboozlers were allegedly pretty tied up in keeping it in order — enough that they could spend large amounts of time sorting it out.

Lizzie had explained that non-superpowered criminals getting too confident and attempting complex heists could often lead to security measures being put in place that wouldn’t otherwise have been implemented. That stuff could ruin or complicate missions for actual supervillains, people considered more qualified to successfully complete such daring tasks, by eliminating the easiest ways forward, only for the minor criminals to end up caught due to their lack of experience. 

It was better, apparently, for the villain groups with the most powerful reputations to scare them away before they could cause that damage. Jimmy had received word from an informant that a local gang had gotten too cocky, and was doing reconnaissance to figure out their plans. Once he had that information, he was going to work with Lizzie to ensure it never came to fruition, no matter what that took. 

In Grian’s opinion, all of that sounded like a very convoluted form of almost-vigilantism, but any vocalization of that thought resulted in Jimmy loudly whining, “No, we’re the bad guys! We don’t do good stuff ever!”

Either way, the point was that Jimmy wasn’t available, and he wasn’t going to be for a while longer. 

Scar looked dejected, disappointed to have something like personal space and good hygiene dangled in front of his face. Grian hadn’t meant to do that, but now that he had, he felt awful. 

They weren’t, however, totally out of options. Scar would need assistance to get to the tub, but Jimmy wasn’t the only one capable of offering a hand there. Grian clapped, a decision made as easily as that.

“I’ll do it,” he declared. “C’mon, swing your legs over the side of the bed. Let’s practice standing up.”

What Grian had failed to account for was Scar’s reaction to such a decision. His comment was met with a blank look, which transformed quickly into one of blatant shock.  

“You’ll… what?” Scar gaped at him. His heart monitor picked up, getting several beats above his usual resting rate. He indeed did swing his legs over the side of the bed, but only to let him better face Grian to gawk at him. “You want to… help me take a bath?”

The vet winced at the phrasing. “No, but it’s my job while I’m acting as your doctor to make sure you’re completely comfortable. You want to bathe, do you not?”

Scar paused, stopping and starting his sentence multiple times, before falling silent. His pulse increased yet again, and he raised a hand to where the device connected to his arm. 

Grian didn’t hesitate to step forward and begin removing the heart monitor for him. Rather not let his patient attempt to rip it off while panicked by its incessant noise.  

Its rapid beeping stopped all at once — a rare phenomenon for them. Grian set it aside carefully, and then stared down at Scar. They were close enough that their knees were almost brushing, but the vet maintained a steady height advantage due to the downward curve of the mattress. Scar’s green eyes were wide as he gazed up at Grian, and his mouth was tightened into a line, almost as though he were forcing himself to hide his true feelings on the matter. He looked beyond perturbed.

The vet raised a brow, not expecting a topic like this to be worthy of such intense thought. Was Scar worried about the idea of Grian seeing him in an embarrassing state? Was he — a man with a history of bragging about his good looks — acting shy about his appearance all of a sudden? Or was it another matter entirely?

“Is something wrong?” Grian put a hand on Scar’s shoulder, taking note of the way the touch made the other’s mouth twitch. “Would that make you uncomfortable?”

“Oh, uh,” Scar whispered. His eyes stayed locked on Grian’s own, but they shook like he was doing everything in his power not to look away. “No, of course not…”

Grian didn’t believe him. His trailing off, hands folded deliberately in his lap, and shaky exhalations were enough proof that he was lying. It was oddly nostalgic to seek out those nervous tells again, after so long of focusing only on recovery. Unfortunately, the lie in this case was bound to be about the matter of bathing, and the vet’s role in it. 

Although, something was strange about his cagey attitude. Scar had to know that Grian would respect his wishes if anyone aside from Jimmy assisting in this process violated his boundaries. And yet, he wasn’t giving an outright refusal or excuse. Scar was just stammering and nervous.

Nervous…

Grian watched his companion’s throat bob as he swallowed. A dangerous notion occurred to him. Curiosity welled in his chest, begging to be fulfilled, begging for him to test the waters, begging him to remember his hypothesis from over a month ago. 

Scar’s eyes were wide, cheeks tinged a soft pink, lips parted just the slightest bit. He looked so off-balance, while simultaneously seeming like he was hanging onto the vet’s every word. 

And Grian, despite knowing his own promises to himself, despite wanting to keep his distance where he could, despite knowing better than to give in, was only human at that moment. 

“Yes, of course. You’ve got no reason to be uncomfortable around me, right?” Grian hummed, as nonchalant as possible to prompt the best response. He let his finger trace lazy circles on the other’s shoulder. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen you shirtless dozens of times before when treating your older wounds. What’s one bath?”

As soon as the statement had left him, Grian let his eyes dip down, and back up.

Like clockwork, Scar immediately flushed, red spreading from the bridge of his nose to the tips of his ears. Grian was fairly certain he’d hit the nail on the head. It seemed, even when still emerging from the effects of the poison, Scar was not immune to the strategies Grian had prepared prior. He managed to bite back a larger smile, but a teasing edge still snuck through the vet’s defenses.

If he wanted, he could push further. Scar would let him push further. Grian could raise his other hand to cup his jaw, tilt his face up just the slightest bit, and feel their breaths intermingle with an undeniable ease. He could prove everything his heart desired to be true, could make it known to both of them, could put an end to this burning back and forth. 

“Oh, um, yeah,” Scar whispered, drawing the vet from his divisive haze. “Yeah, that’s a good point. Why don’t you, uh, help me up first, and we can get started?”

Grian’s defenses raised, heart squeezing. 

Scar still needed him. He still needed Grian to help him walk, bathe, and sort through medicines. There were duties and responsibilities to be fulfilled first. He was still a doctor to Scar, despite how badly he wanted to make their relationship unprofessional. 

Grian put his desires aside, aware of how they simmered and how their embers threatened to grow into flames with more insistency recently. He could deal with them later, when he was alone. For now, Scar needed his attention, and he was loath to deny that man anything.

“Alright,” Grian said. “Let’s go.”

He turned to the side and maneuvered Scar until he had an arm tossed over the vet’s shoulder. His hand landed firmly on the other man’s waist, taking the brunt of his weight to heave him into an upright position. It came with a fair amount of straining and a lot of failed attempts, but they did, eventually, manage. 

Scar stumbled a few steps, Grian there to support him the whole way. 

“Woah,” he gasped. “It feels like I’ve never walked before in my life.”

“That’s my fault,” Grian chuckled lightly. “I should’ve probably started the physical therapy stuff sooner. Believe it or not, humans work a little bit differently to animals when it comes to the recovery process.”

The vet discovered quickly that carrying a grown man from his bedroom down the hall to his bathroom was actually a lot harder than it seemed in his head. Scar was uneven, and though he wasn’t dead weight, his fumbling feet were almost worse for navigation. They bumped into the same hall table three times because of that fact. 

“The bathroom’s not far from here, right?” Scar shot him a sheepish smile. He’d begun to take slow, deep breaths to regulate his own heart rate, which had to be skyrocketing with the exertion. His stamina for physical exercise was bound to be significantly reduced as well. Even a few steps was enough to cause them to need a break. “I’m not sure I can handle much more.”

“Y’know, it definitely feels a lot further when I’m carrying someone else around,” Grian mused, earning a small laugh for his troubles. To be entirely honest, his muscles did burn a bit, but he wasn’t as quick to falter as he might’ve once been. His efforts were not without merit. Though, he wasn’t perfect either. Scar was heavy, and they’d both thrown themselves right into a strenuous activity without much preparation. “Next time, I’m gonna slowly work you up to walking like this.”

“Yeah, I think I’d appreciate that,” Scar panted, leaning against the hallway wall for a moment to rest. His legs wobbled, and a sheen of sweat was beading at his brow. Grian would’ve wiped it away, but he didn’t have the hands to spare. It could wait. They were close to the bathroom, as tedious of a process as it was, and therefore, close to a place to relax. “At least, this is… teaching me my new limits.”

“One final push, and then I won’t make you do this again,” Grian urged. “Come on.” 

They got away from the wall and stumbled those last few steps through the threshold of the bathroom. Scar slumped completely into Grian, allowing himself to be settled on the edge of the tub to take a breather.

“Oh my goodness, G,” Scar huffed, leaning his head against the tile. “That was rough. I used up all the energy I had.”

“Well, on the bright side,” Grian pointed out. “You can take that bath now!”

“Yeah, right,” Scar rebuffed, nose scrunching. “I don’t think I can even lift my arms long enough to wash my hair. As nice as it sounds, a bath might be out of the question.”

Grian’s mouth clicked shut. True to his word, Scar’s arms were shaking in a similar fashion to his legs. It was the most strain those appendages had experienced in weeks. They’d definitely made a bad call by attempting this prior to physical therapy, and without any aides. Although, now that they were there, it would be a waste not to achieve their original goal.

The vet remembered something, and dug around in the cabinet below his sink until he found a large bag of epsom salts. It was a trick he used whenever he was in desperate need of relaxation, or the tension in his muscles got too intense. They weren’t terribly scientific, but a little magnesium wouldn’t hurt Scar by any means.

“We’ll use this to help you feel better,” Grian declared, presenting the bag. “You can soak for a while, and when you’re alright enough, you can wash your hair and whatnot.”

“Oh, Lizzie keeps some of this stuff at the base,” Scar gasped. “Okay, sure, that could work! Just, uh, one last question…”

“Of course.”

Scar flushed and glanced away. “How am I supposed to, um, get in the bath? I probably need help there too.”  

“Oh. Right. Huh.” Grian frowned at the predicament, and looked around for a solution. He picked up a towel, passing it in Scar’s direction. “If you think you can manage it, I’ll turn around while you change, and then you can tie this around your waist. Should help with modesty a little, at least.”

Scar agreed, and the vet spun around, listening to the sounds of hurried shuffling. The other man whispered quite a few expletives over the course of several minutes, obviously struggling. When Grian suggested giving him a hand, Scar rushed to say, “No, it’s fine! I’ve got it… Almost there!”

By the time he finally called for Grian to look his way again, his outward appearance reflected his frustrations. The way his cheeks were reddened from effort, and his chest was rising and falling displayed perfectly the amount of energy he’d poured into just getting through changing.

He was, at least, successful in his endeavors. His clothes had been thrown into a haphazard pile beside the tub. The towel was tied tightly around his waist, hanging down to his knees and ensured to be in place by a white-knuckled grip. The rest of Scar was bare, though it revealed nothing – as previously mentioned – Grian hadn’t seen before. 

This instance was, however, in a slightly different context compared to all the other times. There was no blood, nor any fresh, horrific wounds marring the skin. The closest it got was the lingering remains of the cut from the arrow, but little else existed to distract from the full extent of Scar shirtless.

Grian saw defined muscles, weakened from being out of order, but too prominent to be badly withered away. Discolored patches of skin, similar to the markings that covered Scar’s face and arms, decorated his torso as well. He was littered with the remains of past battles – some of those being identifiable to the man in charge of treating them. 

The vet’s mindset was also completely different from his usual professional mode. He wouldn’t, for example, previously have noticed any curves or attractive features. He wouldn’t have half a mind to let his eyes follow the outline of Scar’s collarbone, or have the wherewithal to absorb the clear evidence of the other man’s hard work in the gym. 

Scar was built, to put it simply, the way a professional supervillain should be.

And he was, to borrow the words of another vet, really quite the sight.

Grian realized he was staring, and felt shame flare up in his gut, rising to his cheeks in the form of a deep blush. Scar would undoubtedly have teased him about his intense gaze, but the half-covered man was actively keeping his eyes averted. Apparently, he was just as embarrassed by the prospect of being undressed in front of Grian as Grian was about the fact that he didn’t mind it.

The vet cleared his throat and forced his attention back to the bath itself. He turned on the water, waiting to adjust the temperature to something consistently bearable for sensitive skin. Once it was alright, he allowed it to fill up, then added the epsom salts. 

“Okay,” Grian hummed, steeling himself before turning to Scar again. “I’ll help you in.”

Scar didn’t need too much from Grian to simply get into the tub, but lifting his legs to throw them over the edge was a bit of an issue. It required him to lean very heavily on the vet, which Grian did not overthink at all.

Once his companion was safely in the water, and actively breathing out sighs of relief, he stood. “Shall I wait outside for you to finish? That way you can have some privacy and just call me back when you need me?”

Scar nodded, basking in the warmth, and Grian excused himself. He pulled up a chair to wait in front of the door – in case his companion wasn’t able to shout loudly enough to be heard from further away. He scrolled through his phone to pass the time, leisurely bending to pet Maui and Pearl as they came to check out his temporary setup.

His cats had gotten used to Jellie finally. Aside from occasionally trying to bother her under the door, they didn’t seem excessively jealous when Grian emerged from his room smelling of another cat, and they weren’t terribly interested in getting inside anymore. 

He tried to spend a decent amount of time with them each day to make up for locking them out, but his two little brats barely noticed his absence to begin with. Even now, Grian was only able to brush along their backs as they lingered in his area. He gave up on attempting to be sweet, and focused fully on his screen. 

Social media wasn’t a platform to which he gave much thought. It simply wasn’t interesting to him to scroll through other people’s ramblings. He would much rather engage with a good book, write reviews for trashy movies, or call up a friend. Today was the rare exception where he had a very small void of boredom that needed to be filled by something equally as small.

So, he’d let himself give in to scrolling aimlessly for a bit. Mostly, it was nothing out of the ordinary. People with bad opinions, meaningless photos, and reports of real world events. Eventually, it was the latter of the options that he ended up reading into more than the others. 

Particularly, he relaxed into the monotonous routine of perusing through various news stations’ official accounts to see what they deemed important. In the midst of theatrical fights and superpowered politics, the city’s reporters were notoriously biased towards the dramatics. They liked to find ways to maximize conflicts to earn as much viewership as they could, and it worked more often than not.

For example, the first account had pinned a clip in which Furioso was, allegedly, caught stammering in front of an interviewer because he was asked a question regarding his taste in women. Grian made sure to forward that post to Lizzie, certain she’d find it funny if she hadn’t already seen it.

Next, he found a post about the disappearance of the Bamboozlers, where several dozen people were using its comments as a place to speculate on a variety of topics only vaguely revolving around the villain group. They buzzed about things like Lizzie’s clear skin through a series of screenshots of blurry drone footage, or Scar’s remarkable ability to avoid getting dirt on his clothes during scraps. 

One that caught his eye was asking about the cast seen on Jimmy’s finger during their last sighting – wondering whether or not it would still be on when they reemerged, and how it had gotten there in the first place. Then, below it, the same user had posted another comment about the matter.

Posted 5 days ago by @user373737

I’m just saying, it looks pretty professionally done… so… maybe they have a guy behind the scenes!!! My dad works in a hospital, and he says any reliable doctor would’ve been on the lookout for people with broken fingers after that incident with Boogeyman… Not a baseless theory…

Grian paused, rereading again and again, but he remained equally as surprised the fifth time through.

The general public, or at least this one person, suspected the trio had a doctor working for them. For some reason, Grian had never stopped to consider that anybody might realize something like that. He supposed it was obvious. The Bamboozlers used to have much longer gaps in appearances when they’d get injured in battle, and now they were suddenly fine after only a few days, and sporting things like casts. 

Jimmy’s cast had been removed as of half a week prior, when Grian deemed it safe and the formerly-injured man declared it no longer pained him, but it seemed the damage had been done long before that. The vet didn’t know what this meant for them – if it was bad, or even worth giving a moment of thought – but it certainly was surprising. 

He glanced over the rest of the thread, but it mostly consisted of other users calling the original poster ridiculous for assuming any medical professional would risk their license for something like this. Grian was too caught off-guard to find it humorous. 

Thankfully, he was drawn away from his phone by a call from behind the door. 

“Grian? Could you come here for a second?”

Grian moved his chair and reentered the bathroom. Scar was smiling sheepishly. The towel was still over his hips, luckily, but the water around him wasn’t soapy in the slightest. Whatever amount of washing he’d needed to get done seemingly hadn’t happened yet. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later.

“Um, I think I might’ve pushed myself a little too far earlier,” Scar admitted. “I can’t really lift my arms, even with this lovely salt bath you’ve put together.”

“Oh.” Grian sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry. That doesn’t sound comfortable. Would you like to get out and put a pin in this for the time being?”

“Well, not exactly,” Scar said, looking away. “My, uh, hair is really bothering me. The greasy feeling isn’t one I totally enjoy. I was wondering if maybe… you could help me with it?”

Grian straightened. “You want me to wash your hair?”

Scar nodded. “If you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Grian blurted, probably too quickly. “Yes, of course. Anything you need.”

Scar tossed him a grateful smile, and shifted in the tub so that his back was to Grian. 

The vet rocked on the balls of his feet, trying to get ahold of his mind. He felt a little out of his depth here. This was a physical boundary that he was about to cross, and a challenge for himself that needed to be overcome. His brain had been especially quick that day to toss aside its morals in favor of ogling, and lending time to unprofessional daydreams. He needed to lock that part of him up deep inside, lest he accidentally let something slip at the most awkward moment humanly possible.

It was just washing hair. That was easy — normal. In fact, it was an experience that should be beyond manageable for him. He’d given tons of medicinal baths to animals in the past. This would just be a much more controlled version of that. 

Grian did his best to slip into work mode, preferring it to the weirdness that had been plaguing him recently, and grabbed a cup from beside his sink. 

In truth, for all he’d let himself worry over it, washing Scar’s hair was a straightforward and repetitive process. Sponge baths hadn’t really done the trick when it came to caring for the mop atop the other’s head. This was, perhaps, the most care anyone had shown it since Scar fell sick. Grian took great pride in ensuring it was not a bad experience. 

He was careful when wetting it to let as little water get into his companion’s eyes as possible, and the only noise between them was of gentle splashing. Two or three times as much shampoo was necessary to truly get to the bottom of the grease, but Grian enjoyed the monotony of massaging it into his companion’s scalp. Scar certainly wasn’t complaining either. One quick peek proved that his eyes had shut at some point during the process. He looked perfectly at ease.

Grian carried on for a while longer, letting in more warm water when it seemed the bath was going cold. Honestly, it was entirely possible to have finished at a much quicker rate, but neither he nor the man bathing were in any rush to do so. After applying conditioner, and washing that away too, Grian stayed there, simply basking in the quiet comfort between them. 

“Oh, did you finish?” Scar glanced up and over his shoulder. His eyes fluttered against the light, as if he’d actually fallen into a shallow sleep for the previous few minutes. The smile that split his face was like a summer breeze through an open window, soft and serene and solely for Grian. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.”

And Grian, because he couldn’t trust himself to be any less sarcastic, tipped his head to the side and replied, “You would’ve died in an alleyway somewhere, probably.”  

Scar laughed, lovely and echoing against the bathroom walls. “Very true. Now, if my savior wouldn’t mind stepping into the hall for another minute, I’m going to wash the rest of me.”

“Right,” Grian whispered, ignoring how his heart skipped a beat at the thought of being anyone’s savior, let alone Scar’s, no matter how true it was. “Right, of course.”

Grian stood, bid farewell, and waited outside the door until his companion was finished. When it came time to get Scar back to his room, the vet fetched his wheeled office chair from its place beside his desk to make it much easier on the both of them. 

He took note of the usefulness, and once he’d gotten Scar to bed, allowed himself a quick, discreet, online purchase.

“Good, one more time.”

Scar was careful to stand. His legs didn’t shake, and his posture remained fairly straight due to the chair he was using as a makeshift support. He remained in that upright position for a handful of seconds, and then gently lowered himself back down as they’d practiced. 

“Ugh, this is so boring,” Scar complained, expression thoroughly unamused. “Old people in nursing homes probably have more mobility than I do.”

“You’re not wrong. Your bones are rickety for sure,” Grian teased, enjoying how it made Scar’s nose scrunch up in distaste. “But you’re looking younger by the minute.”

Physical therapy was going well, in Grian’s humble opinion — despite how his patient insisted that it was, in fact, the worst thing in the entire world. They’d made quite a bit of progress over the last handful of days, having started rather immediately after the incident with the bathroom. 

Contrary to the previously pathetic attempt at movement, though, Jimmy was present this time around. He sat in the corner of the room, not really focused on either of them. His role was simply to help out if Scar fell and they needed to get him up, or position him a certain way. It was rarely necessary, but Jimmy didn’t seem to mind loitering.

For the most part, he simply zoned out with his own business — that business being, of course, the tattered vest of his fellow Bamboozler that he was sewing back together. 

Jimmy’s hobby of sewing was actually significantly more impressive than Grian had originally considered it to be. Though the vet had only known about it in the beginning because he’d seen the other man’s kit in the bathroom at the bunker, it was more than just little stitches here and there. He was incredibly thorough when it came to fixing up this item of clothing. The color of the fabric was matched exactly with the thread, not even a minuscule hint remaining when he was through with a tear to suggest its existence in the first place. 

Clearly, though he could be clumsy in other regards, Jimmy was capable of paying attention to the finer details when need be. His handiwork ensured all his teammates would be looking their best on the battlefield, no matter what weapons attempted to ruin their style. 

Lizzie had apparently gotten quite aggressive during their little intimidation tactic against those amateur criminals. In the meantime, she’d accidentally ended up with her costume a bit roughed up. Grian hadn’t been told the whole extent of the exchange, but allegedly, some of those rips were from her chasing a fleeing man through a barbed-wire fence. 

According to Jimmy, she had used this ordeal as a way to relieve her stress from the past few weeks. The vet ignored these words, preferring not to think about how Lizzie’s idea of relaxation was being so blinded by a murderous rage that she would disregard barbed wire in favor of a good hunt. He also ignored the amused expression on Jimmy’s face as this had been relayed.

Though he was used to the antics of villains by now, Grian had concluded that sometimes turning a blind eye to their numerous red flags was the healthiest option for him. Besides, even if he did face them, very little would ever change his stance. He was well and truly involved — illegal tendencies or not. 

Maybe that was selfish, or wrong of him, but it’d been too long since he’d last let himself crumble about his morals. With Scar sitting in front of him, nose crinkled in a way that was simultaneously hilarious and adorable, and Jimmy sewing in the corner, it was hard to really care about details like those.

This wasn’t their first afternoon attempting exercises that involved getting out of bed. According to everything Grian had read before, stretches were the best place to start, and so they’d done exactly that. Exercises that focused on strengthening any deteriorated muscles, such as leg or arm lifts, were prioritized. 

Scar was, however, antsy. He wanted to get up and moving as fast as possible. It was clear that being bedridden for so long was starting to weigh on him. Lizzie and Jimmy were purposely not plotting any schemes so he wouldn’t feel useless, but the recent incidents with the other criminals had nevertheless instilled that anxiety within him.

“Can’t we just practice walking around more?” Scar groaned. “I want to be able to leave the room by myself at least.”

“No,” Grian hissed. “I told you that we’re going to be doing this the right way.”

“These exercises are so lame. I need some excitement, some spice in my life again,” Scar said. He brightened, snapping his fingers. “We should make this like an action training montage, and you can tape a picture of all the heroes to a dummy for me to practice punching or something!”

Grian rolled his eyes. However, a knock on his front door drew his attention away. Both Scar and Jimmy bristled, the latter moving to stand. The vet stopped him. “Relax,” he sighed. “I was due for a package today.”

“A package?” Scar frowned, though Jimmy just nodded, having already been filled in. 

Grian excused himself and went to retrieve it. The delivery man was sweet, required little conversation, and the exchange was over relatively quickly. The large package was moved inside. He did not, however, bring it back for Scar to see. Instead, he messaged Jimmy to join him, and waited to hear the padded steps coming down the hallway. 

“That came pretty fast,” Jimmy hummed. “It would’ve been faster and cheaper if you’d let me steal you one, but—“

“The measurements wouldn’t have been right,” Grian tutted, beginning to tear off the cardboard. “I bought this specially to fit taller folks. Knowing you and Scar, the two of you will get into enough trouble in the future that it’ll be plenty useful. Not to mention, when it comes to money, I’m frugal enough to afford to go crazy on occasion.”

“Whatever,” Jimmy grumbled. He knelt next to the box and took over for the vet. “I’ll put it together. You should go back to the room before he misses you too much.”

Grian scoffed, ignoring how the jab made him flush. “Alright, I’ll stall for you. Knock on the bedroom door when it’s ready.”

“Shouldn’t take long. Not much needs to be attached,” Jimmy told him, and Grian disappeared down the hall. 

Scar was not, however, in the position that they’d left him. In fact, he was halfway off the bed, looking like he’d been caught in the middle of something highly illegal when the vet walked in. “Grian! I thought something happened — Jimmy left so abruptly.”

“No, it was nothing,” he told him. Grian paused and raised a brow at the way Scar’s legs were shaking from the force of staying upright. They wouldn’t do that if he hadn’t been actively pushing himself beyond the boundaries they’d practiced as of late. “Were you trying to make a run for it?”

“What? Oh, this? No, no, I was just… practicing those handy dandy exercises,” Scar lied, blinking too quickly. “Good to get those reps in, y’know? You can go back to helping Jimmy.” 

“Scar, you know you’re not allowed to walk around unsupervised,” Grian scolded. “Sit down.”

Scar averted his gaze. “Well, I would, but Jellie’s over by the window, and I was going to go pet her—“

“Sit,” Grian repeated, narrowing his eyes. Scar sensed the danger in the word, lowering himself back to rest against the mattress. Although, he notably wasn’t sitting down completely. Rather, it looked like he still kept the majority of his weight on the ground, and simply leaned on the bed, waiting for his next opportunity to escape.

The vet sighed, long, slow, and irritated. He crossed the room in two large steps and put a hand on Scar’s shoulder, forcing him fully onto the bed. Wide green eyes met his own, pupils dilating as Grian leaned in. “You really don't have your listening ears on today, do you?”

Scar’s gaze darted to the hand that still held his shoulder. Grian watched his throat bob as he swallowed, and heard the shaky breath that came out around his words when he replied, “But I’m bored!”

Grian took his other shoulder and shook him lightly. Scar snorted out a laugh, trying and failing to bat him away. “You stress me out,” the vet grumbled. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s my only entertainment these days,” Scar mused, though he was half joking. “I love the way your eyebrows pinch together when you’re mad at me.”

The vet stopped shaking him just long enough to flick his forehead. He was not surprised to hear such a subtly depressing statement from his companion. Both of them were well aware that the injured man was greatly missing his former freedom. He’d been steadily recovering, but his small steps weren’t always satisfactory. 

Some big moves had been made towards his independence. For example, he was consistently strong enough to hold his own dishes or cups, and he wasn’t constantly trembling anymore. And, with some assistance in carrying him back and forth, Scar had been able to bathe himself in total privacy. 

Still, that stuff wasn’t always enough, and anyone could see that. Scar spent most of his days doing nothing aside from chatting with his caretakers, participating in physical therapy, watching videos on the laptop Lizzie had brought from his house, or reading from the collection of comics Jimmy had lent him. 

If he wanted to deviate from that, he needed one or more people around to help move him to other rooms, and a person lingering vaguely nearby at all times to be sure he wasn’t straining himself. Not able to work, or function without assistance was a major adjustment. Whether he was close with his caretakers or not, Grian was sure he would feel equally as suffocated and useless in Scar’s position. 

“Hang in there for a little longer,” Grian told him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I promise everything is about to get a lot better.”

Scar frowned. “What? What do you mean?”

Right on time, a knock sounded. Grian approached, unable to bite back his smile. “There’s a reason I was having you work on standing and sitting specifically.”

He swung open the door to reveal Jimmy, and the brand new wheelchair that had just arrived. Grian watched as Scar realized what he was seeing, and his face lit up. Jimmy pushed it closer, and Scar carefully stood to inspect his gift. He ran a hand over the handles, the cushions, and released an amazed breath.

“You bought me a wheelchair?” His eyes jumped up to Grian, round and questioning. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

“That you can get out of bed and wheel around my entire apartment all on your own?” Grian nodded, stepping over to rest a hand on the chair. “It does.”

The immediate relief and joy that spilled out of Scar was like nothing else. His smile was breathtaking, blinding, beyond what should be possible for human expression. His eyes crinkled and overflowed with happiness. Witnessing his indescribable delight was like a split in the clouds after weeks of rain, sedation after months of pain, a fire in the middle of an icy tundra. 

Grian was so caught up in the warmth that encapsulated his heart at the sight that he nearly missed it as Scar forced his legs forward. In one big movement, the vet was pulled into a bone-crushing hug. The warmth that had once just been within his chest spread rapidly outward, stoking embers into raging flames. He was completely surrounded by Scar.

“What? No hug for me? I’m the guy that put all this together,” Jimmy huffed from off to the side. “Sure, I didn’t pay for it or order it, but I helped him secretly get your measurements, and that should count for something.”

Instead of Jimmy’s statement winning him brownie points, Scar simply pulled back and stared in awe at Grian. “You based it on my measurements too?”

“Sorta? You’re pretty tall,” the vet hummed, shrugging. “It’s not actually custom, since those take ages to arrive, but I got the bigger size, at least. I wanted you to fit as best as–”

He was yanked into another smothering hug. Although, distantly, he registered Jimmy also being tugged into this one as well. Jimmy grumbled about being a third-wheel, but his lanky arms wrapped around them.

“Okay,” Scar declared a minute later. “No more appreciation. I need to take this baby for a spin yesterday.”

Without any more fanfare, Scar plopped himself into the seat. He marveled at the way it fit, and the fact that his feet were not uncomfortable due to the customizations. Grian pointedly did not tell him the sheer amount that had been spent, and the collection of old medical school connections that had been contacted to get this exact model to arrive quite so quickly. It might’ve been enough to entice them into robbing another bank, so keeping it to himself was the best choice.

They spent the rest of the afternoon mutually teaching themselves how to navigate around the apartment with a wheelchair, none of the three having prior personal experience. It wasn’t perfectly accessible, as they’d eventually learned. The kitchen had a lip that was pretty annoying, but Scar was quick to invent a solution.

If he gave the wheels a decent amount of force, he could catch the entire chair with his powers and speed it up right before reaching the threshold, and was then able to make it over with absolutely no issue. He could also slow his descent when leaving to soften it if he so wished. Scar rolled back and forth through the doorway several times to perfect his entrance, puffing up with pride every time he succeeded. 

Grian watched contentedly from the sidelines as Jimmy and Scar chattered excitedly about all the cool tricks they could do if they utilized those same powers in the future. While nothing they discussed sounded remotely safe, their smiles were contagious, and it was impossible not to feel lighter just being around them.

Wholly pleased with his purchase, the vet dared to pull out his phone again. He had a few more ideas for ways to improve their situation, and he wasn’t going to waste another moment.

With a new level of mobility came a new level of freedom and privacy for not only Scar, but Grian as well. Since his patient was no longer helplessly bound to the bed until his muscles recovered, there wasn’t much need for Jimmy to hang around whenever they did their physical therapy, and they could go beyond the bedroom.

Currently, Grian’s favorite place to set up the yoga mat was in the middle of the living room. They could open the windows to get a nice breeze, turn on the television for background noise, and spend quality time with Pearl and Maui simultaneously. 

That was where they found themselves that afternoon. The vet had gotten back from an early morning shift at the clinic to discover that Lizzie and Scar were waiting for him in the kitchen, a freshly made plate of pancakes cooling on the counter. 

They ate a late breakfast together, filling the room with a lovely melody of life. Unfortunately, Lizzie did have to leave shortly after to tend to Meri, and then it was back to the usual of just Scar and Grian.

Since they were both fairly relaxed and had clear schedules, the natural next step was to begin their daily exercises. Grian rolled out the yoga mat he’d bought not long ago, and Scar wheeled over to scratch at Maui’s little head while he waited. Once they were set up, and the vet had changed out of his scrubs, they carefully got Scar out of the chair and onto the ground. That particular part of the process was getting easier and easier as his companion grew stronger. These days, he hardly needed help to stand and walk a handful of steps.

“Sit down, please, keep your legs completely flat,” Grian instructed. As always, he ran through a mental checklist of some basic stretches to get through first. Since Scar wasn’t hurting in a specific area, researching physical therapy routines that would best benefit him had given mixed results. Grian had opted to prioritize his core, as that was near where the arrow had originally caused so much damage, but it probably wasn’t what a professional would’ve done.

Scar was a good sport recently, though. Mostly because it wasn’t just practicing standing or sitting again and again and again. The exercises, in his words, had begun to resemble genuine fitness routines, and were therefore something he was used to doing on his own anyway. 

Grian supposed that made sense, given a professional villain would have to keep himself in consistently good shape. The comparisons made it easy enough to instruct Scar on what to do next. He knew what a plank was, knew where to put his feet and hands in certain complex poses, and knew when to tell if his posture wasn’t quite correct by the way it was pulling on his muscles. 

They started with basic warmups, which didn’t really need any guidance from Grian at all. Scar touched his toes, stretched out his arms, folded one leg over the other and twisted, so on and so forth. They proceeded rather uneventfully into the next few stretches. 

It was easy to zone out, both of them losing themselves in the routine. Only once they got into slightly more challenging exercises was focus returned.

“On your hands and knees please,” Grian told him, and Scar obliged. He was directed to keep his eyes down on the floor, extend his left arm out in front of him, tighten his abdominal muscles, and hold for several beats. Then, they switched to the right arm, and repeated the process with both his legs as well. He was a little shaky by the end, but not quite ready to tap out. Grian had him carefully extend one arm and one leg at the same time. 

His posture, however, when doing this, was faltering a little. Grian hummed, and took it upon himself to lightly touch Scar’s upper arm, helping to lower it to the ideal angle. His companion’s skin was hot to the touch, sending a shiver up his spine from that amount of contact alone. It was made worse when Scar raised his head to shoot a grateful smile in the vet’s direction. 

“Thanks, Doctor.”

Grian rolled his eyes at the way his stomach dared to flutter in response. He put a hand on the back of Scar’s neck and made him look down again. 

“You have to keep your head level with your spine for this exercise,” he muttered. “We’re almost done with this one. Just behave for a few more minutes.”

Scar laughed, but complied all the same. They moved on to a couple other core exercises, as well as a few that would help his hips and joints, and didn’t encounter any other issues. Grian decided eventually to wrap it up, and opted to end on a few easier exercises. Scar was, by then, sporting a thin sheen of sweat and shaking slightly more. Grian instructed him up into a basic bridge, in which he’d only have to raise his hips off the floor and remain there for a little bit. 

Unfortunately, Scar was losing energy quickly. His form wasn’t the best, his back dipping and his hips dropping with each second that passed. Grian stepped in to assist not long into it. His hands found the small of Scar’s back, urging him up into the proper position. Once he was there, the vet kept his hand in place as a stabilizer. 

“There you go,” Grian said quietly. From this angle, he was hovering a bit above the other man. He could see the pink flush to Scar’s cheeks, and the way his eyes had widened the slightest bit. “Much better. Hold on a little longer for me.”

They stayed there as the seconds ticked by until Grian was satisfied. He removed his hand, and immediately, Scar dropped down onto the mat. His chest rose and fell quickly, but there was an upward turn to his lips, so the vet knew he wasn’t actually hurting. 

“I say we stop here for now,” Grian suggested, and Scar made a noise of acknowledgement. “You’re doing so much better, dude. The side where the arrow cut you still tends to weaken faster, but I can tell you’ve made immense progress.”

“I can feel it for sure,” Scar chuckled. “Last week, if you’d asked me to do a bridge after everything else, I would’ve thought you were crazy.”

“Yeah, your core is improving rapidly,” Grian snorted, raising a hand and patting Scar’s stomach. He stopped himself when he realized what he was doing, removing the offending appendage. The vet did not, for a single second, dwell on the fact that Scar’s abdomen was remarkably firm. “Anyway, uh, do you need help getting back into your chair?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d actually prefer the couch, please!”

Grian assisted his companion in getting back up to a standing position. It was a process they’d perfected long ago. One of Scar’s legs dragged behind a bit as they walked, but the couch wasn’t far enough for it to matter terribly. They both dropped down into it and sighed with relief, neither caring that their sides were brushing, or that Scar’s arm hadn’t moved from where it’s fallen over Grian’s shoulder. 

Pearl and Maui jumped up to join them, one cat curling up beside each human. Scar glanced over at him, having already grabbed the remote from the side table. “Do you care what we watch?” 

“I picked yesterday,” Grian said, suppressing a yawn. The warmth of the contact, combined with the comfort of being in only a hoodie and sweatpants after a whole morning of scrubs was becoming a damning lullaby. “Your turn.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re about to fall asleep.” Scar huffed out a laugh, the rumble of his voice ricocheting through the confines of Grian’s heart. The heart that was — as always while in Scar’s presence — doing its best to beat just that littlest bit too fast. “I’ll try to pick something sufficiently boring to make you drift off quickly, Doctor.”

Grian let his head lean back into the cushion and, coincidentally, also Scar’s arm. He grinned, fondness welling in his chest. “Put on that space movie you like. Y’know, the one from the posters in your room.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his companion’s brows raised. “You remember the posters in my room?”

“Of course. I remember a lot from that visit.” Grian looked at him, feeling his eyes growing heavier with each tick of the clock. Even through the haze on the brink of sleep, he couldn’t help but admire the lovely lines of the other’s face. “After all, that was the day I met Jellie for the first time.”

Scar smile, large and incomprehensibly beautiful. “You’re right. That should practically make it a national holiday.”

Grian didn’t respond, already being whisked away by unconsciousness. He could’ve sworn, though, just barely, that he could hear Scar whisper one more thing.

“I remember that day too, but for a very different reason.” There was a gentle shifting, and Grian’s head landed on his shoulder. “Sleep well, G.”

While the majority of Scar’s life had gotten a lot easier with his increased energy and mobility, he wasn’t entirely free of the grasp of the poison. Night terrors and heart palpitations still, on occasion, plagued him. 

Maybe it had something to do with the weather, or how much exercise they’d done the day prior, but Scar woke one evening with a terrible gasping noise. The heart monitor – something he wore only while sleeping as of late – screeched in time with his raging pulse. The vet jolted upright, body moving before his mind could catch up. 

He found himself at Scar’s bedside, eyes scanning the machine and his patient respectively. The man was upright, gripping at his chest, and choking through sobs. His vitals showed this was a fit similar to the ones he used to have frequently. The solution, then, would also be similar. 

Scar was bordering on hyperventilating with how he gasped for air. Grian leaned forward, putting himself in his companion’s line of sight. He called out, going through his usual routine of attempting to communicate the start of a breathing exercise.

However, instead of receiving a nod of confirmation, or any other outward sign to affirm that Scar had heard him, the man just kept crying. His breathing didn’t slow, eyes didn’t gain clarity, and his body did not cease its tremoring. Grian tried to take his hand, but it was yanked away, curling into the bedsheets with a fury. 

This fit bore a terrifying resemblance to those first few nights after the poison had entered his system – closer in nature to a panic attack than heart problems. He was clearly frightened of whatever visions his mind had dared to show him, and the combination of physical symptoms was doing nothing to ease that. 

No matter what Grian said or did, he could not get through to Scar. His touch was obviously overstimulating, his words fell upon deaf ears, and his breathing exercises required the patient to have a semblance of control. Then, waiting it out was their last hope. 

For several minutes, all the vet could do was watch his companion shuddering under the weight of his own inner horrors. Grian kept speaking, kept whispering comfort, kept attempting to reach him. He didn’t know if he could be heard, or if Scar was entirely alone inside his head, but he tried anyway.

“I’m here,” Grian promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It took five minutes of terrible sobbing and gut-wrenching gasps of pain before the heart monitor started to slow. Even then, Grian didn’t try to push him, or get his hopes up. Scar wasn’t coming down from the panic. Whatever had prompted this still haunted him, if the whites of his eyes and part to his lips were any indication. 

But there was a slight change. 

Scar’s gaze landed upon Grian, and he seemed to truly see him. The other was perspiring, fatigued, and there were trails of tears coating his cheeks. He began to blink rapidly, as though trying to keep his focus in one place. 

“Hey, Scar,” Grian said softly, doing his best to smile. “I’m here, just keep your eyes on me.”

Carefully, so as not to startle him, the vet extended an open hand towards the other. Scar watched him, and at first, did not react. His knuckles were white from gripping at the fabric over his heart and the blanket over his lap. After a minute, his fingers shakily released their hold. Grian almost collapsed with relief when Scar finally allowed their hands to connect, finally allowed them to touch, finally allowed a connection between them.

“Thank you,” Grian hummed. Progress made in one area meant more was possible in another. Scar’s irregular breathing was the point of most concern. “How about we do those breathing exercises now, hm? The same one as always, alright?”

The other did not nod, nor did his expression move away from pained at all. Grian bit back a frown, trying to remain outwardly reassuring, even as his concern grew. Scar still wasn’t hearing him. He almost always managed some response, however small, during other fits like this. 

Grian did not give up, attempting instead to guide Scar towards alternative methods he’d researched to help calm people down, such as listing off objects around the room, or counting things on his fingers. 

None were useful while Scar was trapped in his head, though. He would’ve resolved to just wait the attack out, but his companion was clearly in a lot of pain. The longer this went on, the more agony he’d be in. 

Sedatives were always an option. They had to be handled with care when someone was in emotional distress, but Grian was fairly sure a decrease in physical sensations would help ease the panic significantly. 

“Scar,” Grian said, standing from his seat and gently removing his fingers from where they’d intertwined with the other’s own. “I’m going to get some medicine from the other room. I’ll be right back.”

He turned to leave, but there was a gasp from behind him, and then a hand was clamping down on his wrist.

“Don’t go,” Scar choked out, voice quivering as he spoke for the first time that evening. “Grian, please.”

The vet stopped, staring down at him, seeing how distressed he’d become at the simple suggestion of the vet leaving. Guilt pooled in his gut, raw and heavy. There was no point in weighing his options, not when Scar was looking up at him with such fear. As much as Grian thought sedatives would help, the last thing he wanted to do was abandon the other man when he needed him. 

He allowed a weak tug on his sleeve to pull him forward and down. The vet was immediately drawn into a tight embrace, the full force of Scar’s anguish put into the arms he wrapped around Grian. The shaking man kept him close, fingers digging into the fabric of the vet’s shirt, and his face burying in the crook of Grian’s neck. 

Grian adjusted easily. He seated himself on the edge of the bed to allow for a better position, and hugged back. Scar released a slow breath as the mutual force from Grian’s arms encased him too. The vet did not fail to notice that. 

Pressure, he’d read sometime during one of his late-night internet scouring sessions, was another viable method for assisting with panic attacks. He hadn’t considered it before, hesitant to break physical boundaries while Scar was too vulnerable to deny him. However, if something as easy as a hug could let out a bit of tension, Grian was more than happy to oblige. 

“Don’t go,” Scar muttered into the vet’s shoulder. “Stay here. Can’t be alone.”

“I won’t go anywhere,” Grian replied. To his surprise, though, his friend just tightened his grip impossibly more, as though he didn’t believe the vet to be telling the truth. “I swear, Scar. I’ll stay right here.”

There was a small noise of acknowledgement from the other, and then silence descended upon them again. Grian honed in on the shallow, uneven rise and fall of Scar’s chest, as well as the beeping of the heart monitor. The man in his arms shook frequently, with only brief moments of stillness here and there. 

It was strange to feel all the sensations he knew plagued Scar from this close distance. Every expansion of his ribs pressed into Grian’s chest too, and the frantic pace of his friend’s pulse could be experienced in the palms of his hands – almost as if those things belonged to him as well.

An idea came to him within those stagnant moments. He shifted to ensure there was as little space between them as possible.

Grian took a deep breath in through his nose, and then exhaled lengthily through his mouth. He repeated the process, purposely holding Scar to him more firmly during these ministrations. 

Inhale, exhale, again. Inhale, exhale, again. Inhale, exhale, again.

The moment he heard Scar’s sniffling fade, and felt the welcome push of a chest against his, coming in time with his breaths, he could hardly contain his relief. 

Though it took several minutes, the beeping of the heart monitor gradually slowed to a completely regular pace. There was only steady breathing occupying the room aside from it. 

Grian spoke up once he was certain Scar was calmed, “Do you want to try laying down?”

“No.” Scar shook his head weakly, squeezing the vet’s torso. “I don’t want… to let go.”

“You don’t have to,” Grian replied, knowing the words to be true only once they’d left his mouth. “How about I stay next to you for the rest of tonight?”

Scar loosened his grip and pulled back enough to stare at Grian properly. “Really?”

His eyes were red and puffy, and his lips were chapped from too many frantic intakes of air. Grian wished he wouldn’t look so sad anymore, wished he wouldn’t experience this pain anymore, wished he would be well again. He would take care of Scar for as long as he needed, but to have a reaction this bad so many weeks later was heartbreaking.

“Really,” Grian whispered. “I’ll do anything to make you feel better.”

Scar nodded, seemingly content. Grian asked him to make space, and their hug briefly collapsed. The other man shifted over in the bed, patting the mattress beside him. For the first time in weeks, Grian settled into his own bed. It was an unfamiliar sensation by that point, but he couldn’t deny how nice it felt to have all of his joints cradled in a way no pile of cushions could ever hope to provide. 

As soon as his head hit the pillow, there were arms snaking around his middle and pulling him in again. Scar was perpetually warm, radiating the kind of comfortable heat that Grian couldn’t help but melt into. 

He hugged back, immediately relieved with the solution they’d landed on being one that allowed both of them to rest. Scar’s body shook with the occasional tremor, and his face was still pinched with the slightest amount of pain, but it definitely wasn’t an unpleasant place to be for either involved. The other was already looking calmer.

Admittedly, there was an aspect to having another presence in his bed that was a little strange to the vet. Grian was so accustomed to a solitary lifestyle that this amount of constant contact was foreign to him — new. He marveled at his own ability to adjust so quickly, letting their legs tangle together and their heartbeats sync up. Though he’d always been someone to enjoy personal space, this was comfortable too. Grian could easily tell how Scar, in the midst of a panic, might be calmed by this connection.

He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the other man’s breathing as it grew slower and deeper. Grian might have, under alternative circumstances, been embarrassed to be this near to Scar. But he couldn’t find it within himself to be flustered tonight, not when he was just helping in any way he could. 

Maybe in the future, when they were both well and conscious, he might allow some semblance of hopeful yearning to slip through. Not now, though. Not now.

Grian didn’t remember falling asleep, but at some point, he faded into an inky blackness. It was warm there, delightfully cozy. Throughout the whole of the evening, he didn’t stir once. There were no urges to readjust his position, or throw aside his blanket. He was simply warm and comfortable and tired in the best way. 

To have it interrupted by a light behind his eyelids was jarring and horrible. Morning was an unwelcome beast. Grian muttered out a curse as clarity began to creep into his mind, glaringly aware of the sun coming through the window. On instinct, he buried his face into the pillow nearest him.

There was a rumbling from beneath him, and it made him frown in his delirious half-sleep. His phone alarm wasn’t supposed to be going off yet. There was no reason to be up so early when he was working a night shift that day. He just wanted to keep sleeping for a little while longer. It was the deepest he’d been able to get into unconsciousness in weeks, and no part of him was willing to give it up. 

The rumbling ceased after a minute. Grian thought he might finally be left alone, but then a new sensation joined the symphony of pleasant buzzing around his body. He thought he felt something brush against his face, dragging through his hair. It brought him out of the haze of the dreamworld, anchoring him more in reality. 

With great effort, Grian blinked awake, only flinching a little at the way the sunlight hit his face. The first thing he noticed was the odd color of the pillow beneath him. It wasn’t the plain white cover he usually put on his bed, and actually, now that he was looking more closely, it was an odd shape as well.

A hand ghosted over his back, sending a shiver up his spine. With that shock, the events of the previous night slammed into him. 

Grian jerked his head up from where it’d been resting atop Scar’s chest. His gaze landed on soft green eyes immediately, and his breath hitched. “Morning, G,” Scar said, voice gravelly and deepened by the early hour. “How did you sleep?”

The vet opened his mouth, but couldn’t form a single sentence. His friend seemed wholly amused by that, smiling wider and wider with each silent second that passed. 

Grian couldn’t tear his eyes away from Scar. A ray of morning light shone through the curtains and upon his radiant face. There was no evidence of the prior evening’s upset in his expression. Any pain he might’ve been experiencing had passed, replaced with a calm sort of beauty instead. 

“What’s the matter, Doctor?” Scar tipped his head to the side. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Cat,” Grian echoed, nothing but static between his ears. 

He might have stayed there forever, just staring and letting his heart beat harder and harder until his ribs were broken. However, he received mercy from the universe in the form of a meow at the foot of the bed. 

Jellie jumped up to investigate the commotion. She was definitely hungry, begging to be fed. It worked to restart his brain, distracting him from his purgatory of unfortunate attraction. Grian sat up, untangling himself from Scar’s hold and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“I have to feed the cats.”

“Grian, wait,” Scar said, catching the vet’s wrist before he could make a break for the door. Grian chanced a look back at him, and could’ve melted from the sight of his face alone. Scar was outrageously handsome when he was wrought with mischief and smug glee. “You don’t have to run away. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciated your help last night.”

“Um, yeah, yes,” Grian choked out, embarrassingly quiet. “Always, man.” 

Scar shot him a final smile, and then released him. Grian hesitated for a moment, so it wouldn’t seem like he was running away, escaping once that superficial timer was up. He hid in the kitchen until his pulse had calmed, and he wasn’t lightheaded enough to pass out. 

“Keep it together. Be professional,” he whispered to himself. “This is not the time to lose your nerve.”

Scar had long since graduated from the point of only being able to eat a handful of basic things. And this was, simply put, the worst thing that could’ve ever happened to Grian.

Because Grian couldn’t cook.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried in the past, but he knew from experience that he was impressively bad at anything culinary. He’d made it through med school with frozen meals or takeout, and that had carried for a long while into adulthood. Obviously, he could deal with normal things, like pasta or sandwiches, but anything with more than a couple of clear instructions was beyond him. 

For a while, he hadn’t really worried about that fact. It was just that no one had ever taught him how to plan ahead while at the grocery store, nor how to begin looking for appealing recipes. And while that might’ve put him at a fundamental disadvantage to his peers, it wasn’t like he really had company around before the Bamboozlers came into his life.

Now, though, there was a genuine risk of this secret being revealed to people whose opinions mattered to him greatly.

For weeks, the vet had been flying by the seat of his pants. Miraculously, thanks to some higher power, and helpful maneuvering on his part when it came to scheduling Lizzie and Jimmy’s help, he’d been able to avoid being in charge of most meals. On the off chance he was responsible, he always kept frozen food or something easy like pasta around to hide behind.

But his luck had expired. 

After so long, Scar had taken notice of their simplistic meals. It was a regular comment that had brought this to Grian’s attention, nothing pointed or rude, just a voiced observation. 

“Y’know what I miss from before I was sick?” Scar had leaned back in his wheelchair one afternoon as a pizza was pulled from the oven. “Home-cooked meals. We don’t really do that here, which I get, but man, I would die for something with a lot of flavor right now.”

Scar had gone on to eat the pizza with no problem, but the comment lingered in the air around them. Grian couldn’t get away with these half-hearted preparations anymore. Finally, he was forced to try.

Grian squinted at the recipe book he’d bought on a whim on his way home from work. He’d gone shopping shortly after acquiring the text, throwing just about every ingredient he could find into his cart, whether he understood how to use them or not. It was expensive, but he rarely went on benders like these, so it was necessary. 

Now, the crock pot sat in front of him, filled with an assortment of vegetables, mostly garlic, broth, spices, an unnatural amount of butter, and so forth. He was stuck specifically on a section of the book that was asking him to add the chicken breasts – which created a little problem for him.

“Something wrong, G?”

Grian startled, glancing over his shoulder. Scar sat at the kitchen table, legs kicking back and forth and a smile on his face. His forearm crutch rested against the side of the table, leftover from when he’d been practicing to use it. While most of the time, he was too tired and preferred his wheelchair, they’d bought the crutch to help him readjust to walking again.

“No, everything is totally fine,” Grian lied. As discreetly as possible, he pulled out his phone, googling how long it took for frozen chicken breasts to thaw. The answer being nine hours was not a result he enjoyed reading, so he put his phone down and racked his brain for alternative solutions. 

The crock pot offered a variety of settings, one of which being high heat. It was viable that using that specific option would counteract the fact that the chicken was still cold. Maybe it was easier to do it as the book recommended, but that would probably work just as well.

Grian went ahead with it, unwrapping the chicken and following the rest of the recipe’s instructions. He added spices, laid out the breasts as requested, and then closed the lid. The crock pot setting was switched to high, and he stepped back. In a little over an hour, they would have a delicious dinner.

“Grian,” Scar started, an interesting edge to his tone. The vet hummed in acknowledgement, not confident enough to look him in the eye yet. “Can you bring me that recipe book?”

Grian winced.

Ah, that couldn’t be good.

Slowly, as if moving at a reserved pace might hide whatever he’d just done to put that strange passiveness into Scar’s voice, Grian did as he was told. The book was picked up, and he turned to face the other. 

In doing so, he discovered that he was correct to be worried about seeing his companion’s expression. Scar’s face was carefully neutral, the kind of thing a teacher might wear before discussing a bad test grade. As soon as the instructions were given to his friend, an overwhelming shame ran through him.

“Grian,” Scar said, eyes downturned. “I see you put that pot on high heat.”

“I did,” Grian replied gingerly. 

“This recipe calls for low heat,” Scar said. He glanced up, green eyes so blank that it raised the hair on the back of the vet’s neck. “Is there a reason you’ve done that?”

Grian didn’t answer, looking away. It was beyond terrifying to be under such subtle scrutiny when he was so utterly clueless to his own shortcomings. He did, however, return his gaze to the other man when he heard the scraping of a chair being pushed back. Scar was standing, donning his crutch, and walking himself over to the crock pot. 

“Careful, Scar,” the vet hissed, rushing to his side. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“I’m fine, G,” Scar assured him, giving a halfhearted pat to his shoulder. He had gotten much better at using this particular mobility aid as of late, but he could still be shaky when standing for long periods of time. “I’m not sure the chicken will be if I leave you to your own devices.”

Grian watched him approach the crock pot, hand extended out to switch it to low heat. However, once his eyes landed on something past the glass top, Scar paused. Grian frowned as he moved and turned the pot off entirely. “What? What is it?”

Scar’s disappointment traveled along the countertop, where the extra ingredients were waiting to be packed away. Specifically, the remainder of the frozen chicken. 

“Grian?”

Grian flinched. “Yes?”

“You didn’t thaw this chicken out properly, did you?” Grian’s shoulder’s dropped, which was enough of an answer for Scar. He moved on to the next topic, “And you didn’t brown it ahead of time either, did you?”

“Brown the chicken–? Why would I–?” Grian’s frown deepened further, brows creasing. “Where does the recipe say to do that?” 

Scar pointed to a section in the book. It was slightly off to the side in a little yellow box. Grian tilted his head. 

“I thought that was optional,” he admitted. “Is it not?”

Scar snorted, and his pointing shifted to a small text up in the corner of the yellow box. Grian had missed it the first time, but now that he was looking, he could read the words, ‘First Step,’ printed fairly clearly. 

His jaw dropped. Small print or not, he couldn’t believe he’d missed that. Shame crept up his spine.

“So, allow me to summarize this as simply as I can,” Scar said. “You seasoned frozen chicken, put it directly in the crock pot, and then turned it up to high heat, expecting that to fix your problem?”

The vet flushed, agape. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Scar laughed – a loud, boisterous noise, overflowing with the most genuine amusement Grian had ever heard. He held his gut, bending at the waist from the force of the cackling. Grian’s cheeks were so hot that he feared his head might catch on fire. 

“I’m sorry,” Scar gasped between punched-out wheezes. His smile was contagious, even as Grian wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. Scar calmed, though it took several mortifying minutes. Finally, he was able to straighten and say, “Here, let me fix it. The crock pot might be a lost cause, but I can still make something edible with the leftovers.”

“You’re going to cook?” Grian tried to disguise the shaking of his voice by clearing his throat. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Won’t you get tired of standing?”

“If I get tired of standing, then I’ll make you get my chair. No way am I leaving this unattended again,” Scar said, tossing him a cheeky grin. “Anyway, I’m much stronger now, so don’t worry a hair on your pretty head, Doctor. Everything will be fine.”

Grian had no response to that. All he could do was step aside and watch as his companion began the process of shifting the remains of his mess into a masterpiece. 

Scar grabbed a ziplock bag, as well as a large bowl, then placed the last two remaining chicken breasts into said bag. The bowl containing the bag was put under the running tap of the sink with cold water, and left to defrost for roughly thirty minutes. 

In the meantime, he set a pot of water on the stove to boil while explaining thoroughly to Grian why his method of cooking wouldn’t have worked. It seemed important to him that the vet not repeat this mistake, lest he create a monstrosity of a meal in the future and give himself food poisoning. 

Grian accepted the advice graciously, figuring Scar had more than enough experience with poisonings of any kind to be quite knowledgeable. 

Once the meat was done thawing – apparently, it had already been most of the way there, as Scar explained, just needing the little extra push the cold water gave it – he began the preparation. From what Grian could make out, the chicken was doused in flour and a variety of seasonings. 

After each piece was thoroughly covered, Scar brought out a large skillet that Grian had only used maybe once or twice in the past. He heated oil and butter for a little bit, then added the breasts into the mixture a moment later. Scar cooked them until they were a delicious color, and moved them onto a plate. 

He wasn’t done, although he did pause to grab some spaghetti from a nearby cabinet to pour into the pot of now-boiling water he still had going. Scar made Grian put a short timer on his phone, and then shifted to the next step with his main dish. 

Scar moved faster with the chicken out of the way, adding an assortment of things to the skillet like cream, cheese, more spices, and a couple of herbs. After a bit, he put the meat back into the equation too. 

He used a spoon to pour the freshly-made sauce over top, and continued to let it cook. In the extra span of time, he asked Grian to help him pour the pasta out into a strainer, since he only had one hand available. They did so, and he entrusted the job of shaking out the water to the vet. 

A handful of minutes passed before Scar considered the chicken finished. He prepared two portions of spaghetti, then he transferred the chicken over to rest atop each plate. The creamy sauce smelled wonderful, enough to cause Grian’s mouth to water from the proximity alone. The dish was garnished with basil and parmesan, and declared done. 

“Wow, Scar,” Grian marveled. He got utensils and carried both portions over to the table to allow his friend as few obstacles as possible, placing them down at their respective spots. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

“I should thank your book for making you buy all the right ingredients,” Scar chuckled as he sat. Grian fetched the two of them each a glass of water, then settled as well. “This is one of my go-to recipes whenever I have the chance to make it.”

Grian was about to dig in, but Scar stopped him with an outstretched hand. 

“Wait a minute! This dinner is missing something.” He removed his phone from his pocket and began to swipe through until he found what he wanted. The device was placed directly in the middle of the table with the volume all the way up, and a moment later, classical music began to filter through its speakers. “No fancy meal is complete without some ambiance. You may now eat.”

“The chef knows best,” Grian laughed as he cut up the chicken. A second later, he raised his fork to his mouth and took a bite. 

His eyes went wide immediately, tastebuds exploding as they encountered the most magnificent home-cooked meals that had ever existed. Distant violins combined with a much bigger orchestra, crashing together like a grand combination of heaven and earth. A wonderful mixture of cheese, garlic, and shocking flavor overcame him. 

He dropped his fork, grabbing the other’s hand. “This is brilliant, Scar,” he practically shouted. “I can’t believe it. You said you made this dish often? What’s it called?”

“Marry Me Chicken.”

Grian blinked, mouth clicking shut. “Pardon?”

“It’s called Marry Me Chicken,” Scar repeated, head propped in his palm. “An interesting name, I know, but it’s very popular.”

“Oh, right,” Grian whispered. He released Scar’s hand, ears burning at the misconception, and forced all of his focus to return to the wonderful meal in front of him. A symphony of flutes started up while the brass section entered a brief repose. “Thank you, Scar, and sorry for making you work while you’re under the weather. I’d have killed us both if you didn’t step in.”

Scar laughed, taking a bite himself. “Honestly,” he started once he’d swallowed. “I’m glad you’re bad at cooking.”

“What?” Grian frowned, offense blooming in his heart. “Why?”

“You were too perfect before, Doctor,” Scar told him, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “I’m always such a disaster in front of you. It’s nice to turn things around for once.”

Grian huffed, feigning nonchalance, even though that expression on his friend’s face was actively causing the opposite response.

Although, genuinely, Scar was a little delusional if he believed the vet hadn’t screwed up until this point. When Grian pictured himself around the other man, it was always as a bumbling fool, constantly tripping over his words and causing problems for the both of them. Perhaps the only area in which he could make up for that was his medicinal knowledge.  

“I suppose you’re right,” Grian muttered. “I am nowhere near as skilled as you are. No dinner I prepare for you in the future will ever live up to this”

“That’s alright. It takes practice,” Scar said. He paused, lighting up a bit. It was his turn to reach across the table and grab Grian’s hand. “Hey, what if we strike up a deal?”

“A deal?”

“Yeah,” Scar replied, nodding with vigorous excitement. “Since you don’t like to cook, and I’m always sitting here bored to death, why don’t we have a little mutual exchange? You’ll buy me any ingredients I need, and I’ll make us some amazing meals every day. How does that sound?”

Grian straightened, eyes widening. “Wait, really? You’d be willing to do that?”

“Of course!”

The vet considered him for a minute, apprehension growing. “I don’t know. I couldn’t ask you to do anything draining while you’re still–”

“The other option is I kidnap a chef from a nearby restaurant and keep them locked in your kitchen,” Scar threatened, eyes glinting in a way that implied he was serious. Grian sucked in a breath, suddenly terrified for someone else’s life.

“I look forward to our deal,” he croaked, and Scar returned to his usual chipper self. 

Grian distracted himself by continuing to eat, choosing to bask in the glory of such a brilliant dish instead of the rest of their conversation. He figured that, if everything was as good as this, he would have no problem adjusting to Scar’s proposed routine. No problem at all. 

It was over almost too quickly. Scar’s delicious meal with an embarrassing name was something the vet was certain he could eat over and over again without ever getting sick of it. Combined with such lovely music, and even lovelier company, Grian was willing to forget the rest of the world in favor of remaining at that table forever.

It was, however, Scar that interrupted the illusion of eternity before it was allowed to truly begin. He stood from the table, pushing back his chair and stepping to the side. Grian raised a brow at the way he did not reach for his crutch, seeming content to just stand there, staring down at the vet. “Do you need something?”

Scar didn’t speak. Instead, he extended a hand outward, palm up and waiting. Grian, confused, gingerly set his own hand atop it. He yelped, surprised, as he was yanked out of his seat suddenly and pulled towards his companion. 

Despite initiating it, the force of the movement had the adverse effect of throwing off Scar’s already-unstable balance. Grian had to jerk quickly to grab the other’s wrist to prevent him from toppling backwards. They tumbled into an awkward, hovering limbo in which both clung on to one another, gasping for breath. Scar’s expression was the exact opposite of Grian’s quiet shock, a grin splitting his features and casting rays of light through the room.

“Sorry,” Scar laughed, straightening himself and standing at his full height so that Grian was the one looking up at him instead. They were close, chests nearly touching, but the vet’s feet were glued to the floor and his companion didn’t seem to notice the proximity. “I was trying to be more graceful than that.”

“Obviously,” Grian replied, though it came out quieter than he’d intended. He released his grip on the other in an attempt to regain some of his lost control. “And what exactly were you going to do with all that grace?”

While he did not respond with words, Scar’s smile sharpened. It reminded Grian vaguely of the moment right before danger, the breath before an accompanied threat, the cold before a knife pressed against skin. He felt a shiver of anticipation start in his bones. That sensation was only accentuated when a touch ghosted along the base of his spine. 

A palm rested there, confident and scorching. Grian’s whole focus was on the feeling, gaze locked on Scar’s face, enough to almost miss the brush of fingers intertwining with his own. It was, all at once, reminiscent of a night long ago, upon a moonlit porch. Scar’s hand in his, the other pulling him in, Grian’s chin tipping up, and then a kiss meeting them in the middle.

However, tonight, it was not the anticipation of a kiss that sparked in the air around them. Rather, it was the hushing crescendo of music cascading down and around. A melody, smooth and sweet, that overflowed with enchanting resonance. It swelled in time with the beat of their hearts, growing stronger by the minute.

“A fancy meal with fancy music deserves to be followed by some fancy dancing,” Scar said, grinning from ear to ear. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Grian sucked in a breath. A beat passed in silence aside from the music. Though, in all honesty, he couldn’t imagine why he allowed it to. He knew his answer from the moment Scar had posed the question, no matter how spontaneous and absurd the request. It was the same answer as he would give Scar time and time again to any question.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I absolutely would.”

When Scar stepped back, Grian found himself stepping closer in turn. It picked up fast from there. They moved in tandem with the music, slowing as it softened, and quickening as it crested. Neither of them were good dancers. Their movements were clumsy, dipping to the left and spinning around each other back to the right, not caring if they bumped against the countertops or kitchen table. 

Even though Scar’s feet stuttered on occasion, and Grian’s lungs could never remain full enough with air, they stepped until their soles were sore, turned until they were too dizzy to see, smiled until their cheeks stung with sheer bliss.

The music reached its zenith, stars aligning with the crashing of cymbals, the roaring of horns, the whistling of pipes, and the thrill of the piano. It hit this overwhelming peak at the same moment as Grian was spun one final time, and pulled back into a familiar chest. The concluding cacophony rang out, brilliant and bold, and he felt himself dip.

Then, there was silence, only their panting breaths and fading laughter without the guise of music to hide behind. Much like their dinner, beautiful as the moment was, Grian would’ve stayed forever had it not been for Scar breaking first. 

The dip ended, allowing the vet back on his own two feet. It couldn’t have lasted longer, given the intense way Scar had started to shake from the exertion. They didn’t release each other, too certain they’d both collapse if they tried, but they were no longer entangled within a single bubble of space. 

Scar gestured silently towards his crutch, and Grian was quick to pass it over. Once he was able to lean the majority of his weight on that aid, they had no reason to continue clinging on. Still, Grian’s hand waited in Scar’s, and his thumb had begun to trace inadvertent circles into his knuckles.

“Someone has a lot more energy these days,” Grian mused, unable to bite back the pure adoration lining his tone. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Scar mirrored his smile. “Maybe a little. If I promise not to hold out anymore, will you dance with me again?”

“Now?” Grian raised a skeptical brow, eying the other’s tired posture. Scar laughed, shaking his head.

“No, of course not now,” he replied. “Just again. In the future. Whether it be as a reward for my wonderful cooking, or for no reason at all.”

Subconsciously, Grian swayed the slightest bit closer, heart full. “Well, I suppose that could be arranged. I certainly don’t mind being on even footing with you again.”

“Perfect,” Scar hummed. “Although, I do have one more favor to ask of you, if that’s alright?”

“Yeah,” Grian said, completely captivated. “Anything.”

“Could you grab a chair for me?” Scar’s smile, once reverent and sweet, became strained in a single moment. “I think I’m going to fall over.”

Grian straightened, spinning and snatching a seat from the kitchen table. He positioned it behind Scar, and the man collapsed into it. The vet took it upon himself to fetch Scar’s wheelchair from the other room. When he returned, his companion looked like he was a few minutes away from falling asleep right at the table.

With full stomachs and a healthy amount of exercise under their belts, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the two of them were well beyond tired. “Come on,” Grian chuckled. “I think we should retire a little early tonight.”

The other agreed, and they returned to the bedroom – Scar to his bed, and Grian to his pile of cushions. Aside from a sleepy exchange of pleasantries, nothing more was said between them. Nights were silent as of late, after they’d finally deemed the heart monitor of little use any longer. 

Instead of incessant beeping, something new permeated the air around them as they drifted off into mutual sleep. Something exciting, something ripe, something ready to blossom into more. It was impossible to deny those feelings any longer. 

The distance that had once been upheld by fragile professional standards had fallen away completely. Scar was better. Grian was out of excuses. 

Now, it was only a matter of time.

The apartment was quiet. 

Dusk was busily making a home in the sky beyond the windows. The smell of warm spices permeated the air of the kitchen and surrounding rooms after a lovely meal of steak had been eaten not long before. Two souls occupied the space during that serene hour, both of them satiated and winding down from a long day of individual activities. 

There weren’t as many visitors as of late, with Scar having healed past the point of requiring constant supervision. Lizzie and Jimmy still stopped by when they could, but it was more just to see their friend than it was due to any particular reason. A grand majority of the time, Grian and Scar were each other’s only companions. 

They’d become used to a life in mutual orbit, to the point where neither really considered the idea of bringing that to an end. It existed, of course, in a perpetual stasis of possibility, floating around them like debris through a planet’s atmosphere – unwanted, but inevitable. They each knew, each acknowledged, each feared the day that they were forced to remember that only one man was supposed to permanently reside in that apartment, and the other had improved to the point of total independence.

This particular evening was different. Scar was dwelling on something. It offset the air, stole the last rays of sunlight, burned itself into the silence.

Grian paused scrolling through his phone when he noticed the other man had gone oddly still. When he looked up from the screen, he saw Scar propped on the bed, where he had been reading one of his comics until a moment ago. His gaze was focused down in his lap, and he was thumbing at the fabric of the sheets absently. His typical expression of content neutrality wasn’t on his face anymore, having been replaced with something unexpectedly reserved. 

The vet sat forward in his chair, concerned about the sudden change in their otherwise lovely atmosphere. “Scar? Is something on your mind?”

Scar didn’t meet his eyes, obviously feeling hesitant. After a minute, he sighed, long and heavy. 

“It'll be time for me to go home soon,” he said, startling Grian with his blunt approach. “I’m almost completely better. I could probably take care of myself alone and be fine, right?”

A pit opened in the vet’s stomach, cold and dark and lonely, from that one comment alone. It was fascinating, on a purely scientific level, how just a few words could cause someone to be immediately subsumed with raw, unadulterated terror. It was more fascinating how Grian, a man who’d previously considered himself withdrawn, guarded, logical, was not the exception. 

Static filled his mind in place of thoughts. The anxiety that gripped Grian's heart, the fear that he’d done something wrong to cause the introduction of this topic, was like a gale force wind against his ribcage. All he could do was stare at Scar’s face, marvel at how his expression had twisted up, yet still remained unreadable. 

After so long of cohabiting, taking care of one another’s cats, making dinner, eating meals, falling asleep in the same room together, Scar was suggesting that he go home.

The statement was sudden, unexpected, carrying with it no build up or way to anticipate its arrival. Instead, it dragged along only the most unpleasant of questions. Though he’d been better for a while, why was Scar now finally introducing this topic? What had Grian done to spark these thoughts in his head? Was Scar unhappy? Uncomfortable? Bored? 

A logical part of Grian knew, deep down, that this made sense. He didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to bother with reality, but he knew.

It was only natural that a man ripped so suddenly from his daily life would get homesick eventually. This was bound to happen, and avoiding the question didn’t make it any less pronounced. Grian had been aware from the moment he’d patched Scar up on his couch that, one day, their little domestic haze would come to an end. He existed in this man’s life to help him heal and send him on his way. Just because Scar had lingered a little longer than usual didn’t mean he owed Grian a deviation from that overarching norm.

But none of that stopped the vet from wondering why.

Grian stared at Scar for several seconds in utter disbelief. He watched the man’s breathing quicken, watched him shrink in on himself, watched all life leave his eyes. 

Some of his confusion dimmed. He let the original comment replay in his head, gave more thought to the tone, the mood in the room, and the lengths his companion was taking to keep his expression unreadable. Grian saw, then, the layer underneath for what it truly was. He sensed the apprehension rolling off his friend in waves, and the anxiety filling the room alongside it. 

The vet’s shoulders dropped, countenance relaxing. He took a deep breath, in and out, calming himself before even beginning to consider a response.

“You could, probably. If you wanted to go, it’d be safe enough at this stage,” Grian said, letting that hover in the air between them. When he spoke again, it was careful, measured, purposeful. “But, y’know, I don’t really want you to leave.”

Scar straightened, looking at him then. “You don’t?”

Grian didn’t understand how he could say it like it was the most unbelievable thing ever. Scar was the only light in his world these days, like the sun had condensed itself into a human shape. Coming home to freshly cooked meals, laughing over the dinner table, hearing another person’s breathing as he fell asleep — Grian wouldn’t trade that for anything. What was once endlessly lonely was now alive, brimming with character. 

“No, I don’t,” he said again, firmer this time. “I like having you here.”

“But,” Scar stammered, paralyzed with shock. “But you sleep on cushions, and you’re constantly taking care of me, and you never get any time to yourself–”

“I’m okay with that,” Grian told him. “It’s really not any trouble.”

The vet bit the inside of his cheek to keep from admitting more.

He could’ve said that for every downside Scar named, he had a hundred more benefits lined up. He could’ve said that returning home to Scar was all he thought about at work these days. He could’ve said that he’d begun to imagine a world in which the two of them did this without any injuries involved — just casually, for the sake of being together. 

He could’ve said more than just those truths too. 

He could’ve said that he wished they could share a kiss again, but this time, without the hidden meanings and false pretenses. He could’ve said that he wanted to kiss him over morning coffee, before bed, as he left for work, first thing when he got home, whenever the opportunity presented itself. That he wanted to help Scar relax after intense missions, bandage his wounds up and not watch him leave once he was done. 

More than anything at all, Grian could’ve told Scar exactly how much he wanted him.  

But he didn’t. 

Instead, Grian set aside his phone, leaned forward, and rested his head on the mattress in front of him. He kept his face down to hide the helpless longing that had undoubtedly overtaken him. Grian asked without thinking, “What are you reading about?”

“Hm?” Scar seemed caught off guard, but he cleared his throat and easily went with the flow of the topic change. “Oh, uh, it’s a story about a superhero, actually. He’s constantly overlooked by his team, so he becomes a villain. It’s cheesy, but I like—“

“Read it to me.”

Scar stopped, croaking out a small, “What?”

Grian lifted his head just long enough to gesture to the comic. “Read me some of it. Please? You don’t have to start from the beginning. I’m just bored.”

Scar considered him for a second, but seeing no ulterior motive hiding in his eyes, picked up his comic, and started to read. 

The vet folded his arms in front of him, and rested his forehead on them. It was a more comfortable position, made better once the low sensation of Scar’s voice washed over the room. He narrated for Grian, describing some of the important panels and then going through the dialogue, beginning in the middle of a fight scene. It might’ve been intense to anyone who knew the characters involved, but for Grian, it was simply about the man speaking. 

His heart beat in tandem with every flipping page, every spinning sentence, spiking whenever Scar had to stop and sound out a word that was giving him trouble. The pace was slower than Grian would’ve read it, but he didn’t mind. The longer Scar took, the longer he’d be able to hear that voice, be in his presence, distract the man from his delusions of leaving. 

Several minutes passed that way, Grian listening to the lovely narration, and Scar falling into a melodic rhythm. It was impossible not to sink with the atmosphere, relaxation forming itself into a weight over Grian’s eyelids, urging them to shut. 

He went willingly into the shallow waters of almost-sleep, floating on the edge of total unconsciousness. Grian might’ve tipped over, might’ve lost himself completely in the rushing calm, but he stirred when Scar’s reading stopped. He waited for the gentle lullaby to continue, but seconds turned into minutes, and it did not.

“Grian?” 

Grian wasn’t quite awake enough to react to his name, but with an aching slowness, he worked to pull himself together. He wanted to give Scar his full attention, even if rest was so tempting. His head turned in a gradual dragging motion, until his cheek was resting against his arm, and he was facing the direction of his companion’s voice. 

“Oh, you’re asleep,” Scar whispered. “You’ll get a neck ache if you stay like that.”

His hand ghosted along Grian’s shoulder, as if he were about to give him a gentle shake. The vet waited for it, waited to receive that last little push he needed to fully rise. Except it never came. Scar stopped short, not quite following through. 

“I hope you were telling the truth,” Scar said, voice low, quiet, almost sad. “I hope you like having me here as much as I like being here.”

There was a shuffling, as if he were sitting forward a bit in bed. 

“I think I’d get poisoned a million more times if it meant being with you like this forever.”

Warmth surrounded him, and lips pressed against his forehead. The kiss was fleeting, fast, and Scar pulled back far too soon. 

Grian’s heart jumped into his throat. It startled him awake, adrenaline shooting through his veins. His eyes opened, and he jerked upright. Through the blurry fog of recent sleep, his gaze landed on Scar’s face. A shocked expression came into focus, a wild blush creeping over his companion’s cheeks. 

“Grian,” Scar choked out. “You’re–! I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” Grian rushed, breathless. “But then you–!”

“It was an accident,” Scar blurted, throwing his comic onto the bedside table. All at once, he was overtaken by a landslide of words, each of them tumbling off his tongue with an impressive lack of thought. “You see, I just slipped, and my lips happened to land there. I didn’t kiss you solely because you look really handsome when you’re relaxed or anything! That would be ridiculous. Don’t you think that would be ridiculous? I certainly do–”

“You–?” Grian interrupted, eyes widening. Heat raced up his spine and into his face. “You think I’m handsome?”

Scar realized what he’d said, and waved his arms rapidly. His complexion had grown so rosy that he rivaled the deepest reds of dawn, or the brightest tendrils of a raging fire. It was beautiful, destructive, and unrestrained. Grian couldn’t look away. 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant to say,” he insisted. “Really, you have to believe me! It was meant to be something totally normal between friends, nothing else that you need to look into or give a second thought or hate me for doing.”

Grian couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes darted, his ears burned, and his fidgeting returned more adamantly as soon as his hands dropped. Combined with the nonsense spewing from his mouth, there was only one conclusion to be drawn. One irresistible, long-awaited conclusion. 

He drew in a sharp breath, awestruck.

“Scar,” Grian whispered. “You’re lying to me.”

Scar’s mouth clamped shut, his brows furrowed, and his expression morphed into one of complete and utter terror. 

Grian was correct.  

The vet stood up, pushing the chair back in a single movement. He stepped closer to the bed, one arm holding him up as he leaned closer to Scar. Grian wanted – needed – to see his expression up close, needed to take in the full extent of the realization, needed to understand in every way he possibly could.

Still overcome with fear at how immediately his inner workings had been brought into the light, Scar shuffled back. He did his best to put space between them, but the headboard of the bed stopped him. There was nowhere else for him to run, no more excuses left to spew, nothing but his soul remaining on display for the whole world to see.

The vet paused only once they were inches apart, lips parted in wonder. Scar couldn’t look away from him, frozen and clearly beyond embarrassed. Grian did not miss the way his companion’s eyes deviated for just a moment, dipping further down his face. It was an action he’d seen Scar do over and over again, an action he’d written off every time as coincidence, a trick of the light, a misunderstanding.

Scar was doing it now, just as he’d done all those nights ago – whenever they were close, whenever there was tension, even the instant right before he’d leaned down and caught Grian’s lips with his own. Despite his fear due to his own slip up, despite the uncertainty in the air, despite the sudden nature of the whole thing, Scar was thinking about kissing him.

Again.

“Lying? No, I’d never lie to you, G,” Scar said, so soft that he was nearly inaudible. “Why would you think something like that?”

Grian watched his throat bob with an almost academic concentration, combined together with a new, unfathomable hunger to create a sensation unlike anything the vet had ever experienced before. He knew what it was, though, even with his shortcomings. This was raw, unfiltered longing for another person. For Scar.

“You are lying,” Grian heard himself say, mind rushing to take in every single second of the world around him. He noted the warmth created by their nearness, the feeling of Scar’s shaky breaths as they fanned across his face, the mattress under his hand that supported the whole of his weight. “Don’t try to hide it. I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Scar blinked rapidly, shifting his position for the hundredth time. He couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from darting down and back up several times over. “You, uh… You do?”

Grian hummed in quiet confirmation. He raised his free hand, pressing his palm firmly into the space between Scar’s ribs, stilling his movements. Green eyes went wide, pupils dilating enough to make them look almost completely black. His pulse was rapid and forceful, as though his heart were trying to break free of his chest. 

“I always know when you’re lying,” Grian mused, a smile rising to his face, impossible to contain. “Like right now, and that night on the porch.”

Scar’s breath hitched. “On the porch?”

“You lied to me then, Scar,” he said, tapping his finger against the other’s chest in time with the racing beat within. “It wasn’t for show at all, was it?”

Scar was frozen, attention trapped on Grian as his palm slid upwards to cup his cheek. His skin was hot to the touch, exactly as warm as it looked.

“You just wanted to kiss me,” Grian stated. “Didn’t you?”

The world went entirely still. Outside, there was no whistling of the wind, no rustling of leaves, no passing of cars. Inside, there were only the two of them. Two heartbeats, two rushing minds, two waiting bodies, each close enough to be confused for one. 

Something in Scar changed. Perhaps he saw a flicker of his own feelings echoed in Grian’s expression, or his nerves finally settled long enough for him to realize the static in the air. He seemed to soften, seemed to drop his guard, seemed to lose his fear. Scar was, in that interlude between one breath and the next, every bit the headstrong, charismatic, charming man that Grian had come to adore.

“I did,” Scar whispered, not a single semblance of deceit left on his tongue. “How could I not when you were looking at me like–!”

He stopped. 

Grian tilted his head to one side, bringing them just that damning bit closer. “Like what?”

“Like you are right now,” Scar admitted, starstruck. His amazement danced across his face, widening into a smile that rivaled the moon, the sun, the dawn, the day, the universe itself and all the glorious atoms that made it up. 

“Really?” Grian’s own smile was audible. His whole body burned. “How do I look at you?” 

The response came with a rolling of alluring eyes and the slight tip of Scar’s head as he leaned further into the palm of Grian’s hand. 

“Like I don’t scare you, like you’ve never seen anyone else as ridiculous as I am, like you never want to look away,” Scar went on, a little huff of wondrous laughter leaving him. His hand settled on Grian’s waist. “Like you might be thinking of kissing me too.”

The vet raised a brow. “And is that what you want?”

“More than anything,” Scar said. Their noses brushed. “More than you could ever know.”

“Today’s your lucky day, then,” Grian replied, only a breath away. “Because that’s exactly what I plan to do.” 

Grian surged forward all at once, crashing their lips together. Scar kissed back instantly. Heat consumed them like a flame to kindling. Sparks roared through their veins, enveloping them in a flurry of sensations. They moved together in a desperate dance, passion and yearning and ages of waiting coming to a close in one kiss.

It was months in the making, deeper, richer, lovelier than their first kiss. It was a push and pull of pure devotion, a dizzying combination of every emotion that had ever crossed their minds. It was the infusion of their souls as they finally, finally reached that same, beautiful conclusion. 

Maybe a little while ago, the chemistry between them could’ve been summarized as a simplistic want, a pining, a crush. But they were past that now. Grian had nearly watched this man die over and over and over again, and each time, he’d sacrificed all he could to keep that fate away. This kiss was not an admittance of juvenile feelings, soft and sweet and new, but a declaration of love, rooted and real and bright. 

It wasn’t the kind of thing to say aloud just yet, to mutter into Scar’s lips in the middle of their first truly mutual kiss, not while they were still learning the deepest corners of the other’s soul. But his heart beat with it, pumped the revelation through him like he needed it to live. Each rush of adrenaline that clouded Grian’s thoughts came with the whisper of that most sacred of sensations .

Lightheaded and floating, Grian nipped at Scar’s bottom lip. He opened his eyes just for the briefest second to see the way his action materialized into the deepest blush across the other’s face. As a reward, he was kissed harder, and all thought of savoring the sight for longer was stolen with his breath.

God, he loved Scar. He wanted to spend every day with him, wanted to forget the world for him, wanted to bend to the point of breaking for the sole purpose of remaining beside him. Scar kissed back like he was experiencing the same mind-numbing manifestation. For both of them, even though it would be a while still until it shifted into words and truth and certainty, this was an opening of the heavens themselves.

Nothing Grian could’ve imagined was better than the reality. Sparks enveloped him entirely, every touch like a fire against his skin. Grian’s head spun, static replacing any hope for coherent thoughts. Scar tasted like a home-cooked meal, smelled like a warm spring afternoon, felt like the rawest form of adoration. 

Grian wanted to memorize every tiny detail of his being, soak him in until his heart matched his shape exactly. There was a little divot in the corner of his mouth, where an old injury had healed over. The vet let his hands traced along the mark that curved with his jaw. Infinitely more depictions of complicated history decorated his skin, waiting to be discovered by endless curiosity. 

Scar’s lips became soft, though they remained insistent, while his hands trailed down to the belt loops of the vet’s pants. Grian gasped into the kiss as he was yanked forward, collapsing atop the other man. Not an ounce of space was left between them, and it sent an exhilarating burst of pure need through Grian like none he’d known before. Judging by the feel of Scar’s smile, it was just as he’d intended. 

An undeniable joy bubbled up in their shared space, infectious and gentle and furious all at the same time. They kissed until it seemed time itself would stop at their will, until no one existed beyond them. They kissed until there wasn’t an ounce of misunderstanding or unspoken emotion between them. They kissed until they couldn’t any longer, and then more still.

When they finally broke apart to breathe, a quiet laughter left them. Grian sat up and rolled off Scar, smiling wide enough to hurt his cheeks. He took in the sight of his companion from slightly further away. Scar’s face was flushed, lips pink, hair a mess. He was terribly handsome, the kind of person that deserved to be kissed until he couldn’t remember how to stop. 

“I like you,” Grian said, still short of breath from both the view and the exertion. “Just in case you haven’t figured that out yet.”

“It might’ve occurred to me,” Scar mused. He laced their fingers together, softening at the perfect way they fit. “I like you too, Grian. Ever since you saved my life in an alleyway ages ago, I’ve been head over heels for you.”

“I doubt that,” the vet scoffed through his flushed face, shifting closer so that their limbs could tangle together and they could close the distance again should they wish. “You definitely wanted me dead for a second there.”

“That’s part of your charm, Doctor,” Scar replied. “You’re blunt and reckless and infuriatingly smart and absolutely perfect for me. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“And now, you do have me.” Grian cupped his face, letting his thumb trace along his villain’s bottom lip. “Wholly and completely.”

Scar smiled, leaning in and kissing him, soft and sweet and slow. 

They stayed there for another hour, exchanging quiet words in between lovely actions. When sleep pulled at both of them, urging them into mutual unconsciousness, they remained by each other’s sides, knowing that in the morning to come, neither would be alone.

For the first time in a very long while, Grian was not by himself during his walk home. 

It was rare that his schedule ever allowed him and Mumbo to get off their shift at the exact same moment, but that day was the exception. The two of them clocked out together, bid farewell to Skizz as he took their place, and then started down the street in the same direction. 

Of course, Mumbo wasn’t able to follow him for the entire journey. He tended to just walk a couple blocks up to his preferred bus stop, which was right beside a shop he frequented that sold cheap electronic junk. Grian’s friend was a bit of a collector of old video games in his spare time, and claimed that this particular store was the most likely place in the entire city for him to encounter antique consoles for a decent price.

He wouldn’t judge, so long as it meant he got to have a good conversation during his usually-monotonous walk. 

“Grian, you must understand that I tried the method of just patting the poor thing between the shoulders to see if it would come out like that first,” Mumbo complained. “It wasn’t working! That’s why I switched!”

The other vet was actively regaling Grian with a tale about one of his patients from earlier that day. An elderly man who lived nearby the clinic had brought his dog – an adolescent spaniel – in to receive urgent help, as the poor thing was actively choking on a mouse it had tried and failed to swallow without chewing. 

Mumbo was quick to take action, beginning the process of dislodging the mouse through the typical means. The simpler methods were not working, so he naturally moved on, as he was supposed to do. However, the elderly man turned out to have quite a few things to say when he watched his little dog get held upside-down while the heimlich maneuver was being performed. 

Instead of assuming that the vet knew best, he began to berate and even physically try to pull Mumbo away. Had Grian’s friend not been the overly-large man that he was, it was entirely possible that the spaniel could’ve been dropped on its head from the fuss that its owner was kicking up. 

Apparently, two techs had to pry him off Mumbo’s arm so that things could proceed as planned. Luckily, from there, as Grian was told, it didn’t take long before the mouse’s tail was visible and it was able to be pulled free. The dog was fine, but the owner continued to cause them trouble for several minutes afterwards.

Grian had intended to keep listening to the story, but he received a text. He pulled his phone out, pleased to see that it was Scar, and a photo had been attached to his message featuring Maui caught in the act of trying to steal food off a frying pan. 

Your Favorite Guy 💍

He acts like I’m not standing right next to the oven. You need to teach your son some manners!

Grian smiled at the ridiculous comment, typing a quick mindless response and sending it off. Before he could stuff his phone back in his pocket, however, Mumbo piped up from directly beside his ear, “Who are you texting? What in the world is that contact name?”

The vet startled, nearly dropping his phone in his mad scramble to turn off the screen. He whipped around, face flushing and mouth agape. “My God! Don’t do that to a man!”

“Grian,” Mumbo started slowly. They’d ceased their walking to face one another, the mustached man narrowing his eyes in dangerous contemplation. “Are you… hiding something from me?”

“What?” Grian laughed nervously. “No, never!”

His friend gasped, “You are!”

Grian had only a split second to dodge out of the way as Mumbo jumped at his phone, trying to snatch it from him. That was not enough to escape, however. His fellow vet could, on occasion, overcome his crippling social anxiety when he had something much larger to focus on. Unluckily for Grian, this was one such scenario. 

He shrieked as two massive arms wrapped around him and lifted him clean off the ground. “Put me down!”

“No! Tell me the truth! Who is that man you’re texting? Why does his name have a ring next to it?” Mumbo exclaimed his questions, not caring about the stares they were drawing from the handful of other people on the sidewalk. A dramatic gasp left him. “Wait a minute… Am I not your favorite guy anymore?”

He did put Grian down then, only to grab him by the shoulders and shake him wildly back and forth. 

“That’s it, huh? You’ve got a new best friend? You’ve replaced me?” Mumbo shouted, bottom lip sticking out like a pouting child, “What could I have possibly done to deserve this? Why do you hate me? What does he have that I don’t?”

“Mumbo, no! Calm down! You’re still my best friend,” the vet insisted. Mumbo stopped, sniffling through theatrical sadness. “I promise I’m not replacing you.”

“Really?” His companion regarded him cautiously. “Then, what is he to you?”

Grian sighed, stuck in a dead end situation. It wasn’t able to be avoided any longer. He couldn’t believe the information was going to come out this way, but he had no other choice. Taking a deep breath in, he readied himself. “He’s my partner.”

Mumbo fell silent.

“I wasn’t keeping secrets from you or anything,” Grian added, growing nervous. “We’ve only been officially dating for a couple of days now, but we’ve known each other for a while, and this was long overdue.”

Mumbo blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Grian agreed. “Oh.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from his best friend of several years, but a quiet ‘oh’ wasn’t it. In fact, when Scar had let it slip to Lizzie and Jimmy the morning after their kiss, the reaction had been instantaneous and huge.

Lizzie had practically tackled Scar to the ground in a hug, exclaiming, “I knew you’d man up eventually!”

Jimmy, on the other hand, had pulled Grian aside and threatened him with a slow, painful death for half an hour if he ever so much as thought about breaking Scar’s heart. He described specifically something about a rollercoaster, a fall from a great height, and removed tracks. Given the vet was still in the hazy phase in which he couldn’t believe Scar liking him back was not one big fever dream, that lecture hadn’t done much to phase him. 

Needless to say, Mumbo’s reaction was significantly more toned down, even when he did open his mouth to speak again.

“Well, that’s just… nice, isn’t it? I’m very happy for you,” the other vet said, slow and dazed. He sounded distant, despite standing only a foot away. “Ecstatic, even. This is a momentous occasion.”

“Uh, Mumbo? Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Mumbo said, in the most un-okay tone of all time. He turned and began walking again. “I am doing a really awesome job of not freaking out, actually. Like, a super awesome job. You should be proud of how normal I am acting at this moment in time.”

Grian raised a brow, following him. “What’s there to freak out about?”

“Nothing at all,” Mumbo replied quickly, steps speeding up. “Except for the fact that you, Grian, are a man who did not, until a couple of months ago, have a single friend outside of me and Skizz, and now you’re suddenly a hotshot in the dating scene? How did you even meet this man?”

The vet winced. “It’s really hard to explain.”

“I’ve got time,” Mumbo announced. “Plenty of it.”

He did not, in fact, have time. His bus stop was right ahead, and it wouldn’t be long until the next bus came by. Besides, no amount of time could prepare Mumbo for the shock of the true story behind his and Scar’s first meeting. Grian opted for the next best thing – a half-truth.

“We met when I was on my way home from work,” he fabricated. “He needed me to fix up his… cat.” 

God, he hoped his thought process hadn’t been as loud as he felt like it was. Mumbo was still staring at him with that disturbing neutrality – so rigid that Grian was pretty sure he was manually making himself blink at regular intervals. 

Finally – blessedly – Mumbo relented. He sighed, shoulders slumping, and slapped Grian on the back. “Well, I’m happy for you, mate. Really, I am.”

“You are?” Grian brightened. 

“I mean,” Mumbo started. “So long as you promise that I can still be your second favorite guy. Then, it’s alright, I guess.”

“Of course. You definitely are,” Grian assured, chuckling. “And you’re not going to freak out anymore?” 

“Probably not. Don’t misunderstand, though!” Mumbo stepped closer to the bus stop, pointing an accusing finger in Grian’s direction. “I still think the world’s flipped on its head, and I will be buying a lottery ticket before going home tonight. If you can get lucky and fall for the first person you speak to that isn’t your coworker, I can bring in the big bucks.”

The vet huffed out a laugh. “Goodnight, Mumbo. Get home safely. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Mumbo called. 

Grian was alone during the remainder of his trip home. He didn’t mind the alone time, as it gave him the opportunity to daydream in his brief moments without anyone around to observe him. For a late autumn afternoon, it was surprisingly warm. The sun shone through fluffy clouds, and the wind was not blowing. 

The trees that lined the street were mostly devoid of leaves now, but some still clung onto their hues of brown, red, and yellow. Those that had abandoned theirs left a scattered, crunching carpet underfoot. Grian enjoyed the ambient noise of his steps mixed with the rustling of branches overhead as he approached his apartment building.

Immediately upon entering his front door, he heard the sound of laughter. It brought an involuntary smile to his face. Grian found Scar sprawled out on the floor with Maui attacking one of his feet, and Pearl lounging on his chest. 

Scar’s crutch was a few feet away, and his chair was parked closer to the couch. If Grian had to guess, the other had started out sitting in front of the television, and had rolled onto the floor at the request of two very bored cats. 

“Look who’s the life of the party over here,” Grian mused as he stepped closer. Scar’s eyes shot open, his already grinning face growing even more ecstatic at the sight of the vet. “I’m home.”

“Welcome back!” Scar was quick to shoo Maui away and gently remove Pearl, though both were not pleased to lose their entertainment. “Here, help me up.”

Grian did so, gently getting the other to his feet and offering an arm should Scar need it. He was denied, however, when the other decided to instead dive forward and seal their lips together in a quick kiss. Scar tasted like overly-sugary strawberries – likely something to do with the cupcakes he’d baked the night prior.

Grian hummed as he pulled away. “You added frosting?”

“Homemade,” Scar confirmed. He ducked down to grab his crutch. “I had Lizzie take me to the store, since I was bored while you were gone and her SUV fits my chair better than Jimmy’s little sports car. She insisted I make it strawberry.”

“Tastes good,” Grian teased, licking his lips. Scar’s eyes flashed with interest, but the vet raised a hand to stop him before he could lean back in. “I’d like to taste them the correct way now.”

“Fine,” the other sighed. He moved like he was going to head towards the kitchen, but spun around unexpectedly and managed to earn himself one more fleeting kiss. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” Grian whispered, and together, they disappeared into the kitchen, a feast of sweets awaiting them.

Grian shifted the grocery bag onto his other arm, foggy breath fanning out in front of him in the chilly evening air.

“You’ve reached my voicemail,” Scar’s tone chimed through the phone, familiar and vaguely robotic. “I’m sorry I missed your call. Please leave a message after the beep.”

Beep.

“Hey, Scar,” Grian started, glancing down at his assortment of products. “I got the butter, garlic, and, uh, sort of got the spaghetti? They were out of the regular kind, so I got the angel hair one instead. Is that going to ruin it?”

He considered his question, sighing at its stupidity. No doubt he would be mocked as soon as he was home for even bothering to ask it.

“They look the same, so I’m assuming not,” Grian grumbled, imagining the lovely way Scar’s face was sure to scrunch up as he teased him, making any amount of ridicule wholly worth it. “I know you won’t answer until you’re done chatting with Lizzie and Timmy, but I thought I’d call anyway.”

The Bamboozlers were currently meeting up at his apartment. Since Scar’s health had improved to a promising degree, they’d opted to begin planning their return to the scene. The fact that the progress on Scar’s leg seemed to have completely plateaued did not dissuade anyone from the idea of getting back into the game. They claimed it would just be a new dynamic for them to work around, and that they needed extra challenges to keep the job interesting lately.

Besides, they couldn’t remain stationary forever if they wanted to get revenge on the Gs and figure out what was going on with the CEO. 

Jimmy had even put in an order for extra crutches and a new chair for Scar so that he could have specific mobility aids to match their costumes. He’d allowed Grian to fill them in on which models were probably best, and then the three of them had gone crazy with customization of colors and whatnot. 

“So, uh, I’m going to buy you a coffee to apologize just in case I did ruin our dinner,” Grian went on. “If you see this soon, text me an order, otherwise I’m guessing.”

Grian hung up and came to a stop in front of a café he’d never encountered before. Heading to the grocery store after work these days usually resulted in him taking unique routes, so most businesses weren’t known to him. It was an odd hour of the night, just a little after eight, meaning a lot of shops had closed down. 

This café was nondescript, not a place that particularly stood out to him, but it was the only one open on the block. He entered, got himself a hot chocolate, and Scar a black coffee. He supposed they could add any milk or sugar at home should it be necessary. Lizzie and Jimmy likely would have left by the time he arrived, so he didn’t bother worrying about getting them drinks.

The cold of the open air was jarring as he stepped out again. He kept his eyes trained on the ground, shivering as he moved to walk back down the sidewalk. Grian sipped his hot chocolate, willing the warmth to travel through him as best it could. 

“Excuse me?”

The vet glanced up, eyes landing on a familiar figure. He tensed, fear rocketing down his spine. His groceries nearly toppled out of his hands, saved at the last minute by a jerk of his arm. Both of Grian’s drinks were not so lucky, slipping and spilling themselves onto the concrete below.

“Oh, isn’t that a shame?” A robotic voice tutted, “What a waste…” 

Just ahead of him, looming in the middle of the sidewalk, was a man draped in a glistening black cloak. His shocking blue hair was visible even from several feet away, and his staff was unmistakable. Grian knew him well. He saw him all over television, on magazine covers, and in his memories. 

“Morphling?”

“Hello again.” Morphling stood in front of him, electricity crackling from the end of his staff, which was poised by his side. His mouth was curved up into a smile, but something was off about it. “Could I trouble you for a moment of time?”

Though it was phrased innocently enough, the vet couldn’t shake the pit that had opened in his stomach. He took a step back, frowning.

“Uh, I’d really rather not,” he said gingerly. “I need to get home. My boyfriend’s making dinner, and he needs these ingredients.”

“I’m sure you do have places to be, but this is very important,” Morphling said again. The night, if it was possible, grew even colder. “It’s something only you can help with. Your boyfriend will be fine if we delay your lovely evening by a little while, won’t he?”

“Um, maybe… Still, I don’t really–” 

Grian trailed off when he checked over his shoulder and noticed another figure stepping out of an alleyway a little further down the street. Cloaked in scarlet, wearing a black mask over the lower half of her face, was none other than Daybreak. 

Her expression was exactly as hostile as it was during the interview he’d seen months prior. She didn’t bother to greet him, or pretend her presence wasn’t a clear threat. Two heroes cornering him while he was alone wasn’t a coincidence, especially not these specific individuals. Grian recognized the true amount of danger he was in, nausea welling up in his gut. 

He wished he could say he was surprised. It was always just a matter of time before the consequences of his actions caught up with him. Honestly, he was half-expecting to see Necromancer step out of the shadows too, brandishing her poison arrows to strike him down, but it seemed only Daybreak and Morphling would be joining them tonight. 

It didn’t matter. One hero was one too many for a regular, powerless civilian to face on his own. This wasn’t a situation Grian would be able to escape, and for as long as Scar was in a meeting with his teammates, his phone was as good as dead in his pocket. Not like calling the police would do anything either – the authorities would never interfere with Agency affairs.

Grian straightened, resigning himself to a fate that had, not more than a few months ago, been unimaginable to him. “Fine. I’ll do what you want.”

“Perfect,” Morphling laughed lightly. “Come here, and I’ll–”

He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt, stopping Grian’s heart. The situation was getting more and more daunting with every passing moment. He wanted it to slow down, leave him alone, give him room to think. Grian wished so intently that he blurted without really considering his words, “I only have one request first.”

Morphling paused, his grin widened the slightest bit more. “A request? And what would that be?”

Grian swallowed, glancing around, relieved to find something of use right under his nose. The vet bent and collected his two now-empty cups. Their contents had long since soaked into the ground, but they were still warm to the touch. He held them up for the heroes to see. 

“Let me go inside and throw these away,” he asked. “I’d hate to litter.”

It was a terrible excuse, all things considered, but it startled a huff of laughter out of Morphling, and a snort from Daybreak. The heroes shared a look, engaging in a silent back and forth. Then, miraculously, they agreed.

“Alright, but be quick,” Morphling dismissed. Grian nodded, and immediately spun on his heel, starting towards the café. “Oh, but Grian?”

The vet tensed at the sound of his name. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder. Morphling’s smile had turned into a sneer. 

“Remember,” he said, his modulator crackling. “There’s nowhere you can run that we cannot find you.”

Grian nodded, and walked right back into the café. The cups were dumped into the trash can by the door, but he didn’t stop there. He rushed up to the register, putting his grocery bag on the counter. The cashier gave him a strange look, obviously confused. 

“If a man comes looking for me soon, give him this,” Grian said, all too aware of the seconds ticking by. If he hesitated too long here, the heroes would follow him. “Tell him I’ve gone for a walk in the park.”

Blinking, the cashier took the bag, checking its contents. Grian didn’t have time to say anything else. He opened his phone, and forwarded the name of the café to Scar. Then, he hid the device inside the innermost pocket of his jacket, praying it wouldn’t be found. Steeling himself for what was bound to be a horrible encounter, he left the confines of the building. 

A cold wind hit him. Morphling and Daybreak were waiting just beyond, the light of a street lamp casting damning shadows across their faces. 

For the first time that evening, Daybreak spoke, “It’s cold out tonight, isn’t it? Shall we move somewhere warmer for our discussion?”

Grian gave a short nod, though he knew what her involvement at this stage meant for him. The power of flight was a dangerous one in the hands of a kidnapper. In a matter of moments, they were all going to be ages away from this location. Scar would have no hope of catching up. 

Daybreak stepped forward, taking the handcuffs from her teammate and gesturing for the vet to meet her in the middle. He did so with little fanfare, swallowing back his pride, fear, and his overwhelming urge to run. Those things would do no good in his situation. The heroes were not lying when they told him he could not escape. 

He was only able to wince as the cold metal clicked around his wrists. 

“Perfect,” Daybreak hummed. She moved to the side, wrapping one arm tightly around his torso. “Now, try not to scream.”

Then, the ground disappeared out from underneath them. 

Grian was gone.