#just btw..

They stand in the middle of the busiest section of the city but Scar's smile is private. It is Grian's, and Grian's alone. Say what he means? What is there to say? It’s written in the brief, rare silence of Grian’s mind; the swath of stars swirling overhead, infinite in their post apocalyptic glow; the solar-powered streetlight casting its fiery light over Scar, morphing him into something divine and untouchable. There is no word in his lexicon that truly encapsulates the feeling pressing against his ribs now. It isn't safety, or contentment, or peace. It isn't even love. 

He's sick of words. They don't mean anything. They aren't enough. He locks eyes with Scar and leans in, because if Scar isn't going to touch him, he'll just have to take matters into his own hands. Grian buries his fingers in Scar's button up shirt and shuffles him backward, until his back collides with the solid metal of the lamppost. If it hurts, Scar doesn't notice; he's looking at Grian with wide eyes, dumbstruck, lips parted in wonder and maybe something else. He's never been very good at taking what he dishes.

“What I mean is,” Grian murmurs against the buzz of the streetlight as his gaze flicks down to Scar's lips. His wings shift against his will, tucking around Scar, sheltering them from prying eyes. It’s only him and Scar. “You're an idiot if you don't kiss me in the next three seconds.”

For once, Scar’s tongue of gold is heavy and unmoving; he has no quick-witted words to throw in Grian's face. All he has is awe, and some self-imposed duty that has him deferring to Grian without question; he abandons his hesitance in the shadows of this too-public street. Finally, his clammy palm cradles Grian’s cheek, tattered and pitted like the worn leather of Grian's favorite jacket.