Work Text:
Secret Keeper Studios always went above and beyond for their holiday parties. Renting out an entire night club, however, was new. Grian would’ve said it was way too much, but they weren’t kidding about expanding the guest list this year around.
He could hear the music blaring from below — could see the crowd of people dancing on the multi-colored floor. And yet, despite the party’s nearness, Grian felt distant. The cold metal of the balcony’s railing kept him grounded as he leaned upon it. The ice of his drink clinked against glass when he brought it to his lips. While the liquid itself was chilled, the alcohol, like the air around him, burned on his tongue.
Too many people, not enough space. He could barely walk a single step without brushing by another person. Not even the balcony was devoid of company. The temperature of the entire nightclub was stifling because of it.
Grian had tried everything to combat this troublesome issue, but nothing had worked. Downing cold drinks lasted five seconds. Hiding in the bathroom was only helpful when the door stayed shut, though the constant stream of bodies floating in and out prevented that.
As a last ditch attempt, Grian had taken the side door to try and recover outside. Instead of relief, he was bombarded by hundreds of flashing cameras and clamoring paparazzi. He’d only survived the encounter thanks to Joel, who’d pulled him back in.
Honestly, Grian had thought about leaving. His hotel room wasn’t really festive, but he could watch the ball drop from there. He actually had very little qualms with ringing in the New Year alone, so long as it meant he could breathe.
The only thing that stopped him was the bloody afterparty. Joel was actively not drinking that evening so he could drive everyone to their hotel himself, where they’d then be free to relax in one of their rooms.
Grian looked forward to the get togethers that the main cast was allowed, and he’d loath to miss it. Leaving early would mean he’d probably be asleep by the time they all got back and started hanging out. He’d kick himself if he couldn’t join them.
Thankfully, it wasn’t too much longer, if the giant projector screen on the wall could be trusted. Less than an hour. Dreadful as it was, he had to endure this club scene until at least midnight. Heat and all.
In the end, he’d been forced to just halfway unbutton his nice satin shirt, and hope for the best. It didn’t do much for the airflow, but anything helped. Grian retreated to his current perch on the second floor balcony to sip his drink and wait out the majority of the partygoers.
It wasn’t the worst there. Though he wasn’t completely comfortable, he did have a good view of a lot of his friends and coworkers. That bit was especially fun. It was rare to see them in a club. They couldn’t usually make it to these sorts of places without being swarmed by fans or paparazzi.
Grian suspected that was why the executives had rented the building out to begin with – giving them a sense of normalcy in their permanently abnormal lives. If Grian liked loud environments, he’d appreciate the gesture a little more.
Ever since their show, the Life Series, had gotten popular, they so rarely had chances for casual fun of this variety. Sure, they’d spent many a night shoved into hotel rooms, getting up to no good, but that was private. Just between friends.
Here, they were safe, but also sort of in public – a helpful feature of the expanded guest list. Every cast member, as well as those working behind the scenes, was invited, each of them allowed a plus one. After six or seven seasons, the amount of people that had worked on the show was nearly endless. To add to the numbers, the executives and their posies were mulling about too.
There was a nice, though suffocating, variety of friends and strangers scattered around the place. It meant that everyone typically considered ‘too popular’ to enjoy themselves in the outside world could go crazy in here. As Grian gazed down upon them, he noticed a few sights that he would absolutely be bringing up at the afterparty.
First and foremost, Jimmy was on a table, dancing to some pop song from a few years back. More interesting than him was Tango, who was trying valiantly to keep the table from tipping over beneath his co-star’s feet. He seemed to be failing.
Around that same vicinity, Ren and Martyn were doing shots. They stopped every few seconds to chat, likely playing some sort of game, but Grian couldn’t deduce quite what it was. Ren did appear to be losing though.
Lizzie and Joel were dancing in the middle of the crowd. Lizzie was a significantly better dancer than her husband, but he was doing a decent job of copying her moves a few seconds too late. Admittedly, neither of them were particularly on beat with the song.
Scott, Cleo, and Pearl seemed to have ambushed Impulse and BigB on their way back from the bathroom. They were a new sub-group of friends that had formed after the filming of the most recent season. Judging by the easy way that BigB and Impulse gave into the others’ prodding, they were still going strong. Grian watched them until they made it to the bar, and then scanned for his next target.
He found him on the outskirts of the dancefloor, and nearly dropped his drink when he realized those green eyes were already pointed his way.
Scar stared up at him, a smile on his lips. He didn’t seem to care about the way people muscled past him or how the music blared from a speaker not ten feet from his spot. All of his attention, in that moment, was on Grian.
If possible, Grian felt slightly warmer.
It was the alcohol – had to be. He was on his third glass, and while he wasn’t exactly a lightweight, this was usually the point in which it started to get to him. At the very least, even if he wasn’t tipsy, Grian knew it had nothing to do with Scar.
Nothing to do with the way blushing lights settled upon his features. Nothing to do with the green button-up shirt he was wearing. Nothing to do with the loosened tie hanging around his neck. Especially nothing to do with the butterflies that formed in his stomach from the slightest inclination that he might be worth Scar’s gaze.
It was hard for Grian to breathe again.
A loud crash forced his attention away. His gaze traveled to where Jimmy had been dancing before. Unsurprisingly, the table was currently sideways, and Jimmy was laying on top of Tango, both of them visibly pained. Grian wanted to feel sorry for them, but they’d really done it to themselves.
When he glanced back in Scar’s direction, the man was gone, nowhere to be seen. Grian frowned. His eyes scanned the rest of the lower floor, but he couldn’t find his co-star anymore. The guy had completely vanished.
“Looking for someone?”
Grian shrieked and whirled around. He had to slam his free hand onto the railing to keep from toppling to his death, and his heartbeat kicked up a thousand notches with the shot of adrenaline running through his veins.
Scar smiled at him, broad and happy, completely unaware of the panic he’d just caused. “Fancy seeing you here!”
Once Grian had vaguely recovered, he huffed out a sarcastic, “Really? I’m pretty sure you saw me long before now.”
“Maybe,” Scar said. He shrugged, and lightly nudged a stranger out of the way so that he could lean on the railing beside his friend. “You’re a hard guy to miss.”
“Oh, am I now?” Grian rolled his eyes, relaxing his shoulders and returning to nursing his drink. Both of them were semi-shouting over the music, but the conversation wasn’t unbearable. It helped that Grian knew him well enough to fill in some of the words he didn’t quite catch. “There are a few characters here tonight. Surely I don’t stand out more than they do.”
“Well, I don’t know. Last I checked, you’re the most photographed man on our entire cast list,” Scar mentioned with a mischievous grin.
Grian groaned, immediately slapped in the face by the stupid reference to a statistic published by a gossip magazine years prior. It’d been an inside joke amongst their friend group for ages — especially since, out of every actor in their cast, Grian had to admit that he was not the best dressed.
There was a good reason it made so little sense. Some bogus numbers had been pulled from nowhere and slapped together to make a decent story for the magazine responsible. Nothing about it was fair or even really correct. He was just one of the few dozen cast members that was there from season one onwards. Plus, he was the original winner of the first set of games. Obviously, he was photographed. Why wouldn’t he be?
It’s incorrectness came up the second that their fans got involved. Grian might be most photographed by professional paparazzi, but it was actually Scar with the biggest selection of images spanning the internet. They all knew it too. Pearl came second in those rankings, which pushed Grian down to third.
He wasn’t embarrassed about his own lower placement in the overall total, because that made sense. Scar and Pearl were PR geniuses. No one got an audience more riled up and excited for content to come than those two. Not to mention the two of them tended to be constantly dressed to the nines and were always making public appearances. Whereas participated only when he had to, those guys did it for the love of the game.
Honestly, the only reason Grian had remained semi-highly ranked was because of Scar. But he wasn’t going to think about that too much right now.
Either way, Grian didn’t really mind his realistic statistics. What he hated more than anything was that stupid article. The day people forgot it existed was the day he could die happily.
His friends wielded it more as an insult nowadays, meant to point out when Grian looked less-than-ideal, and it was beyond irritating. He heard it while he was relaxing in his room, performing gross scenes for the show, and halfway between makeup changes — that sort of rough situation.
Hearing it here was a little surprising, if he was completely honest. It didn’t feel like the right time nor usage for their joke. Grian couldn’t help but get a bit defensive, replying, “I’ll have you know that I tried very hard on this outfit tonight.”
Scar’s lips twitched and Grian felt eyes scan him up and down, slow and analytical. “Oh, don’t worry,” Scar said a minute later. “I can tell.”
Grian shot him a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing!” Scar raised two placating hands. Once again, that gaze dipped down. Some half-drunken part of Grian thought it might be lingering on his unbuttoned shirt. Then, his attention was back on his face, innocent and unreadable. “You look good.”
Good.
Grian’s heart skipped a beat. He forced it to calm, or else his mind might slip somewhere it shouldn’t.
“Just good?” Grian tried for humor, but the inside of his head was mostly static. “Your character in the show has given me more heartfelt compliments.”
“Oh yeah? Really? No way! You’re telling me a team of skilled and professional writers perfectly handcrafted my lines so that our on-screen relationship would be as deeply rich and emotional as it is,” Scar scoffed. “And that bar is supposed to apply to me outside of filming too?”
“Yes,” Grian said, smiling weakly. He took another swig of his drink to hide the flush of his cheeks.
“Fine, fine, I get it,” Scar grumbled. Despite their back and forth, that mischievous glint had yet to leave his expression. He cleared his throat. “Grian, you look like an angel. I’m so lucky to be seen next to you, and my life is complete. My crops are watered, my cows are fed, my grass is cut, all of that nonsense — y’know?”
Grian snickered, shaking his head. “You’re so weird.”
He hoped the music and lights blotted out the heat in his face and the fondness in his tone.
“Hey! Don’t complain. You wanted an obscure compliment, didn’t you?” Scar dragged a hand through his hair. “Or would you prefer I call you hot and move on?”
Grian, again, nearly dropped his drink. He recovered though, pretending someone had simply nudged him a bit too hard. His companion waited, as if genuinely expecting an answer to his question. Grian sighed, “Laying that PR attitude on a bit thick, aren’t you? It’s comments like those that create delusional fans.”
Scar shrugged. “I’m good at my job. What can I say?”
It was true. There was no one in their cast quite as good at putting on the Prince Charming act as Scar. A good portion of their audience was drawn in by him, fanned and encouraged by his personality. He was always aware of the right times to laugh during interviews, bump shoulders with his colleagues, and drop cliche lines. Grian knew it wasn’t all real — just decent media training — but their fans were more easily convinced.
In fact, it was Scar’s irritating ability to draw anyone in that created this whole problem for Grian in the first place.
The general public was a fascinating topic on their own. When they became interested in someone or something, it was fun to watch the way they interacted with said thing in turn. Scar was always a delightful person to be around, winning the hearts of nearly everyone he met. It was when he had his first interview side-by-side with Grian to foreshadow the finale of season one that things took a bit of a turn.
Grian didn’t know exactly what it was, but suddenly there were fan edits of the two of them, and people were overanalyzing every little twist and turn they did when they were near one another. Almost overnight, Grian and Scar became a duo that the public wanted to see constantly — specifically together.
The PR team wasn’t dumb enough to miss that. The first season was already loaded with subtle nods to a deeper relationship between Scar and Grian’s characters, but once that became a subject of genuine interest, it got a whole lot more obvious. Before Grian knew it, he was paired up with Scar again in season three, and they were soulmates.
Scar didn’t seem phased by a lot of it. His resumé already contained about a billion rom-coms, so acting this stuff out was second nature to him. He knew how to play around with it, and use it to his benefit.
Grian, not so much. His acting career consisted of a bunch of artsy student films, a few episodes of a horror series, and then this. Romance was absolutely nowhere in his skill set, on or off set.
What was most intimidating about it all was the way fans viewed them when they were together out-of-character. There were countless social media accounts dedicated to just tracking their eyelines around each other — vying for a chance to see one of them slip up and look at the others lips.
As someone who constantly caught himself looking at Scar’s lips, Grian had a pretty good reason to be worried.
“Yeah, yeah,” Grian huffed. “Save it for the cameras.”
It was stupid — this crush he had on his co-star. Grian knew, better than anyone, how Scar worked. He was this charismatic guy that drew people in with attention and warmth and smiles, and kept them there with humor and kindness and compliments. It was impossible for strangers to resist him. He was a honey trap, perfect for marketing, perfect for publicity.
Originally, Grian had given him space, being a bit wary of his flawless outer exterior. No one with a spotless record was actually as wonderful as they seemed. He planned to get to know the real him, and then make his decisions on whether or not they’d be friends.
Unfortunately, getting to know the real Scar had kick-started his current issue.
There was really no other actor that was better to work with. Grian could always rely on him for help with lines, notes on scenes, and when their day on set was over, he was the best company. They’d spent hours on the floor of Scar’s trailer, watching dumb movies and unwinding from the stress of their jobs.
Grian was forced to acknowledge that Scar was exactly as sweet and kind and charismatic as the media made him seem. None of that was a lie — which absolutely sucked for Grian’s heart.
“Now, what’s with that grumpy expression, G?” Scar leaned closer. His troublemaker smile faded into something more genuine. “Not enjoying the party?”
Grian worked to school his face. He hadn’t been aware of what look he’d been wearing, but hearing it was grumpy certainly wouldn’t be far from the truth. The ice in his drink clinked as he swirled it around absently, debating his response. It was a waste of time to lie to Scar. For all the acting they’d done together, neither was particularly good at fooling the other when it came to their real lives.
“Just uncomfortable,” he opted to say. “Too many people.”
“Really?” Scar raised a brow. “This is too many people? Haven’t you accepted awards in front of audiences twice this size?”
“Ah, but you see — award shows have air conditioning,” Grian replied. “I value that dearly.”
“Oh,” Scar said, straightening. “So, it’s a temperature problem. Okay, yeah, that makes sense.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Grian quickly stepped in. “I am slowly losing my mind over this noise too. It’s a lot.”
Scar perked up. “Well, why didn’t you say so? That’s an easy fix!”
“Is it?” Grian’s half-unbuttoned shirt begged to differ. Getting away from people was all he’d been trying to do for the entire evening.
“Why don’t we pop down to the VIP lounge? They’ve been keeping it reserved for just the cast members so we can get away,” Scar said, and Grian frowned.
“There’s a VIP lounge?”
His co-star gave him a funny look, but didn’t reply. Instead, he grabbed Grian by the hand and started tugging him off in some direction.
Grian would normally have been loath to lose his spot by the railing, but his people watching was long-over and he was no match for Scar’s whims. He was pretty certain he’d go anywhere the man led him, so long as he got to hold his hand like this. The fact that the end goal allegedly had less people around was simply a bonus.
They descended the stairs and threaded through the crowds, their intertwined fingers barely keeping them connected. It was worse near the dance floor, with everyone jumping and drunk. Grian tripped over more empty bottles than he really liked to think about.
Finally, though, they made it to a hallway a few doors down from the bathrooms. Grian hadn’t explored this far when he was wandering about the club at the beginning of the party. He kind of figured anything beyond that point was employees-only, especially since no one else was heading that direction. Part of him braced to be somewhere he shouldn’t when Scar flung open a door at the end of that mysterious hallway.
Instead of an off-limits zone, however, the door opened into a lovely room. To Grian’s absolute delight, a wave of cold air rolled over him as he entered. Scar pulled him completely in, and then stepped out of the way. From there on, all he could see were plush red couches, dimmed lights, a huge television, and a table full of refreshments. When the door shut, the craze of the world beyond was muted significantly.
“Am I in heaven,” Grian heard himself mutter, sending Scar into a little fit of laughter. He turned to his friend, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Why couldn’t you have shown me this sooner?”
It was so obvious to him suddenly. He hadn’t understood how his friends had enough energy to party the night away. Little had he known, they’d been recharging periodically in this oasis for the past several hours. Grian was unbelievably miffed that he hadn’t figured it out sooner.
Scar’s laughter only got louder, and with the quiet provided by the lounge, Grian got to bear witness to its full glory. He loved the sound, probably more than was healthy. Grian loved how it piqued and rasped and made his friend sound like someone was wiping down a glass table. It was enchanting in its uniqueness. He could recognize that laugh from a million miles away.
At the same time as it sent his heart rate soaring, it also brought him down to the ground again. Grian straightened and dropped his grip on Scar. He couldn’t forget himself here. The lighting was dim, sure, but he was certain his best friend would be able to easily read his expressions from this close. They knew each other too well for him to slip up and ogle the guy during their moments alone.
Grian couldn’t afford to be seen — be known — like that. Scar was great. The best, even. They were closer than most co-stars ever got, but that didn’t automatically mean there was potential for reciprocation there. Scar was the kind of guy who was sweet to everyone. Unbearably charming, that was his brand.
Everyone fell for Scar’s media persona — it was inevitable. Grian wanted to say he was the exception to the rule. He only fell head-over-heels for Scar after he got familiar with the guy’s true personality.
But there was a certain unknowable, blurry line between his co-star’s persona and genuine intent. Scar throwing a flirtatious comment didn’t mean he was attracted to someone. Scar being overly nice to someone didn’t mean he wanted to spend the rest of his life with them. Scar becoming someone’s best friend didn’t mean he harbored the same embarrassingly-strong feelings for them.
All of those were things he did for acquaintances, colleagues, even interviewers.
It was why Grian had such a hard time reading that particular part of his friend. He wanted so badly for there to be something behind his every little action, but he just couldn’t tell.
And he especially couldn’t afford to ruin this thing they had going for them. There were several seasons left in their show, endless time to spend together. Grian couldn’t handle the pain that would follow him forever if he was found out and rejected.
Their friendship was enough. If it went somewhere, great! If it didn’t, fine! Scar’s presence in his life was rewarding enough.
Even if he frequently found himself wanting to kiss that presence until neither of them could breathe anymore, it was enough. That was just part of the territory. Anyone would feel this way if they’d been handed a script with a romantic undertone and the most handsome co-star on the face of the planet.
It was a reality he had to live with every day. Grian was skilled, by that point, at keeping himself level-headed. They’d been through everything together, and he had yet to give himself away. He could easily make it through this one social gathering with the man he cared about — no problem at all.
Scar’s hand brushed against the small of his back, and his mind went blank.
Alright. So, maybe he was a little weaker than he’d like to admit.
Grian zoned into the present again, where his friend’s laughter had started to taper off, and they were standing side-by-side in an empty lounge.
“Sorry, G,” Scar sighed, cheeks rosy from smiling. “I thought you knew about this place. Woulda told you sooner otherwise.”
It had to be a crime to look that good. Scar’s slightly messy hair, his uneven collar, his fitted shirt, his tie loose around his neck — Grian could not bring himself to stop staring. The cold air was all that kept him from overheating.
He huffed a bit, but didn’t respond. Grian turned, almost robotically, and stepped over to the nearest couch. It was smart to sit before his knees gave out. He set his drink down on a table and collapsed.
The furniture was exactly as plush as it seemed from afar. He nearly sunk into it. Instantly, the build-up of tension left him. Grian groaned dramatically, rolling his shoulders to emphasize his fatigue. The television played a live feed of the ball drop and the countdown to midnight.
“About ten minutes now,” Scar said. Grian didn’t have a chance to react before his co-star flopped down next to him. Their shoulders brushed, sending shockwaves through his mind. “Are you excited for next year?”
“As excited as I can be to have to relearn how to write my dates again,” Grian replied, combing hair out of his face with his hands. It’d been slicked back earlier, but the humidity ruined most of his hard work. He was certain he looked a mess — embarrassing, considering the guy beside him was constantly radiant.
“C’mon, don’t be such a party pooper,” Scar tutted. He nudged Grian, an encouraging smile on his face. “Surely there’s something you’re excited for, right?”
Grian thought about it. “Filming the next season?”
“I should’ve expected as much,” Scar sighed. “You’re too work-oriented, G. Live a little! What about your resolution? You at least have to have a resolution.”
Grian lulled his head to the side to shoot Scar an unimpressed glare. “Currently, my only goal is to not go deaf from that awful music.”
“No,” Scar said, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Your resolution should be interesting! Like going sky-diving, or saving up for a new car.”
“Alright, hotshot,” Grian retorted. “If you’re so good at New Year’s resolutions, what’s yours?”
Scar paused. His smile faltered, but his gaze never left Grian. “Oh, um.”
Framed by the dull glow of the room, he reminded Grian of a firework — always so quick and beautiful and explosive. To see him flicker, behaving more like a candle than a burst of brilliance, was rare. Scar was never timid, never shy, never one to shrink away. And yet, for a second, Grian saw him hesitate.
“My New Year’s Resolution,” Scar said, quiet and low. “Is to kiss someone at midnight.”
Grian’s blood ran cold. “You want to… kiss someone?”
Scar seemed to tense at the echo of his wish. His face shifted as wonderful splotches of color heated his cheeks. Those green eyes looked askance, nervous laughter filling the air around them. “Yeah, uh, y’know. I’ve never really tried out that holiday tradition. Would be nice to check it off my bucket list.”
“Oh,” Grian said, willing his voice not to break. He swallowed. “Yeah, I see. Have you… got someone particular in mind?”
Scar huffed out a little laugh and sent an unreadable glance Grian’s way. A moment passed, and then Scar took a deep breath in. “No, um, not really. I think I’ll just go for whoever’s nearby when midnight strikes.”
Something festered behind Grian’s ribs. Something impossible to name. Something ugly and naive. Something slightly worse than hope and slightly better than jealousy. It was a twisted amalgamation that churned his gut.
The unknown almost stung worse than specifics. Grian couldn’t direct his emotions anywhere, and so they all found their way back onto his shoulders. The entire world was too heavy. He hated that a subject as simple as Scar’s evening plans could have such an effect on him.
“Cool,” Grian said, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide how they shook. He forced a crooked smile, the kind of lopsided expression he always tossed in his friend’s direction right before telling a joke. “But that’s kind of dangerous, don’t you think?”
Scar’s eyes dipped away from where they’d been locked on Grian’s gaze. After a moment of lingering, slowly, they dragged up again. “Dangerous?”
With the sunken plush of the couch, and the way Grian’s head rested against the back of it, they were closer than they should’ve been. Scar’s face tipped towards him, as if to encourage his elaboration. Maybe Grian was drunk, or maybe he was going crazy, but he couldn’t really focus on anything besides the curve of Scar’s lips.
It’d take no effort at all to lean in and steal a kiss — to lean in and ruin them both.
“Mhm,” Grian heard himself hum, soft and private. He could feel every point of connection between them. Shoulders, knees, sides pressed into each other. “Could be.”
“Yeah?” Scar was smiling again, but it was small and tight around the edges, like he was actively repressing a much larger grin. Laughter lines crinkled beside his eyes. Grian was close enough to pick out the flecks of yellow in his irises. “I like danger.”
Grian’s mind left them, jumping somewhere into the future, and he snorted. Scar blinked, obviously thrown off by the noise. Grian bit back a laugh as he said, “You won’t be saying that at midnight when you’re standing in the middle of the crowd and the closest person is an old executive.”
Scar paused, mouth dropping open. He stared for a second, and then he was also holding back laughter. “That’s dumb. No, I won’t let that happen!”
“I don’t think you can control that many people,” Grian said, sitting up to grab his drink. He missed the warmth of their proximity as soon as he’d moved, but the warmth of alcohol sliding down his throat wasn’t bad either. It made the uncomfortable mental picture of Scar beside anyone else a little more bearable.
After a few sips, he set it down again. The screen at the front of the room showed five minutes left. Grian glanced over his shoulder at Scar. His co-star was already watching him, wearing yet another unreadable expression. Scar said, “I don’t think the crowd will be that much of a problem.”
“Well, if you want a chance to situate yourself beside someone halfway decent,” Grian replied. “You might want to head out now.”
Scar considered him, and then shrugged. “I guess. Where do you think a good place to stand would be?”
An unsavory, slightly cruel question, though his companion didn’t realize as much. Asking Grian, whose heart beat to the tune of Scar’s voice, where he should stand to have the best New Year’s kiss — it was something out of a nightmare. Where was he supposed to tell him to go? Near their friends, so he’d end up with someone Grian knew? To a group of strangers, so there was some disconnect?
In the end, Grian tilted his head and frowned. “I don’t know. Up to you.”
“Alright, then,” Scar said. He sat up too, joining Grian on the edge of the couch. They were near again, shoulders bumping. The two of them were always touchy, but this was more than the usual amount. Maybe Scar had also been drinking, even if his speech wasn’t slurred and there wasn’t a smell on his breath. “Where will you be at midnight, G?”
Grian huffed, “Here.”
“Really?” Scar raised a brow. “You’re not gonna rejoin the party for the main event of the evening?”
“I’m good,” Grian said, looking back at the clock. He traced his finger around the rim of his glass in methodical circles. Two minutes. “I’ve experienced plenty. Enough to last me into next year for sure.”
“You’ve experienced enough? So, I assume you’re not aiming to kiss anyone then?”
Grian stopped, but he didn’t turn — or else Scar might’ve been able to see the exact moment in which his imagination took control. Ever the actor, he channeled all he had into seeming carefree. “Stupid question. Hard to aim for anything like that as someone who is, once again, not partying.”
“That doesn’t sound like a complete ‘no’ to me, G.”
Mirth twinged at the tip of Scar’s tongue. The words felt as though they were being spoken directly into his ear. Grian kept his eyes glued on the screen. He watched the seconds tick down, until two minutes turned into just one. Outside the door, the crowd started to chant. The countdown had begun.
“You should go, Scar,” Grian said. He felt the cushion beneath him sink a little more as a weight shifted in his direction. “You have fifty seconds.”
“Forty-seven now, actually,” Scar remarked, right on time with the growing noise from beyond. “I’m fine.”
Grian did turn at that. He saw Scar already looking at him – always looking at him – with bright green eyes and his usual smile. “You’re fine?”
“Yeah,” Scar said. “Well, you’re here. So, why leave?”
“But you…” Grian trailed off, a little confused. “But your resolution. Weren’t you planning on–?”
“Kissing someone at midnight,” Scar filled in. “That’s the goal.”
“Don’t let me keep you from doing something you want to do,” Grian muttered. His head was a mess, with a billion little voices telling him a billion different things. It was drowned out by the countdown’s chorus. “You have to go.”
Thirty seconds.
Scar didn’t move. “Where are you going to be, G?”
“In here,” Grian answered. “Like I said.”
“Then, I’m staying here, like I said.”
Twenty-five seconds.
“Scar, what are you talking about? You have to go,” Grian insisted, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he was getting worked up over this. He didn’t want Scar with anyone else, obviously, but he wanted Scar to be happy. If that required Grian’s heart to break over some dumb resolution, so be it.
Twenty seconds.
“I told you. I’m fine right where I am,” Scar repeated, smooth and calm and irritating.
Grian frowned, leaning in and grabbing him by the arm. “What about your resolution?”
“I still plan on completing it.”
Grian froze. “What?”
Fifteen seconds.
“I still plan to complete my resolution,” Scar carried on. “To kiss the person nearest to me at midnight.”
Grian’s mind struggled to keep up. “But there’s no one here besides us, Scar.”
“I know.”
Ten seconds.
A hand came up to cup Grian’s cheek. It was warm, slightly callused. Scar was closer than he’d realized, breath hot against the other’s face. Grian’s heart stuttered, confusion shifting into something burning and new.
Scar’s eyes were half-lidded, brimming with indistinguishable anticipation.
Five seconds.
“Help me with my resolution, Grian,” Scar whispered, hovering an inch away. “Please.”
Three.
Two.
One.
At the same time as the crowd outside exploded into a cacophony of cheers, deafening and excited, Scar’s lips crashed into his.
Instantly, fireworks shot through Grian’s nerves, setting him alight and burning him from the inside. His mind went completely blank. Every part of him screeched to a halt to hone in on this one singular moment in time.
It was better than anything he could’ve ever imagined. Better than any daydreams on set, any wandering glances during line rehearsal, any slipping eyes during interviews could’ve possibly ever prompted. None of it was better than the present.
Scar was kissing him. Willingly, intensely, passionately, Scar was kissing him. Right there, in a club full of hundreds of people, Scar was by his side at midnight. He was with him. No one else. Just Grian. And Scar was kissing him.
He had a million questions before. All of them were lost to him now.
Grian kissed back. He put everything he had – every moment of yearning, desire, hopeless desperation – into that one action. Grian needed to be closer, needed to forget the world around them. His shaking hands traveled down to squeeze at Scar’s middle, to fist into the fabric of his shirt, and yank him closer.
Scar gasped into the kiss, briefly breaking them apart. When they met again, Grian could feel a smile pressing into his lips. They collapsed against the couch, chests bumping, hearts beating in tandem. Space disappeared between them in every way it could.
Grian was on fire, fueled by sparks of free-flowing longing. He was only a little tipsy, but Scar made him feel unbelievably drunk. The universe blurred together until it was just the two of them, alone at midnight.
Scar pulled back first, just enough to rest their foreheads together while they heaved for breath. Grian was especially dizzy, especially weightless. He hadn’t expected anyone to try so valiantly to steal all his air that evening.
Scar, despite being significantly more prepared, looked equally a mess. His face was flushed, lips pink, and his pupils were blown wide enough to make his green irises seem entirely black. He wore his signature smile, mischievous and stupidly charming, same as ever. Except now, it was different. Now, Grian knew what that smile tasted like.
“Happy New Year,” Scar said, hoarse and tempting. “I couldn’t imagine a better start.”
Grian laughed, breathy and relieved. “Happy New Year.”
Scar kissed him again. It was brief, not nearly as deep, but it screamed of the same softness that rested behind Grian’s ribs. So raw, so addicting, so perfect.
When they separated, Grian found himself lingering with his eyes shut. He opened them a minute later, words already formed on the tip of his tongue. “Y’know, I might have a good idea of what my resolution should be.”
“Oh yeah?” Scar raised a brow, curious and encouraging. “And what did you have in mind?”
“To be kissed like this every day.”
Scar grinned, and Grian found it to be horribly contagious. “Conveniently, that’s something I think about a lot too.”
“You think about my resolution?” Grian tipped his head to the side.
“No,” Scar said, brushing his thumb along Grian’s cheek. “I think about kissing you every day.”
And like clockwork, the distance between them disappeared again. Grian let the swirling sensation completely envelope him, uninterested in the world beyond. As long as he was with Scar, he wasn’t worried about the future at all.