Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

all he could see was purple.

———

grian woke up in his bed. the sun was barely peaking through his half curtained window, and a shadow was being cast right where his head lie (before long) unconscious on the pillow.

weird dream. he yawns obnoxiously. this is just a string of weird dreams.

grian got out of his bed artlessly, not caring enough to actually properly make it. he haphazardly chucked the cover over it, and didn't bother fixing it when he saw that it fell in a way not even remotely proper for a duvet. he begrudgingly stumbled into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

scanning through what he had in the fridge, grian didn’t find anything particularly appealing. that’s what eating the same bullshit snack every day would do to a man, he supposed. he lazily blinked and sighed loudly, as if there were decades worth of dust stuck in his lungs, and then went for it again anyway.

he dragged his feet to the bathroom shortly after stuffing it all in nearly one go, stretching on the way there. he looked in the mirror immediately as he entered. he brushed a hand through his hair, pondering whether he should even brush it today.

but before he could come up with a decision, he felt a sting on his scalp from where his fingers traced it.

he watched himself make a phys of confusion in the mirror, and brought his hand down to eye level to take a look.

huh. nails that needed trimming.

grian shrugged and grabbed his nail clippers.

Chapter Text

the vulture was situated in front of a rather familiar mirror. it’s right eye was glowing a bright purple, open as a pit of hell, staring right back at itself. it exhibited exceptional calm and calculation.

the vulture then brought it’s clawed hand to the left side of it's face, dragging it agonizingly slowly. in a swift, controlled motion, it gauged it’s left eye out clean, reducing it to a pathetic pulsation in it’s palm, watching as it's simulation of aliveness came to a closing act.

there was no blood. no pain.

———

grian let out a sigh, as he slowly woke up once more. it was still dark outside. early morning, he guessed.

looking at the clock beside his bed, he found himself correct — just over 5AM.

grian made a face of dissatisfaction as he kicked off the blanket. he knows he won’t be able to go back to sleep, and therefore he sees no point in trying.

he dutifully half-made his bed and went on to get ready for another day at work.

as he was rummaging through his lack of variety of clothing inside his wardrobe, attempting to pick what to wear for the day, he nearly missed a small feather at the bottom of it. he stared at it, dumbfounded.

regrettably, he was in a rush, and as such he simply decided to leave that feather to rot and be forgotten.

———

there were types of textile of all sizes, textures and colors. grian’s current customer was looking for knitting products, which were on the other side of the shop, one the client hasn't yet gotten to. the man spotted grian right away, and identifying him as the shopkeeper, he shoots a question at him.

“hey, excuse me, i'm looking for a big thread, fluffy too. i wanted to knit a cape... thing." he breathed. "oh, it’s a present for my partner,” the man clarified. grian didn't care about the context for this purchase at all, so he filtered out most of this information and interjected when he saw his client open his mouth again.

“what are your partner's favourite colours?” he asked, leading him into the knitting section.

“i'd say green… oh,” he brought a hand to the back of his neck and nervously sratched it, contemplating for a moment. “green and white. red too sometimes, i suppose.”

grian flashed a quick smile to the guy. he seemed lovely.

“i want it to be kinda like a moss thing resembling… thing. yanno?” the man continued.

grian picked up a ball of yarn, the thread of which flowed in different shades of green hypnotically.

“do you think that'd work?” he asked, without really turning to his client, his eyes were still glued to the stand, eyeing potential options. "we've also got this one, recently came in stock. people always buy it off us so quickly," he picked up another ball of yarn, this one had small silver strings entwined in an otherwise solid rich green thread.

the customer eyes his options. grian turned around, just to see him gazing upon the first ball, contemplating. after a few seconds, a thoughtful smile stretched on his face, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“yes, that’ll be perfect actually. can i have like five of the first one for starters?”

“of course, eth- sir.”

“huh?” the man's smile faltered a little, his face freezing in slight surprise. then, after a short pause, he shook his head in dismissal. "pardon, i must've misheard"

“that’ll be 25.30$.” grian simply responded.

the client stood for a bit, but soon enough he started shuffling around in his bag, looking for a wallet.

shooting one last odd look at grian, he left the shop.

the rest of the shift went similarly.

Chapter Text

the vulture seemed to have a cold rage bubbling in it’s insides, ready to spill. it took out its sharp claws and scratched the wall of the apartment, sparks flying from the contact against the now naked brick.

———

grian woke up with strange remnants of some kind of emotion he couldn’t identify.

the day passed in a blur.

to his mild dismay, he notes that his left eye saw way worse now, even when he was wearing glasses. he doesn't think about this for any longer than the following sentence: interesting, will need to get that checked out.

it was saturday tomorrow.

a very important saturday, reserved for a special someone. but then again, aren't all saturdays made for that someone?

———

grian is sharply hurled into reality circa 9:40pm by a raging sensation of déjà vu.

he evens out his breathing as he takes in the claw marks on his living room wall.

———

saturday came just as promised by the day and night cycle.

grian watches scar through the peephole of his apartment door. he watches the man rock on his feet for at least 20 minutes. he meticulously studies how scar's anxious expression drifts into cringe, into fear, then back to anxiety again. he observes each detail hungrily, barely blinking, as scar reaches his hand towards the doorbell, only to retract it without making contact several times.

grian softly smiles to himself.

and then he opens the door in a swift motion.

scar yelps in horror, and then quickly collects himself.

"sorry i'm late," he mumbles.

does grian look like he care? he smiles vacantly.

scar shifts from one leg to the other.

"may i come in?" he eventually chokes out.

"yes!" grian supplies, and at last steps out of the way to let scar through.

———

“i’m hungry.”

“i know.”

———

grian doesn't quite recall how they end up in front of a carnicery, but scar's mildly horrified expression gives him a clue.

"scar?" he says without really meaning to.

and he's sure that scar said something back, but he can't recall much more. the remaining few hours of that day passed in a blur.

Chapter Text

grian was alone. he was sat in the middle of his couch, newspaper in hands, eyes watching, but not reading. the letters just kept blurring and scattering around. he's been like this for hours judging from the gloomy purple sunset light spilling in from the outside, although it felt like minutes. he wasn't even really attempting to read anymore, nor was he thinking anything in particular.

a familiar warmth spread through his whole body, filling him head to toe at once. while he felt weightless, his eyes felt heavy. he looked away from the... nothing? was he holding anything? and stared straight ahead, half lidded, mouth ajar. the way it felt so good, he contemplated touching himself, but after a minute or so of lazy pondering, he realised he felt too tired to do so.

he relaxed onto the couch, his head dropping, not too dissimilar to a ragdoll's, and stared at the ceiling. his entire body felt heavy now, as if about to sink through the whole apartment building and into the earth.

the dim purple light replaced the sun.

there was no panic, no confusion. then all of a sudden, he felt his strength come back to him. sitting up again, he took a look around the room, the scratch marks on the wall from the other day, the stray fluffy feathers, scattered sparcely throughout the whole place, thorn looking nail clippings, and most captivatingly, the traces of blood on the kitchen counter, impossible to see with the naked eye.

he stood upright now, everything finally reaching a point of comprehension. scrambled thoughts he previously couldn't recall were coming back bit by bit in form of voices, some louder, some harsher, and all of them belonging to him. the feeling of his head being so busy again wasn't a bad one. he breathed in, then out, then

knock knock! the lights turned on again.

grian gasped and jumped in fear. he stumbled over the kitchen counter and fell painfully on his knees. the knock persisted, a little more urgent now.

"grian?" a muffled voice from outside his door prompted.

grian found he couldn't speak. no words came to mind at all. it's as if he was illiterate.

he also found he was hyperventilating, and apparently has been the whole time, without noticing it once.

he planted his palm firmly on the linoleum floor, in an attempt to ground himself, and to his surprise it worked somewhat well. the fleeting memories of what happened just seconds ago were already blurring and fading away, scattering to the winds. they were meant to be buried somewhere deep inside him, along with his other side he wanted desperately to know.

he got up after what felt like an eternity, and struggled over to the front door, opening it groggily. on the other side there was a slightly perplexed scar.

after a silence, "one of those days?" scar questioned, hesitantly.

grian blinked at him, dumbfounded.

"what? no, i'm not on my period."

"you-" scar scoffed. "uh- nevermind that."

grian blankly stared directly at scar, who very pointedly was avoiding eye contact and fidgeting with a stray string at the edge of his shirt's sleeve.

"awkwarddddd..." grian retracted his gaze from scar's face to look to the side.

scar winced and sharply inhaled.

"i hate you sometimes. aren't you gonna invite me in? like a human would?"

grian stared at scar deadpan for a second, then moved over to the side and robotically gestured with his hands for scar to enter. scar obliged.

"you know, you should really take some time to watch people interact," he said as he took off his coat. it was the middle of winter, the melted snow dripped on grian's bare floor with a sound so loud it seemed to pierce his ears. "you're way too awkward."

"okay." grian curtly responded.

"okay..." scar dumbly parroted. "...and you also should try expanding your vocabulary."

grian allowed silence to fall over them. he locked the door as scar was walking towards the living room. he turned the key in one, two motions, like a choreographed dance. he then tried opening the door to check if it's really locked, and when it didn't budge, he finally let himself follow scar.

scar, who stood eerily still, staring at something.

and when grian finally entered the living room, it became glaringly obvious what exactly scar was so fixated on.

grian clears his throat.

scar yelps and looks back at grian, startled. after a minute silence, he points at the wall, where the claw mark from grian's dreams clearly stood out. the rims of it looked as if they were blackened by fire, they were messy and disproportionately huge.

"what-" scar stutters. "what is that?"

grian looks at scar for a while, pensive. he knows scar is waiting for an answer, but the longer he tries to remember, the more he realises he has not even an inkling of what did that. so, he methodically looks at the claw mark, then scar again, and very calmly and slowly, he says:

"a cat. my cat... did that."

he could see scar's face turn pale. he screwed his eyebrows in disbelief.

"a cat."

"yes."

the way scar's mouth opened and closed akin to a fish out of water, grian found it hilarious. he struggled to not burst out laughing. he reckons scar saw it on his face, because he giggled, but it sounded broken and laced with nerves.

these tortured sounds suddenly stopped coming out of scar's mouth and he timidly looks around.

"but... you have a cat? where is it?" scar tried changing the topic, seeming desperate to break out of the awkward air.

"dead." grian put simply. this didn't seem to make scar feel better.

"oh... uh- i'm sorry. how did she die?" he anxiously asked, but grian immediately saw him regret it. as such, he decided to ease his nerves with another white lie.

"she got trapped in my oven by accident. i turned it on and she got roasted. poor thing."

grian watched scar's expression somehow turn even more pale. he supposed, that meant scar believed it.

———

that night was now etched in grian's head forever. he'd made sure of that. the light was sharp and harsh, the air was hot and suffocating. the overwhelming feeling of skin on skin, each hair follicle getting a taste of grian's addictive love. he was only hoping scar could reciprocate, and that he did. he didn't hear a hitch from the man in his bedroom, ever since he fell asleep in grian's bed.

grian sheepishly washed the blood off his hands in the kitchen sink. when scar wakes up, he had to remember to clean the bedsheets too.

it was monday now, and grian had to get ready for work. he brushed his teeth lazily, and as he was spitting the mouthwash out into the sink, he suddenly heard a thud. grimly making eye contact with the reflection in the mirror, he turned around and waltzed to the bedroom.

scar was laying on the floor face down, and he was clearly in pain.

he quietly sobbed.

"good morning, scar," grian chirped, at which scar twitched and froze.

"i- i have to go to work," he said, brokenly.

"get to it, then."

"i can't get up." he whimpered.

grian towered over scar for a split second, then proceeded to grab scar by the shoulders and sit him down on his bed. when their eyes met, the bone chilling terror scar felt in that moment became all too obvious for grian. he thought he'd better ignore it out of courtesy.

"let me help you, then. it's only fair i do something for you in return."

Chapter Text

"every time i come here, i'm pointedly reminded that you're just letting me live."

———

"hm," a young, light haired boy purses his lips together, spreading the lipstick around. "do you think i look better with red or pink?"

another boy, a brunette, grotesquely splayed over the couch in front of a tv, looks over at the blondie with his big brown weary eyes.

"i like the red." he says. "it's always sorta been your signature color, no?"

the blondie chuckles, padding off the excess off his lips with the tip of a middle finger.

———

"...wow," grian replied. his voice was tinged with a twisted amusement. he approached scar, who was drifting in and out of consciousness on his couch, splayed over it in a fashion that reminded him of an old friend. he cupped scar's cheek gently and leaned down to his ear. "you're a poet, baby." grian whispered, giving scar's earlobe the lightest bite.

———

he can't put a finger on it, but waking up feels like freshly hatching out of an egg. for years on end, every single morning, he feels born anew. not in a good way, either. it's more like his soul endlessly fragments, trapping him in a timeloop.

he thinks absently, that if a mind reader took a look through his mind post mortem, they would die of an epileptic seizure.

he thinks he feels his vocal chords decaying in his throat.

———

the bar is bustling with activity. sounds of glasses clattering and people chattering are coming from every direction. the purple disco lights keep flashing in his eyes nauseatingly, and grian wants to coop up in his small apartment until the end of days. but alas, if he wants to keep breathing, this is something he will have to put up with for now, and probably for a long time after now.

his current objective is to simulate a one night stand preamble.

he's hung around here for a while now, attempting to spark conversation with anyone who he spied to be alone, but tonight was a night of terrible luck. everybody picked up on his gnawing starvation it seemed, and whatever semblance of self preservation instinct was left in any of these people, would inevitably flare up, driving them away and forcing grian to retry.

then, graciously, he was snapped back and out from his angry self pitying inner monologue. god took pity on him at last!

"would you like a refill, sir?"

ah, nevermind. fooled by a false promise of respite, grian growles in his mind.

"yes, please." he replies instead with stoicism.

"how is this your sixth glass and you're not even tipsy?" grian barely stops himself from jumping out of surprise.

the spontaneity of this encounter must play in his favour, because he doesnt have to feign the wide eyed 'i beg your pardon?' look.

"you counted?" he lets a smug, self assured smile slowly overtake his face.

"uh!" the man sputters embarrassed noises and lets out an awkward laugh, waving his hands in front of him clumsily. buzzed up, grian concludes.

"well, i didn't exactly count, but..." grian doesn't say anything, so the man breaks. "yeah, i guess i... accidentally. counted." he puts an emphasis on the word 'accidentally', and gives grian a perfect opening.

"so you're admitting to having been watching me then, are you?"

"no, not watching, i-"

"eyeing?" he suggests, smiling.

the man sighs and concedes.

"...you're so... entrepreneurial." he mumbles.

"hah, what?" grian's lungs spit out a genuine laugh.

———

in hindsight, scar regrets not smelling death from that laugh.

every subsequent night since that evening he's spent in agony. he especially hates it when that cursed vulture, instead of just ripping the whole chunk of his flesh off and sparing him the torture, it chews on him. it chews and it grinds it's teeth on his body mercilessly, senselessly, and it's claws bury in, no, under his skin, while he's too weak to fight back.

he loses abysmal amounts of blood, and he doesn't know how he can hide the fact that parts of his body are straight up shaved off anymore.

he wishes he didn't have to.

and yet, despite everything he's gone through at the hands of this monster, what does scar feel for the vulture?

silly scar. silly, silly scar. your naïveté might just be the death of you, because what you feel is sorry!

scar can't believe it. he can't believe that that's the variable that overweighs all the misery the harbinger of death has brought him.

———

the vulture is presently situated in front of a mirror that looks like it was hung on the bedroom wall without a second thought. from what scar's learnt since he started teetering this line of eminent doom, staring into the abyss of it's own eyes seems to be it's preferred activity. whenever there are moments where scar gets the privilege of simply existing in the same room with the monster without being predated on, it's always drawn to the mirror, seemingly hypnotising itself into a crescent, even more fervent bloodlust. for that reason, it's current behaviour is more of a death omen than a moment of solid ground.

"you know, scar, i've never really done anything like this before." it suddenly croaks out in that sweet, barely above a whisper little voice.

"huh?" scar steers in the bed, readjusting, so he can look at the vulture. he also notes that he sounds much raspier than expected to. the wounds all over his body were aching, but the ache felt distant now, oddly enough.

"you know... like, dating." it giggled strangely.

"...what?" scar questioned, suddenly bewildered.

the vulture turned around to face scar, and it's hand drifted down from it's face, hovering over where it's heart would've been, if this thing wasn't the fucking monster that it is.

"i really, really love you, scar. i don't want you to die. promise me to never leave me, okay?" it said, softly. it then turns back to the mirror.

scar feels nausea creep up his throat. it should've been a tender display of vulnerability, but it's who said it that made it sound twisted in a way that was paralyzing beyond comprehension. he suddenly doesn't want to ever fall in love.

he momentarily fell at a loss for words, but then, tears welled up in his eyes and he heard his heartbeat spike in his ears. he began to tremble, and he involuntarily shrinked back in the monster's bed.

"what the fuck?" he whispered.

he then watched the vulture draw a heart shape on the mirror glass, using his own blood as paint, and he came to a bone chilling realisation.

———

the realisation had equally bone chilling implications, that later proved true after each scar's little test.

he stayed in grian's apartment for two nights in a row that week. he didn't think he had the strength to go home by himself, and, though this was admittedly nihilistic of him, he couldn't find it in him to care about what happens next.

as if being a doomsday harbinger wasn't sufficient, grian was genuinely a weirdo as well. not even in a creep way, but just so... inhumanly awkward. it rendered him impossible to talk to.

it's like this man fulfilled every quasi human people eater stereotype, scar swears. this bastard sings in an empty room, too.

"you sick fuck," scar lets slip one morning, just shy of dawn.

"is that sarcasm?" grian meekly asks, big brown eyes boring directly into scar's skull.

it's obviously not sarcasm.

"...yeah. it is." he replies, flashing a strained smile, to which grian is none the wiser, because he's left the doorframe the moment he finished his question, and was already on the other side of the stupid apartment.

yeah, thats what it is. stupid. scar's knuckles are white from clenching his fists around the sheets out of poor anger management, he doesn't even know why he bothers sparing that wretch's feelings. he's mostly mad at himself, and frustratingly when searching for reason, he comes up empty again.

when the sun hits it's grave beneath the horizon that same day, grian gives scar a funny look.

"you knob." he says, simply.

scar's eyebrow involuntarily shoots upwards.

"excuse me?"

"sarcasm. you taught me." grian smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. moreso out of not having done it enough as opposed to it being insencere, which regrettably gives grian a few friendship points in scar's books.

"oh. yeah." scar hates the way a smile threatens to crack on his face.