Chapter Text
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[SCAR]
Sometimes I wonder if Grian knows.
I mean, obviously he doesn't. He completely misses the jokes I make about my, uh, condition, and that's as good as just flat out saying he's got no idea what I'm talking about, with him.
But still, the way he looks at me sometimes. It was worse back when he first joined the Institute, but even now, sometimes I still catch him staring at me like he's, ha, seen a ghost. I've never caught him doing that to Mumbo. Even after Mumbo got potatoed! No ghosts there, just all the starch a mustache could ever need.
And, the thing is, he shouldn't know. Nobody's ever remembered my deaths, as far as I know, which is actually mighty convenient for avoiding awkward questions like "Why'd you ignore the sign that says DANGER on it?" or "Weren't you just bleeding?" or "Why did you shove half the merchandise on that shelf into your bag while you were being stabbed?"
But the way he looked at me when he first walked into the Institute... It was almost, almost like he was trying really hard to figure out why my brains weren't still splattered on some spooky murder rocks.
(pause)
Either way, I'm sure not gonna be the one who mentions it first!
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