“We should get out of here,” Grian whispers, but he is unmoving as his gaze stays pinned to Scar. Something about Scar’s eyes, so impossibly green, keeps him rooted in the crannies of the cobbled concrete under his feet. The glow of the street light over their heads paints a sharp, clear image of Scar and the toothy grin he flashes. The bustle of the city center ever permeates the air; a loud, boisterous laugh here, an angry, affronted shout there.
But when Scar smiles at him like that, the noise cottons into nothing but a dull thrum in the back of his skull. Scar is smiling. Despite the fact that every bone in Grian’s body should be screaming in alarm, they do not. Instead, they pulse with something warm, something content. Grian is surrounded by enemies the way he always is, but Scar is four art-adorned walls and a worn shingled roof to match. Nothing can reach Grian here, in the safety of Scar's gaze.
There's little to no space between them, and Grian does nothing to change that. Out of the corner of his eye, he tracks the gentle, methodical movement of Scar's curled hand, so slow as he reaches up. The backs of those crooked fingers brush against his face, so light Grian nearly loses it to the night's warmth.
And then, like a moonflower, his hand unfurls; he doesn't quite cradle Grian's face in it, wracked with some sudden hesitance. Scar's palm stays just a hair's breadth away: the ghost of a touch. It drives Grian crazy, how the two of them keep pushing and pulling at all the wrong moments.
Still, Scar doesn't stop looking at him, drinking in the sight of him like he's some sort of mirage. Like the night will sweep him away if Scar dares to even blink. Grian doesn't complain— thinks, actually, that maybe the comparison is more apt than he wants it to be. Instead, he loses himself in the miles of blue skies and flower beds that explode to color in the home of their prolonged eye contact. Truthfully, he's scared to look away too.
This is it, Grian knows as his heart roars in his chest. This is it.
“Say what you mean,” Scar breathes.
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.
The kiss, though, is soft and a little uncertain, at least until Grian yanks hard at the collar of Scar's shirt. When their noses clash under the urgent force of it, Scar chokes out a shocked laugh before he's responding in kind. And Grian thinks to himself that this is the first time the two of them have ever truly eclipsed, have ever found themselves in the lines of the same page, and he thinks he wants to live here. Forever, maybe, or for as long as the universe allows.
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@astrowarr has written an absolutely wonderful zombie apocalypse au fic with the main focus being the roomies, and it’s so so fun :P GO READ THE FIRST CHAPTER!! link below :3
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Really, it's incredibly obnoxious, the way these two fit so well in the aching gaps between his ribs where loss has dug its claws in. They ought to be planning out their next runs, trying to figure out any possible way to get a hold of some new drop-related information. It's the apocalypse, and the list of things to do is arduous and infinite.
But there's organizing and sewing to do, too. So he lets the ever-present song of grief that haunts him fade into the jaunty, obscure pop-rock song that Cleo is certainly butchering. He stabs himself with his needle and bites out a few bouts of unpleasant words that make Etho’s eyes light up while he bubbles with laughter.
Yeah, maybe this is alright. Grian can worry about the rest of it tomorrow. It's the apocalypse; all they have is time.
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the urge to write a roomies zombie apocalypse au is so strong right now. they're just the Most zombie apocalypse au people EVER like they would make so much sense as a little gang
chapter 5 of the roomies zombie au (words of paper tigers) is POSTED!
etho and gem siblings content for all.. etho wants to hang out with his sister but alas not everything goes to plan. plenty of foreshadowing in this one >:)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
the roomies zombie apocalypse au ive been working on is FINALLY OUT! link to the first chapter below, or find it on my ao3
Really, it's incredibly obnoxious, the way these two fit so well in the aching gaps between his ribs where loss has dug its claws in. They ought to be planning out their next runs, trying to figure out any possible way to get a hold of some new drop-related information. It's the apocalypse, and the list of things to do is arduous, infinite.
But there's organizing and sewing to do, too. So he lets the ever-present song of grief that haunts him fade into the jaunty, obscure pop-rock song that Cleo is certainly butchering. He stabs himself with his needle and bites out a few bouts of unpleasant words that make Etho’s eyes light up while he bubbles with laughter.
Yeah, maybe this is alright. Grian can worry about the rest of it tomorrow. It's the apocalypse, and all they have is time.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
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chapter two of words like paper tigers (the roomies zombie apocalypse au) is UP!!
cleo, etho, and grian finally find a supply drop to loot, and some... Complicated things are revealed in the meantime. cleo's pov this time, plot is kicking into gear!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
thinking about gem and etho in my roomies zombie apocalypse au.. they're siblings, of course
it's the idea of etho having taken care of gem for years but she's grown up now, and definitely able to hold her own- has been able to for ages now- but he has to grapple with that fact. because it's not that etho doesn't think gem isn't entirely capable of leveling a room full of zombies- he knows she is. he doesn't look down on her at all, and he's not even that much older than her in the first place. it's just that he can't fathom living in this world without his gremlin little sister, because before there was cleo and grian, it was just... him and gem.
he will always put her first. and he's a survivor, so that's saying something.
