Chapter Text
It feels like their first proper night on red.
Heady adrenaline was easily fueled by days of non-stop action. They went down to yellow, then the Ranchers were gone. One more life lost, and the Box was abandoned. By our hand, Scar had thought with pride and mania stretching his cheeks. The look on Grian’s face as they ran—one that mirrored his—was to die for. Metaphorically speaking, that is.
What’s left now, as they lay pressed together on a single bed, is the chill of bloodlust. Just a persisting hum through the veins, itching for more, more red. Scar knows it will bloom in full force in the morning. At this moment, though, he just wants to sleep.
Talons dig into his shoulder. He lets them. The warmth of proximity is as much a dissonance as it is a comfort.
“Scar.” Grian's voice comes out as a murmur against his chest.
“Mm?”
There's a pause. Scar almost unsticks himself from Grian to check if he’s fallen back asleep. Then he says, “I'm scared.”
Scar swallows. He shifts his head, angling it back down and over Grian's, tucking him in securely. His arm pulls tighter around the other's waist. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Me too.”