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There were so many things Grian had taken into account when he designed the Game he called Third Life for his friends, from ensuring the safety of the Players after their pseudo-hardcore deaths to coding in workarounds for diversity in physical ability and health to even the field. He’d even put a great deal of effort into integrating hybrid-suppression mods to render his own wings all but useless – Jimmy’s, too – and remove Scott’s underwater-breathing abilities, and keep Scar’s wood elf magic from making everything he touched flourish and sprout.
Grian'd worked so hard on all of it!
So, why?!
Why had he gone and forgotten about nesting instincts?!
Gritting his teeth as he weaved his way through the cactus barrier, pulling his bound wings even tighter toward his body to slip through the slim path he’d memorized when they planted it, Grian contemplated how he could possibly have messed up the coding for his own species. It was truly impressive, wasn’t it?
“Let’s suppress hybrid traits, Grian,” he muttered to himself as he trudged along. “That’d be a great idea, Grian. That’ll help folks with hybrid weaknesses, and remove unfair advantages from others, Grian. But let’s forget, like a fool, that avian hybrids like yourself have a nesting season every single year you’ve ever existed, Grian.”
With a wince as a barb scraped an edge of his wing, he burst out onto the sandy dunes that made up his home. Well, insomuch as something could be a home when it was the site of his self-imposed indentured servitude. He cast a glare at the Science-Bros-Killing-Ravine, the husks that were crawling out of the sand as the sun set, and finally, up at the castle he’d erected on the highest peak of the desert. He lived in an actual sandcastle.
What was his life.
Grian’s journey this evening had been fruitful, and he wasted no time before scrambling his way up the hillside with his goodies in tow, ignoring the handful of arrows that narrowly missed him. Darn this desert. Stifling in the day, icy and dangerous at night. And sand! Everywhere!
Worst! Monopoly! Ever!
His whole body sagged with relief when he made it indoors. Everything in him screamed to be buried under a thousand blankets and to never emerge. It had been hard to make himself leave the desert for supplies, but it was necessary if he was going to ride this out.
He knew it was possible to belatedly adjust the code. He had even considered it that morning when he woke up and could barely drag himself from his bed. A slow, tired morning for anyone else was a tell-tale cue of oncoming instincts for him. However, as he mulled it over, watching Scar snore in the bed beside him, Grian realized that to adjust the code, he could have to pause the Game completely, or it wouldn’t be fair.
And to pause, he’d have to explain why, which would mean explaining his absurd mistake.
Nope. Not happening. Grian was more than content to prioritize his pride over his wellbeing, thank you.
Honestly, it wasn’t that big of a deal, and nothing Grian hadn’t handled many a time before on his own. He would just laze about in a nest for a few days, and no one would be the wiser!
Furthermore, Scar was the only Red Life. He was no danger to Grian, so things would likely be safe for long enough to soothe his instincts and get back to normal.
Grian realized he’d been standing blankly by the door, his mind already drifting into that cozy space in-between wakefulness just by being back at the base. Something deep inside him registered the safety of the place he had constructed with his own two hands, to house two lives from the elements. The walls, built of solid and shimmery speckled sandstone, glowed in the dusk light seeping through the windows. He quickly lit the lantern they kept by the door and continued with his mission.
Though Grian had handled most of the exterior masonry, Scar designed the interior layout of the place – and somehow, despite their shared reputations for disastrous chest monsters, the storage situation was passable right now. It probably wouldn’t last, but it was pretty nice for now, to know where things were and to not trip over oneself in search of materials. A hallway split the main room from the bedroom, which they shared. He had intended for there to be two, but Scar instead used a significant chunk of their limited space to give Pizza a safe place to nap at night.
Prioritizing the llama over anything else. Typical. Grian wasn’t sure what else he’d expected.
The bedroom was simple and barren, most of their waking hours spent in the other room or outside. One window and two narrow beds were all it boasted. His own, closer to the window, wasn’t exactly fit for avians.
Well, that was about to change, because there was no chance of that thing being sufficient to soothe his nesting instincts.
Seeing as Scar wasn’t home yet, off galivanting about and scamming people for trousers, Grian decided to set up. He’d scoured the entire server for every bit of sheep wool he could find, and he used that now to fashion a variety of colorful, mismatched pillows and general plush shapes. He took the blankets from his bed as well and shoved the whole wooden structure aside to make more space against the tight far wall. He tucked in the gifts from Jimmy and Scott too, as the former had immediately understood why Grian was asking around about wool and had gifted him a jacket to use (after laughing at him). Scott lent him a shirt. Personal touches always improved a nest.
When everything was arranged, Grian stood back and surveyed his work.
It was a subpar nest, there was no denying. His one on Hermitcraft was a thousand times better, with the softest cottons and silks, decorated with dozens of items from everyone he loved and who loved him. It was the coziest thing in the whole world, great for a nap and perfect for dragging Pearl and Jimmy, fellow avian hybrids, into during his nesting season.
This would have to do. Something was definitely missing, though. Scampering back through the rest of the sandcastle, Grian rifled through some chests and barrels until he found one of Scar’s shirts, a green flowy blouse-type thing Grian swore he’d absolutely not seen the man even wear. Where’d he gotten it? Nonetheless, it was definitely Scar’s, as it smelled like fresh-turned earth and elderberries, with a hint of warm cookies – the sweet and grounded scent of a wood elf. Or, at least, this wood elf.
Grian bounced on his toes as he tucked it in amongst his other finds, trilling absently, pleased.
The last thing to do was unbind his wings, which he did with a great sigh of relief.
He’d go to sleep, get a good little rest, push through a couple of days, and hopefully everything would be fine.
In his exhaustion and need to get in the nest right now now now now now, Grian made another thoughtless mistake, nearly as bad as the one that got him into this situation in the first place:
He forgot that he hadn’t explained that he was nesting to Scar.
***
“Oooh, you buggers! No no no no, stay awaaAY!” Scar cried, voice pitching high as he sprinted through the woods. There were so many mobs on his tail. Oh geez. He risked a glance back and caught at least eight pairs of eyes on him, glowing in the dark. The smell of gunpowder told him to keep running.
“Griiaaannnn,” he called between huffs of breath. “Heeeelllpppppp!”
Of course, Grian was the responsible one between the two, so he wasn’t in the middle of the woods at night. But it wasn’t Scar’s fault, okay? He’d just gotten so caught up exchanging Friendship Passes! It was a tough sell now that he was a Red Life, but Scar was nothing if not an excellent salesman. He knew how to play to his advantages. The trick was to keep talking the whole time so they didn’t have a chance to think about anything! Honestly, he could probably sell people painted glass if he told them it did something fancy.
Well. He could sell them to BDubs easily, at least.
For now, no one was coming to his aid, so he pushed his aching calves to the limit. Normally, he’d be able to call on the trees around him for assistance, roots stretching from the dirt to trip his assailants, branches thwapping faces, maybe even some bees willing to sting – but his magic was sealed up right now, deep in his chest and unreachable as the sun. It was warm, and it comforted him to know it was still there, but it was of little use to him when an arrow whizzed by his pointed ear, close enough to shave off a few long strands of hair.
He nearly teared up with relief when he saw the cactus wall past the canopy. There was no time to be careful, so he simply dove through it, hardly noticing the barbs stinging on his bare skin.
“Put your shirt back on!” Grian had demanded that morning. For once, Scar was regretting not listening to him.
The desert was hardly safer than the woods. The tottering mummified zombies (how did that even work? It’s like, double zombie!) and oversized arachnids continued to trail him along the unforgiving path carved up the dune. Every footstep slipped in sand, but thankfully, even worn, he was more dexterous than the things that crawled after him. The skeletons hardly stood a chance against all these rippling muscles, thank you!
The second he slammed the door shut on the lovely little home Grian had built for them, Scar sank to the floor and heaved for air. His heart was thundering, each beat stinging his throat, and his thighs burned. That didn’t even account for his skin, which was both chilled and torn. As he plucked the cactus thorns from his flesh, some part of him hoped he would take a lesson from this endeavor and be home before dark next time. Most of him knew he simply didn’t have enough reason for that.
But hey, he was alive, and relatively uninjured! It was fine!
Ignoring the bangs and moans of the undead on the thin door, Scar hobbled into the storage room slash kitchen, quickly choking down some water (burning cold as the desert night had settled into it) and a bit of stale bread he’d not wrapped properly. He’d eat an actual meal in the morning.
Scar, dazed, made his way to the bedroom, and even in this state, he looked forward to seeing Grian there, hopefully sleeping peacefully on his bed beside Scar’s. Or maybe he’d be awake, waiting for him. He’d probably fuss over Scar and scold him for staying out so late. Scar figured he probably wasn’t supposed to happily anticipate Grian scolding him, but whatever.
When he turned the corner, Scar was not prepared for what would actually greet him. Instead of the orderly, bare room he’d awoken in earlier that day, he found that half the tiny space had erupted with soft, squishy forms. His own bed was as he’d left it (unmade), but it looked like every other blanket on the server had collectively decided to have a meeting on Grian’s side. He wasn’t sure what blankets would need to have a meeting about, but there they were. He stared as one of them shuddered and moved slightly, and he realized with a start that it was actually Grian’s wing.
Grian kept them bound for the Game, but took to undoing the bindings at night, as it wasn’t healthy to keep them tightly strung like a roast bird all the time (a joke that Grian had adamantly not appreciated). But now, they were on full display, striped in blue, red and yellow, flaring around a curled up Grian in the center of the pile of soft things.
Scar suddenly felt a bit foolish. Of course, Grian wouldn’t sleep in a normal bed! Er, not normal, that was the wrong word, just – a bed like wingless people used. He knew Grian slept in a pillow pile back on their home server. He’d seen it! It didn’t seem very ergonomic to Scar, but then, avians likely had different back support needs. Since they couldn’t actually sleep on their backs. Scar should’ve accounted for that when he designed the bedroom, but regardless, he was glad Grian had what he needed now.
Curious, he crept forward to see what Grian had constructed, and found himself grinning amusedly at the sight of his slumbering friend. Scar was strongly reminded of his cats when they slept, sniffling and twitching now and again. Just as he couldn’t help petting Jellie in such a state, Scar found himself reaching out to oh-so-gently smooth Grian’s hair from his face.
“Goodnight, birdie,” Scar murmured, then drew back to retreat to his own bed.
Instead, a surprisingly strong grip around his wrist halted him, and before he could process what had happened, gravity tugged him forward. He collapsed into the Blanket Association Meeting, and Grian, eyelids only a sliver risen, went about silently tucking him into them in whatever way he pleased.
“Uh, Grian?” Scar ventured. “Sorry? Didn’t mean to wake you. Um-“
Grian shook his head, making odd yet soothing hums, and Scar noticed in the dim light from the lantern in the hall that his eyes were unusually dark, more so than usual. He seemed a little out of it and continued determinedly arranging the pillows and blankets until they were to his liking, at which point he laid himself back down right beside Scar. His eyes drifted shut.
Scar blinked several times, taking in the situation. He had a feeling something was happening here that he was supposed to understand, but, um. Yeah, no. He had no idea. Maybe Grian got too cold on his own? Scar was shivering himself, the cool air rough on his skin now that the sweat of his exertion had dried.
Grian made a chirping sound and flung a wing over Scar’s body, effectively cutting out the chill. Scar was trapped by a Blanket HOA and feathery limbs.
What was his life.
Well, Scar wasn’t about to complain. After a night of running and danger, he was now soft and warm and with his friend. They’d figure it out in the morning. For now, he gave into the siren’s song of sleep, soothed by the downy feathers draped over his skin.
***
The purpose of nesting, for avians, was a sort of forced recharge.
It was common for avians to be more hyperactive and even anxious than other genetic makeups, and Grian was no exception, always needing things to do, people to mess with, buildings to design and construct, pranks to pull. It was a personality trait more than his nature – not all avians were as intense and active as he – and he liked being that way. Yet, the yearly urge to hide in a bunch of blankets for a few days served to calm and slow his system, effectively resetting him for the next year of craziness. It soothed his stresses, allowing his hormones or whatever to settle and rebalance.
Grian tended to ignore those urges and instincts until the last second. Yet, every time he gave in, he felt exponentially better afterward and wondered why he always put it off.
After only one night, Grian could tell his very being was more settled. Months of planning this Game, consulting with various admins, meetings with the Players who’d signed up, doing most of the coding himself, making sure everything would be perfect – took a toll on him. He was glad to do it, it was fun, but event planning was a lot of pressure, even when self-imposed. He wanted everyone to have a good time, and it was up to him to make that happen.
Now, in the middle of the Game, with most everything running smoothly, Grian relaxed at long last. He was in his nest, he was safe and comfy, Scar was there, and everything was just right.
…
…Scar was there?
Slowly, surfacing toward awareness like a bit of kelp caught in the sea, Grian forced his sticky eyelids open. He was met with chest hair. If given a year, he’d not have guessed that he’d start the morning with chest hair. Especially someone else’s. What?
He turned his head away, feeling like the world was fragile as dawn light cut through the tight shutters, streaking the room with an orange, comfortable glow. Everything felt so calm, so peaceful. And Scar was in Grian’s nest. Why was Scar in Grian’s nest?
Further question: why were they all tangled up?
His brain felt too slow and foggy for this. He knew he’d fallen asleep quickly last night. He had the vaguest memory of waking up and having to adjust the nest. Why had he done that?
Grian focused enough on his own body to hesitantly acknowledge that he was currently wrapped around Scar like a body pillow, limbs and wings and his head tucked under the man’s chin. It was to be expected, really. Anyone joining his nest was likely to have many personal boundaries violated. If you didn’t want a clingy bird wrapped around you, you shouldn’t get in the nest. Joining the nest was consent for that! Usually! Only Grian didn’t remember agreeing to this himself! Apparently, Scar had seen a pillow pile and decided to hop right in. That man. Horrible, horrible man.
After several minutes, it was apparent that Grian had not actually removed himself from Scar’s person.
Look, Scar radiated body heat, and the desert hadn’t warmed up yet. Sue him.
Grian resigned himself to this ridiculous situation, settling back in with a subconscious coo and letting his eyes drift shut.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed. He might’ve fallen back asleep. But the next time he was cognitive of his surroundings, the world was suffocating him. He was hot and sweaty and sticky and everything was terrible.
“Ssshh, it’s okay birdie. You’re fine.”
Grian made a noise of disagreement, thrashing about until he’d pulled himself upright and out of the blankets. To his bleary annoyance, Scar was sitting cross-legged beside him, still in the nest, looking not only fully awake but utterly unbothered. And his hair looked perfect for some reason, falling in smooth unbroken sheets of brown down his back. What a scam. Elves.
“Oh! Good morning.” Scar grinned at him. “How’d you sleep?”
It was the same way Scar had greeted him most mornings since shacking up here. Usually, Grian glared at him and made some jab about sand getting everywhere and the desert being miserable. However, he’d actually slept well for the first time in weeks, so no easy complaint rose to his lips.
“…Fine,” he grunted. “What’re you doing in my nest.”
He didn’t deliver it like a question, and Scar didn’t answer it like one. “Right, that’s what you call a bird bed! A nest!” Scar said, looking around curiously and patting at a few multicolored pillows. “Couldn’t remember the word for it. It’s been bothering me.”
“Where else would an avian be nesting than in a nest?” Grian pointed out, rustling his feathers to try and shake off his sleepiness. It was futile, though. His semi-wakefulness wouldn’t last more than a few minutes.
“Nesting?”
“Yes. Obviously.” Grian turned to glare at him, only to find Scar’s eyes blown wide and his mouth dropped into a comical little “o.”
“I didn’t know you were nesting! Why did you let me in here?!” Scar scrambled to stand up, voice pitching high and incredulous.
Now Grian was confused. “What do you mean, let you in? You didn’t get in yourself?”
“No, of course not! You dragged me in when I got home!” Scar hopped on one foot for a moment as he untangled a blanket from the other. He looked ridiculous.
Embarrassed pink flared across Grian’s face. “Did you come near the nest? You should know better than to approach an avian while nesting!”
“I do! Kinda!” Scar ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to flutter and reflect in the low light. “I know that when you’re nesting I’m supposed to stay away from your house! But I don’t actually know what it means!”
Grian took a deep breath, then sighed from the depths of his soul. “You don’t. Know. What nesting means.”
“W-W-Well, you never told me!” Scar complained.
“You never asked!”
“I thought it was – I dunno, a sensitive topic!”
“It is!”
“Then why are you upset?!”
“I’m not!”
They stared at each for a long beat, flushed and harried. Finally, Scar cracked an awkward smile.
“So, uh. Do you need twigs for your nest? Or is that just for regular birds?”
“I hate you,” Grian replied immediately. “I actually hate you.”
Scar laughed hard, and he sank onto his own bed to catch his breath. Grian resisted as long as he could before giving in himself, shaking his head all the while. Void, they were both so foolish.
Oh, Void. He’d pulled Scar into the nest. He sobered as he studied the space next to him, clearly carved out to be Scar-shaped. Ohhhhh, this was too much. Grian wanted to drown himself in shame. Then again, it was partially Scar’s fault! He should’ve known better than to approach a nesting avian! Grian had moved Scar’s bed to the other end of the room for a reason! The thing was practically in the hallway! Sure, if he was smart as all he would’ve set up the nest somewhere else, but this was the tidiest room and the only one with proper shutters and–
Yeah, okay. Well. He was gonna blame the instincts for this one and not his own lack of forward thinking. He was also going to blame Scar, because that usually worked out for him.
“So you’re telling me,” Grian said, “that you know to give me some privacy when I’m nesting on Hermitcraft, but you never bothered to find out why?”
Scar, still swallowing down his laughter, only shrugged. “I mean, it was clearly something good for you, since you always seemed well rested after. And I know Pearl and Jimmy visit on occasion from Empires. Since you only let avians in, I assumed it was only something avians were supposed to know about.”
“Well, it’s only something avians usually participate in,” Grian corrected. He was not prepared to explain this. He wanted to go back to sleep. “Because only avians can…understand what it feels like. It’s a private affair, very personal. And they’re like siblings to me, y’know? It’s not a lack of trust in anyone else or something.”
“I didn’t think that,” Scar said. “But…what actually is nesting? I assume there’s more to it than just…making a nest?”
“It’s, uh, instincts, basically,” Grian said. “You know how your wood elf instincts, or magic, or whatever, flare up when you’re in a city too long?”
Scar nodded, wincing. “I start sprouting vines out of pipes. I once made a sequoia in the middle of a shopping mall. The damage repairs were…extensive.”
“Right, but it’s involuntary, is more my point. For avians, our instincts are coded to flare up every year to, well, do avian things. To curl up in a nest, and be with our flock, if you have one.” Grian avoided Scar’s curious glance. “Flock are like family. Friends that are family. But avians aren’t the most common species about, so I’m usually alone for mine. And, um. That’s it.”
“That’s it?” Scar repeated back. “Honestly, it sounds pretty nice to me.”
“It is…” Grian hesitantly agreed. “But it’s also a really vulnerable state. I’m asleep for most of it, and groggy when awake. Uh. Sorry. Not the most useful henchman until this clears up.”
“No worries,” Scar eased. “I’ve no doubt you’ll get up to lots of mischief when you’re done to make up for it.”
“Oh, definitely.”
Companionable silence reigned for a few moments. Grian rearranged the nest again, so it was still padded, but less built for warmth. The desert would take care of that. He laid down, allowing his eyes to close again. A noise vibrated low, from the back of his throat, at the sense of comfort that enveloped him.
Scar chuckled suddenly. “…Is this happening because you forgot to code out the nesting instincts for the Game, G?”
Grian could only rustle his feathers in annoyed reprimand before falling back into the dark embrace of sleep.
***
As Scar assembled their breakfasts, he couldn’t help but observe that Grian was somewhat underselling how nesting affected him. Grian couldn’t see the way his own eyes drooped with weariness, his wings twitched to curl around himself every moment they were spread, his voice low and quiet like something might overhear him. He glared at the light like it personally offended him. Even his quips were slow, and his face remained red as though fevered.
It reminded Scar of being sick, just a little bit.
Well. If Grian was sick, then there was nothing for it. Scar would just have to take care of him until he was all better! Just you watch, Scar was gonna be the best caretaker ever, and that started with a well-rounded breakfast of rabbit stew, brightened with chunks of carrots from the meager little garden out back and seasoned with herbs Scar found in the forest. Rosemary, thyme, other stuff. Despite being an elf with a nature affinity, he didn’t always know the names people gave the plants, but he knew when they tasted good. By the time Scar delivered it to his patient over an hour later, Grian was still hibernating, looking like a fuzzy, multi-colored ball.
“Yoo hoo,” Scar called when he walked in. “Soup for sleepy birds!”
“’M not sleepy,” Grian mumbled, yawning. “What’s that?”
Scar passed him a steaming, fragrant bowl when he was upright against the wall. “Breakfast. Eat up.”
“Mmm hmm.” Grian accepted it and his spoon, cautious, like each motion required focused effort. “Don’t eat as much when nesting. Digestive system…slower. But this smells amazing.”
Scar took mental note of this information. “Is there anything you do need?”
Grian blew on a spoonful of soup. “Just don’t let anyone in the house and we’ll be fine. Can’t promise I wouldn’t, ah, overreact a little if the wrong person came in. I’m a little, erm, possessive, right now.”
Despite secretly wanting to see what that meant, Scar agreed to do so.
When Scar left to eat, Grian scolded him and made him bring his bowl in and sup from his bed. Their usual mealtime chatter was replaced by the soft scrapes of wood on wood, and the slurps of hungry mouths. Grian didn’t seem up for much conversation, and Scar was fine to let him focus on eating.
It was only when Grian set aside his empty bowl that he seemed to notice something amiss, his brow furrowing. “What happened to you?” he questioned, staring at Scar’s torso.
“Hmm?” Scar peered down in confusion. His chest, bare as ever, was adorned with a dozen new little cuts and welts, bright red against tan skin. “Oh, these? I forgot about them. Got chased by some mobs last night. Ran into the cactus barrier. Just a lil’ bit. Nothing to worry about.”
“Hmm. Did you clean them?”
“Uhhh…”
Grian rolled his eyes. “Stay here.” To Scar’s surprise, he stood up and, on the tips of his feet, like he was about to take flight, Grian fluttered into the other room. He returned swiftly with a bowl of water, a couple of rags, and their roll of makeshift bandages. They had basically nothing in terms of medicine, mostly because Scar had focused his gathering talents on foodstuffs, not as interested in medicinal plant life as he should’ve been.
“Shouldn’t you be staying in the nest?” Scar asked as Grian settled beside him with his gatherings. “Isn’t that…the whole point?”
“I’ll get back to it in a sec. This is more important right now.” Grian didn’t look him in the eyes as he soaked a corner of one of the rags and set about gently dabbing the dried blood from a cut on Scar’s bicep. “Can’t let them get infected.”
“I’ll be fine.” Scar had suffered far worse. The many scars decorating his body demonstrated as much. “You don’t have to do this. You should be listening to your instincts.”
“About that…” Grian ducked his head, working his way across Scar’s arm and pushing his shoulder back to access the cuts across his abdomen. It wasn’t the first time Grian had patched him up, not even on this server, so Scar knew to comply with Grian’s silent directions. “Another thing about nesting instincts is the…the preening part.”
“Preening?” Scar frowned. He wasn’t sure what that meant. “Like, when you stand up straight? With an ego?”
“Wha – no. That’s a different meaning of preen.” Grian cleaned a particularly nasty scrape that made Scar wince, and Grian whistled a soothing note. “But when avians are together while nesting, the instincts tell us to preen each other. Like, clean our wings and stuff. And this is…like that.”
“Oh.”
Scar contented himself with being looked after, letting himself gaze at Grian’s beautiful, banded wings. He thought about what preening them entailed. He wondered if he should ask.
“Grian.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m not an avian.”
Grian didn’t even pause as he wiped down the last couple of raised bumps and lines on Scar’s opposite arm, then set about bandaging the few that actually broke skin. “I noticed.”
Scar stuck his tongue out at him. “What I mean is,” he soldiered on, “your instincts shouldn’t be telling you to preen me. Since I’m not an avian.”
Grian tied off one of the bandages and pouted at him. “Can you be oblivious and stop questioning things?”
Scar blinked at him. “Why?”
“’Cause it’s embarrassing.”
“Why?”
“It just is.”
Scar shrugged. Avian culture. He didn’t get it. But he left Grian alone until he was done, at which point he set everything aside and crawled back into the nest with a gusty breath of fatigue.
“I could’ve gotten in with you, if that would’ve been easier,” Scar offered as he gathered their bowls and the bandages to wash and put away.
Grian raised a wing to hide his face. “Shut up. Why are you like this.”
“What do you mean? What did I do?”
Grian only groaned in reply.
***
Scar was being sweet.
Scar was often sweet, but it was a problem right now because it was more than usual, and that messed with Grian’s head when he was like this. Normally, he only interacted with other avian friends when he was nesting, so it wasn’t a problem if he was clingy or whatever.
But now he was preening Scar, and he wanted to die. This was the worst.
The man made him soup. Grian hated him.
(It felt wonderful to be cared for when so vulnerable. Scar kept bringing him water and snacks, and even fashioned a little plush ball out of some of Pizza’s sheared fuzz. Grian cuddled with it, pressed to his heart.)
Nesting made avians more territorial. Protectiveness swelled in him, making him yearn to tuck the things that were his, that were safe, close, and to never let go. This was one of the benefits of having avian friends – flock – around. He could put them into his nest, preen them, and it would soothe the part of him that needed that reassurance.
Unfortunately, Scar had accidentally made himself part of Grian’s “things that are mine because they are mine to protect” thing by joining the nest last night. Despite him being a Red Life, despite him being non-avian, despite him being someone who had never once joined Grian in his nest, his instincts had still registered the bizarre, vexatious man as flock.
This was all a longwinded way of saying that Scar was asleep, across the room from him, and Grian was annoyed.
He had put the bed way over there. That was on purpose. So that the nest and bed would be separate. But now, all Grian could think about was that the nest was cozy and perfect and safe and he had worked hard on it and his stupid flockmate wasn’t in it.
Scar snored, and Grian chirped at him discontentedly. The audacity to be sleeping so soundly! Grian was suffering over here!
His only fix would be to wake Scar up and admit that he wanted to cuddle. Grian would rather give up his green life than do that. Think of the teasing! And so what if Grian’s heart felt warm at the idea of someone caring about him enough to tease, loving enough to go along with his weird bird quirks anyway! It would be too weird to include someone in this that wasn’t an avian. They wouldn’t understand.
Sure, Scar had been nothing but accommodating, only asking questions because he was curious, never to challenge, but it was still a line Grian had never crossed before. Now, Scar was closer to this than he had been prepared for. He didn’t know how, exactly, he’d seen himself “riding this out in private” when he shared not only a base but a bedroom with someone.
If they ever did these Games again, the first thing Grian was doing was modding out everything avian-related.
Grian slept that night, but it was restless. Scar was near, and that helped, but from his slumber, he chirped out calls asking him without words to come closer. These went unacknowledged, through no fault of Scar, yet Grian was techy when the daylight greeted him alongside Scar’s sunny beaming countenance.
“Good morning, birdbrain,” Scar teased, leaning over him. He looked upside down from Grian’s perspective, as he’d twisted himself up in odd contortions overnight.
Grian scowled.
Scar tsked. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the nest, huh?”
“Something like that.”
Scar’s eyebrows drew in slightly. “Ah, man! But you slept so well the night before. Is the nest missing something? More pillows?”
Grian hummed noncommittally and sat up, Scar moving back to accommodate. He had no intention of answering that question honestly. Instead, he stretched his arms overhead, wings flaring with the motion. They were a little itchy, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with that. And there was no one here to help him.
“I need a little fresh air,” Grian decided. That would clear his head, hopefully.
Scar trailed after Grian as he made his way on the tips of his talons out of the room and up to the second-floor balcony, reveling in the bright morning breeze tickling his feathers. Though there was an inherent wrongness to leaving the nest, he felt a little better seeing their fortified land, the sun peeking languidly from its resting place along the eastern horizon.
“How much longer is it?” Scar asked, leaning against the balcony beside him. “The nesting instincts, I mean.”
“Still got aways to go. It usually lasts a few days; longer if I’ve been stressed. But it’s good to stretch throughout, y’know?”
“Oh, for sure. My poor body couldn’t take it either. My giant, huge muscles would trophy.”
“Atrophy, you mean?”
“That one.”
Grian didn’t notice that one of his wings was curling around Scar. “What’re your plans for today, then? You took yesterday off, but do you think you’ll go out and make some traps?”
“What do you mean? I’m staying right here until you’re done nesting,” Scar said, like it was obvious.
Something in Grian halted. “What? Don’t be absurd.” He gestured out at the world. “The Game doesn’t stop because I’m like this. You’ve still got things to do, people to slay!”
Scar shook his head, turning his red eyes out on the dunes. “I don’t want to leave you while you’re like this. You said it yourself. You’re vulnerable.”
I want to protect you went unsaid, but not unheard. Darn this sap of a man.
“I’ll be fine,” Grian countered. “I don’t need looking after. I need to get it over with, then I can get back to being productive. We have explosives, we have minecarts and rails and redstone. You should at least be out rigging stuff!”
“You know traps are more your thing…”
“You can’t stay in the sandcastle forever.”
“I’m not! Just until you’re better!”
Grian leveled him with a flat glare. “Stop being so stubborn. Go out today, do something to cause a little chaos. If you don’t, people are gonna start wondering why our only Red Life is hunkering down, and they’ll come knocking instead of waiting.”
Scar took in Grian’s determination before sighing, seeming to admit that there were better things to do with his time than fuss over his silly avian friend. “Alright, fine. Only ‘cause I don’t want folks bothering you. But I’ll be back well before it gets dark out.”
“Well, I doubt that.”
Scar huffed. “Rude.”
They made their way inside for another meal and a quick farewell as Scar went on his merry way, bag loaded with all the things Grian insisted on stuffing it with.
“A shirt, Scar?” Grian suggested, tossing one at his head. His face caught it before his hands did.
“H-Hey!” He tugged it off, then rolled his eyes. “Fiiiiiine. But I reserve the right to remove it later.”
“Whatever. Just get outta here.”
And Grian felt perfectly fine about this situation. In fact, he told himself as he returned to his nest yet again, he was happy to finally have the place to himself, no one bugging him or asking him questions. A pleasant day to rest in peace and quiet.
He curled up a little tighter, the little ball from Scar crushed between his hands. He was fine about his flockmate leaving. This was fine.
He twittered a few distressed coos and pulled his wings around him. The nest felt a little bit too big.
***
Sneakiness was not exactly Scar’s strong suit. He was more of an upfront guy, more likely to stab you while you’re looking – more accurately, while he’s selling you something. But to accomplish what he wanted to, he had to be quiet, swift, and merciless.
“Oh, hey Scar,” Etho said.
Scar jumped from where he’d been crouched amongst some bushes, wondering how to infiltrate the woolen base. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Hey, Etho! Um. No berries on this bush, huh?”
“Doesn’t look like it.” Etho shrugged, a hand naturally falling to the katana strapped on his belt. It probably wasn’t meant as a threatening gesture. They were on good terms. Still, Scar swallowed. Maybe sneaky wouldn’t be the way to go.
“Hey, while I’m here Etho, I was wondering. Do you happen to have any dandelions?”
“Dandelions?” Etho echoed. “I…might have some in my chests, I guess.”
“Wonderful! Let’s go there.”
“W-Wait, Scar-“
As it turned out, being belligerent, slightly menacing, or just sweet-talking folks worked much better than trying to sneak into their homes. Everyone was too wary of him. But with a well-placed word and a couple of explosives tossed out windows, he managed to steal something from every single base on the server.
By the time he was done, his arms were completely full of stuff, and the sun was setting. He whistled as he made his way through the forest, the tune in beat with his feet and the swaying of the trees. Yay for successful thievery! And as promised, he’d made good time. No mobs would be bothering him tonight, nosiree!
The last strains of sunlight were fading as Scar nudged the door open with his hip. As expected, the sandcastle was quiet and dim, no lamp put out for his return this time. After dropping off a few things in the main room, Scar lit one and crept quietly into the bedroom. Grian, of course, was in the nest. He looked comfortable, and Scar was loathe to wake him. But he thought this would be worth it.
Squatting beside the sleeping figure, Scar gently stroked an edge of Grian’s wing. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmured. “Sorry to bother you. You awake in there?”
A little twitter answered him, and the wing drew back like a curtain so Grian could look up at him, gaze bleary and on the edge of a dreamscape. The yellow of the candle reflected eerily against his obsidian eyes. “Wha’s’t?” he muttered.
“I brought you a gift,” Scar explained. “Wait right there.” He gathered his finds from his bed and dropped them before Grian as the latter sat up. Grian’s eyes widened.
“Is this…?”
“Yup!” Scar burst, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “I stole clothes from everyone on the server!”
“Wha…you…why?” Grian exclaimed, visibly waking up as he pulled piece after piece from the pile. Cleo, Joel, Tango, BigB – even Ren and Martyn would find mittens missing their pair later, a scarf no longer dangling where it was hung.
“Well, you have some clothes in there that I think are Jimmy and Scott’s,” Scar explained, “so I thought, well, maybe you’d like some more to make it even cozier!”
“This is what you did all day?” Grian accused incredulously. “You were supposed to be doing Red Life stuff! Traps! Death!”
Scar lifted a finger sagely. “Do not underestimate the evils of garment thievery, dear Grian.” He clapped his hands together, salesman voice locked in. “Now, of course, I chose only the softest and most comforting of fabrics for my favorite Green Life! And it’s all yours for a low, low cost, my friend. Hardly a thing at all.”
Grian eyed him suspiciously, pulling the cloak in his grip closer like Scar may take it from him. “And what’s that?”
With a wicked glint in his eyes and a crooked smile on his face, Scar loomed over him. “You,” Scar said slowly, “have to let me hang out with you until your nesting it over.”
Grian blinked at him. “Seriously?”
“Yup! And there’s no talkin’ me out of it!”
Grian sighed, but exhaustion clung to him, and he seemed all out of his usual fight. “Fine,” he snapped wearily. “Your loss, I guess.”
Scar pumped his fist in a victorious motion. “Heck yeah.”
“You dork. I can’t believe you stole all of this.”
“I was so sneaky about it, Grian! You’d be so impressed.” He left out the fact that he had been chased away several times, and there was no way Skizz didn’t see him pocketing that tie.
“I’m sure you were a credit to your team color,” Grian said, a hint of humor in his voice. Still, he looked fond and soft like this, edged with lamp glow. Scar felt a multitude of squishy feelings rise in his chest. Scar loved his friends so much. He couldn’t help it. And Grian made it so easy to love him.
“…Wanna sleep together?” Scar asked.
Grian’s jaw dropped. “Scar!” he screeched before falling into a fit of giggles, snapping the sweet silence of the moment. He toppled over, his shrieking laughs echoing through the small room and leaving Scar bewildered.
“What did I do now?” he lamented.
Grian couldn’t seem to answer. Scar watched, confused, before his own wording caught up with him and his cheeks flared crimson.
“W-Wait, not like that! Come on!”
Grian only laughed harder.
“You know that’s not – don’t be mean! I just meant, you know-“ He flapped his hands around with a sheepish expression. Unable to explain himself, he hid his face in his hands. “I’m gonna leave. I think I’ll sleep in a sand dune and never come out.”
“You’re ridiculous, Scar,” Grian managed when he could speak, “and you’re perfect. Yes. Sleep in the nest. That’s where you should be.”
“I can’t tell if you’re still making fun of me,” Scar admitted, pouting, but he lowered his hands to see Grian’s twinkling eyes.
“I always am.”
“Hey!”
A bit of fussing and food later, Scar found himself being ordered around by a pesky bird, making him bring his own bed’s blankets and linens to be added to the growing amalgamation of cushioning. It seemed a little intense, how careful every fold and wrinkle needed to lay before Grian was satisfied, but Scar had to admit, it was mighty comfortable. It also just so happened that the way Grian wanted things laid resulted in the two of them snuggled together in the center, which Scar had zero complaints about.
“You sure this is okay?” Scar asked as Grian settled beside him, a fresh sweater donned and looking worn from the exertion of bed-wrangling. “Me joining you?”
“I should be the one asking you that,” Grian replied.
“Not really. I mean, you told me yourself that nesting is a private thing. I didn’t mean to budge in on it.”
Grian shrugged, even as he made himself comfortable with his forehead pressed to Scar’s bicep, one hand curled atop Scar’s wrist. “’S my fault for messing up the code. Besides…” he hesitated. “If I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have dragged you in that first night.”
Scar processed this. “So, you wouldn’t have pulled in anyone?”
“Void, no. Is that what you thought? That I’d let any rando in the nest when I’m like this?”
“Uh, sort of…” Scar admitted.
“Don’t be silly.” Grian nudged his head against Scar more firmly, and Scar was again reminded of a cat, marking its territory. “I did it ‘cause it’s you.”
And, well. There was nothing else Scar could do to that but pull Grian into a hug, arms wrapped low around his back to avoid the base of his wings. He tucked his chin amongst blonde curls, breathing in the smell of baked sandstone that lingered on everything.
“Scaaar,” Grian complained, but he returned the embrace, warm and loose.
“Don’t be stubborn and let me cuddle you,” Scar instructed. “It’s time for good little avians to get their beauty sleep.”
“If you start singing lullabies, I will make sure you’re the first to return to Hermitcraft.”
Scar cleared his throat. “Rooock-a-bye biiirdie, iiin the treeeetop…”
A pillow was shoved in his face, and Scar batted it away, laughing.
“You’re the worst,” Grian informed him helpfully.
“You love me.”
“Much to my chagrin.”
Scar tickled him, and Grian smacked him with pillows until he stopped. They eventually settled back into their previous position, and sleep, with haste, swept them away into warm and happy dreams.
***
Flock. He’s flock now. I have to tell him.
This was Grian’s waking thought when the late morning welcomed him. He wasn’t one to sleep in, usually, but when nesting, he might not rouse until noon or after. Scar didn’t usually linger in bed, either, but there he was, still serving as the most comfortable pillow in the room.
“Waking up, G?” came Scar’s voice, and Grian lifted his head from Scar’s pecs to see him grinning, as always. There was something strained in his expression.
“Morning,” Grian acknowledged, yawning and stretching. The second he moved off, Scar bolted upright, scrambling from the nest. For a moment, Grian’s heart sank. Had he messed something up?
“Bathroom!” Scar explained as he scurried out of the room. “Be right back!”
Grian chuckled, concern dissipating as quickly as it manifested, and stood, deciding he felt peckish. When he shuffled over to it, he found that their fruit barrel had several bundles of sweet berries and a collection of seeds and nuts. To put it frankly, bird food. Scar must’ve gotten this for him; these hadn’t been there last Grian checked. He gathered it all up and was on his way back when Scar returned from the outhouse.
“Sorry about that,” Scar said, closing the door. “Nature calls.”
“Why’d you wait so long?” Grian asked, amused.
“You were asleep on me! And before you say, ‘oh, handsome Scar, you should’ve just moved me’” – Scar’s imitation of him wasn’t even close to accurate – “you know the rules of cats! Can’t move when they’re asleep on you. It’s illegal. Punishable by death.”
Grian raised his eyebrows. “I’m no more a cat than you are an avian, need I remind you.”
“You looked comfy,” Scar insisted mulishly.
This was not a hill Grian was willing to die on. Especially since he expressly benefited from it. He moved on with his snacks.
“Wait up-“
As they spent the next while chatting and snacking, Scar also going for a charcuterie-style meal of snatched bits of food, Grian felt properly relaxed as he hadn’t since he’d started nesting. Everything had snapped into place, with the comfort of knowing the things he wanted or needed were close by and he would not be denied access to them. It was not something he liked admitting, but nesting never felt like this if he didn’t have someone trusted joining him.
He'd nested alone plenty of times. When he first joined Hermitcraft on their sixth world, he’d been their first avian, and he didn’t want to cause any fuss by inviting someone from a different server on when he was new and had an unfamiliar culture. When Xisuma had discovered this later, he’d been upset with him, reminding Grian that all Hermits were welcome to any and all accommodation they needed, but it had seemed like too much at the time.
Now, X was preparing their eighth world, where Pearl would be joining. She and Jimmy had visited a few times on the previous servers, but it was going to be so different to become regular features of one another’s lives again, in a way they hadn’t for years.
Grian looked forward to that, but it didn’t change the truth that he hadn’t consistently had anyone around to nest with since he was very young. Always sporadic, never a natural falling together. It was so different to have someone there who didn’t need to be, who hadn’t been asked to stay. Who, instead, reached out to cross a gap of affection Grian hadn’t been willing to.
In truth, he’d wanted to expand his flock for a long time. He’d thought about it often. Mumbo and Scar were obvious additions, with several other Hermits on the list as well and friends he met in other worlds and hubs, like Joel. Pearl had made that leap herself, with her multi-species flock. Grian remembered how excited she’d been the first time she asked Gem to join her.
There was precedent for it, but it felt like too much to ask, to Grian. He could joke and play and tease, play pranks and poke fun; he could engage in pretend wars and drag his friends into elaborate schemes just to spend time with them. Yet it wasn’t in his bones to be the kind of person who could ask for help when he needed it. Or maybe it was a learned behavior from somewhere along the line.
Regardless of his intentions, things had shifted with the Red Life at his side. Deep down, he knew Scar would be okay with it – heck, he’d halfway initiated it – but to discuss it was another matter.
Instead, Grian let himself drift on semi-conscious contentment as Scar sat beside him, regaling him with tales of a tycoon wagon franchise that didn’t exist yet. It sounded mighty complex. He lost track somewhere around the converted lodge-turned-factory.
The afternoon sun was garishly bright next time Grian awoke. He grumbled to himself, shoving his face into a blanket, wings thrashing slightly. Nesting was terrible in the desert. It was too hot to curl up properly. The sandstone walls kept out a good deal of the heat, but not enough to be comfortable amongst fuzzy things.
He tore off his sweater, leaving only the tee underneath. It wasn’t enough, so he shuffled out of the nest, but his brain immediately screamed wrong wrong wrong wrong, so he sat again. Void, this was irritating, when his instincts got this intense. It wasn’t supposed to be irritating, it was supposed to be comforting, but right now he felt trapped. His feathers wouldn’t stop vibrating. His dulled senses, like cotton in his mouth, prevented him from tracking his surroundings.
Distantly, he heard their door opening, and a low whistling tune as Scar navigated their home. Grian perked up, listening. There was the thump of an object being placed on the counter, the sloshing of water. Then, methodical, even slicing. Grian realized he must be cutting up something, likely vegetables from the garden.
Grian tried standing again and found that he could. Scar was back and that made it okay, that made home bigger. Grian crept to the doorway of the kitchen area and leaned against it, watching contentedly as Scar chopped tiny, bulbous radishes and a cabbage head. Scar swayed to his own tune, muttering lyrics under his breath now and again. Grian got the sense he didn’t remember how the song went.
One of his talons clicked against the ground when he shifted to fold his arms, and Scar jerked, knife in hand narrowly missing a finger. “Grian!” he cried, spotting him. “You scared me! I didn’t know you were up.”
Grian only shrugged in faux innocence, like that wasn’t the whole goal. “How’s the garden coming?”
“Good, good!” Scar replied, continuing his slicing. “It’s been odd, cultivating it with non-elven methods. I’m so used to having nature magic, so it’s odd that the plants don’t listen to me in the same way.”
Grian hummed. “I think they still do, a little. I mean, your garden is way too impressive for the climate we’re in. I coded out the biggest perks, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a bit of your affinity with nature is still prevalent.”
“I can see that. Like how you’ve still got wings, you just can’t fly with ‘em.”
“Exactly.” Grian shifted said wings. They were getting more and more sore. He needed to clean them real bad, but it was a chore he didn’t care for even when he didn’t feel half-asleep all the time. He couldn’t bear to ask Jimmy for help, all things considered…
He gazed at his housemate, who was muttering to the potatoes something about being “the most delicious stew ever, if you can still hear me,” and felt a warm, assured fondness settle into his bones. Scar, his friend of so many years, who pranked big and had an even bigger heart, whose smiles and smirks alike warmed a room, the man with a million cuts in his skin who loved like he’d never been hurt for it.
Grian could ask him. And for the first time, he wanted to.
“Scar,” Grian said, “would you preen my wings?”
“Hmm?” Scar blinked, giving him a bright but oblivious look. “Oh, the cleaning your wings thing? Sure!”
At such a casual response, Grian burst out laughing, leaning into the sandstone doorway for support as Scar fluttered around him, asking what was wrong. It was clear that he had no idea of the significance of this, the vulnerability. That was alright, he’d learn. Regardless, Grian trusted him with his life, green or yellow or red, so he could trust him with this, too.
***
Scar was nervous. He didn’t want Grian to know he was nervous, but the pesky bird was always too perceptive, and as Scar sat behind Grian in the nest that evening, soup heavy in their bellies and night shivering against the walls, he realized that, as usual, he had thrown himself into a project without any idea what he was doing.
Thankfully, there was one thing Scar was always incredible at: improvising.
“Alright, let’s get started then!” Scar declared, as though he was about to put on a show. Grian, perhaps recognizing this tone of voice, groaned. “Now, now, all ye of little faith, watch and behold as Scar of the Magic Hands transforms this poor avian’s wings into a shining beacon of cleanliness!”
“Oh, geez,” he heard Grian mutter. “What have I gotten myself into?”
“Please keep your hands and wings inside of the ride at all times,” Scar continued, unbothered. Gently he laid a palm flat against the right – or was it left? – wing. “And thank you for choosing Scar’s Preening Services!”
“You suck,” Grian informed him, amusement evident in his tone. “Now get on with it!”
“I am, I am! You can’t rush a man when he’s planning!”
Scar spent a couple of minutes brushing over the feathers, tweaking them here or there, flattening out a few ruffled ones. It became swiftly evident that he had no idea what he was doing.
“Uh, so Grian…”
“Scar, you have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
“Well – well, of course I don’t!” Scar cried. “I didn’t know what preening was a day ago, what did you expect?!”
Grian snorted, turning to face him. He was smirking. “Oh, I know. I just wanted to see how long you’d keep pretending your petting was accomplishing anything.”
Pouting and face red, Scar folded his arms. “You are a rude, rude bird.”
Grian shrugged. “Comes with the territory. Now, if your pride can handle it, shall I teach you?”
They held eye contact for a long moment before Scar gave in with a sigh. “Fiiiiine.”
“There ya go. Alright.” Grian shuffled around to sit perpendicular to him, a wing between them that he expertly maneuvered with its impressive flexibility. “You basically use your fingertips to separate the feathers, then clear out anything built up there. It’s…mostly sand. There are also a few feathers coming loose, which may need to be pulled. I’ll tell you what to do if you find any. But really, that’s it. It’s slow going, and you need to be super gentle. Avian wings are very sensitive, and even a few poorly pulled feathers can prevent flight.” He paused. “Well, on a normal server, anyway.”
Scar nodded along, studying Grian’s hands as he demonstrated his own teaching on a patch of smaller feathers near the top. The big, long ones didn’t look like they needed as much work, but Scar watched as bits of debris fluttered to the topmost sheet – which had been lain over the whole nest to catch the wing dust.
“Okay. I think I got it.” Scar focused on the patch next to where Grian had worked and tried to mimic the careful movements, not merely petting the feathers but instead slightly ruffling them. They parted easily, not unlike stiff hair. He jolted when his fingertips found the flesh beneath, warm and stretched over bones. As careful as a stroke over a kitten’s head, he nudged his fingers through the spaces, dislodging sand, dirt, and tiny chunks of gravel.
Grian released a shaky sigh, and Scar looked up, worried. “Am I doing it right?” he asked.
“You are,” Grian replied, breathy. “’S a lot to process. Makes my brain feel weird when someone else does it.”
“In a good way?”
“In a good way.” With that, Grian turned, giving Scar full access to both of his wings. With only a moment of overwhelm, unsure where to start, Scar got to work, parting the fluffy patches of feathers and running his fingertips over the skin underneath to encourage the built-up debris to release.
He could understand, as he continued across the wing, why Grian had never asked him to do this before. It was immensely intimate, far more than he would’ve ever imagined. It was like having someone wash your hair for you, their hands massaging your scalp and scrubbing behind your own ears. It felt like a good comparison, considering how important hair was to elf culture. Scar’s hands and face were warm with the vulnerability on display before his crimson eyes.
How easy it would be, to twist a feather – to grasp the fluffy down and tug.
To cover these beautiful, colorful feathers with red.
This moment went beyond Games, beyond coding and winners. They’d already agreed, all of the Players in this server Grian had handcrafted for them, that no hard feelings would carry over once the victor was declared. That this was an isolated thing, done for fun, where factions and betrayals meant nothing, where they hunted their friends to joke about it after. No more serious than your average Hermitcraft prank.
But if Scar hurt Grian right now, he knew, without a doubt, that it would haunt their friendship long after the color of their comm names faded.
As he moved on to the second wing, a quiet calm between them broken only by soft, wheezy trills from Grian, Scar decided that he wanted to be allowed to do this again and again and again and again. He didn’t want Grian to ask him because he was the only one around. He wanted to be asked because Grian wanted him there. He wanted years of this, of being at Grian’s side for all his weird avian stuff. He wanted, in turn, for Grian to comfort him when his elven magic went out of control with his emotions. He wanted all of this, badly. Neighbors and best friends, trudging together through life’s toils.
For the first time, this whole nesting situation seemed so much bigger than a few days in a desert. Scar could hardly swallow around the thickness of his thoughts. He wasn’t one to talk about serious things. He made light of everything, always. But in the face of this, the best he could do was remain silent, diligently working on the task before him.
By the time he finished, Grian was fast asleep. He knew there were feathers he was supposed to pull – ones that barely hung on, needing a little yank to come loose – but couldn’t bear to do anything that could hurt. He kept his touch light instead, relieving aches, and when he finished, he lay beside his friend on the dirty sheet and closed his eyes.
“G, I’m so glad you forgot to code out nesting stuff,” Scar whispered.
***
It rained in the desert that night, washing away the dust of the world and making mud out of it. Dangerous creatures tunneled out of the soggy sand to patrol the dunes, and Scar attempted to rescue his poor garden from the drowning downpour.
“I saved the tomatoes!” he declared as he hurried inside, and Grian uncurled himself from the nest to see him with a basket hugged to his bare chest and hair flat against his face and neck. A puddle formed behind every step. Grian sighed and stepped forward before he could drench the inside of their home too, which already boasted a half dozen leaks.
In Grian’s defense, he hadn’t exactly had rain in mind when he constructed the sandcastle. He filled the cracks with grout to keep out the heat, but the rain was another thing, pummeling into slivers of space unaccounted for and drumming through loose stone. Every bucket and cup they owned was collecting the rainwater, a series of metallic and wooden pings joining the general pattering of rainfall.
“Dry yourself off,” Grian said, tossing a towel at him and taking the basket. Scar accepted it gratefully and began patting his long hair, then his face. He looked like a wet dog. Grian smiled at the observation and began sorting what Scar had rescued from the flooded garden before it washed down the hillside.
“It’s a mess out there, Grian,” Scar said, slightly muffled through the towel. “With the cloud cover, all the husks are millin’ about like they own the place! Don’t they know we laid a claim here already?”
“The audacity,” Grian agreed, amused. “Oh man, these beetroots are tiny.”
“They weren’t ready to be harvested, but the rain washed away most of the dirt, so.”
“Fair enough. We’ll have to replant.”
“It’s not all bad, though.” Scar worked his way down his body, awkwardly patting his legs. His bandages were soaked, but the skin had probably healed over enough by now. “The ground’ll soak up all this rain and sprout a bunch of stuff you can’t see anywhere but a desert. Some of it, we can even harvest and use. And we’ve grown so many cacti, there’d be no harm to the wildlife if we tried some cactus water!”
Grian hummed in interest, and they continued to chat as they dropped off what Scar had salvaged in the cooling box they kept buried in the ground – their makeshift cellar. Since it got wet, they’d need to use it all sooner.
There was something inherently sleepy about rain, being trapped indoors during a storm – but Grian was feeling more awake than usual, even as he and Scar returned to the nest for an afternoon nap. His wings were light and airy, and his soul felt fresh, a bit like a desert washed clean, new flowers growing in the crevices. His nesting time was almost done. He’d likely be back to normal the next day.
It would be good for it to be over. He wanted to participate in this Game he spent months planning, thank you! But a part of him would miss this cozy, incomparable feeling.
“The rain always makes me want to sing something,” Scar was saying as they cuddled – only their sides pressed together, Grian on his stomach and Scar on his back. “But I can never decide what song to do. It’s like every song I know flees my brain.”
“I get that.” Grian idly traced a pattern into the velveteen pile of the pillow below him. “It’s inherently musical. Sure gets in the way of building, though.”
“You can say that again,” Scar grumbled, pained. “The amount of times I’ve been caught in the middle of construction…I’ve had shulker boxes washed away by flooded rivers!”
Grian raised an eyebrow. “Were you building in a river?”
There was a guilty pause. “I thought it was a creek.”
“Oh, Scar…only you.”
They chuckled before falling into a brief but comfortable silence, one interrupted only by steady pattering rainfall. Eventually, Scar spoke, his voice low and soft.
“I was thinking. About after this is all over.”
Grian shifted to better see his face, his own pillowed in his arms. Scar’s nose stood proud in silhouette profile, his gaze faraway. “The Game, you mean?”
Scar hummed. “When everything goes back to normal, I wonder…if everything really will.”
“We all promised, when we started-“
“I know, I know-“
“Are you worried some of us won’t be friends anymore?” Grian asked. “I’m certain that won’t happen.”
“No, I know that.” His lips twisted. “I know we’ll all be friends. This can’t change that. I just think…we’re all learning things about ourselves here, and each other, and we’re not going to forget that, after. And I don’t want to pretend I don’t know, now, what I do.”
“This is…unexpectedly serious for you, Scar,” Grian observed, a tinge of concern in his voice.
Scar’s head shifted suddenly, turning enough to pin him with his gaze. “Do you mind it?” he asked, genuine.
Grian shook his head minutely against his cushioning forearms. “Not at all.”
A small smile was his reward. Scar looked back at the ceiling. “Then can I say something kinda serious, real quick? And we can go back to being ridiculous after.”
“That’s just you. I’m never ridiculous,” Grian lied. At the answering huff, he softened his tone. “Go for it.”
For a moment, Scar didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he shifted his body to the side to fully face Grian. His hand hovered over Grian’s closest wing, and at the answering nod, allowed it to settle, gently stroking the outer primaries. “I…want to be someone you can rely on for things like this,” he admitted. “I really, really liked helping you last night. And I want to do it again, in the future.” His hand stopped, and he met Grian’s eyes, blazing a fiery red that did not belie the gentleness within. “Can I – can I be someone you trust to do that? Back home?”
Grian had stopped breathing somewhere in there, and at this question, remembered to release and take in more air. He was loathe to break eye contact, but the intensity made it hard to think. Scar was always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. That didn’t make his love any easier to bear.
Grian let his head rest against Scar’s sternum, reveling in the even, slightly fast thump of his heart. “Scar, you don’t have to ask. I trust you with everything. Anything.” He wrapped his arms around his friend, and Scar didn’t hesitate to return the embrace. “You’re already flock.”
“Flock,” Scar echoed reverentially. “Friends that are as close as family, right?”
“You remembered.”
“I remember things. From time to time.”
“Not to keep your shirt on, though.”
“I only have room for the most important things,” Scar replied pompously. The glee was obvious in his voice, and he pulled Grian a little closer. Still cozy, not trapping. “Like how cute Jellie is. And what her meow sounds like. And her little nose. And-“
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Grian replied. He was smiling so wide, Scar could probably feel it against his skin. “Jellie ranks above all else in that noggin of yours, doesn’t she?”
“She’s my Queen,” Scar sighed happily.
Sure enough, they couldn’t stay serious for long. It wasn’t in their nature. Bickering and banter was sure to follow even the most genuine sentiment, but that didn’t make it any less sweet. It was simply them. Sometimes, the only way to whisper truth was to follow it up with a joke.
Grian’s future sprawled before him, full of sweet green eyes, hands in his feathers, and happiness on his lips. As he fell back asleep that evening, he decided the first thing he was doing when he got back to Hermitcraft was opening his heart to the rest of his friends. It was about time his family got a little bit bigger.
***
Honestly, it was a relief when Grian declared his nesting to be done the next day. As much as Scar had enjoyed spending time with Grian, he was getting a little stir crazy, something deep inside calling him to cause some chaos. Grian seemed to sense it, too, as he immediately set about planning a trap outside of Renchanting that, if effective, could take out several lives in one blast. Scar would have to get his sweet talkin’ on. He was looking forward to it.
“By the way,” Scar asked over breakfast, gesturing to the bedroom with a thumb, “should we return all those clothes?”
Grian, awake and bristling with mischievous energy, offered a sly grin. “Of course not. They’re mine now. You stole them for me and they’re mine.”
Scar laughed. “Fair enough. And the nest? Do we leave it like that?”
Grian’s look this time was a little more considering. Not that he himself wasn’t sure – more that he was assessing what Scar thought. “And if we did?”
Scar shrugged. “Do I get my blankets back?”
Grian found something interesting out the window to stare at. “If y’want,” he mumbled.
For Grian, there was hardly a more obvious invitation. Scar beamed, lit up inside. “Nah. I like ‘em where they’re at,” he decided. It was the right thing to say. Grian’s wings fluttered and attempted to hide his face, but Scar still caught the smile in time.
“Whatever,” Grian said, shoving the last of his toast in his mouth and grabbing his bag. “Let’s head out and do some murdering.”
“Ooo, let’s,” Scar agreed, and he followed him out into the blinding sunshine.