Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

"It's Just My Idiot Brother."

15 // 18

"You can chuck your stuff down here."

"Is he awake?"

He hadn't been, but now he squints at the yellow hallway light pouring onto the worn dormroom carpet as the whisper-harsh voices had squirreled through the cotton of Scar's sleep and roused him to a semi-awareness.

Blinldly, he reaches for his phone to check the time.

"Shit, sorry, Scar. Did we wake you?" Mumbo's voice teeters on the edge of a whisper, as if he can still preserve Scar's sleep.

1:43am, reads the digital display.

The door clicks shut and plunges the room back into a temporary darkness. It's soon replaced by the pinhole white light of a phone torch and Scar is blinded as he twists to look over his shoulder. He shields his eyes, but the two figures are blanched out by the light.

"It's okay," he mumbles and the two begin to bustle about the room to a backdrop of near-silent bickering. "Who's here?"

"Go in there, get ready for bed. Go," Mumbo hisses and the door to the ensuite opens and closes, before strips of orange light snap on around the doorframe.

"It's just my idiot brother," Mumbo says. "I'll tell you more in the morning, but he's going to sleep on our floor tonight."

Scar considers this, considers the worn carpet, and the solid surface beneath. "S'pretty hard?"

Mumbo snorts a laugh. "As he deserves," he says, and then, softer: "Yeah, I'm gonna steal the cushions from the common room. Go back to sleep, yeah?"

He doesn't need to be told twice.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

The next morning, Scar wakes, as he so often does, to sore and stiffened knees. He groans into his pillow before levering himself onto his back. He traces patterns on the ceiling that he's become oh-so-familiar with these past four months.

Mumbo and his brother are already gone from the room - a blanket discarded on the floor next to his bed is the only evidence they were ever here.

Once the soreness has eased, Scar throws on a shirt and ventures out into the kitchen he and Mumbo share with four other students.

That's where he finds Mumbo, perched against the counter, on the phone. He raises a hand to Scar in greeting, but carries on his conversation.

"Yeah, I took a look at the trains last night. Most of them are changes, but there's a direct this afternoon. You can meet him straight off the platform."

When Scar approaches the counter, he finds two empty mugs with tea bags waiting to be brewed. When he touches the kettle with the palm of his hand, it's boiled, but losing heat. 

He glances up at Mumbo, but the man is pinching his nose, eyes closed. "I just don't think you should, Dad."

Scar grabs a mug from his own cupboard and fetches a herbal teabag, along with the levy of pain meds he needs to take.

As Mumbo's phonecall continues, Scar pours water from the kettle into all three cups, showing mumbo the milk - yes and no - and the sugar - one spoon and none.

"I'm just saying, I don't think it's fair for you to have to come all this way because he decided to— Dad, no. Listen—" Mumbo's lips press into a stern line as the voice on the phone cuts him off.

Scar mouths him a Good Luck, before departing for the common room with two cups of tea and a handful of pills.

That's where he finds him.

The boy sits with his back against the sofa, knees tucked up against his chest, the light from his phone pooling sickly blue light across his battered features: a split lip, swollen cheek, bruised eye.

Scar takes a seat across from him. "I bet you have quite the story," he says, to which the boy responds with a scowl.

"You're one to talk," he replies with a sharp tongue.

"Ouch," Scar says plainly. He knows what the boy is referring to; he's a zebra of pale white scars, raised in stripes across his skin. As a younger man, he'd been self concious of them. Nowadays, he's mostly unaffected. Mostly.

"Why are you limping?" 

"Bad knees." 

"What are you, eighty?" 

"Sometimes, it sure feels that way." 

The boy scoffs and goes back to his phone. "Okay, grandpa." 

Scar chuckles and sips his tea, until Mumbo comes from the kitchen and points at his brother. 

"Despite my recommendation, Dad is driving all the way down here to come and get you." 

The boy frowns. "Why?" 

"Because, Grian, you obviously can't be trusted getting public transport on your own, can you?" 

"Why are you being a prick?" 

"Because you're being a prick!" 

The boy – Grian – scoffs with indignance. "How the fuck am I being a prick?" 

"You ran away from home, Grian!" 

"I got a train to you. I didn't exactly disappear, did I?”

"Yeah, but you're 15, Grian. You can't just do that." 

"I'm 15, Mumbo, I'm not a child." 

"Yeah, well, you do a bloody good job of acting like one, don't you?" 

Grian twists off of the sofa and stamps past Mumbo, shouldering him as he does so.

Scar feels as though he's perhaps witnessed something he shouldn't have and attempts to sip his tea with nonchalance, until Mumbo sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He perches on the arm at Scar’s side. 

"Sorry," he says, "About... all of that. And last night, too." 

"No, no," Scar assures him. "It's alright, it's alright. Family is family, after all."

Mumbo lifts his eyes to the ceiling and heaves a deep breath. "Yeah, right." 

Scar sits forward. "Are you okay?" 

Mumbo looks at him. His smile is small, rueful. He gets his tea from the kitchen. 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Grian is gone by the time Mumbo comes to join him at the Architecture studio later that day.

Scar had spent the last hour locked in on his CAD design, but has spent the last fifteen minutes playing minesweeper on the desktop, so he's glad for the distraction.

Mumbo explains that his dad had collected his younger brother, Grian, just after lunch.

"Did something happen with him? Why did he arrive so late?" Scar asks.

Mumbo snorts a derisive laugh as he boots up his own software, loading up his assignment file.

"Yeah. Something happened. With him, when does it not?" He murmurs, then apologised when Scar raises his eyebrows.

"Sorry, it's just… He's always been a little… Turbulent? But this is getting silly now. He's just–"

Mumbo drops his elbows on the desk and grabs his hair. He groans in frustration.

Scar tips his head, "Just…?" he prompts. "Just what?"

"I don't know," Mumbo admits. His hands fall to his lap with a slap. "I just don't know."

"Maybe he's just a teenager?" Scar suggests, rotating himself back and forth with his toes. "They do that stuff, I've heard."

Mumbo shakes his head. "Not like this Scar. He got into a fight after school, told my dad he was going to a friend's house, spent several hours wandering around with a battered face, and then hopped on a train to come see me."

Scar blinks, then frowns. "But the bus doesn't run that late, how did he–?"

"He walked, Scar."

"At 1am?"

"Nope. Got off the train around half eleven, used Google maps until his phone died and then just went wandering by the road signs."

"It took him an hour and a half to walk here?"

Mumbo swallows, eyes back on his screen. He shrugs. "He got lost."

Scar frowns and Mumbo shakes his head. "Hey, I'm just gonna put my earphones in, do you mind? I want to lock in for a bit. I just need to not think about this for a while."

Scar reaches over and places his hand on the back of Mumbo's neck. "Do what you need to do, MJ."

With a faint smile, he does.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

That February, Mumbo and Scar are talking with their roommates about their housing choices next year.

“I mean, there's a two bed near the campus that you two could take,” Tango suggests from where he’s perched on the kitchen counter. “I know it's kinda lame to seperate, but you’d be better off closer to the studio, right, Scar?”

Not for the first time in this conversation, Scar begrudges his useless joints.

“I'd be fine, there are buses and such. I could take taxis when it's real bad.”

Mumbo, sitting next to him on the sofa, nudges his knee. “Hey, you think I'd be that bad to live alone with?” 

Scar gives him a small, grateful smile. 

“You wouldn't mind being away from everyone?” 

Mumbo reaches over to pat his thigh and Scar appreciates the physical reassurance. “You kidding me? Can you imagine another year with the rest of these spoons?” 

And Scar chuckles as the rest of the room errupts into outrage. 

2.

"Why don't you fuck off and mind your own business?"

16 // 19

The summer passes quickly. In late July, Scar has a birthday. Mumbo visits and brings his boyfriend, Scott, who Scar has met plenty the previous year. 

Currently, they are sitting in the garden, at a table shaded by a large umbrella. A wind charm clinks and twinkles nearby. 

“Are you happy with your results?” Scar asks Scott as they pick at a bowl of crisps. 

Scott shrugs, which makes Mumbo knock his knee. 

“What? They were okay. Not what I was hoping for, but–” 

“But more than enough to get you into your first choice. Plenty enough,” Mumbo interrupts, which makes Scott roll his eyes. 

He picks up a crisp and rolls his hand. “Yes, okay, but I wanted to do better,” he says firmly, meeting Mumbo’s eye with a challenge. “For me,” he insists when his boyfriend won't let it drop. 

Scar tilts his head. “What did you get, Scott?” 

Scott looks sheepish, but Mumbo tips his head and encourages him to share.

“Two A stars, one A, and a B.” 

Scar blinks and Mumbo shakes his head. “Wow.” 

Scott huffs and reaches for his glass of water. His pale skin has taken on a pinkish twinge from the hot sun. He sips his drink as Mumbo twists their fingers together, keeping watch. 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Later on, when Scott is taking a shower, Scar marvels at his results. He and Mumbo stand at the sink in the kitchen, washing and drying dishes from dinner. 

“I mean, I knew he was smart, but… Wow, Scott is really something, huh? I mean it's one thing to get As, right? But four A-levels? I barely made it through three.” 

Mumbo nods, somewhat absently. “Yeah. He's brilliant, Scar. He's absolutely brilliant.”

But it doesn't sound like a positive thing. 

“What is it?” Scar asks, placing a dry plate in the cupboard above the counter. 

Mumbo chews his lower lip. He shakes the water from his hands and leans against the basin. “He’s brilliant but he can't see it. He works so hard and he's still not happy at the end of it all. I just… worry, I guess.” 

Scar takes a saucepan from the drying rack and wipes it with his tea towel. He frowns. “Well… that sucks.” 

Mumbo swallows, nods, and then grabs a mug to continue washing up. “I just wish he would see himself the way I do.” 

The corner of Scars mouth quirks upwards. “Well, it probably helps, anyway.” 

Mumbo cocks his head. “What does?” 

“The way you see him. It probably helps him. It helps me.”

Scar waits for a moment, before he glances up at his friend. Mumbo’s eyes are big and staring. 

“I’m such a handful,” Scar says. “We can't even live with our friends because there's nowhere left close enough to campus. You pretended to be okay with that, anyway. It was kinda massive for me, Mumbo.” 

His friend hugs him with wet hands. “Scar,” he says, laughing through a thick throat. “I wasn't pretending, you silly donkey.” 

And it takes more than a moment for Scar to comprehend that. To understand that Mumbo means what he says. He hugs him back and doesn't let go until Scott’s voice carries from the hall. 

“Boyfriend snatching, are we?” He asks, while towelling his wet-blue hair. “Scar, there's plenty to go around, you know.” 

The two loosen their hug and Mumbo clicks his tongue. “Yeah, right. Like you'd cope with that.” 

Scott considers this and decides that his boyfriend is probably right and slides up to wrap his arms around Mumbo’s middle as he and Scar part. 

“Shall we watch a movie tonight?” he asks and Scar knows just the thing. 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Scott falls asleep against Mumbo’s chest during the first quarter hour of the first Star Wars movie. 

“Should we turn it down?” Scar offers and Mumbo nods, running his fingers through the towelled twirls of Scott’s hair. 

“I think he's depressed,” Mumbo admits in a whisper. “I read that sleeping helps.” 

Scar turns the volume right down and switches on the subtitles, instead. He doesn't mind, he's seen this movie a thousand times already. 

For the next hour and a half, Mumbo and Scar quietly commentate the film, while Scott sleeps soundly against his boyfriend. 

“I just don't understand why he exists, is all,” Mumbo says near the end of the movie. 

“He's the guiding hand!” Scar argues, voice lifting more than he intends. “He brings levity.”

“But why did they make him so… the way he is?”

Scar grins. “He's delightful.” 

Mumbo snorts. “Well, I'm not sure about that.” 

Eventually, Scott wakes to laughter. 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

When September rolls around, Mumbo and Scar meet at the doorstep of their new house. Their fathers meet for the first time and Grian lingers further back. 

Scar’s dad wants to take a picture, so they pose on the front step, the two of them clutching moving boxes, while Scar holds his house keys aloft. 

While the two fathers chat over cups of tea in the kitchen, Scar and Mumbo catch up on the rest of their summers in Mumbo’s room upstairs.

Grian sits nearby, at the end of Mumbo’s bed, but doesn't join the conversation. 

“So we did Scott’s move in last weekend,” Mumbo tells Scar as he begins to unpack t-shirts. He sits at the head of Mumbo’s bed, holding a throw cushion to his chest, listening intently.

“How’d that go?” 

“Pretty good. His flatmates seem nice. He's been hanging out with this guy Owen for the most part. Kinda goofy, but in a Labrador kind of way.” 

Grian starts rummaging through Mumbo’s suitcase and Scar observes this with a raised brow. 

“G, what are you doing?” 

“Looking for something,” the boy says, biting the tip of his tongue in concentration. “Don't worry about it.”

Scar pulls a face. He glances at Mumbo to check, but Mumbo shakes his head. He rolls his eyes and continues hanging shirts, as Grian keeps searching. 

As he carries on with the conversation, Scar struggles to keep his attention. 

He hasn't seen his best friends brother since the night they first met, during the winter of last year, but he’s heard plenty and Scar struggles not to hate him just a little bit for the way he's treated Mumbo this past year. 

More than once had Scar woken up to Mumbo missing from his bed. His roommate, he learned, had a tendency to sneak away to the kitchen to cry alone, until Scar lowered himself to the floor and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“You should wake me up,” Scar would tell him. “I don't mind.” 

But Mumbo would just sob quietly into the collar of his sweater and Scar would hold him until he was done. 

Only later would Mumbo confess it was because of his brother, whether that be that he'd been in a fight at school, an argument with his dad, or in trouble with the police. 

“I'm just… so scared, Scar,” Mumbo had confessed one night. “What if, one of these days, things finally, fully, implode? What if I get a call and it's not that he’s in trouble, what if it's because he’s–” 

And then he'd burrowed back into his knees and Scar had simply gone back to holding him. 

So, no, he doesn't particularly like Grian and it's hard to watch him make a mess of Mumbo’s neatly folded suitcase.

Eventually, Scar snaps. “Just tell him what you're looking for and he can probably tell you where it is.” 

Grian’s hands still and his nostrils flare as he scowls. Scar tells himself he isn't afraid of a fifteen year old with an attitude problem, no matter how his stomach flips. 

“Why don't you fuck off and mind your own business?” 

“Grian!” Mumbo snaps. 

Scar isn't sure how to proceed. He swallows, but maintains a level eye contact with the spiteful boy. 

“Grian,” Mumbo says again and it's Grian who breaks first. 

“I'm not a dog,” he snarls. “Just forget it.” and then he shoves the suitcase away from himself, straight into Scar’s knee. 

“Mother of–” 

Scar clutches at his knee as pain ignites at the joint. “Jesus,” he gasps, biting down on his lips as he suffers through it. 

“Jesus Christ, Grian, what the hell was that for?” Mumbo demands, moving the case and kneeling down to put his hands on Scar’s leg. 

“I didn't mean to do it!” The boy argues. “It wasn't even that hard.” 

“You alright Scar?” Mumbo asks, voice far softer with him than with his brother. “Is it bad?” 

Scar winces and gently presses his thumbs into his kneecap, to ease out the pain. “It’s okay. I'm okay. It'll pass.” 

Grian is staring, lips parted, clearly unsure of what to do. His fists are white rocks in his lap, his whole body curling in on itself. 

It's something Scar recognises. 

“Boys?” comes a call from down the stairs. “Everything alright up there?” 

The silence is thick with tension and Grian’s eyes dart to Scar’s. 

Scar clears his throat. “We’re fine, we’re fine.” 

“Scar?” calls his dad. “You sure, buddy?” 

“I’m okay, I just… walked into the desk. Silly me!” He says, laughing forcefully. “Clumsy me.” 

Reassured, they hear the two men leave the bottom of the stairs, but Scar is unsure of the expression on Grian's face now. 

“Just… please be careful,” Mumbo says to his brother, though his gaze remains on Scar’s knee. His thumbs rubbing circles into the joint. 

Grian sucks on his lip like he might say something, but instead he just pushes himself up from the bed and leaves the room. 

He shuts himself in the bathroom down the hall and Mumbo sighs. 

As much as Scar resents the boy, he cares for his best friend more. “It was an accident,” he assures him. 

Mumbo nods, but his voice is flat when he says, “I know.”

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Later that evening, once it's just the two of them in the house, Mumbo comes downstairs with a sweater. It's black, white, and red.

He looks distressed. “I think he was looking for this,” he tells Scar, holding the garment to his chest. “I wore it during the Summer. He kept nicking it.” 

“Well, it's yours.” 

“I know,” Mumbo says, bunching the jumper up in his arms. “I know.” 

3.

"Just let me go!"

16 // 19

Grian visits again in November when he gets suspended from school. 

He sleeps on Mumbo’s floor and wears the sweater religiously.

Grian doesn't make much of an effort to talk to Scar during the three days of his visit, but Mumbo puts him to work in the architecture studio, cleaning up clay after a creative session.

“Why did your dad send him here?” Scar asks in a low voice, near the back of the room. “Why make you deal with this?” 

Mumbo peels off his clay-caked apron and pulls on his moustache and doesn't meet Scar’s eye. “He didn't. I asked Grian to come.” 

Scar’s brows shoot up. He finishes securing his model while he processes this. 

“I’m sorry,” Mumbo says, quietly. “I should've said something, I just… I missed him.” 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

That evening, Scar lays in bed, a textbook discarded next to him. He’s abandoned his green reading aids and now scrolls through shorts on YouTube.

With his bedroom on the ground floor, he can hear Mumbo and Grian playing cards in the next room. Mumbo had invited him to join, but he told the boy to enjoy his time with his brother.

And they do seem to be having fun, enjoying each other's company, and Scar isn't sure why this feels so revolutionary.

At some point, he'd just considered Grian a source of stress and anxiety for his older brother, abusing his poor friend’s strung out nerves. 

And they do bicker, but for the most part they're laughing together and at some point, Grian cheers. He must've won a hand. Scar finds himself smiling and he doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but he’s so enjoying the brothers' fun that he doesn't tune out when things get serious. 

“G, what happened?” Mumbo asks and a long, heavy silence follows. 

And then Grian says, “Yeah, I was waiting for that.” 

“G…” 

“I knew it.” 

“Knew what?” Mumbo asks, sounding genuinely confused. 

Scar can hear the hurt in his voice when Grian says, “This was just another intervention. You couldn't possibly just want to see me.” 

Now the hurt is Mumbo’s. “Of course I did.” 

“Alright, Mumbo.” 

“Grian. Hey. Hey!” 

“It's fine, you don't have to look after me, Mumbo. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself.” 

There's movement and Scar holds his breath as footsteps move towards his door. 

“Grian! Where are you going?” 

“I need some air.” 

“You can't go out on your own.” 

“Let go of me!” 

Now they're right outside of Scar’s bedroom and Scar suddenly feels the weight of his eavesdropping. He’s tempted to pull on headphones, but it's too late. He's invested. He's concerned. 

There's desperation in Mumbo’s voice as he pleads with the boy. “Please, Grian. I want you here. I’m just worried. I’m worried about you. I just want to know what's going on with you.” 

“Just let me go!” 

“Please, G.” 

A long silence and then heavy footsteps and then the front door slams. 

Scar waits only a second, before throwing himself from his bed and ripping his door open. 

There, on the floor, is Mumbo. His head rests on his forearms and Scar softens. 

“Oh, Mumbo.” 

Scar helps him from the floor and the two move to the living room. He makes them both tea while Mumbo tells him the story of how Grian came to be his brother. 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

They had just lost Mumbo’s mother. 

The two remaining members of the family  were muddling through the grief-ridden existence. They were at the supermarket, his father not yet ready to drive home again. 

Outside the shop, there was a boy. He was young – so young to be alone the way he was. His feet were dirty, his pale palm outstretched to passersby. 

When security guards appeared, he’d follow close to a parent and child, then drop them again when the coast was clear. 

He had everyone fooled. 

But lost recognises lost and Mumbo and his father took one look at each other, before Mumbo was told to, “Wait here.” 

His father reached over to the backseats and pulled a packet of crisps from a multi-pack. He left the car and approached the boy, offering up the packet. 

The boy was cautious, but when the man pointed back to the car, at Mumbo - who gave a little wave - the boy ripped open the packet and demolished them. 

It turns out his parents had been addicts. They'd left home one day and never returned.

“He went to live with a family while Dad went through emergency foster care training. Then he came back to us and Dad adopted him a year later.”

Scar’s eyebrows were permanently hitched to his hairline. “God,” he says as Mumbo nods. 

“Did you guys put him through therapy or anything?” 

“Dad tried. School tried. He didn't want it. He wouldn't do it.” 

Scar frowns. “Jesus, Mumbo.” 

“I know.” 

“That's…” 

“Yeah. I know.” 

Scar blows on his tea as he thinks. He’s had his own share of childhood traumas, but he can't imagine going through anything as terrifying as being abandoned entirely. 

“The thing is… I know he's just scared. I know he's so…” Mumbo pinches his nose. “He’s just waiting for the moment we give up on him.” 

Scar’s lips twitch downwards. He feels so… heavy, so sad. 

“I won't, Scar. I never will. Even if he gives up on me. I’ll never give up on him.” 

An hour later, there's a knock on the door. Mumbo all but runs to open it. 

There, red faced, but with so much less tension and anger in him, is Grian. 

“I–” 

Mumbo leaves space for him to finish his thought, but when he can't, jumps to his rescue. “I know, G. I know.” 

Grian all but body slams into him and Mumbo’s arms are fierce around him. “I’ve got you, G,” he says as Grian buries his face into Mumbo’s shoulder. “I’ve got you.” 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

By January, Scott's depression has hit him hard and Mumbo spends every weekend of that month driving the hour-forty to be with him. 

It makes weekends lonely, but Tango and Zedaph make an effort to come over and keep Scar company. It's nice and he appreciates it, but it's not the same as having Mumbo around. 

Still, he knows how important Scott is to him and he's glad Mumbo can take care of him. 

So when Mumbo comes home that Sunday evening, Scar is so pleased to see Scott in tow, even if he's tearful, expression foggy. 

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Mumbo says softly, bringing Scott and a suitcase inside. “Just go on in and I'll go park up, yeah?” 

Scott nods, though struggles to make any movement further into the house. Scar appears at the doorway and offers Scott his hand. “Hey, blue, good to see you again. Why don't you come in and let me make you a tea?” 

Mumbo looks so grateful and more so when Scott takes Scar’s hand and lets him move him to the living room. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. There's a space on the next road.” 

“All good,” Scar waves him off and lets him go as he turns all of his attention on Scott. 

As Scott sits at Scar’s guidance, he covers his eyes with his hands and takes a big, wet gasping breath. 

“I'm so sorry,” he mutters, still hiding.

Scar ruffles his hair. His brown roots are starting to show through and he decides he’ll help Scott handle it if Mumbo can’t. 

“Don't be silly, guy. Do you want some tea? You hungry?” 

He shakes his head, but when Mumbo returns from parking the car, he asks Scar to make Scott some buttered toast and a cup of chamomile. 

As he does so, he hears Scott’s frightened little voice apologise once again and then say, “Please don't leave me.” 

Mumbo is crouched in front of him and he shakes his head so firmly. “Never. Absolutely never. Couldn't even leave you at your uni, could I?” 

“I'm so sorry.” 

“I know baby, I know, but you don't have to be.” 

“I love you.” Scott sobs, wrapping his arms around Mumbo’s neck and burrowing away in his neck. 

Mumbo’s sigh is one of contentment and relief and he holds Scott tightly, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I love you too, Scott. I really, really do.” 

And Scar can't help but melt at the display of love and loyalty from his friends. He feels his eyes prickle with it. 

And as he spreads butter on Scott’s warm toast, he finds himself hoping that a love like that will one day find him, too. 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

By the middle of February, Scott’s medication has kicked in and he’s doing a lot better. As his academic extensions come to an end, they start packing for him to go back to his own university. 

And although he’s glad he’s doing better, Scar wishes he didn’t have to leave. 

“You sure you can't just transfer?” He asks on Scott’s final day, as he packs his suitcase. “I'm sure we have marketing or, erm, business management here?” 

Scott snorts and shakes his head. He drops his folded sweater into the open case and crosses the room to Scar, who sits on Mumbo’s desk chair. The boy grabs Scar’s cheeks and presses a firm kiss to his forehead. He still smells like the blue hair dye they used to top up his roots a few days ago. 

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Scott says, “but I like my uni. I don't want to study here.” 

Scar pouts. “But you could learn to like it,” he suggests and Scott rolls his eyes. He presses another kiss to the top of his head before returning to his suitcase.

“Besides,” Scott says, “even if I did want to transfer, you guys don't do events management.” 

Scar grins, not yet ready to give up his persuasive assault. “I’m sure we could make a case for it.”

Scott tosses a previously folded shirt at his head. 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

By April, Grian is desperate to come up and visit again. He tells Mumbo he needs a break from home - a break from their father and his near persistent worry. 

“It’s just bloody constant. He’s so fucking worried about all the time, but it’s like, just let me fucking be,” Grian bemoans as they walk the short distance to a house party near by. 

Mumbo and Grian walk ahead, while Scar trails behind, happy to let the brothers catch up on their own. 

It’s been a little bit since Scar has last seen Mumbo’s little brother, and in that stretch of time, Grian has grown further into himself. At sixteen - almost seventeen - he’s fully on his way into his young adulthood and it’s evident that he knows this, in the way he’s dressed himself tonight. 

Skinny jeans, brown leather chelsea boots, and a blood red button up. 

Still, Scar can’t help but see the young boy parading beneath it all. 

“He just cares,” Mumbo says, with a shrug. “I get that he’s nervous, but it’s just because he cares, Grian.” 

And Grian had huffed at that. “Well I wish he’d try a little harder to care less.” 

Scar simply watches his best friend’s shoulders droop a little. He doesn't push it.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Several hours have passed and Grian makes his cider last the time, right up until his brother gets a call from Scott and Scar tells him to take it.

"I'll keep an eye on him, it's all good," Scar had promised and Mumbo thanked him profusely until Scar told him to, "Go, go, go!"

And that's precisely the moment Grian shakes him. He scours the house, a six bed with two bathrooms over three floors for the boy. He manages to evade Scar for thirty minutes until he finds him in the bathroom on the second floor, a vodka bottle in hand, giggling as a man (very much a man) whispers into his ear. They are both pressed up against the basin of the sink, and Scar feels fury spark through him at the sight.

"Grian," Scar barks, unsure which of the two he's angrier at. "What the hell?"

The man jerks backwards at the sound, but Grian tugs his neck to bring him close again. He swowls at his brother's housemate. "Private function," he says, attempting to kick the door shut, to the blockade of Scar's hand. "Piss off, Scar."

The man runs his hands up Grian's side and chuckles lightly. "Hey, hey," he says, "I don't mind extending the invitation. We could always make this party a little bigger…"

Scar snorts and Grian's eyes narrow to slits. "Fuck no," he says, the same time Scar says, "I'm not looking to build myself a criminal record."

The man's face contorts. He glances to Grian with alarm. "What do you mean?"

"Fuck. Off. Scar," Grian attempts again, absolutely furious now.

Scar can't help but laugh - it's somewhat satisfying to screw with Grian's plans for the evening, considering what an utter tool he's been tonight.

He turns to the man, "Do you know how old he is?"

Grian's nostrils flare and his eyes are stern slits. "Eighteen. First year. Landscape. Hills and shit. Parks."

Scar raises an eyebrow, feeling heated. "Try sixteen and flunking out of his A-levels."

He regrets it the moment the words fall from his mouth. Grian's face goes ashen, his mouth a taut line. His arms drop from the man's neck the same moment the man's shoves himself away. "Are you kidding me? You said—"

"Yeah, dickhead," Grian bites back, his giggly demeanour gone entirely. "I lied, obviously."

The man rips the bottle of vodka from Grian's hand and shoves past Scar, decending the stairs with lightening quick steps. He doesn't look back.

Grian is holding Scar's gaze and it feels so unbelievably threatening. "How in the fuck—"

"I–" Scar stammers before Grian puts the pieces together for himself.

"Mumbo told you?" 

Scar has no reason to feel bad. He has no reason whatsoever to feel bad about what's just happened.

He feels so bad about what just happened. 

"I'm... he was just worried. He was just talking. He didn't mean–"

Scar expects Grian to walk away from him. He doesn't blame him, but he will try to stop it, because Grian is still a 16 year old with way too much alcohol content in his blood right now, and–

Grian grabs him by the arm and drags him. The sudden yank shifts something in his knee and the pain is hell as he stumbles after the boy, almost outright tripping down the steps. By the time they're in the back garden, Scar is just grateful for the wall he's pushed up against. 

"Want me all for yourself, Scar, is that it?" 

And suddenly, Grian is close, much closer than any teenager should be. His dark eyes are hooded and he's pressed up on his toes to bring his lips to Scar's jaw. 

For a moment, Grian eyes wash with something unexpected as Scar places his hand firmly against the boy's narrow chest. 

And then Grian is shoved away for the second time that night as Scar leans down to grip his throbbing knee. 

"Jesus," Scar hisses, willing the pain to go away. He applies pressure in the usual spot, but it does little to help. 

Grian stands at a distance, wringing his wrist. 

"I'm... I'm fine, I'm just... Just give me a second." 

Grian waits as Scar breathes his way through the slowly fading pain, twisting his leg back and forth to ease the joint back to functioning again. 

At some point, Grian sits cross legged on the paving slabs and Scar decides that sounds nice right about now. 

He lowers himself down the cold brick wall, until he can stretch his legs out in front of him. 

Grian is picking at his nail, gaze distant. 

Scar takes a breath. "I'm sorry about the–" 

"It's fine." The boy is quick to cut in, pushing his phone from his pocket. He scrolls absently. "I don't really give a shit, anyway." 

Scar frowns. He wants to make sure Grian knows he's apologising for the school comment, not turning him down. 

"I'm dyslexic," is what falls out of Scar's mouth next and Grian is clearly thrown by the comment. 

"Okay."

"I barely scraped it through my own exams. I had a tutor." 

Grian raises an eyebrow and then huffs a laugh. His smirk is sardonic. "Yeah, well, I'm not dyslexic. I'm just thick." 

"I don't believe that," Scar counters. "You almost had that other fellow swindled." 

"Yeah, like I had to say a lot to convince him to take me home." 

Scar tips his head back against the brick. "Were you really going to go home with him?" 

Grian smirks, pocketing his phone, before leaning back on his palms. "Why? You jealous?" 

It takes everything in him not to snort at the prospect. "You're a child."

"Age of consent is 16."

"Don't be gross."

"You think I'm gross?"

"I didn't say that!" 

Grian raises an eyebrow, a sight Scar can only faintly make out in the low light spilling out from inside.

"Then what do you say?"

Scar presses his lips together. Grian isn't gross. Of course he isn't. He's pretty, in fact, the kind of pretty that will eventually ripen into handsome, when he's an adult. 

But for now, he's a child, and that's all Scar can see - Grian is Mumbo's chaotic little brother who gives him grief at every chance he gets. 

Scar is pretty sure that's how he'll always see him. 

His knee twinges. "I think you should go find Mumbo. We should go home."

Grian is quiet for a long moment, before he huffs and pushes himself up. Little stones fall from his palms as he brushes them on his thighs. 

"Whatever," he says and leaves to find his brother. 

Scar waits outside, alone. 

4.

"It'll get better. I'm sure it will. It has to, right?"

17 // 20

That summer, in the months between their second and third year, Scar finally visits Mumbo at home for the first time.

The three bed is small, but cosy, and Mumbo's dad, Manfred, seems pleased to have him here.

"I'm really glad Mumbo has you, Scar," he tells him the afternoon he arrives. Mumbo is inside, pouring drinks, while Scar and his dad sit on the patio outside. "You're a really great friend to him, you know."

Scar feels a bit shy at that and he shakes his head. "Mumbo's been a total rock for me. He takes care of me. I hope I'm at least half the friend he is."

Scar has lost count of the appointments Mumbo has driven him to - he thinks fondly, though somewhat apprehensively - of the time Mumbo took him to see his specialist in the next city when his knees were truly misbehaving. The journey ended up being a round trip of two and a half hours and they'd had a great time, sharing music and snacks and stories.

Scar was just glad that Mumbo had let him contribute to his next tank of petrol.

Manfred laughs softly. "Yeah, that's my Mumbo. He's been a worrier his whole life, even before we lost Immy. It got worse after that. Then, with Grian… Sometimes I think I've done him so wrong…" The man clears his throat. He decides to move swiftly on. "Anyway, you've been a real game changer, Scar," he says, clapping a hand on Scar's shoulder. "You've really brought him out of his shell."

Scar tilts his head. It's hard to believe, but he can't quite put the words together to ask about this, before Mumbo returns with three glasses in hand. "What are we talking about?" he asks, and Scar grins.

"Oh, you know, just how much you love me, how you couldn't live life without me. That kinda stuff."

Mumbo snorts as he dispearses the glasses. "Well, no duh."

And Scar laughs, because he really, truly believes it.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

It's not until later that night, that Scar finally meets Grian again. It's late and Scar has just brushed his teeth. He's on his way back from the bathrooom to Mumbo's room, when he bumps into the boy on the landing.

Grian's eyes are wide as his pale hand grips the banister. Scar notices right away, that he's dressed to go out, rather than for bed.

His jeans are ripped, his belt cinched at his waist. His red shirt is tucked loosely into his waistband and his leather jacket hangs from him.

The most distressing thing, however, are the bruises beneath his eyes, the grey of his skin.

"Grian, are you—"

"The fuck are you doing here?" he demands with a snarl. "Why the fuck are you in my house?"

Scar is rendered speechless. He doesn't understand what he's done to deserve the vitriol — was Grian still hanging onto the rejection from last April?

But he doesn't manage to find an answer, neither in himself nor Grian, before the boy scoffs and barrels onwards, down the stairs. The door slams behind him and a moment later, Mumbo's head appears from his room.

"Everything okay?" he asks, though by the worry lines on his forehead, Scar knows that Mumbo knows it's not.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

They shut the door to Mumbo's bedroom and Scar takes a seat on the bed - Mumbo has been kind enough to give up his own for the duration of Scar's stay.

Scar hopes Mumbo knows the love he feels for him is so undoubtedly mutual.

"I don't think your brother likes me," Scar attempts with a careful laugh, but Mumbo only offers him a pity smile.

"I don't think he quite likes anybody right now, Scar," Mumbo confesses, scratching his eyebrow with his thumbnail. He clears his throat, eyes cast down, to his sleeping arrangements. "I'm sorry, I should've warned you. I'd get it if you didn't want to stay anymore."

Scar's eyes go wide and he shakes his head furiously. "No, way! I haven't even seen Scott yet, are you kidding?"

This time, Mumbo's smile feels more genuine. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely. And what about the vegan place with the waffles you wanted to take me? You can't get rid of me that easily Mr Mumbo," Scar tells him and Mumbo seems so pleased.

"Alright," he says. "Alright, fair enough."

But when they're in bed with the lights out, Scar can't help but ask, "Is he okay?"

He speaks softly, unsure if Mumbo is awake or not.

He gets his answer when Mumbo sighs. Soon enough, he's shuffling in the sheets as he rolls over to face Scar, in the bed. "I don't think he is," he answers and Scar can hear the sad acceptance in his voice. "He got kicked out of school."

Scar feels a weight drop inside of him. He feels totally, utterly, gutted for the boy.

"Did something happen?" he asks, unsure what he's hoping for.

Mumbo takes a long moment before he speaks again, and Scar lets him have the silence. Eventually he says, "It's just been like this for a while now. It's like I don't know him anymore." 

"Sure you do," Scar responds, feeling desperate. "I'm sure he's still there, underneath it all. It's just… It's teenage angst, right?"

Another silence, but this one feels long, weighted. Finally, Mumbo says, "Yeah, maybe."

"It'll get better. I'm sure it will. It has to, right?"

And into the dark night, Mumbo says, "I really hope so, Scar. I really do."

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

It doesn't get better.

It's late at night, in the October of their third year, when there's a knock at the door and Scar doesn't have time to get out of bed before he hears the descending steps from above beat him to the punch.

Mumbo opens the door and from his bedroom, he hears Scott's voice. 

"Oh sweetheart, come here." 

He hears sniffling and then they move away from the door to the living room and he levers himself out of bed to check things out. 

He finds Mumbo crumpled on the sofa, elbows on his knees and hands covering his face. Scott is kneeling in front of him, hands stroking his shoulders, murmuring soft comforts. 

"Mumbo?" he asks softly, hanging at the edge of the room. 

Scott looks up first with a sad smile, he pats the arm of the sofa. Come sit. 

He does, and rests his hand on Mumbo's back, which brings the man's head to his thigh. He sobs.

Scar blinks and tilts his head at Scott, but Scott just pets Mumbo's hair. 

He makes tea when Mumbo finally sits up again and it's only when the cup of hot water is in his hand that Mumbo says, "Dad had him sectioned." 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Grian had been missing from home for three days on the night Manfred had made the decision to have his youngest son sectioned.

None of the friends Manfred knew about and had access to had known of his whereabouts.

He'd come home to get a change of clothes and broken down during the confrontation.

He hadn't eaten in 72 hours, neither had he showered, or slept in a warm bed. The tips of his fingers and the skin around his mouth had been blue and Manfred had had a sinking feeling in his gut that if he let him go now, he wouldn't see his son again.

So he called an ambulance and held Grian against his will until it arrived.

Part Two

Grian is still in hopsital when Mumbo's 21st rolls around in April.

Scott makes the trip and stays for the week - four days before his birthday and threee days after. On the day of, they go to the pub, and their friends all make an appearance.

Scar is at the bar, buying a round, when Scott appears behind him, hand on his lower back. "Hi," he says, in his ever chipper tone. "Are you buying?"

"Sure am," he says, wrapping an arm around Scott's shoulders. "What's your poison, Major?"

"Just a diet coke," he responds. "I'm designated driver tonight."

Scar boos, which makes Scott laugh. Then he presses up onto his toes and and says into Scar's ear, "Listen, please don't let any of the guys bring up Grian tonight. He almost cancelled as is."

Scar glances over his shoulder and finds the face of his best friend, surrounded by people who love him, seeming as cheerful as ever.

Scott smiles sadly. "He hides it well."

Too well, Scar thinks, because even his best friend didn't notice. He thanks Scott for letting him know and keeps an ear out for any mention of the man's missing brother. 

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

In the end, it's Mumbo who brings him up first, when Scar finds him pouring over his phone.

"Hey, bud," he says, dropping next to him. They're sitting on a bench a few tables away from their friends. "You doing okay? Did things get a bit much?"

But when Mumbo lifts his head to acknowledge him, Scar finds a smile there. He's practically beaming and when Mumbo shows him his phone, he finally finds out why.

There's a WhatsApp message with a photo - a photo of Grian. A selfie, in fact.

Scar takes the phone to get a closer look.

The picture shows only some of Grian's face and the boy is holding up a peace sign, which shows part of the paper bracelet that's wrapped around his wrist. His is backdropped by walls painted clinical blue, but there is soft red fabric around his neck and shoulders.

It's the sweatshirt Mumbo had dug out for him, back in second year.

For all intents and purposes, Scar thinks the image should be sad. Grian looks tired, the fight drained out of him, the paper around his wrist evidence of sorely needed medical intervention…

But it's not. It's not sad at all. It's beautiful, even, because despite it all - despite the walls and the bracelet, and the context - Grian finally, for the first time since Scar had met him all those years prior, looks peaceful.

The note beneath the image reads: "Sorry I missed your birthday, MJ. Let's make up for it at the next one, yeah?"

"He looks really good," Scar tells Mumbo, who swipes tears from his eyes, and takes his phone back. He gazes at the image for a little longer, before he sighs in relief.

A peaceful kind of happiness settles into Mumbo's shoulders as he lets himself rest against Scar. "Yeah," he says, closing his eyes. "He does, doesn't he?"

5.

"Told you he'd be okay."

18 // 21

Grian is discharged by the time Mumbo and Scar's graduation rolls around in August.

He stands with Manfred on one side and Scott on the other, clapping, as Mumbo takes to the stage to collect his diploma.

Despite the hardships and stress he'd been thrown over the three year period of his degree, Mumbo had done incredibly well and Scar is so stupidly proud of his best friend.

He doesn't do half bad himself and Mumbo tells him how excellent he is as he leaves the stage behind him.

They meet up with their friends and family after the ceremony and while Grian hangs close to his father at first, Scott eventually pulls him into the fray and reintroduces him to Mumbo's friends.

"You already know Scar," he says, when Scott finally brings Grian to him and Mumbo.

"Hey, Grian," Scar says, with apprehension. Grian simply nods his head, cheeks the colour of rhubarb.

As Mumbo swoops in to hug Grian with a furious strength, Scar leans over to grab a glass of prosecco from a passing waiter. When they part, Scar offers it to the younger boy, who, at eighteen, has started to look much more like a man, now.

But Grian declines it. "No thanks. I, um, I don't drink at the moment," he says, which takes Scar by surprise.

Although he supposes it shouldn't, considering Mumbo had told him of Grian's rigid mediation and therapy schedule.

"No worries," he says. "Want me to get you something else? I think there's some orange juice roaming around our here…"

Grian chuckles, but waves him away. "I'm okay, but thanks."

Eventually, Grian opens up to the group, when Skizz asks what Grian is up to these days.

Ironically, it turns out that Grian is currently working at a local pub. Later, when they're in private, Mumbo reveals to Scar that Manfred is old friends with the owner, who agreed to give Grian some shifts, to put some money in his pocket and get him some of the independence he has always been so desperate for - a safer kind, this time.

Mumbo laughs softly at that, "Not that Grian actually seems to want all that much of it anymore. Dad says it's like he's finally accepted him as his father. Apparently it's like he's trying to make up for lost time."

Scar smiles and knocks Mumbo's shoulder.

"Told you he'd be okay."

Mumbo laughs.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

They decide to stay in the same city and move to non-student accommodation to start their lives outside of univeristity.

Mostly…

Mumbo gets work almost immediately, which doesn't surprise Scar, who ends up taking a job in the university's architecture studio as a technician.

For a short time, Scar starts dating a third year girl on the landscape design course. Her name is Hannah.

She's over one day when Grian comes by to visit. He glances at the pair of them on the sofa, before he continues on, following Mumbo into the kitchen.

Scar barely notices the boy's presence, distracted by Hannah and her bright, electric personality.

For several month, he has fun with her - he has so much fun with her. Hannah is intelligent and funny and thoughtful and, at some point, he thinks he would like listen to her talk day long for the rest of his life…

Eventually, though, they do break up.

Hannah decides to pour all of her focus and attention into her final assignments and Scar realises not too long after their final kiss, that he might be less interested in women than he'd first assumed.

They stay friends and she hugs him when he tells her this. She tells him that the man he falls in love with, when and if there's a man so deserving, will be the luckiest man in the world.

"Make sure he knows that," She tells him firmly.

He nods, because being with her, having the chance to love her in the way he could, makes him understand the concept.

They embrace and part and time keeps rolling forward, until the next summer arrives and Scar is turning 22.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Mumbo and Scott organise a surprise party for him at a local pub and Scar is thrilled by it. The friends who still live nearby pile him with so much love that he doesn't have to drink anything to feel the giddy warmth alcohol usually brings.

At some point in the night, he sees a familiar face and, tipsy as he is, swans over to scoop the man into an embrace.

"Grian," he cheers. "I'm so glad you came."

Grian wriggles until he lets him go, but Scar is too happy to be deterred by his sour attitude.

"You're here, that's awesome."

Grian takes his lemonade from the bar and sips it.

Scar continues to beam at the man (because he is most definitely a man, now) and ends up plucking his nose between two knuckles.

The shocked expression on Grian's face makes Scar laugh.

"Sorry," he says and is surprised when Grian gains a little smile, as he rubs the tip of his nose.

Grian glances about and Scar asks who he's looking for. "I think Mumbo went to the bathroom a bit ago. He might be outside with Scott, now, though. You know what those lovebirds are like."

Grian pulls a face and shakes his head. "I was looking for your girlfriend."

They're both raising their voices over the music and it takes Scar a few seconds to process what he's heard.

"Oh!" he says, then laughs. "Hannah? No, I think she's in Madrid with her girlfriend, right now. She couldn't get back in time."

Grian tilts his head and asks Scar to repeat himself, so he does, but Grian's confusion still refuses to let up.

"What do you mean?"

"Hannah," Scar attempts to clarify. "Her and Nina are in Madrid, right now."

Grian is clutching his drink and if it were quieter or Scar was less tipsy, giddy, riding high on endorphines, he might've heard the thump, thump, thump of Grian's wild heart just then.

"Nina's her girlfriend?"

"Yeah," he confirms before feeling so incredibly stupid as he realises the confusion he's caused.

"Oh, I'm such an idiot," he says, before leaning in close to speak directly into Grian's ear.

"We broke up. Nina is her girlfriend, now."

He finds Grian's face flushed when he pulls back and does a mental temperature check. It is quite warm.

He puts a hand on Grian's arm to steady himself as he leans in again, "Do you want to go outside?"

"Since when?"

"Huh?"

"When did you and Hannah break up?"

"Oh. A few months ago. It's okay, it was a mutual decision. No one got too hurt."

Grian's breathing has quickened and he shrugs Scar's hand away from his arm.

"I'm gonna go find Scott."

Scar nods and lets him go.

6.

"I don't think times are quite that tough right now."

19 // 22

A few months later, the same place turns out to be hiring and the landlord offers Scar a job behind the bar.

He thanks him and declines. "My internship has just come through. I'm starting in the office next week."

But when he gets home, he offers Mumbo an application form. The man is laying on the sofa with a Scott on his chest. The two have paused the movie they'd been watching to chat with him.

"Uh, thanks mate, but I don't think times are quite that tough right now."

Scar rolls his eyes. "Oh, be quiet you," he says, taking the application back and swatting it at Mumbo's knee.

"You know, we could just rent out the third room if you're that worried about money, Scar."

"I'm not worried," he assures his housemate as he limps over to the kitchen - he might have overdone it on the walking front today. "I'm thinking about Grian. Didn't you say he was starting to think about moving out soon? Could be a good idea. He could always take on the third room here."

When he turns back around, he sees Scott looking at him with a pointed smile. He catches the moment Mumbo rolls his eyes.

He looks between them and blinks. "What?"

Scott is the first to snap out of it. He squashes his smile and nods his chin into Mumbo's chest.

"I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Scar."

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Grian gets the job.

He moves in during the first week of Scar's internship and Scar is still at the office on the day he and Manfred move Grian into the third bedroom upstairs.

By the time he gets home, Manfred is gone, and Scott and Mumbo have gone to the shops to get some milk and bread.

He finds Grian is the kitchen, making tea for himself.

"Hey," Scar says, slipping out of his coat. "You're here. You get in okay?"

Grian's eyes flicker to Scar and away again before he nods. He takes his teabag from the cup and drops it into the food waste. As he turns, he stalls for a second, thinking, and then offers to make Scar a cup, too.

Scar takes him up on the offer.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Both nurse their teas and Grian continues to stand while Scar perches on a stool at the breakfast bar.

"So, when do you start at the bar?"

"Uh, X said I could start as soon as I'm settled," Grian says, holding his cup to his lips. He keeps the heat there, but doesn't drink right away. "I think he'd like for it to be pretty quick, though. He said they're struggling to keep on top of things since they lost False."

Scar nods. His chin is resting on his fist and he is so desperately trying to keep his composure.

He doesn't know why this moment is so exciting for him. Why is this simple conversation with Mumbo's little brother quite so joy-inducing for him?

But when a small smile slips onto Grian's face, Scar is suddenly struck by the answer.

For all the years he's been orbitting the man, he's never truly had permission to take a direct interest in Grian's life like he's being allowed to right now.

It feels like they've reached an equilibrium of sorts. No more is Scar the annoying best friend of Grian's older brother. No longer is Grian simply the obnoxious teenage shadow of Scar's favourite person.

They've always existed on either side of Mumbo. Now they are face to face, housemates in their own right.

After all these years of knowing about Grian, it's thrilling that Scar might soon be able to say that he simply knows him.

Not about. Not of.

Just knows.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

They become friends - in their own way. Grian offers Scar tea whenever he returns from the studio and Scar leaves leftovers in the microwave for when Grian gets home from work.

For several weeks, their friendship is a series of nice gestures, mostly taken in the absence of the other.

That is, until Scar gets home from work one evening and finds Grian sprawled out on the sofa, in his work clothes, fast asleep.

Scar hesitates, before he kneels down and gently wakes Grian up with some gently nudges.

"Hm?"

"Hey, you," he says, softly. "What are you doing here? I thought you had work tonight?"

Grian blinks and then stretches out and Scar moves back to give him space to do so.

"X had me on the lunch shift today," he says, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "So I got home about an hour ago."

Scar feels an urge to reach out and stroke his hand through the man's hair, but squashes it inside of him. Instead, he asks Grian if he wants some dinner.

"I can cook something," he says, pushing himself further up. "You just got back."

Scar kneels down to grab a pan from the cupboard and shakes his head. "You're shattered, G. I don't mind."

Grian goes deathly quiet for a moment and then settles back down against the sofa.

"Okay," he says and Scar's stomach flips at the vulnerability he hears in it.

He lets Grian sleep for another thirty-five minutes, before presenting him with a plate of risotto.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Winter comes back around with a vengeance and brings Mumbo's worries along for the ride.

"I'm just worried about your health, Scar. Your doctor said your immune system isn't…"

But there are too many projects, too many deadlines, too many people relying on him to get things done for him to let Mumbo continue.

"I'll be fine, Mumbo. I'll be careful," he assures the man. And then, his eyes slide to the left, and he sees an equally concerned face on the younger brother.

"Oh, not you, too."

Grian throws up his hands. "What? I didn't say anything!"

"You pulled the face! You pulled the Mumbo face."

Mumbo jerks his head. "The what now? I don't have a face," he says. "What face?"

Grian simply rolls his eyes. "I was not."

"You were!" Scar argues, Mumbo going entirely ignored.

"Well, fine, but we're family, Scar, what do you expect?"

And that statement, by itself, makes Scar forgive any face anyone did or didn't pull that evening.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Scar is an idiot, it turns out.

He has a thumping headache by the time he gets home that evening. Mumbo is staying with Scott and Grian is at work, so he finds himself some painkillers and heads over to the kettle to make himself something medicinal.

Except he never quite makes it that far.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Only after three months of living together does Scar learn that Grian wears glasses.

He discovers this as he wakes to find the man at his bedside, eyes dipped towards the Nintendo DS from behind a pair of silver framed lenses. They look good on him.

“I didn't know you needed glasses,” Scar says weakly. His body aches with the effort.

At the sound of his voice, Grian snaps up. He whips the frames from his face and Scar releases an involuntary whine.

“Hi,” Grian says. “You’re awake.”

Scar frowns. He takes a moment to assess his surroundings, the yellow walls, the white sheets, the plastic seatback he can see behind Grian’s shoulder. He hears beeping.

And then his body catches up with him and he groans. Everything hurts - or no, not hurts, the pain isn't quite as sharp as hurt feels - but it aches and his limbs feel stiff.

He squints at Grian, who is watching him with a nervous hesitation.

“Am I in a hospital?”

“You don't remember?”

He thinks back to the most recent memory he has. It’s… blurry. The resolution is haphazard. Mostly he remembers the feeling.

“I was at home. I went to make a lemsip. My head was spinning.”

A small smile cracks the corner of Grian's lips. “Yeah, well, you never made it that far, dude.” He looks back down to the DS screen, hits a couple buttons, and then snaps it shut. “I got home and found you passed out on the floor.”

Scar blinks. Now that Grian mentions it, he can feel a bit of bruising against his temple. He touches it and wires follow his arm.

“What the-?”

“Easy, big guy,” Grian coos at the same time Scar starts to feel genuine fear at his situation. And then, after hesitating in the air for a moment, Grian’s fingers come to rest on Scar’s forearm.

It makes Scar feel odd inside - not bad, just… odd - when Grian gently pushes his arm back to the bed.

“Chill, you've been out a couple days.”

“For a bang to the head?”

Grian’s fingers slip away as he smirks and shakes his head. “Nah. Well, partly. You had an infection. And technically you’ve been in and out, just not quite with it. Do you remember any of it? Being awake before now?”

Scar blinks again, then shakes his head. Ow. “All I remember is thinking about putting the kettle on, heading in that direction, and then waking up here.”

Grian sits on his hands to swing his legs and shrugs. Scar stares at him.

A self-conscious laugh bubbles out of the younger man, “What?”

“Have you been here the whole time?”

Grian’s face flushes and he looks away. It's his turn to shake his head. “Um, no. Not really. I've been working still. Mumbo’s been here the most. I just take the day shift.”

Scar inhales and rests back against his pillows. He closes his eyes and feels a well of emotion rise up in his chest at the thought of his best friend sitting at his bed side, keeping guard.

He sighs and opens his eyes. “What did any of us do to deserve that beautiful man?”

Grian chuckles. “You’re asking me.”

Scar tips his head to smile at him. Grian smiles back. It feels so surprisingly peaceful with him.

When a nurse comes to check on Scar a few minutes later, Grian steps out to call Mumbo.

By the time he returns to the room, Scar feels wiped. He’s only been awake for ten minutes, but his chest is still thick with the infection and his eyes feel heavy.

“What were you playing?” he asks Grian, nodding to the DS he set on the side table.

“Oh. Uh, Pokémon. One of the old ones. Did you ever play Pearl?”

Scar smiles. “I was a diamond fellow myself.”

Grian snorts. “‘Course you were.”

“Hey,” Scar scolds weakly.

“Did you wanna have a go?” Grian asks.

He thinks about it, then shakes his head, a slight roll back and forth against the pillow. “No, no, but by all means, please continue.”

Grian props his elbows on the mattress and attempts to keep the screen in Scar’s line of sight, but it's awkward.

Eventually, Grian clears his throat and asks if Scar minds him sitting on the bed.

Somehow, Scar ends up with his head on Grian’s shoulder, hip to hip, and that odd, comfortable feeling comes back to him.

He isn't complaining. In actuality, the soft, cotton-sweat scent of the man perched beside him is quite comforting.

Familiar.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Grian is explaining the line up of his bug-type team when Mumbo arrives with Scar’s dad in tow.

He flips his screen down part way and shifts from the bed, sliding back to his seat. Scar feels cold with him gone.

His dad all but throws himself on Scar with relief, while Mumbo pinches his toe at the end of the bed and gives him a tired smile.

“Glad you're alright, Scar,” he says, though it's clear ‘glad’ is an understatement.

They spend the next forty minutes or so catching up on the last few days and Scar’s dad scolds him.

“I didn't feel that bad!” Scar defends himself. “It was just a cold.”

“With your immune system, Scar, was it really worth the risk?” His dad counters.

“I did tell him, Sam,” Mumbo cuts in. “I said he should get himself checked out.”

Scar gapes. “Hey, now! What's all this about?” He gestures weakly between Mumbo and his father. “You’re ganging up on me!”

The sound of Grian’s snickered laugh is vindicating. He feels a rush of pleasure at the comradery.

But all too soon, Grian has to leave for his work shift. He picks up his DS and his jacket and tells Scar he’ll see him later.

Mumbo lets him know that he’d contacted Scar’s workplace to explain what happened (which explains the flowers and cards on his bedside).

He thanks him and apologies to both men for worrying them. They spend another thirty minutes at his bedside before the nurses ask them to leave and let Scar rest a little longer.

He doesn't think it's entirely necessary, until he wipes out and wakes again 8 hours later.

It's 3am and only the light from the nurses station and the machines are on.

That's how he sees the sillohette of his housemate with his arms folded, head resting on the mattress next to Scar's hip.

"Grian?" he says softly and the man simply hums. Scar doesn't stop himself this time, as he feels the urge to draw his hand through Grian's downy hair.

It's soft and lovely and so utterly Grian.

As he draws his fingers around the shell of Grian's ear, the man begins to stir and leans into the touch.

Scar cups his cheek as he comes to. It feels so intimate and personal but Grian doesn't seem to mind. Neither does he.

He brushes his thumb against his cheek. "Hey, you," he whispers and the sound of his voice seems to make Grian go soft.

"Hi, Scar."

"What are you doing here, G?" he asks, noting that the man is still in his bar clothes. "Did you come straight from work?"

Grian closes his eyes and nods against Scar's hand. Scar smiles and continues to caress his cheek.

Grian seems to be falling asleep again, but Scar decides that it can't be comfortable for him on the chair like that.

"G, come up here," he instructs and Grian slips off his shoes and his jacket and climbs into the bed next to Scar. They navigate wires and tubes, until Grian is tucked into his side.

They sleep like that for the rest of the night.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Scar is allowed to go home the next day. He is given a firm warning from his doctor to be more mindful of his compromised immune system, but otherwise isn't too deeply impacted by the infection.

His recovery time will be longer than most, but he should still get there soon enough.

When Mumbo comes to collect him from the hospital, he seems semi-surprised to see Grian there with him.

"When did you get here?"

"Me?"

"Yes, G. When did you get here?"

"Just before you," he says, slipping on his boots.

Mumbo glances over to Scar, who's in the process of being unplugged from the monitoring machines.

He shrugs, but can't quite bite away the smile on his face. He decides to make conversation with the nurses instead and lets Mumbo puzzle it out for himself.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆

Just a few days after his return, Grian comes downstairs one morning to find Scar with his laptop on his legs and a deep, concentrated frown on his brow.

Scar barely realises he's there, until the laptop slides away from him.

"No, no, no," he pleads. "I was just tweaking a few things. I swear!"

Grian smirks and shakes his head, resting the laptop on his forearm as he saves Scar's work and shuts it down. He places it across the room, before returning to kneel in front of him.

He adjusts the blanket at Scar's hips, making sure he's covered up.

"You're not supposed to be working, Scar."

Scar pouts. "When did you become the fun police?"

Grian snorts softly and shakes his head. "When I almost killed myself and ended up on the psych ward."

Scar's humour disappears.

Grian's eyes flicker upwards, to his face, and guilt takes shape on his lips.

"Sorry, bad joke."

"No, it's okay," Scar assures him. "Are you okay?"

Grian nods, and then, "I am. Promise."

And he's calm, smiling, so Scar decides to take his word for it.

And he doesn't quite realise he's doing it until his hand has already cupped Grian's cheek.

Grian seems to hesitate, before he leans into it, and then Scar doesn't want to think too much before what happens next.

Because if he does, he might not bring Grian closer, might not dip his head to meet him in the middle, might not press his lips against the waiting pair.

But he does.

And Grian kisses him right back.