Chapter Text
Impulse pulled his soaked shirt over his head, his breaths erratic and his shivers strong enough to rattle his teeth in the aftermath of his unplanned plunge into the forest's lake.
He was kneeling beside the chair, rummaging through the stuff under the desk, in search of some towel substitute, when someone stepped into the van. Grian whistled one of his tunes, seemingly putting some tools on the wall.
Impulse gave up, standing up slowly, his knees sending sharp bursts of pain his miserable way.
"Oh! Hey Impulse, didn't see you... there..."
Impulse turned around, intrigued at the way Grian's sentence had trailed off. Grian's eyebrows were still high above his glasses, eyes blown wide.
"What? Never seen a dad bod before?"
Impulse's joke hung in the air between them, Grian staring at him for a few seconds more, before shaking his head, eyes blinking hard as he refocused.
"Sorry." Grian coughed. "Sorry. I— I got caught off guard. I think Scar may have stashed clothes in a box down there?"
Impulse's interest was piqued at the idea of a dry change of clothes. He refrained from diving back under, though. He could have believed Grian had been "caught off guard" by seeing his coworker half-naked out of nowhere, except for the fact that Grian wasn't flushed with embarrassment. No, instead he looked genuinely freaked out.
"Is there a problem?" he asked, monitoring Grian's reaction like he would the camera feed for ghost orbs.
Grian, of all things, averted his eyes, before steeling himself and re-establishing eye contact.
Huh.
"I apologise for my reaction. It just took me by surprise, I swear it doesn't look that bad."
"What?"
Grian's face soured, but Impulse wouldn't let him weasel out, his curiosity too strong.
"What doesn't look that bad?" he insisted.
"Your... scar," Grian caved with an apologetic expression.
"My—?"
Impulse's protest died on his tongue.
Right.
His scar.
Truth be told, he had forgotten about it. He wouldn't have taken off his shirt in the van if he had been aware of it on more than a semi-conscious level during hunts.
"Don't worry about it. I know it's pretty gruesome," he exhaled, voice a bit spacey to his ears.
Grian had seen his scar.
He may have repressed his own knowledge of its existence until now, but Grian knowing, or anyone knowing, really, sent a shiver of fear from his heart to his navel.
He sighed. Nobody to blame but himself.
Grian went under the desk without a word, finding the correct box on the first try.
Impulse would have never thought one day he would feel pure relief at wearing a Star Wars t-shirt.
There was a beginning to everything he supposed.