#snellcrossing

Somebody whistles, and Jimmy straightens, holding his hands up in surrender, "Just sayin'! I'm just sayin'."

Scar feels his face warm, warmer still when Skizz laughs, "Jiggles, look what you did," He ribs, "Y'made Scar all shy!"

"Whaaaat? No," Scar looks away, "Not- not at all, y'know, I'm- oh, the hat, can I-?" He reaches for the jester's hat, and Dot hands it to Joe hands it to him.

As Scar makes a show of mixing up the task slips, Grian chuckles. "For anyone who didn't get to see it--- viewers too I guess, if your POV wasn't on the main stream when it happened, but mostly for those in the room--- this is exactly how Scar reacted when a dono called him a cutie."

"True," Martyn agrees, "Got all bashful and moved on as quick as he could."

"I mean, we were on a time crunch," Cub defends.

"Thank you, Cub," Scar hands the hat off, one folded piece held between his index and middle fingers. He uses it to point around the room at his friends, eyes narrowed and amusement clear in his tone, "And I won't be standing for any more of this slander! Due only in part to not being able to stand." He allows a moment for the snorts and giggles to pass, holding the note between his hands, "Now can a man get a drumroll please?"

Half of their ensemble obliges, drumming on table edges and couch cushions and empty wall space as Scar unfolds the note with a few bracing breaths, using all the caution of defusing a bomb.

He reads it, and relaxes. "Oh," Scar says, pleasantly surprised, "I was expecting something way worse."

"Oh?" False leans to the side, as if trying to get a glance at the task despite being too far away to read it, "What'cha got, then?"

Scar clears his throat. "'Blindfold yourself.' We've got those somewhere, right?" At Karn's affirmative, he continues, "'A random player will kiss you. You have three tries to guess who, and if you cannot,'" He lowers his voice dramatically, "'Buy that player's dinner'."

Scar has a funny feeling he knows how this'll end.

~

"Okay," Impulse begins, dusting his hands off. They'd just finished moving the sectional a little further back, allowing more space for Scar to be in front of the camera, "We were thinking the best way to go about this might be to make it similar to Mystery Hermit."

"Scar was a judge on that segment, though," Ren points out, "He kinda carried them, don't you think that'll be too easy?"

"Excuse me," Pearl squints, and Ren ducks his head sheepishly, "Gem and I did great too!"

"He's got experience with all of our play styles," Tango carries on, "It's not like he has any of the kissy-kissy-goo-goo variety experience."

"Or maybe he does, I suggest non-judgmentally," Joe interjects, "Still wouldn't make the task at hand easy."

"I like that idea, though," Scar agrees, maneuvering himself into the freed-up space, "Making it like Mystery Hermit. I could, uh... ask for examples, you know? Different kinds of kisses. Maybe three, and I get one guess after each?"

"Sounds like a plan," Martyn says, "You better get that blindfold on. These lot fighting over you might give them away before we even start."

Scar snorts, but obliges. Adjusting the blindfold takes a second, the elastic catching against the tubing of his cannula, but he manages. He doesn't see it when Gem waves a hand in front of his face, only feels the air around his nose displace.

"I do have a better idea than us trying to hash out who gets the honor on our own," It's Zed's voice. Straining to listen, Scar hears a lid pop, and marker squeak on a whiteboard.

"Oh! That's smart," Jimmy says.

"Just a reminder before we spin this thing," Now it's Cub, and Scar imagines the way he talks with his hands while he explains, "We can't make noise. No oohs or aahs or excitement or disappointment, 'cause that'll give away who it is or isn't. Okay?"

Various affirmatives sound out, and a hand lands on Scar's shoulder. He only jumps a little bit. "That means you're gonna be the only one talking for a bit, there, Scarface," He rubs Scar's shoulder, "You ready?"

"Roger that," Scar affirms, hands squeezing his knees in anticipation, "I'm so ready."

The sound of pegs against a stopper fills the room.

~

Nobody speaks, but things aren't silent. The beeping has kicked up again, a quick and high-pitched series of three dots and a long-pause dash. That one hadn't happened during the charity stream proper; even at Scar's most nervous, it didn't hold a candle to how hard his heart was beating now.

It takes him a minute to reach back and flick off the corresponding monitor, before the sound gets too obnoxious. He knows he isn't at risk of dying right this second, he doesn't need the devices attached to him trying to tell him otherwise.

It's just a kiss. A few, maybe, at most. It's been a long time, but he's kissed before. Enough that he shouldn't be as worried as he is, and yet, when somebody taps his hand twice to indicate that the kisser is ready, his first instinct is to lighten the mood.

"Well hello there," Scar says into the... presumably occupied space in front of him, "Come to places like this often?" There are some huffs of laughter, too airy and quiet to interpret, but at least it tells Scar that there is somebody in front of him. He smiles ruefully, "Yeah, me either."

His palms are already starting to clam up. Scar dries them on his sweatpants, and tries to think of what he would need to learn to narrow things down. One thing at a time. "Okay. Give me... a friendly kiss. We've known each other for a long time, we haven't seen each other in a while, we're getting together for drinks and girl talk," Scar's voice raises in pitch, a little valley girl tease, "Kiss me like that."

The response is quick. Two kisses pressed to either cheek, but not much else. No brush of their face or touch of their hands that might give Scar more information. It makes Scar chuckle once the kisses are over, "You really committed to the duck face on that, huh?"

The kisser draws a circle on the back of Scar's hand, a nonverbal affirmative. "Yeah, I was hoping to feel a little more from that. Chin scruff, or something. But nope, just lips."

Scar wipes at his cheek, and his fingers come back lightly slicked with something greasy. It's not much of a hint, but it's all he has to go off of, crossing the people who don't wear some kind of lip balm regularly off of his list.

"Y'know, I'm gonna be pretty disappointed if I got kissed by my Sheriff and didn't have my eyes open to enjoy it," Scar tsks, "But my first guess is Jimmy."

There's enough silence following the guess that Scar starts to think he's right, that they're too stunned to follow up. Before he can take any pride in his deduction skills, though, an X gets drawn on the back of his hand.

"That's real sweet," Jimmy's soft voice makes Scar turn his head, coming from somewhere over his shoulder instead of in front of him, "But it ain't me, chief."

"Shoot," Scar buries his face with his hands, takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a giggle, "We're back to square one!"

Not entirely. One confirmed no is better than nothing, and what remains can be narrowed, if Scar can only think of how. He sighs, dropping his hands and "looking" at the kisser.

"Please tell me you've seen Star Wars."

The circle on the back of his hand is immediate. Not Gem then. "Now bear with me! Bear with me here--- There's this scene in Empire Strikes Back, where they're running repairs on the Millennium Falcon and Han finds Leia fixing the- the console unit things," He pauses, opening his arms, "Kiss me like Han kisses Leia."

Whoever it is, they really understand the assignment. Instead of feeling lips on his, Scar feels his hand be taken, the one they'd been using to communicate. Held between both of theirs, his palm is kneaded delicately, a thumb stroking along the ridge of his knuckles, and Scar wishes suddenly that the blindfold wasn't there. He wants to see how they might be looking at him, if the exasperated fondness or the giddy delight are only in his imagination.

It's hard without a face to put to the expressions, but it warms Scar regardless. "A scoundrel," He quotes, leaning forward ever slightly, and wonders if they would act out the whole scene, if talking were allowed. "I happen to like nice men."

They're smiling when they finally kiss him, and Scar smiles back, taking in as much as he can. They're not clean-shaven, stubbly growth tickling Scar's face where they're pressed together. When their hand finds Scar's back, Scar's finds the back of their neck. Their hair is short.

The kiss is brief and chaste, as far as kisses go. In the movie, Han and Leia were interrupted before anything could escalate. Here, it just seems like good sense, sense that Scar can feel himself losing. If the kisser hadn't pulled back, he might have kept going, and his ears might be just a bit redder as he clears his throat to compose himself.

So the kisser is a Star Wars fan. Their hair is cut, but they do have hair, so Tango is out. Joe as well, for having too much of it. They have a beard, which knocks out Cub. Their hands were firm and confident, the way Scar imagines a musician's would be. "Is it Impulse?"

The X on his hand comes quicker this time--- on account of the fact that the kisser never dropped it--- as does a breathy little laugh from behind Scar. "Sorry," Impulse's voice is a little closer than Jimmy's had been, and further to the right than Scar could turn his head if he tried, "I'm uh, not the droid you're looking for."

"Dang it," Scar snaps his fingers, "Good reference though, I appreciate that."

One more kiss, one more guess. Scar needs to make it count, but with two very similar suspects remaining, what could a kiss tell him that he hasn't already learned?

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. It might be time to make some assumptions. He tilts his head up towards the kisser, and squeezes their hand. "Kiss me like you love me."

Silence follows. Their hand slips out of Scar's, and his heart sinks briefly, afraid that he'd crossed a line. It stings like a rejection, and Scar's head lowers.

And then there's a hand on Scar's face, cradling his cheek and making him look up again. There's lips in Scar's hair, and the press of their forehead against his own, a tenderness that makes Scar's breath catch even as they move on. The pressure of soft kisses over the blindfold's fabric, on his nose, at the corner of his mouth, before they follow right below the line his breathing tubes cut across his cheekbone. They kiss the shell of Scar's ear, the lobe, they kiss across Scar's jawline, all the while making soft strokes with their thumb on the other side.

Scar adjusts himself in his chair before he can melt right out of it, and the soft touches pick up where they left off. They kiss the soft underside of his jaw, his neck, just below his Adam's apple, before finally kissing his lips, slow and sweet and wonderful.

It's intoxicating, and when the kisser tries to pull away, Scar pulls them back in by the collar of their shirt.

When Scar's lungs' demands outweigh his heart's, he breaks away again, catching his breath in shallow pants as his oxygen machine hisses to keep up. When he tilts his head forward, he finds that the kisser is still there, and Scar blindly presses their foreheads back together. "Ren...?" It comes out small, almost vulnerable.

There is no drawing on the back of his hand. Instead, the kisser pulls away just enough to get Scar's blindfold up and off.

Scar blinks his eyes open against the light, and is met with none other than Ren, smiling softly. "In the very flesh," He says, "You did good, baby."

There's whistles and applause, people eager to fill the quiet space with sound after so long spent restraining themselves. A few congratulate Scar, and bit by bit, Scar comes down from the lightheaded comfort he'd accidentally slipped into.

Ren stays all the while, sitting on the couch beside the space allotted for Scar's wheelchair, and when Scar's eyes look a little clearer, he nudges their knees together. "That was. A lot," Ren admits, too low for the microphones to catch, awkward in a way that's endearing like he's only now considering he might have something to be embarrassed about, "Everything still cool between us?"

"I think that depends," Scar teases, "Am I just gonna have to live with the knowledge that you kiss like a young Harrison Ford?"

Ren snorts, "You're flattering me, dude," But he grins all the same. "What is there to do with the knowledge if not live with it?"

"Use it," Scar suggests, leaning in hopefully, "I mean, we do have a whole lakehouse to look forward to..."

"Oh no," Ren laughs, good-natured, "This is how it starts, isn't it? The Scarrage is occurring."