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After such a long day at work, Grian had been planning on getting home and passing out. First one of the parrots was ill, so he had to transport her to the vet and ensure she was alright. Then two of the cockatoos got into a fight, which was sadly witnessed by a few amused members of the public, with Grian and Mumbo having to forcibly separate the two of them. Then Pearl had to leave early because she had fallen ill, leaving Grian to pick up all of her work on top of his own, meaning double the enclosures to clean, double the birds to feed, and half the amount of breaks.
And he knew Scar would be at home already when he opened the door, dinner on the stove ready to be served, and although he felt a little guilty about not eating it, sleep felt far more important in that moment.
Fate didn’t agree.
Because Scar was perched on the sofa with a book open in his lap, brows furrowed as he trailed a finger underneath the words, sounding them out under his breath, the action endlessly endearing to an extremely exhausted Grian.
Scar had been his roommate since they left University. Although they didn’t do the same course, they’d been close friends since the first day of kindergarten, so it just made sense to move in with him. Mumbo, as much as Grian loved him, always kept his space too unorganised for his liking, and Pearl always had Gem over and Grian knew he couldn’t deal with them for any longer than strictly necessary. Plus, Scar was a good roommate.
He cleaned the dishes, cooked them food, sorted the cupboards when he didn’t feel well enough to go into work. And, without fail, every day he waited for Grian to come home.
In all honesty, Grian couldn’t remember when his small crush on his friend started. Maybe it was when they’d first moved in together, or maybe it was when they were younger, when they pinky-promised to be best friends forever. For anyone else he was sure it would be difficult living in close quarters with someone they’ve been silently pining for for years, but it was all too easy; too easy to come home to a smiling face; too easy to fall asleep to an excited rambling voice; too easy to fall into the belief that it was more than what Grian knew it to be.
So he should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy to just slip off to bed, especially when he noticed what book Scar was reading.
“What you got there?” He asked as he approached, watching the man jump as he yelped, obviously not having heard the door open and close.
“Jesus G, you scared me, how long have you been stood there?” He asked with a hand pressed to his chest, smiling anyway and turning the pages to face Grian. “I found your old diary under the stairs, and I thought I’d give it a read.” Scar paused then, taking in Grian’s features, before frowning, looking a little guilty. “Sorry, I should’ve asked first.”
“Nah it’s fine, nothing meaningful in there, I wrote it when I was five.”
“Well I’ve only just started, I was waiting for you to come home,” Scar told him, jutting his head towards the kitchen, before grinning and patting the space beside him. It was all too easy to fall into it, to lean into Scar’s side to get a better view of the pages in front of them, reading the words himself.
dear diary,
scar and mee plaed in thu sandbocks todae. it waz fun.
Nothing meaningful at all.
But he remembers the joy he used to get from writing these small passages, of recounting his days, so it wasn’t all bad to look back through them.
“My mum got me this for my fourth birthday,” Grian explained, turning the page and glancing over the next passage, “I didn’t even touch it for a while, completely forgot about it. Then one day I just thought it would be fun.”
“It’s so cute, I wish I kept a diary.” Scar said with a pout, and Grian couldn’t help his chuckle, looking up at the man only to find his gaze already on him, heavy and meaningful as always.
Grian swallowed. “Scar, and I say this with all of the love in my heart, but it would’ve been incoherent.”
“Wh— hey!”
“Your writing was illegible! Miss used to just give you A’s because she couldn’t read it!”
“You have no clue what you’re talking about.”
After his laughter died down, Grian read the next page, smiling still.
dear diary,
i pased my mafs test, i hat mafs so much. but scar is sooper smart and tort me it, he is the best.
“Jesus, you talk about me a lot.” Scar pointed out, noting his name on every page with a small, fond smile, and Grian couldn’t help but mirror it, even if his heart was beating a million miles a minute. Scar paused in his turning of the pages after a moment, brows furrowed as he frowned. “What’s this one?”
At the question, Grian looked down at it, interest piqued.
dear dairy,
me and scar sed that if we ar not maried by twentee five that we wil marie eechofer. i sooper hope he stayz singel for eva so i can marie him. i love him a lot.
“Hey I remember that day,” Grian huffed, taking the book out of Scar’s hands only to smile down at it, running a hand over the page. Scar had gone silent, but he didn’t think too much about it, too distracted thinking about the past. “Some girl asked to be your girlfriend and you said you didn’t like her because her friend was mean to me,” Grian explained, almost seeing Scar’s pout in his mind, unchanged over the years, “And I was upset at the idea that some girl would take all your attention. So you proposed that we get married when we were older— though, twenty-five was a bit young surely, some people are still finding themselves at that age, you know?”
At the end of his sentence, Grian looked up, only to find Scar’s almost disappointed face, frowning to himself.
“Everything okay?”
“I didn’t know you remembered that.” Scar replied slowly, averting his gaze to the wall across from the sofa, leaving Grian to wonder what that emotion in his eyes was, unable to get a better look.
“Of course I remember it, you don’t forget a promise like that,” Grian hummed, turning the page and pausing.
deer diary,
i like scar alot. he is sooper pretty and sweet. but i am a boy, so i carnt be his girl freind.
He didn’t remember that.
So he must’ve liked Scar since then, but just… blocked this part out. He didn’t blame himself, because it sounded like he was beating himself up over it a little, and that surely couldn’t be pleasant for any kid to go through.
After a moment, Scar leaned over his shoulder, read the same words he had, and they sat in a sort of a muted silence for a bit.
Honestly, Grian was missing the sleepiness he felt when he walked in, the feeling replaced with bone-deep, achingly-familiar exhaustion.
“You know,” Scar started, and when Grian looked back over at him he found red on the tips of his ears and cheeks, a hand scratching the back of his neck as he avoided meeting Grian’s eyes. “The offer’s still on the table.”
To say Grian knew what he was talking about would be a lie.
“The offer of… dinner?”
“Um, sure if that’s— uh, what you want to do.” Scar replied, and Grian could only furrow his brows further, looking back down at the diary in his hands, then back up at Scar, who seemed more flustered than Grian had ever seen him.
“I mean I assumed we’d be eating it anyway, if you’ve already cooked it.”
But Scar didn’t reply, just curled a little more in on himself, looking smaller than was warranted for a man of his stature. Even when in his wheelchair, and his height was shortened quite a bit, he had this presence about him, despite the difference in height he was bigger, bolder, more confident and bright. To see him shrink in the face of Grian, it made something sour settle in his stomach.
“I don’t—“ Scar started, before taking a deep breath and straightening, back to the man Grian knew. Mostly, anyway. After a moment, emerald eyes settled on his own, gaze steady, and Grian felt a little like a deer frozen in headlights, unable to look away. “I don’t break my promises, G.”
“Oh, is that what this is about?” Grian realised, mentally kicking himself and waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry, we made that promise when we were young, I know you didn’t mean it—“
“Grian,” Scar was saying, and suddenly he was very close, lips ghosting Grian’s ear as he tried his best not to yelp, turning to face the man and finding him expectedly close, the hand not being used to keep him up moving to rest on Grian’s leg. “The offer’s still on the table.”
He repeated the words in his head, trying to make sense of them.
The promise, Scar’s blush, his forwardness.
The offer’s still on the table.
I don’t break my promises.
Oh.
Scar wanted to marry him.
“If you want it, that is,” Scar then said with a small cough, moving a little backwards to give Grian more space— but he didn’t want space.
He wanted Scar.
Wholly and truly.
“What kind of stupid question is that?” He replied instead, grabbing Scar’s collar and tugging him close, close enough that their breaths intertwined, foreheads pressed together. “Of course I want to.”
At that, Scar’s eyes went wide, as if he hadn’t been expecting it at all. “Wh— seriously?”
“Yes, seriously, did you think I’d joke about that?”
“No but I thought you’d think I was joking and brush it off.”
At that, Grian huffed, lifting his spare hand to run it along Scar’s cheek, still burning a furious red. “Hard to think you’re joking when you look so flustered.”
“Maybe it’s from the exertion.”
“I guess we’ll never know,” Grian huffed with a small laugh, loving the endeared smile on Scar more than anything. It was somehow more handsome up close, the way his lips switched up, chapped but somehow soft, a small freckle on his top lip almost concealed by the light stubble on his chin.
“Hey.”
“Hey handsome.” Grian replied, just to say it, eyes finally flicking back up to Scar’s own— only to find them on his lips. “What are you waiting for?”
“To wake up.”
Whether it was to prove a point, or just because he wanted to, Grian tugged him back down just enough to press their lips together.
He hoped to every god he wasn’t dreaming— even if he was hoping for sleep some time soon.
But with Scar in his arms, lips on his own, he knew he could stay awake a little longer.
For Scar, he was sure he’d do anything.