Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1: Joel

Scar has an ever-growing list of people he loves.

Grian has known this even since Season Seven, way back when Scar was nothing more to him than a kooky neighbour living in a giant snail with an off-putting habit of not wearing enough clothes. Scar is cheerful and easygoing and impulsive and, surprisingly, a charming salesman when he isn’t fumbling for his words, and loving. His heart is big enough to encompass the sun.

It’s a marked difference from Grian, who feels as if his heart encompasses…a puddle, perhaps, instead. While he cares for all the Hermits deeply, would trust them with his life and then some, he can say with certainty that his list of people he loves is small. Cosy would be an apt descriptor of it. He’s pretty sure that’s what Mumbo’s said, anyway, when Grian mentioned how exclusive the list truly is. It’s grown since he joined Hermitcraft, of course, and then again with the Life series, but for the amount of people he knows, it’s remained remarkably small.

1. Mumbo
2. Pearl
3. Scar
4. Timmy
5. Joel

That’s it.

Five whole people with unfettered access to his heart, not that Grian ever tells them that. He barely says those three little words as it is, he’s not about to go making some grand confession about how they’re the only people in the world he both likes and trusts enough to put all his eggs in their baskets. That’s way too intimate, thanks. Grian much prefers bothering the stuffing out of all of them, instead, and being unbearably annoying when he hasn’t fulfilled his attention quota of the week.

However, that’s Grian.

Scar is, of course, an entirely different enigma.

He says those three little words as easy as breathing, and what’s more baffling is that he means them. If Scar tells you he loves you, he truly does, platonically and deeply and wonderfully. He’s properly emotionally healthy, is what it is. He doesn’t stuff all his ooey-gooey feelings way down deep never to be heard from again, no, he shouts them from the mountaintops with glee. 

It’s sickening. And adorable. But mostly sickening.

“Joel! Joel! Beans! The Bean Man!” 

Ah. Think of the devil.

An amused smile tugs at Grian’s lips as he browses the shops near Honey Honey Honey, wicker basket already on his arm full of items. Sometimes he prefers the OG stuff to his inventory, okay? Besides, the wicker basket really plays into his bedraggled fisherman look this season, and it’s kind of nice, walking around the district with visible proof of his spoils. He’s going to be bankrupt by the time he leaves, but that’s fine.

He’ll just have to visit Big Ron’s again and see those pesky snails!

“What is it, Scar?” Joel sounds vaguely annoyed, which is somewhat typical of him. The tanuki hybrid is a busy, busy man, especially with it being his first season of Hermitcraft. If Grian didn’t know better, he’d say that the reason why Joel is pushing himself so hard is that he wants to prove he can fit in or something ridiculous like that. As if they need to show just how big and grand they can build so they don’t kick him out.

Grian does know better, though, and he’s ninety-five percent sure those reasons only play a small part in why they’re building so much. Joel lives to build, to create fantastical worlds by hand, and he’s suited for it, too. He might work out latent anxiety by doing so, which is none of Grian’s business either way, but mostly Joel just loves building. If Grian had to liken Joel’s love to something, he’d say that it was… all-consuming. When Joel loves, there’s no hesitation to it. All of that smug overconfidence he projects to keep people from looking too deeply at them? It becomes real, when they love someone or something.

(Yeah, Grian knows Joel.

They’re on the list for a reason, after all.)

“I desperately need honey,” Scar announces grandly, huffing slightly like he’s out of breath.

“Good for you, I’ve just restocked the shop.” There’s a smile present in Joel’s voice, then. Always happy to make money, he’s practically a perfect fit for the Hermit lifestyle. Scar laughs, and oh, Grian knows that laugh. That’s Scar’s scamming laugh. A little bit higher-pitched than usual, airy and light, usually accompanied by a broad smile or a familiar shoulder-touch.

Maybe he pays too much attention to Scar’s laughs.

“Joel, Joel, my good friend, have I mentioned you’re looking great today? New haircut, maybe, lost some weight, pssh, I don’t know, but you’re looking mighty handsome, trust me. I’d know. I’ve got experience with these things, y’know, being a HotGuy and all⎯”

“Scar.” A long sigh. “Get to the point, you madman.”

Grian stifles a snort.

See, Joel has experience with Scar due to the Life series. They can clock a scamming Scar from a few minutes of conversation. Compliments aren’t going to sway him as easily as they’d sway somebody else with little experience with Scar. Though, Grian has noticed that despite his own experience with Scar, Skizz is much more likely to fall into the honeyed trap of Scar’s words. Maybe the man’s just a sucker for compliments, or Scar in general. They are pretty close friends.

“Weeeeeell,” Scar drags out the word dramatically. “I was kinda sorta maybe hoping you’ve got some free stock for your lovely pal Scar here?”

A beat of silence.

Grian has given up on even pretending to shop, now, only eavesdropping.

“No, Scar.”

“But Joel! Joel, Joel, you don’t understand, I’m being robbed by two snails, Joel, it’s ridiculous, I’ve sent them a sue claims or whatever, I don’t know, but Bdubs won’t get them in court and! Now there’s some guy named Big Ron on the server sellin’ all my diamonds? And he’s wrapped up with Mumbo!? Or maybe he is Mumbo, I don’t know, no one will tell me, and I haven't seen the moustachioed wonder, but⎯ Anyway! It’s ridiculous! And I’m poor now, Joel, poor. Bankrupt, one could say. I have no diamonds. But I need honey. Please.”

“Collect it yourself, then.” A scoff. “You’re capable.”

“But Joel.” Grian can only imagine the dramatic pout Scar is wearing now. “They sting me.”

“Oh, for bloody hell⎯”

“It hurts! I got stung like four times! That’s a big ouchie, Big Beans! C’mon, I’m your best friend, Joel, your best friend. Best friends give each other free stuff!”

“Do they now?”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely!”

“Uh-huh. So what’s this free stuff you’re giving me, then? Since we’re best friends and all.” Joel’s voice is practically dripping with sarcasm. There’s a moment of quiet as Scar thinks it over. Absently, Grian shifts his grip on his basket and takes a surreptitious step closer to where the other two are talking. He can’t help it, this really is far too entertaining to continue going about his business, and besides, the whole reason he’s here is so he can procrastinate working on the façade for another one of his farms.

“Uhh. Two stacks of sand?”

“For how much honey?”

“...Two stacks?”

“Ha! You’re a bloody madman, I’m serious, if you think I’m gonna give you two stacks of honey blocks for sand! That’s ridiculous! Do you know how easy sand is to collect? I could go to the beach right now and pick up two stacks, Scar, oh my Void. Don’t be a blummin’ idiot.”

“Fine, fine,” Scar agrees with an air of complaint. “Four stacks of sand for two stacks of honey blocks.”

“...Hmph.”

“C’mon, you know you wannaaaa,” Scar wheedles expectantly. Grian can tell he’s got Joel on the hook, now. “I’ll even throw in two stacks of gravel, too!”

“Deal,” Joel says. There’s the sound of some rustling and an inventory opening before Scar’s enthusiastic whoop! breaks the silence. Grian huffs a chuckle to himself, amusement warming his heart as he absently checks his basket to see if he’s already gotten candles or not. He might need some beeswax, too, or maybe he’ll just buy them already shaped from Keralis.

“Thanks so much, Joel, love you, byyyeeeee!”

“Love you, too,” Joel replies, sounding distracted. “I’ll pick the stuff up from your shop, Scar!”

“Sounds good!” The shout trails off in the distance, half-disguised by the sounds of rockets firing, and then Scar is, presumably, gone. The minute Grian can’t hear his elytra anymore, he whirls around, marching right up to Joel. The tanuki hybrid looks startled to see him, once he enters Joel’s line of sight, but their expression quickly relaxes into something carefree and casual.

“Grian, hey, didn’t expect to see you this morning,” Joel says amicably with a nod.

Grian feels a little bit like he can’t breathe.

“How in the bloody hell did you do that?!” He shrieks, pointing a wild finger in Joel’s face. The other man’s brown eyes go wide and he immediately raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, backing up slightly. The wicker basket tumbles from Grian’s arms, an array of colours spilling onto the grassy path, and a distant part of himself knows he’s overreacting but he can feel his anger in his gums and it makes him want to lash out, to bite something, someone.

“Whoa, whoa, Grian, what, do what, I don’t know what you’re talking about⎯”

“I cannot believe you managed⎯ How did you⎯ And Scar⎯”

“What?” Joel tilts their head with a confused expression. “Dealing with Scar? Wait, is this some blummin’ Permit Office business? There’s no rules about having to sell everything for diamonds, you know, Grian. We can trade whatever we want! Like, isn’t Doc selling things for gravel or wood or something? Dunno, honestly, but I’m pretty sure it’s not diamonds. Why’ve you got your knickers in a twist?”

“He told you that he loves you,” Grian grinds out through clenched teeth, curling his fingers back into a fist. Joel gives him an utterly confused look.

“Okay? Yeah, he did. That’s what Scar does, if you haven’t bloody well noticed. Jesus. Is this some sort of weird hazing ritual? ‘Cause I have to say, you’re about two months too late, mate.” Joel takes a quick step back, like it’ll go unnoticed, and Grian glares viciously at him. 

“Scar told you he loves you! And you said it back!” Grian is two seconds away from tearing his hair out. He throws his hands in the air instead, gesturing wildly around them, and Joel continues to stare at him as if he’s gone mad. Grian has not gone mad, okay, this is a perfectly reasonable reaction to have after one of his best friends told someone else that he loves them. Perfectly reasonable.

“Of course I said it back.” Joel scoffs. “Have you seen how sad he looks when you don’t? I mean, I’m not ridiculously attached to the guy or nothing, but I’m also not heartless. I figured it was just one of those Scar things, like him refusing to wear a bloody shirt properly for some reason. Take the damn police uniform, for example! I swear it’s nearly unbuttoned to his navel.” He shakes his head with a click of his tongue, casually crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” Grian says, a wavering edge to his voice. “No, I haven’t seen how sad he looks when you don’t say it back.”

Joel squints at him. “What? Oh, oh, ‘cause you’ve never done it? Are you, ugh, Grian, are you jealous right now? Is that what this is? Don’t make me get Xisuma to whitelist Lizzie or Jim for the server to give you a lecture on maintaining healthy boundaries in a relationship. Bloody hell if I know how to give one, but Lizzie’s on her relationship advice kick again, so… Just sayin’, mate, it’s kind of weird to be jealous of your boyfriend tellin’ his friends he loves him.”

“There are so many things wrong with that that I can’t even begin⎯” Grian huffs in frustration, lowering his arms to his sides. He glares somewhere just adjacent to Joel’s shoulder, the back of his neck warming underneath the sun. “Scar is not my bloody boyfriend, and I’ve not⎯ I’ve never seen it because he’s never told me he loves me. And that’s why it’s fucking, it’s fucking ridiculous that you’ve already accomplished it! Two months and he loves you! And I’ve been here for three years!”

“Oh.”

Grian grits his teeth.

“Whatever. Sorry for getting in your face.”

“Grian⎯” Joel sighs. “Mate, I’m sure it’s not like that. It’s Scar, y’know, he doesn’t think about it, it’s probably instinct. He’s proper obsessed with you, you know that, like Etho is obsessed with me but, like, ten times worse. I’m sure he doesn’t think about not including you or whatever.”

Joel’s attempt at comfort is awkward, but it makes Grian feel the tiniest bit better anyway. He thinks that’s probably just due to the fact that Joel is on his list, and not because of their actual words. Everything he’s saying is easily refutable, because Grian knows Scar, knows him in the way three years of being around him, watching him, paying attention to him, can do, and he knows that Scar always means it. Scar always thinks about it when it comes to love, and despite his impulsive nature, he’s very careful about how he treats people. He’d never do anything to make someone not feel included unless he didn’t particularly like them, or found them untrustworthy.

It’s not as if Grian thinks Scar doesn’t like him. He knows that the vex hybrid does, he’s even said it a few times, and his actions speak louder than words regardless. But Grian is selfish and greedy and he wants more. He wants to what Scar say those three little words to him for once, and he thought that it’d just⎯ take some time, right? He joined in Season 6, and Scar had already known everyone else at that point, and so of course he wouldn’t go around just saying it to the new guy.

Grian figured that, maybe, just maybe, it was a time thing. After all, Scar wasn’t fond of spilling ‘I love you’s everywhere in the Life games, unless it was a Hermit already that he was saying it to. Scar’s love was like the sun, encompassing all it touched, but it’s lightyears through space for the sun’s rays to reach them, so it must be the same for his love, too. Grian could handle three years. It had been his motivation, the knowledge that it would be only three years even when his chest ached over not being told those stupid words. Every time he heard Scar say it through laughter to a Hermit, or during emotional comfort, or as casual as his ‘goodbyes’. He just reminded himself he only had so much time left, and then he could hear those words for himself. Grian could be patient, if the scene called for it. The last thing he has ever wanted to do is put Scar in an uncomfortable situation, so he’s waited.

And then⎯

And then Joel comes onto Hermitcraft, hardly anything more than a casual acquaintance, and somehow earns Scar’s love in less than two months?

To his horror, the hot pressure of tears starts building behind his eyes.

“Oh, G, c’mon, don’t⎯”

“Shut up,” Grian hisses, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, doesn’t want to bear Joel’s pitying stare on his shoulders. He feels sick. It’s barely a thought before his wings are forming into existence, ripping through the fabric of his sweater, instincts snapping into overdrive with the need to escape. He’s not used them once this season, but it’s as natural as breathing, and all it takes is two harsh beats before he’s airborne and rapidly flying away.

“GRIAN!” Joel’s shout fades into the distance, becoming tinny, and Grian tries to breathe despite the constrictive feeling around his chest. 

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

Why Scar⎯

Why Scar, his best friend, third on his list after his sister and his Mumbo, doesn’t even seem to fathom the possibility of loving him.

Grian pretends the water rapidly spilling from his eyes is only from the wind, stinging his cheeks as he tries to get anywhere else. Anywhere to escape the spiralling of his thoughts.

⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Text

2: Pearl

“Pearlypop!”

“Skizzleman!”

Pearl and Skizz laugh, embracing in the entryway of her house, and Grian grins from behind them. He got here early, of course, because ever since Pearl started hosting these weekly meetings, somehow he’s been dragged into setting up for them. The only reason he actually does so is because Pearl’s leaning really into baking and organics this season, and unlike Mumbo on his vegetarian kick, her food is good. Plus, she makes an inordinate amount of pastries that Grian tends to skim off the top of without her noticing.

The meetings were loosely dubbed Boatem meetings, but then Impulse brought Skizz, and Joel got tetchy about all the Magic Mountain members having a party without them, and Tango insisted that he should be allowed to drop by as Pearl’s closest neighbour, so now… Grian estimates roughly that about half of Hermitcraft attends. It’s fun, mostly, an excuse to kick back and relax and not worry about farms or big projects or anything other than gossiping and eating snacks. The good part about any Hermit gathering is that they inevitably turn into potlucks, because just about every Hermit has some dish that’s considered theirs, and more often than not, it’ll make an appearance.

Grian’s signature dish is fruit salad.

He tends to somehow ruin literally anything else, so.

“Oh, please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Grian drawls as Skizz steps inside the house, carrying some sort of large pot with a lid overtop. It’s warm, as the steam clouds the glass of the lid from the inside, but of course Skizz is carrying it with his bare hands. The angel gives him a slightly confused, somewhat affronted look.

“What! It’s not, you shut your face, mister, it’s good!”

Impulse, behind Skizz’s shoulder, widens his eyes and slowly shakes his head.

“Sure ‘bout that, Skizz?” Grian asks with an arched brow, falling into step with him as he walks towards the kitchen. His wings fluff at being so close in the hallway of Pearl’s house, ruffled at the tops, but he mentally tells them to chill out and ignores it. His sensitivity is amped up to about a hundred due to not having them out previously, to fit in with his fisherman look, but they’re out now, and Grian doesn’t feel like expending the energy to tuck them back into the Void. It was bad enough doing it regularly for his preening sessions. “The last time you brought one of your mystery dishes to Pearl’s house, we were all dying of food poisoning not even six hours later, sooo…”

“In my defence! I didn’t know you mortals had such weak systems!” Skizz exclaims loudly, placing his pot on the granite countertop. He bats Grian’s hand away when he reaches for the lid, desperately wanting to peek at whatever concoction Skizz has made this time. At the last gathering, it’d looked like perfectly innocuous chicken noodle soup, which they all agreed to at least try, and Skizz had failed to mention that he’d used spiders’ eyes in the chicken stock. Y’know, famously poisonous to any and all players ever, except for, apparently, angelic eldritch beings.

And Impulse.

Grian suspects that’s only from a lifetime of enduring Skizz’s cooking, though.

“Don’t worry,” Impulse says, a laugh trailing at the edge of his words. “I supervised. There’s nothing in there that’ll damage any of you guys. I just can’t promise that it’s good.”

“Ugh, Skizz,” Grian groans dramatically. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and picked something experimental.” He says the word how one might also say ‘cockroach’ or ‘fungus’, except Grian actually happens to quite like fungi and mushrooms, so perhaps not that word at all. He’s still disgusted, though.

“Just because you’ve never had it before doesn’t mean it’s experimental! And besides, it’s not experimental, but it’d probably do you some good to get out of your comfort zone,” Skizz sniffs superiorly, like he knows anything at all about cooking. Grian is sure that he does, at least a bit, but surely not enough to warrant such smug behaviour. He rolls his eyes, and then quickly, before Skizz can stop him, he snatches the lid off of the pot. A cloud of steam billows outwards, fogging up Grian’s glasses. “GRIAN!”

“What!” Grian exclaims, blinking rapidly as the steam clears. “You can’t put a lid there and expect me not to take it off! Especially when I don’t know what’s underneath! I’m a curious guy, Skizz, you can’t try and fool me, okay? Don’t keep secrets or surprises or, or anything of that sort, alright? I’m gonna have to find out what it is if you try!”

“Grian,” Skizz hisses. “I’m so gonna punch you, dude.”

“That’s illegal,” Grian informs him promptly, brandishing the pot lid like a shield. He’s left his bow at home, otherwise he’d give Skizz a cursory Cuteguy love tap with an arrow. Skizz stares at him with raised brows, all judgy. He just needs that stupid Quaker Oats wig and it’d complete the look, honestly.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on here?” A familiar voice, rich and amused, drawls as a set of footsteps patter into the room.

“Skizz is trying to attack me, me, Scar, the most innocent man on the server!” Grian exclaims immediately, not taking his eyes off of Skizz as he takes a step back to where he presumes Scar is. Impulse, standing near Skizz, lifts his hand in a wave at the vex hybrid. He’s wearing a cheerful grin, but Skizz is as zeroed-in on Grian as Grian is on him. “And that’s illegal.”

“Hey, Scar,” Impulse says, totally nonchalant.

“Hey, Impulse!” Scar replies brightly, and then there’s an arm slid around Grian’s shoulders, careful of his wings. He looks up, giving Scar an exasperated look overtops of his glasses, and Scar only grins cheerfully in return. “Skizz, c’mon, man, you can’t hurt the bossman! It’s, like, super illegal. G left his vest at home, but still! We gotta present a united front!”

“He’s judging my soup!” Skizz claims loudly, waving his hands in the air. “He deserves a punch for that!”

Scar’s nose wrinkles. “The soup you tried to kill us all with?”

“I didn’t, oh my God, I did not try to kill everyone! Y’all just have weak immune systems! Dippledop was perfectly fine, and, and that’s not the point, it’s not even the same soup,” Skizz splutters. “The point! The point is that that man right there is judging my soup, and he stole the lid, and I’m gonna punch him!” He points an accusing finger in Grian’s vague direction, to which he adopts an affronted look and straightens out of his defensive position entirely. Scar’s arm is still draped across his shoulders, loosely adjusting as soon as Grian stands fully upright.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about!”

“You’re holding the lid right now⎯”

A clatter.

Grian crosses his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He repeats smugly, an abandoned pot lid on the tiled floor of Pearl’s kitchen between them. Skizz gives him an incredulous look, and Grian tries desperately not to laugh. He should know by now that Hermits don’t react to anything in a normal way; that court case with Doc was enough to prove that! Grian had laughed himself to tears over Skizz trying to properly act like a lawyer, while Joe’s defence had amounted to he’s a manchild for Doc.

Clearly, they operate on a Looney Tunes level of chaos around these parts.

“I don’t see a pot lid,” Scar says, immediately jumping on board. “Sounds like you’re tryna attack an innocent man, Skizzle! Are you gonna be the one in court next, but this time as the defendant?”

“I can’t⎯ What?! It’s right there! We all saw him drop it!” Skizz cries out disbelievingly, head whipping back and forth between Grian, Scar, the pot lid, and then finally Impulse. “Dippledop! Back me up here!”

“I don’t know, Skizz.” Impulse shrugs. “Looks like G’s in the right here.”

“Oh my God.”

Grian can’t take it; he bursts into raucous laughter, burying his face in his hands.

“Anyway,” Scar says cheerfully. “What kind of soup is it?”

“I’m leaving,” replies Skizz, before promptly marching from the kitchen. This just sends Grian further into a helpless spiral of giggles.

“It’s some sort of beef stew,” Impulse answers, because of course he knows. He and Skizz are all but attached at the hip, and can probably read each other’s minds besides. “Like I said, I did watch him cook it, so you guys should be safe, but I also watched him add quite a lot of salt, so…uhh, be wary. Can’t guarantee taste, only that it won’t kill ya!”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Scar does a little two-finger mock salute off of his forehead. “Did you bring your brownies? I miss them, Impulse! I need them in my life or I’m going to die.”

“That’s dramatic,” Impulse says with a raised brow. “And I guess you’re dying.”

“You are a cruel man,” Scar announces, making Impulse snort. Grian’s laughter finally winds down and he drops his hands, glancing idly between his friend and Impulse. He’s pretty sure he can get away with it, so he leans into Scar’s side just the slightest bit, happily leeching up the warmth that seems to exude from the man like he’s a space heater. Bit odd, Grian thinks, when he’s always associated vex with coldness⎯ Maybe it’s just a Scar thing.

“I was gonna, but I forgot we were going to the party this time, and honestly, the kitchen was bad enough with Skizz cookin’, so I didn’t bother.” Impulse shrugs. Grian wonders why a dirty kitchen would prevent him from cooking, when he and Skizz allegedly live in separate places. Attached at the hip, he swears. “Anyway, I’m gonna check on the feathered man child, I’ll be right back.”

“But Grian’s right here?” Scar replies, feigning confusion. Grian squawks, feathers fluffing defensively, and whacks him on the back of the head with the ridge of his right. 

“Excuse me!”

“Right, right,” Impulse agrees, an obvious edge of amusement to the words. Grian decides he’s declaring a war on Impulse as soon as he gets the chance. And Scar, too, maybe, unless he decides to magically give Grian a couple stacks of diamonds. “The other feathered man child, my bad.”

“I’m going to fill both of your houses with clocks,” Grian declares with a scowl. Yeah, that’ll show them when they can’t find the last few clocks and are plagued by an irritating ticking sound for the rest of the season. They can call it the Time War. Obviously, he’ll be the winner. Scar chortles, while Impulse just shakes his head fondly and squeezes past them out of the kitchen. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Aww, G, c’mon, I’m just playin’,” Scar says, brown eyes sparkling. He is, as always, stupidly pretty tonight, even in what Grian is pretty sure amounts to ‘nice’ pajamas for Scar. 

His top is a loose, cottony Concorp shirt that has an obscenely low V-neck, paired with soft pajama pants that are bright orange and teal striped. Purple fuzzy socks complete the look along with a cloth headband in Cuteguy’s colours, holding back Scar’s long, unbraided hair. In fact, now that Grian’s properly looking at him, he’s almost certain everything on Scar’s body is merch of the Hermits, in some way or another. Even his multitude of earrings are reminiscent of their Buttercup days, bright tie-dye swirls and rainbows. None of it matches, and in fact, Grian would even say that it clashes, and yet…

Well, Scar pulls it off, of course.

Grian is torn between smacking him for the audacity and kissing him, so he does the next best thing, and whacks the back of his head with the ridge of his wing once more. Scar yelps, caught off-guard, and reaches up to rub the back of his head with the hand that isn’t currently resting on Grian’s left shoulder. Something in him gets ridiculously pleased at the fact that Scar chose not to move his arm, an undoubtedly easier move, and used the one that wasn’t touching Grian instead.

“Okay, maybe I deserved that one,” Scar says with a laugh. Grian huffs, nodding righteously, and ignores the urge to stomp on his foot. Just because Scar makes his heart do funny loop-de-loops in his chest and his stomach swirl does not mean, unfortunately, that Grian has the right to bodily injure him for doing so. Rotten luck, really. “Hey, Gri, d’ya want some cookies? I brought your favourites!”

“Duh,” Grian answers, unable to summon even an iota of resistance when faced with that Extra Special Scar Smile. He holds out a hand imperiously. “Lead the way to the cookies, my fine companion.”

Scar laughs before sketching a bow. “Of course, my liege.”

He looks up through his lashes at Grian, brown eyes glittering with mischief, before taking Grian’s hand and lifting it to his lips. It feels like his heart has stopped entirely, a ghost of a kiss pressed to his skin. Time slows, in that moment, and Grian thinks he could live there forever. Then, like everything snaps back into motion, Scar straightens out of his bow and swings their interconnected hands between them.

“So, I brought the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies and some really good peanut butter ones, okay, so if I give you free access to the white choco ones, you gotta promise me you’ll at least try the peanut butter! I made them for Pearl specifically, since she likes peanut butter, but I need you to try them first and tell me if she’ll like them, you know what I mean?” Scar’s chatter happily fills the space between them as he pulls Grian through the house and into one of Pearl’s empty sitting rooms. There’s a big platter of cookies left on the coffee table, and Grian lights up at the sight of them. “I know you’re not twins, even if you look alike, and you don’t have the same tastebuds, but if you like them I think she will too! Plus, I always need my professional cookie taste-tester!”

“Why’re you makin’ Pearl cookies?” He asks, immediately taking charge and all but yanking Scar towards the delicious treats. It’s not like he’s gonna stop holding Scar’s hand, but he definitely isn’t passing up the chance to get some of Scar’s infamous white chocolate macadamia nut cookies before anyone else can. That’s a super special privilege right there. ‘Professional cookie taste-tester’ is one of those fake jobs that Grian’s never been more happy to have made up. He usually always gets the first few cookies of Scar’s.

“Well, ‘cause I love her, of course,” Scar answers with a bright, boyish smile. Grian’s heart feels a little bit like it shatters. Reflexively, his grip tightens on Scar’s hand, but instead of being alarmed, Scar only squeezes back twice in return. “Besides, I noticed I gave her a big headache with the mail system the other day, so I’m making up for it.” Scar’s expression turns sheepish.

“Oh,” Grian says, and then swallows, mentally scolding himself. Could he sound more pathetic? He needs to get over himself! Scar has talked about loving Pearl plenty of times in the past, always platonic, and Grian knows this. There’s nothing wrong with that! Besides, Grian is sure that the thing with Joel was a fluke, and he’s well on his way to earning those precious words. It’ll happen sometime this season, definitely. Three years of best-friendism has got to give him a leg up over someone like Joel.

“Do you think she’ll forgive me?” Scar widens his eyes, pouting slightly.

“Well, maybe,” Grian says airily, shrugging, determined to push any feelings of jealousy or sadness way, way down deep. Never to be seen again. “Depends on how good these cookies of yours are.”

“The best! They’re the best cookies ever!” Scar declares, picking a few up and holding them to Grian’s mouth insistently. His eyes widen and he blinks at Scar slowly, unsure of what the play is here. It’s one thing to make a silly joke and kiss his hand for the sake of it, but now Scar’s trying to hand-feed him?! It’s like he wants to give Grian a heart attack! “C’mon, open up, G, I need to know that you know they’re good cookies!”

“You are not feeding me,” Grian replies flatly, raising an eyebrow. Scar looks sulky, another pout playing on his stupidly pink, kissable lips.

Grian does not think about kissing Scar, or about running his fingers through the few strands of hair escaping his headband, or about how he would probably taste like cookies or sugar or something distinctly mortal and Scar.  

Grian resolutely does not think about anything at all.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a grown man, Scar, for goodness’s sake⎯” Grian rolls his eyes, snatching the cookie out of the vex hybrid’s hand and shoving half of it into his mouth before they can devolve into an argument. He nearly chokes but saves himself quickly, face warming under Scar’s intense, expectant gaze. Once he can breathe, Grian has to admit that the cookie…is actually pretty great. Of course it is, Scar is the one who made it. He had a whole cookie empire back in the day.

“Good?” If Grian didn’t know better, he’d think that there was a tint of anxiety to Scar’s voice.

“Yeah, good,” Grian answers truthfully, because he hates lying to anyone, let alone Scar, and even he isn’t so much of an asshole as to shatter Scar’s dreams over this. The other man brightens immediately, bouncing slightly on his heels and clinging to Grian’s hand tightly. “Mine are better, though,” He finishes with a huff.

“Of course,” Scar nudges their hips together. “You’re my favourite person to make cookies for, G.”

It might not be the words Grian is looking for, but they warm his heart all the same.

⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Text

3: Grumbot

Despite how tumultuous he’s been feeling about Scar lately, he finds himself wandering in the vague direction of the zoo train, late on Saturday afternoon, like always. Grian is not one to break his schedule, alright, even if he does enjoy a bit of chaos and mischief. He’s not anywhere near as regimented as Mumbo can be, but he does have certain times for certain things and he likes it to stay that way. Which, of course, is the reason he’s adhering strictly to his and Scar’s preening time.

It has nothing to do with the fact that Scar hasn’t been around lately, dealing with a bad flare-up, and that Grian misses him.

That is a preposterous idea.

Biting his bottom lip, he quickly checks his commcuff once more, making sure Scar hadn’t sent a cancel text. Only their previous messages shine up at him, glowing dimly on the screen.

You whisper to Scar: pt tonight

Scar whispers to You: omg!1!!!1 grian

Scar whispers to You: I frogot

You whisper to Scar: it’s ok

You whisper to Scar: no then? Pain still bad?

Scar whispers to You: no no yes!! ocme ovr plz!!

You whisper to Scar: be there @ usual time

He had been a little surprised that Scar agreed, given his usual nature during bad flare-ups. Most of the time Scar doesn’t want to see anyone when he’s feeling irritable and in pain, regardless of how much they offer to help, and Grian respects that. It’s annoying, certainly, that he can’t help one of his two best friends while he’s in pain, but it’s Scar and Scar so rarely asks for anything that it’d be rude to push on this. Not to mention, Grian finds it sort of difficult to get too harsh with Scar when it’s a genuine request like this.

If it was Mumbo, Grian would have no problem steamrolling over his protests and taking care of him while he was sick.

Unfortunately, it’s Scar, and Scar is a great deal more self-conscious about his flare-ups, and has this vexing habit of not wanting to be seen as weak or a burden. Ha. Vexing. Grian shakes his head with a snort, brushing away the silly pun of a thought. He’s nearly certain that the only reason Scar agreed at all to him coming over this afternoon is because preening time is something put into place for Grian’s sake and Grian’s wellbeing. Not that he plans on actually allowing this to be a preening session.

Nope, he will not let Scar sway him one bit.

Sure, this is disguised as a preening time session, but what it’s actually going to be is Grian forcing Scar to accept that he is cared for and about and also hopefully lifting some of the metaphorical weight on his shoulders for at least a night. He’s got his trusty wicker basket on his arm stocked with goodies from all the Magic Mountain folk, the determination to power three thousand suns, and a particularly stubborn attitude. Scar will not get him to budge on this. With that thought, Grian squares his shoulders and begins marching with more purpose to the engine car of the train.

He knows Scar is still bunking there, given that his personal quarters have yet to be built on the very back of the train. The idea for it is perfectly whimsical and so Scar in a way that it hurts, and Grian knows that he’s gotta be resenting the fact that his body pushed him yet another step back in terms of finally beginning it. Not to mention the mountain he’s been tearing down in his spare time; seriously, Grian doesn’t know how Scar does it all.

And this is Scar taking it relatively slow!

Grian hasn’t forgotten the massive elven tree that popped up seemingly overnight last season.

He makes it to Scar’s train in a few short minutes, mildly pleased that their bases are so close this season. The Magic Mountain on the whole is nice, but Grian quite likes his little side of it, with Gem right next door and then Scar and Mumbo across the other side. It’s cosy, being near everyone, and made especially nice by the fact that Grian gets along well with all of his neighbours. He likes every Hermit, naturally, it’s par for the course when you do multiple huge seasons with someone, but there are a few he’s considerably less close to than he is to, say, Gem.

“Scar?” Grian calls, making sure to pitch his voice louder. “I’m here! Are you awake?”

“Yeah, c’mon up, G! Just use the ladders, they’re officially zombie-proof.” Scar sounds proud of that fact, but mostly tired. A smile tugs at Grian’s lips as he begins to climb the ladder, remembering just how long it’d taken Scar to replace the ladder at the bottom so he wouldn’t be caught in any more death loops. Sometimes he worries about those, the toll they can take on Scar’s mental health, but that one had been perfectly funny and not all too bothersome to Scar, so.

“How you doin’?” Grian asks expectantly once he’s made it to the actual landing, dusting off his hands and briefly checking that nothing had escaped his wicker basket while he was climbing. Scar flashes him a brilliant, if tired, smile, sitting upright in his bed against the wall. His hair is messy, parts of it visibly knotted, and Grian tries not to outwardly react. Scar loves his hair; it’s a big part of elven culture, and while that bit of his hybridity rears its head less than his vex traits, Scar has remained in touch with those instincts after Season Nine. Keeping his hair clean and untangled is something Scar is practically religious about doing, so it doesn’t bode well to see it messy.

“Good,” Scar answers, not sounding untruthful, exactly, but clearly not ready to delve into the extent of it. Grian nods, giving him a small smile, before stepping into the cabin part of the train fully. He sets the wicker basket on the foot of Scar’s bed, ignoring the man’s curious hum as he rummages around. “G? Whatcha doin’?”

“Aha!” Grian exclaims once he’s found what he’s looking for, holding it aloft triumphantly. “I knew I’d find them somewhere! These are from Joel, he made them in signature Hotguy colours for ya. They’ve not been over to the train recently, I guess, but he did say something about assuming it wasn’t well-lit, and you’ve proven them right, so…” He trails off, sing-song, beginning to flit around and set up the fairylights against the dark ceiling.

“What?” Scar sounds slightly baffled. “And hey, I light up plenty!”

“Sure, Scar.” Grian snorts. “And that’s why the Death Star still has an unintentional mob farm in the bottom. I fell through there once, you know. Bloody terrifying, it was.” He reaches up for a particularly annoying corner, feeling his sweater lift slightly and brush his tummy.

“Death Scar, actually,” replies Scar, making a small choking noise right after. Grian’s brows furrow and he glances over in concern, finding Scar staring somewhere near him with a red face. He settles back down on his flat feet, giving the other man a curious look.

“You alright, Scar?”

“Fine, fine! Absolutely dandy!” Scar exclaims, high-pitched, eyes roving every which way. Grian’s frown deepens. He hopes Scar isn’t coming down with a fever. Those are always tougher to overcome during flare-ups for him.

“‘Kay,” he replies, making a mental note to check Scar’s temperature later. “Well, anyway, Joel did those. I guess they’ve got an extreme amount of glow ink leftover from their farm, and they decided to use it for fairylights. Looks rather nice, doesn’t it? Mm, let me find the next…”

“Grian,” Scar says.

Grian ignores him, continuing to rifle through his basket for the socks that Gem knitted Scar. They were actually pretty cute, little cat-themed socks with ears at the top edges and an adorable face. Gem had taken up knitting after the last Life season, using it as a way to vent both her frustration and violent urges. So far, Grian has been gifted a parrot plush, many pairs of socks, a sweater, and about half a dozen scarves. It’s great, except it’s currently about nearly summer where they live, and the breeze coming off the ocean doesn’t offer enough breathing room to wear a scarf.

Grian’s already making sacrifices by not wearing his usual undershirt with his sweater, he can’t afford to get heatstroke due to a scarf. At least the socks see a lot of use, though! Not to mention, Pesky Bird is safely on his bed in the base he uses only to sleep and enchant. He is very beloved.

“Grian.”

“Found ‘em!” Grian turns, offering a broad grin to Scar, who squints at him suspiciously. He holds the socks aloft and sees the moment Scar registers the design, his eyes going all wide and shiny and an adorable smile spreading across his lips. “Handmade by the lovely slayer, Gemini Tay, herself! They should be fine, but she said to tell you that if they were too small, she can make some adjustments, so don’t be afraid to speak up.” He hands over the socks, smile softening at the reverence with which Scar takes the socks.

“They’re so cute,” He coos, practically teary-eyed. Grian’s heart squeezes in his chest.

“There’s more where that came from!” He declares enthusiastically. Scar looks up at him, askance, clutching the socks to his chest. He’s too freaking sweet for his own good, Grian thinks. “You hungry? Impulse made some Soup-Group-verified soup for you, and don’t worry, it’s not actually poisonous or suspicious or anything. He also made sure Skizz didn’t help in the process, heh. No spiders’ eyes in this one! I think it’s, uhhh, I wanna say chicken noodle? Classic, y’know.”

“You…what? Why⎯ Grian.” Scar frowns at him, still holding the socks like they’ll be taken from him in the next second. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” Grian says, even though his chest feels tight. “You need to know that there’s, there’s a whole group of people who are here, who care about you. And we get that you don’t wanna be weak, but you aren’t. Everyone needs a little bit of help sometimes, a little bit of love. So, um, since you don’t like a lot of people around when you’re sick, I gathered the gifts from all the Magic Mountain folk and decided to play messenger.”

“That’s why⎯”

“Yeah, we’re not actually preening tonight.” Grian shrugs. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not!”

“You menace,” Scar whispers, warm brown eyes threatening to spill over with tears. They don’t look like sad tears, though, so Grian isn’t too worried. “I can’t believe you guys did all this. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Grian answers without hesitation. “Now, soup or no soup?”

“Uh, I don’t think I’d keep it down.” Scar winces. The fairylights create dappled patterns across his face, highlighting the scar that runs across the bridge of his nose and jaggedly arcs through his left cheek. It does nothing to take away from his beauty, even with dark circles bruised under his eyes and a sort of paleness to him. Grian loves him so much it hurts. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Grian reprimands, soft. “You’re fine, Scar. I’ll put it in the furnace, ‘kay? It’ll stay at a low heat, and we can enjoy it whenever you’re ready. Or if you don’t want to, that’s fine, but it’ll be there whenever you’re sick of golden carrots. Not too far, right?”

“No, it should be fine,” Scar agrees, looking like he’s holding back much more gratitude. Grian turns back to the basket, fetching the glass container of soup and putting it over right where he said he would. It looks tasty, but that’s to be expected from an Impulse soup. It’s a good thing he isn’t hungry, either. He’d suspected that Scar would turn down food right away and made sure to eat before coming over. “There’s more?”

Scar sounds incredulous as he watches Grian go back to the wicker basket.

Grian snorts.

“Yeah, bud, there’s more! What’d you expect, that we’d half-ass taking care of our friend? Besides, I told you, I gathered gifts from everybody. We’ve got Mumbo’s and Skizz’s left, of course. Then mine, but mine isn’t in the basket, since it’s more of an offer, really, and we’ll save it for last. Who’s do you want next?” He looks up expectantly, surprised to find Scar looking at him already with an unimaginably fond expression. The socks have pooled in his lap along with his blankets, and he seems exhausted, but also like he’d be happy to see Grian for the rest of his days.

It’s a bit of a mindfuck, honestly.

Grian doesn’t really know what to do about it.

But Scar blinks, and the moment breaks, and Grian can breathe again.

“Skizz, I think.” The other man flashes a grin. “Only right to have Impulse and Skizz right after one another, huh?”

“Package deal,” Grian agrees with a huff of laughter. He picks up the handmade mug that’s definitely a Signature Skizz Artwork, handing it over to Scar without much fanfare. There’s a little bundle of goodies inside the mug itself, which is lumpy and slightly misshapen with two handles for optimal gripping. It’s painted white with loads of colourful, wobbly hearts all around, and then a big, bold BEST BUDS painted in the middle. “What’s in it, then? Skizz told me not to peek, and I listened, unfortunately.”

“I bet you just didn’t have the time to snoop,” Scar teases, looking up with a mischievous smirk. Grian makes a noise of offence.

“How dare you, sir, imply that I am⎯” He stops short with a shrug, cutting his dramatic rant in half when Scar gives him a deadpan look. “Yeah, okay, you’re right.”

Scar throws his head back and laughs.

It’s raspy, probably from a lack of drinking as much water as he should, and it breaks in some places and it’s not at all consistent, but it’s Scar and that makes it perfect regardless. Grian watches on in fond amusement until Scar has laughed himself out, perching on the edge of his bed. He’s careful not to accidentally sit on Scar’s feet or legs, knowing that touch can sometimes aggravate the pain even though it’s technically all psychosomatic.

“Go one, tell me! I’m too curious otherwise!” Grian insists enthusiastically, attentive gaze only on Scar.

“It’s tea,” Scar explains, taking out a little group of teabags all tied together with a shiny orange ribbon. His favourite colour, which is a detail that does not go unnoticed by Grian. Goodness, they have such thoughtful friends. “My favourite, I think, this herbal brand that I told him about because it helps alleviate the soreness sometimes. He remembered.”

“Of course he did,” Grian says sensibly. “It was for you.”

“Yeah,” Scar whispers, looking a little awed. “For me.”

“What’s the rest, then?” Grian continues, glancing back at the mug. There’s a little folded white piece of paper, which he quickly realises is more of a small book once Scar takes it out. Despite the size, the words are written big and clearly, likely for the benefit of Scar’s dyslexia. It’s a sweet thought; of course Skizz would’ve considered that when making a gift Scar had to read.

“A book of coupons,” Scar exclaims. “Aww, this is nice! A coupon for three free dad hugs…ooh, a deep tissue massage! What other kind of massage would there be? An organ tissue massage?” He tilts his head, giving Grian a confused look, and Grian chortles to himself. 

“No, Scar, a deep tissue massage is more, like, for chronic tension and stuff. They’re supposed to be gruelling, I guess? But worth it, I’ve heard. I dunno, I don’t like massages, you know this.” He shrugs. Due to his avian nature, even though it was forced into existence due to his Watcher-related past, his bones are lighter than the average mortal’s. Considering their fragility, massages tend to be harder and more uncomfortable for Grian, and often don’t end up relieving anything for long, if at all. Scar hums in acknowledgement, because he does know.

“Well, that’s interesting!” He declares. He sounds genuinely interested, too. Grian hopes it works out for him; he’s heard from the other Hermits, mostly ZITS and TIES, that Skizz is a wonder with his hands. (He had to be assured multiple times by Impulse that that wasn’t a euphemism; Skizz just has a natural talent for massages, and both ZITS and TIES all have hunched over backs due to their frequent redstoning, so they take full advantage of his skill.)

“You ready for Mumbo’s?” Grian asks. He can tell Scar is starting to get a little worn out; he’ll want to relax soon enough, and Grian plans on indulging him to the fullest. However, the vex hybrid perks at the mention of their shared best friend, his grin turning lopsided as he reaches out with grabby hands. Grian laughs. “Okay, okay, be patient! You’ve got to be careful with this one, okay? He’s a bit fragile.”

“Grian, did Mumbo get me something alive?” Scar asks dubiously. “I can barely take care of myself right now, let alone a pet.”

“In a manner of speaking, he did, but don’t worry. This little guy’s more of a helper than something you need to take care of.” He shoots Scar a cheeky grin before twisting his torso, pulling the wicker basket into his lap and looking down at the last official present of the day. A teeny tiny version of Grumbot is at the bottom, currently sitting and powered down. A smile tugs, unbidden, at his lips, and Grian is careful as he reaches within the basket and pulls out the robot.

At his touch, Grumbot stirs to life, lifting his little square head and blinking round white eyes at him.

“Ta-daaa!” Grian turns, presenting the itty-bitty robot to his best friend with a beam. Scar’s eyes go wide and he stares. That’s reasonable, given that they’ve never had a Grumbot this small yet. He’s got little legs and arms, and the same boxy torso as any good Grumbot version ought to, but a completely digital interface across his square head. Currently, his moustache, little bangs, and eyes are what’s present on the screen. “Grumbot, say hello!”

“Hello,” Grumbot parrots, in a tinny, slightly mechanical voice all of his own.

Scar bursts into tears.

“Well, hello there,” He says, sniffling, and reaches out with his palms together and flat for Grumbot to step onto. Grian’s smile softens. He nudges Grumbot over with delicate touches, and the little robot eventually gets the hint, clambering to his feet and making his way onto Scar’s palms instead. “Oh my gosh. You’re so small.”

“Mumbo made him,” Grian says proudly. “For you. He can read your vitals and do health checks and remotely reach us if you can’t or don’t want to use your commcuff and, most importantly, he’s been programmed to give you compliments every couple of hours. There’s loads from me and Mumbo, and a few from the gang as well, of course. They’re pre-recorded messages, so he’ll play them for you when he can. Eventually, we hope he’ll start giving ones of his own, since he’s technically a learning AI.”

“He’s so small,” Scar repeats, staring down at Grumbot with shiny eyes. “I love him. Grumbot, I love you.”

The words hardly inspire anything more than a swelling sense of pride and love of his own in Grian’s chest, no bitterness, denial, or jealousy to be found. That’s his son, his and Mumbo’s, really, and they’re giving a version of him to Scar, and Scar loves him. It means more than he knows how to articulate, honestly. He’ll definitely have to see about bothering Mumbo for some more fake custody papers, just so they can properly give Scar the whole experience of becoming a Grumbot parent.

“I love you,” Grumbot parrots again, blinking.

“Oh my gosh.” Scar looks like he’s going to melt from sheer joy. Grian laughs.

“Look at that! Barely two seconds with him and you’re already his favourite dad.”

“I would die for him,” Scar tells Grian simply, no hesitation in his pretty, if teary, brown eyes. Grian snorts. Of course he would. “I’m never giving him back. I can’t believe you guys did this, I can’t believe you made me a Grumbot, oh gosh, I’m never gonna stop crying.”

“Aww,” Grian says, unable to help it. “Okay, but we’ve got to put him up for now, he’s not quite fully charged. He’ll do a bit more talking once he’s at one-hundred for his battery, but he needs some more sleep. You should pick a spot to put him, and then I’ll show you how to power him down, ‘kay? He’ll be rewoken with your touch, or mine, or Mumbo’s, since all of our DNA has been coded into his system.”

“Okay,” Scar agrees in a hushed voice, like they’ll disturb the little robot if they’re too loud. He takes his time considering a spot, but eventually settles Grumbot on the windowsill right by his bed, fitting him under the bit that’s a slab. He’s close enough that he’s not in danger of falling off of the train entirely, and it’s a small spot that seems to suit him, so Grian gives a thumbs-up when Scar looks toward him for approval. “Night-night, Grumbot.”

“So, all you’ve gotta do to get him to charge is say the word ‘sleep’ and then Grumbot after it, like a command. Hang on, I’ll show you.” Grian pauses, taking a breath. “Grumbot, sleep.” Just like that, Grumbot dies back down again, his TV screen face becoming blank as he goes into rest mode.

“He’s adorable,” Scar coos, looking positively delighted. “I love him so much.”

“Yeah, well.” Grian’s chest is uncomfortably full of warmth. “Me and Mumbo thought it was high-time you got involved in his life, I suppose.”

“I am honoured.”

Grian laughs. “Of course. Now, d’ya want your last present? It’s more of an offer, really, so you can totally tell me to shove right off and I will, I promise.”

Scar tilts his head, gaze sliding away from Grumbot back to Grian.

“I won’t do that.”

“You’ve not heard the offer yet,” Grian refutes, grinning. Scar rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, a smile still on his lips.

“Okay, okay, sassypants.”

“I was wondering if you’d be okay with me braiding your hair?” Grian asks, bracing himself slightly. He doesn’t know how personal of a thing that is for elves, but the last thing he wants is to make Scar upset. He thinks it might be something similar to preening, but Grian’s never paid much attention to that avian custom, given that he wasn’t raised in the lifestyle. Technically only loved ones and partners are supposed to preen his wings, but Grian’s gone ahead and extended that to nearly all the Hermits, because he hates doing it himself.

“You want to braid my hair?” Scar repeats, and Grian can’t read anything from his tone or his face. Still, he nods, trying not to appear too anxious.

“I mean, only if you’re okay with it? But I know you prefer having it tied back, out of your face, and, I dunno, I figured that if you’re too exhausted, I could do it for you. I didn’t bring anything, either, ‘cause I know you have your own stuff… But yeah, we don’t have to do it unless you want to!” Grian offers a sheepish smile, tucking his hands underneath his thighs to prevent himself from nervously fidgeting.

“I do,” Scar says immediately, flat expression melting away. He gives Grian a bright, beaming smile, sitting up a little straighter. “Can you do a fishtail braid? Ooh, or maybe a braid crown! Oh, oh, and I’ve got flowers somewhere, could you put them in? It’ll help me feel revitalised, also, I’ve found that nature tends to do that.”

“Yeah, sure,” Grian says with a laugh, feeling a little sucker-punched by relief. “I’ll do whatever you want, Scar. Let’s get the basics taken care of first before we go straight to flowers, though, ‘kay? Point me to your haircare stuff.”

Scar does, and it’s with a light heart and lighter steps that Grian goes to retrieve it.

⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Text

4: Gem

Grian is going to scream.

It’s official.

He hates his life.

“I think you’re being dramatic,” Gem says thoughtfully, head tilted as she looks up at the latest attempt at a red façade for his sugarcane farm. It’s hideous, some terrible combination of bricks and mangrove wood and the crimson logs from the Nether, and Grian hates it. He doesn’t know what the bloody hell he was thinking, only that all of his thoughts are now terrible. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Not that bad? Gem! Gem!” Grian shrieks, throwing his hands into the air. “Gem, it looks like someone smeared fifteen different brands of strawberry jam onto the wall! It’s pretty bad!”

“Drama queen,” Gem replies, rolling her eyes. “You know, I was just talking to Pearl about this the other day, and nothing is ever as bad as it seems at first glance. She was getting frustrated with her redstone, y’know, and all it took to solve the problem was chatting at me about it and a fresh set of eyes. I know nothing about redstone, and I still managed to help her! I’m sure I can…help tidy this up.” She offers a toothy smile. Grian glares at her.

“I did not invite you over to ramble about your girlfriend.”

Gem flips her hair. “At least I have one. Two, actually. I’m winning.”

“You are worse than my actual sister,” Grian complains dramatically, only half joking. Gem laughs, shaking her head.

“Seriously, G, it’s not that bad. I mean, the jam comparison is…accurate, yeah, but it’s not so bad. Red is your colour, so let’s get some new palettes and go from there, okay?” Gem gives him a confident grin. It’s pretty difficult to doubt, actually, which makes sense. If there’s anyone who could stuff his wayward building into shape, it’d be his sister in law.

Of course, she and Pearl and Cleo aren’t actually married yet, but it’s the principle of the thing.

“Maybe I ought to scrap the whole thing,” Grian says thoughtfully. Gem gives him an alarmed look. “Clearly, the whole dreary and drab thing is working out for me, you’ve seen my boat dock building⎯ I mean, it’s textured now, and it’s got that pop of colour, but still, it’s nothing bright. But I want to do bright stuff for over here… Maybe yellow? Orange?”

“I like the idea of it being red,” Gem argues. “It’s so you. You’re Grian, you’re always wearing red, it just fits you!”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m going to be wearing the bloody facade for my sugarcane farm, Gem! It’s okay if it doesn’t fit me! Besides, I did the blue, and look how well that turned out. Not quite Bdubs level, but it’s impressive,” Grian says smugly, transferring his gaze from the hideous red building above them over to his blue house. He quite enjoys the whole ‘buildings on stilts’ idea he’s gone for this season, and the fishing town he’s apparently well on his way to making.

“It is impressive, but you need to be cohesive with the bright colours. And red will work best for such a big building, since there’s more block palettes to choose from!” Gem replies, rolling her eyes, and Grian groans.

“Fine.” He sighs. He flicks open his inventory with a pleasant ‘ding!’ and rummages around, looking for his favourite red blocks. Grian discards the concrete nearly immediately, but then picks it back out and puts it with the powdered version. That’s not so bad. “Okay, what do we think of…this?” He presents the cube of blocks with a flourish, expectantly awaiting Gem’s reaction. Instead of looking properly awed, Gem’s nose sort of wrinkles and she shrugs.

“Eh.”

“Eh?” Grian repeats, offended. “It’s beautiful!”

“I mean, it’s not terrible.” Gem allows courteously. “But is red wool, red concrete powder, and red concrete really the style you’re going for here? I figured you wanted some wood mixed in. ‘Cause, I mean, this is cute and all, but it doesn’t really seem to match with the warped fungus wood you’ve got going on next door.”

“You are a crusher of dreams.” Grian tells her solemnly. Gem laughs.

“Only yours,” She teases. “I’ll have you know I practically made Scar’s dreams the other day.”

“And how’d you do that, huh?” Grian raises an eyebrow.

“Actually bought stuff from his shop,” Gem says, shrugging. “It’s not doing too well, I guess. I didn’t buy out the whole stock? There was a lot of it, but I got most. And then he sent me a love letter.” She giggles, like this is a perfectly normal thing to say.

Grian, who’s knocked off-kilter, would very much like to disagree.

“A love letter?” He repeats, voice sounding slightly hollow even to his own ears. Gem gives him an odd look, though he can’t tell if it’s due to his tone or the mere fact that he questioned it at all. Grian doesn’t feel so angry, right now, not like he did with Joel. Maybe because it’s Gem, and he knows she’d kick his ass if he tried to do anything, including getting up in her face, but… More likely, Grian thinks it’s because he’s starting to lose hope. They’re getting further into the season every day, and he has yet to hear those three little words from Scar.

But people like Gem are getting entire love letters from him?

It stings, but moreover, it makes Grian sad.

“Yeah? It reminded me of when he was an elf. I got a few Scar letters at that time.” Gem grins. “It’s cute, the stuff he says. Most of the time there’s a scam hidden within them, but they’re also just a bunch of nice compliments and stuff he notices. Kinda sweet. I don’t think he does it a whole lot, but it was part of his whole ‘love yourself and nature’ arc.”

“And everyone got one of these?”

Grian feels like he’s suffocating.

“No, no, don’t worry, nothing big like that,” Gem dismisses easily. Grian hates the way he feels such immense relief at that fact. Like the pressure on his chest is finally easing, like breaking the surface after being pulled under by tumultuous waves. “I don’t know everyone else who got one, but I think at least Mumbo did? Not sure. Haven’t you gotten one? Of anyone, I’d expect he’d go for you, G.”

“No,” Grian says, trying to ignore the way his vision blurs as he pulls random red blocks out of his inventory. “No, uh, no, of course not, pssh, Scar knows better than to⎯ to give me a love letter, I mean, I⎯” He cuts himself off, not knowing where the hell he’s going with that statement. “It’s. I mean. I’m glad he gave you one, Gem, you deserve it. And it was nice of you to buy out his shop.”

“Grian, are you okay?” Gem’s hand lands on his shoulder gently, and Grian barely manages not to flinch away.

“I’m fine, why?”

“You just put down red bricks and then a solid gold block, that’s why. I find it hard to believe that’s a palette you’re considering,” She says with a small, tentative chuckle. Grian blinks rapidly and realises she’s right, finally noticing the bright gold next to the rather muted bricks. He freezes, clenching his jaw, and determinedly does not cry. For some stupid reason, it feels like this mistake is gonna push him over the edge, as if Gem hasn’t seen him do much more embarrassing things.

“Sorry,” He says dully, switching to his pickaxe and quickly picking the gold block back up. He doesn’t even know why that’s in his inventory, honestly. It certainly doesn’t fit in with the rest of his blocks, primed specifically for his red colour palette. Gem is giving him a concerned look that he catches in the corner of his eye, but Grian studiously remains silent, not inviting further questioning. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

He doesn’t want to talk about whatever part of him is too broken for Scar to love.

“G…” Gem prompts quietly. “You don’t look fine.”

“I just⎯” Grian bites his bottom lip until he tastes blood. “I’m fine, Gem.”

“Is this about the love letters? You know Scar doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s not confessing to me. It’s not like that, not romantic. I mean, Scar would never do that, he knows I’m in love with Pearl and Cleo, but it’s okay to be…jealous. You’re allowed to have those feelings, but it’s probably better if you talk about them.” Gem laughs nervously, squeezing his shoulder. “Trust me, I’m more than familiar with jealousy where it concerns my girls! It’s totally natural, but don’t bottle it up like this, Gri, it’s not healthy.”

“Why does everyone keep assuming we’re dating!? Me and Scar are not⎯ We’re not anything, Gem!” Grian explodes, throwing his hands into the air. “We’re friends, and maybe we’re not even freaking that, because I’ve known him for three years and he’s not once said that he loves me! It’s stupid, oh my Void, I know it’s so stupid, and selfish, and greedy, but I hear him say it all the time, and I just want⎯ I just want for once for that to be for me.”

“Oh, Grian.”

“Whatever,” Grian says bitterly, taking a deep breath. “It’s fine, Gem.”

“But⎯”

“I said it’s fine, okay? Drop it.” He doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s blown up, he’s not bottling his feelings, it’s fine. Grian doesn’t want to hear meaningless platitudes, especially when they won’t work. He knows Scar better than anyone, and he knows all the reasons Scar could have for not saying those three little words even while he writes other people love letters. “Seriously. Now, do you have any ideas for what kind of palette I should use? I do want to go with wood, you’re right.”

“Grian, I can’t just⎯”

“Gem.” Grian grits his teeth. “If you don’t want to help, I’ll get Bdubs.”

“You can’t keep this to yourself forever,” Gem says sadly. “It’ll just hurt you more in the long run.”

“Okay, bye, Gem⎯”

“You can’t just run away from your problems⎯!”

“Watch me!” Grian shouts, jogging away to where Pluto awaits in his stable.

“GRIAN!”

“GOODBYE, GEM!” He bellows with an air of finality, hopping onto his horse and immediately directing Pluto in the direction of Bdubs’ house. If Gem won’t help him and keep her mouth shut while she does so, he’ll just go to the resident detail-expert on the server. Bdubs will probably charge a fee for his services, but whatever. Grian would pay in full netherite just to escape the uncomfortable conversation fading into the distance at his back.

He pretends his heart doesn’t ache as he follows a familiar path.

⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Text

5: Mumbo

When Grian is feeling literally anything, he goes to Mumbo.

Angry? Prank Mumbo and then rant to him. Annoyed? Prank Mumbo. Needy for attention? Prank Mumbo. Sad? Prank Mumbo and then give apology cuddles. Bored? Prank Mumbo. Happy? Prank Mumbo!

It’s not much of a surprise to anyone, then, least of all himself, when he ends up in Mumbo’s stupid mothball of a base. He doesn’t bother with the pit of death, instead simply mining into the side of it and dusting himself off before collapsing on top of his friend’s bed. Mumbo, of course, is not at home, but that’s fine. He has to come back to base at some point, and Grian will be here waiting for him when he does. It’s been a few days since he stormed away from Gem, and he hasn’t exactly worked up the nerve to apologise.

Part of him, the petty, selfish part, thinks he doesn’t need to, but Grian isn’t that much of a self-righteous asshole. He knows Gem was only trying to help him, and that it’s his fault she got so pushy about it. It probably would have benefitted him to talk about it, even, but Grian hates being pitied. What other reaction could there be to apparently being unlovable to the one man on the server who loves everybody? There’s something fundamentally wrong with Grian, there has to be.

He’s been long past the toxic mindset of the Watchers, but now he wonders⎯

Is that what it is?

The games? Maybe that’s why Scar can’t love him. There are things that all of them regret that happen in the games, of course, but for the most part, it’s never been something that’s affected them long-term. He and Scar have talked about it, when they can, especially if it hurts. Grian can’t imagine Scar holding that against him, not when he’s always treated them exactly as they’re intended to be. Not to mention the steps that Grian has taken to ensure that no one plays if they don’t want to; he needs to feed on the negative emotions for his survival, but he’d never put his friends through that without permission. That’s why Mumbo’s only been involved with two, as opposed to Scar being involved with all five.

But if it’s not the games, then it must be something more intrinsic, some sort of behaviour or personality trait that Grian can’t control.

The thought stings, deep in his soul. This idea that there’s something so inherently wrong with him that even the best man he knows, one who could forgive just about anyone, can’t love him. Grian sniffles, turning around and burying his face into Mumbo’s pillow. It smells like mint from his hair soap and redstone, which is always a little bit itchy to Grian’s nose.

He doesn’t want to cry, not again. He’s been doing that so much recently.

Mumbo’s base isn’t quiet. Although the man usually prefers silence to work in, by nature of his profession, he can’t always have it. The hum of redstone wraps through the walls, surrounding Grian in a cosy embrace that reminds him inherently of his best friend. It’s nice to remember that, while he wants Scar to love him, there is someone who’s capable of doing so and many more amazing things, who’s been there for Grian since day one. He’ll never really like redstone, he thinks, not in the way Mumbo does, but it will always hold that bit of comfort for him.

He isn’t unlovable, because Mumbo loves him.

Maybe he just needs to…win Scar over somehow.

Grian doesn’t know how to do that, exactly, but he’ll figure it out.

He doesn’t get the chance to start brainstorming, as there’s suddenly a distinct hum of magic in the air, particles reacting to each other and atoms drawing near. He knows exactly what that means, mostly due to being a Watcher⎯ There’s no time to react before one Mumbo K Jumbo is forming above him, respawning in his bed and immediately landing on top of Grian. He flails, letting out a raspy shriek as the air is knocked from his chest, and then Mumbo’s shouting and rolling around, too, tangling in the covers and adding to the general chaos.

“MUMBO!” Grian shouts, squirming underneath his best friend.

“GRIAN?!” Mumbo shouts back, nearly shoving him off of the bed. He twists his head, glaring at his best friend, and Mumbo stares back with wide eyes. The only consolation is that, due to his death, Mumbo isn’t wearing heavy armour. He’s crushing Grian with just himself and his suit. “Oh my goodness! You’ve bloody well scared the life outta me! What are you doing here?!”

“WAITING FOR MY BEST FRIEND!” Grian yells. “Is that a bloody crime nowadays!?”

“NO! I WAS JUST SURPRISED!” Mumbo yells, immediately mimicking Grian’s level of volume, and then pauses. Grian blinks at him slowly. “WHY ARE WE YELLING?!”

“BECAUSE YOU SCARED ME!” He rolls his eyes, poking Mumbo in the cheek. Mumbo gives him a disgruntled look, cheeks puffing out slightly with his frown. “Hello. How’ve you gone and died this time? To the llama again? Also, you’d think that you’d eventually make a way into this place, y’know. By the way, I broke in, but I replaced the hole I made.”

“For your information, that is not how I died.” Mumbo sniffs, then his expression turns sheepish. “Actually, Scar and I were digging in the Magic Mountain volcano hole and I died from fall damage. I should probably get going, I don’t want to lose my things… It was bad enough when the explosions killed them when Impulse set up that whole cube TnT minecart thing.”

“Oh, wow,” Grian says, grinning. Mumbo’s cheeks turn red from embarrassment. “And you’re supposed to be good at this whole thing. Who thought putting you and Scar together for a digging expedition was a good idea? You need at least one other person to either supervise or encourage you into more shenanigans.”

“Well, we would’ve invited you, but someone wasn’t at his base!” Mumbo declares, giving him a pointed look. “Apparently he was hiding out in mine, instead. Why are you here, Grian? In my bed? Have you slept in it? I don’t need two of us getting stuck in here every time we respawn. It’d be a nightmare.”

“Excuse you, you’d be so damn lucky as to share a bed with me,” Grian claims immediately, wrapping his limbs around Mumbo’s even tighter. They’re all tangled together already, but this makes it so his arms are squeezed around Mumbo’s torso, too. He doesn’t protest the treatment, wearing a wry smile and looking at him fondly. Grian ignores him and his stupid knowing face, snuggling closer with a huff. “Your bed is comfier than mine.”

“Is it, now?” Mumbo frowns. “Wait a minute, Grian, have you done something? Have you pranked my bed somehow?”

“What!” Grian exclaims. “How dare you?! I would never! I am a perfectly innocent man.”

“Uh-huh, sure, now come out with it, what’ve you done?”

Grian laughs. “Genuinely, I’ve done nothing!”

Mumbo squints intently at him. “Is something wrong, then? You don’t normally show up to my base without a reason… Have you finally come to retrieve your pesky snails? Scar is trying to sue Big Ron now, I’ll have you know.”

“No, no, hey, I’m not in charge of the snails! They go where they want!” Grian insists with a rakish smile, making Mumbo roll his eyes. He seems fond, not irritated. They’re still as close as they were when Mumbo respawned, and Grian is pretty sure that his arm has fallen asleep entirely underneath Mumbo’s torso. He can’t really find it in himself to mind, not when Mumbo is warm and there, his very best friend in the whole wide world. “I love you.”

“What?” Mumbo’s dark eyes have gone wide with surprise.

Seriously, he calls Grian’s eyes soulless, and he’s out here sporting ones that are just as deep and dark! It’s giving hypocrisy, Grian thinks. He huffs, reaching out with the hand that’s not firmly wedged between the mattress and a certain moustachioed man to poke Mumbo in the face again.

“I love you,” He repeats, enunciating it clearly. “I wanted you to know.”

“Um, thanks?” Mumbo winces immediately, making Grian snort. “Sorry, sorry, mate, just, ah, you’ve caught me off-guard! I love you too, of course, but, I mean, Grian, why’ve you⎯ Why are you saying this now, of all the times? Has something happened to you? Have the W⎯”

“Ugh, Mumbo,” Grian groans, shoving a hand over his mouth and cutting him off there. Mumbo stares at him plaintively with those wide, dark brown eyes of his like a big baby cow. “No. Nothing has happened. I mean, well, things have happened, of course, but nothing to do with that. This isn’t, like, trauma or anything, and nobody’s contacted me who wasn’t allowed to. I just wanted you to know. Gosh. Way to be a jerk.”

“I’m sorry!” Mumbo exclaims, muffled, from behind Grian’s hand. His moustache tickles Grian’s palm and he giggles, peeling his hand away. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I really do love you, too.”

“You didn’t, you big oaf. I know you love me.”

Grian can’t deny that something in his heart settles with hearing the words, though.

“Why, why now, though?” Mumbo’s brows furrow. “What has happened, Grian? If you don’t tell me, you know I’ll just keep making up worse and worse scenarios for what’s happened, and eventually I’ll freak out about it all over you.”

“Sounds messy,” Grian remarks. Mumbo nods vehemently.

“Very messy.”

“Yeah, okay, Mumbo Jumbolio,” he hums, trying to think of how best to put it. He doesn’t want to run the risk of breaking down, and he doesn’t really want to sound like he’s blaming Scar, either. After all, what use is blaming someone for what they feel, or rather, for the lack of what they feel? It’d be cruel of Grian to do that. “Scar loves you, doesn’t he?”

“What?” Mumbo asks, wide-eyed. Grian blinks at him.

“Like, you’ve heard him tell you that he loves you, right?”

“Oh. Oh, yes! I thought you meant⎯ Ah, well, nevermind. Yes, Grian, Scar loves me.” Mumbo wrinkles his nose. “That feels quite odd to say, I hope you know.”

“Yeah, well, I live to make you say odd things.” Grian winks. “But, anyway, the crux of the matter is that Scar loves you and he doesn’t love me. And I don’t mean that it’s you specifically, just, anyone he loves in general. But he doesn’t love me. He loves all the Hermits. He even told Joel that he loves them, and they’ve not even known each other all that long! Skizz, I can understand, I know we all visit Phasmo together and it makes sense, but Joel? He’s only been a Hermit for two months, and still, Scar’s loved him. And he doesn’t love me. And I’m trying⎯ trying to be okay with that, I guess.”

The tears are back.

Damnit.

Grian closes his eyes and tilts forward, resting his forehead just below Mumbo’s sternum and feeling his heartbeat echo in the space between them. He knows it’s only his magic that grants him the ability to hear it, given they aren’t close enough for him to do so naturally, but it brings him comfort regardless. Mumbo’s heartbeat is never quite steady, but Grian has lived a whole life listening to it.

“G…” Mumbo brings up a hand, gently holding him close. He seems to have forgotten all about his missing items; Grian feels a pinch of remorse for that. He’ll help replace them when he gets the chance. There’s the featherlight touch of lips against the top of his head, and Grian smiles, soft, even as tears slip from underneath his eyelids. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“That I’m trying to be okay with it?” Grian laughs wetly. “I’m doing my best, Mumbo, I didn’t say I was succeeding.”

“No, I don’t⎯ I don’t think…” Mumbo fumbles for words. “I don’t think Scar doesn’t love you. I think he does! He has to, right? You’re his best friend.”

“Cub is his best friend,” Grian says mulishly. “And no, Mumbo, he doesn’t have to do anything. He’s never said it to me, you know? I thought he would this season, since it’s been three years, but I don’t think so anymore. He writes Gem love letters and tells Joel and bakes my sister cookies, but he can’t love me. There’s something too, too broken, too wrong with me for that.” His breath hitches with a sob.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Mumbo says fiercely, squeezing him tightly to his chest. Grian chokes, burying his face in the scent of redstone and mint. Finally, he allows the dams to break, for himself to finally sob like he’s been wanting to for days. Here, in his best friend’s arms, Grian can break down without fear of being seen or talked about. Even if the Hermits mean well, no one likes to be talked about in whispers when they’re going through something. “There isn’t. Grian, you’re amazing! You’re wonderful! And if Scar, if Scar doesn’t see that, then, well, it’s his damn loss, okay? And I’ll, I’ll⎯ I don’t know, but I’ll do something! I’ll give him a piece of my mind!”

The mental image of Mumbo trying to scold Scar makes Grian burst into a fit of giggles.

“You can’t give anyone a piece of your mind, let alone Scar,” He wheezes, wiping his nose on Mumbo’s suit lapel. Serves him right, for daring to make Grian feel better while he’s crying. “Thanks, Mumbs. I just wanna try and forget about it, okay? I love him, but he doesn’t love me, and that’s okay. I can’t make him feel anything he doesn’t already. I’m not magic like that.”

Mumbo huffs. “He should.”

“I can’t get mad at Scar for his feelings.”

“I can.”

“Mumbo,” Grian says, half a laugh. “No, you can’t. You’re terrible at staying mad at anyone.”

“Well, watch me stay mad at Scar⎯”

“YOO-HOO! MUMBO!”

A familiar voice floats up at them through the window.

Mumbo’s grip tightens on Grian.

“I can ignore him,” He offers.

“No you can’t. C’mon, we should get out of bed anyway. You killed my arm, it’s dead asleep,” Grian says, and reluctantly peels himself away from his best friend. Mumbo gives him a frown, but Grian ignores the concern clearly present in his expression. It’s easy enough to get up and out of bed, and he offers a hand with a playful flourish of his wings once he does so. There’s tingling racing up and down his skin, pins and needles, but it’s not that terrible of a sensation. Mumbo snorts, sliding his hand into his own.

“Thanks, G.”

“Of course!” Grian declares in a posh, snooty voice that makes Mumbo laugh again. He’s so easy to charm. “Now, I hope you’ve got a way to get down from here without dying.”

“Yeah, no problem!” Mumbo holds onto Grian’s hand tightly, yanking him through a trapdoor on the floor. A shriek rips itself from his lungs, but soon enough they’re back on the ground, only taking a minimal amount of fall damage. Grian’s wings flare out, whacking Mumbo on the back. “Ow! Grian! You could’ve caught us, you know, clearly those pretty wings of yours aren’t just for show given that you’ve just hit me!”

“Well, maybe if you’d given me some bloody warning, you spoon⎯”

Mumbo scrunches his nose. “Where would the fun be in that?”

“Ha ha.” Grian deadpans. “You’re a regular comedian, Mumbo. And that’s why you get smacked for your troubles.” Mumbo sticks his tongue out at him in reply, and because he’s mature like that, Grian does exactly the same in return. He can only imagine the sight they make, standing below Mumbo’s base with their tongues out, both obviously ruffled from the wrestling around in bed they did.

“Well, hello there!” Scar greets cheerfully, making both of them jump and turn to him. “Mumbo! I got your stuff.” His smile is big, broad, and toothy, specialised trees making up the backdrop behind him. They’re pretty in a distinctly Mumbo way; Grian’s rather enamoured by the fact that Mumbo’s decided to do his own organics this season, just as he’s beginning to properly modify his own redstone farms. They’re all branching out, learning new things!

“Ah, thanks, mate,” Mumbo replies stiltedly. Grian internally rolls his eyes, and outwardly elbows his friend in the side. Predictably, the man yelps, head whipping around to give Grian an accusing look. “What was that for?!”

“Don’t be rude,” Grian hisses through gritted teeth.

“Uh, did I interrupt something?” Scar asks, tilting his head. His gaze travels between them slowly, lingering on the mussed way Mumbo’s suit sits on his lanky frame and the messy hair and feathers of Grian. He also probably looks like he’s been crying, but maybe Scar isn’t close enough to see that. “I can just⎯ I can just drop off everything and go, really! I only wanted to grab your stuff, since you didn’t set your spawn at the top of the mountain, Mumbo, and I know how hard it is to regather everything!”

“No, Scar, you’re fine⎯” Grian tries.

“No, really, I’ll just⎯ I’ll go! There’s a chest up the hill with all the stuff, m’kay? Love ya, Mumbo, see ya later! Bye, Grian!” With that, Scar is quick to turn around and hurriedly walk away. Grian is left stricken, staring after him, hurting beyond belief. Mumbo’s hand in his own is the only grounding point he has; the rest of the world has melted away, narrowed down to Scar’s retreating back and then, nothing.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” His best friend suggests, quiet.

“Yeah, maybe.” The words are hollow.

⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Text

+1: Grian

But like it or not, all things must come to a head eventually.

“Grian!”

He’s not proud of the shriek that flies from his lips, nor the way his wings flare up and out, immediately coming into harsh contact with a warm, solid surface behind him. There’s a soft laugh, warm and bright, and Grian whirls around, pointing an accusing finger in Scar’s face. The other man looks positively delighted, little rings of white-blue around his pupils and teeth slightly sharper than normal as he smirks.

“Scar,” Grian says, accusatory. Scar giggles.

“Hi, Grian!” 

“You’re terrible.” He sighs.

“Matter of perspective,” Scar replies, cheery.

Terrible and wonderful and still able to make Grian’s heart skip a beat. It’s been only a handful of days since he talked to Mumbo, since he made the promise to himself to try and get over his needless desire to have Scar love him. He’s working on it, truly, and he’s trying to be content with whatever Scar wants to give, regardless of what that is. It’s working. Somewhat.

It works less when Scar is standing right up next to him, exuding warmth and mischief.

“Did you need something?” Grian asks, tilting his head back and squinting up at Scar. He’s almost dazzling in the sunlight beaming down upon them, forming a glowing halo around his braided crown of rich brown hair. The fuzzy shadows of vex wings flicker behind him, disappearing if Grian looks directly at them, and his pointed ears are laden with dangly, golden charms and crystals. Grian’s breath nearly catches in his throat as he meets Scar’s gaze, knowing and warm and so beautiful.

He wants to give Scar a feather, he realises.

One of his flight feathers, fashioned into an earring, hooked through Scar’s lobe and made specifically for him to wear. Brilliantly red, yellow, blue, shining against the rest of Scar’s fine golden jewellery, out of place and yet a staple of his wardrobe regardless. If he knew what it meant, Grian knows that Scar would accept, would never stop wearing it, because Scar is so good. He’d take it exactly as it was; a sign of imminent, inherent trust. Nothing more, nothing binding.

Grian aches.

“What, I can’t visit my friend? I can’t swing on by his base and have a chat?”

“Sure, Scar.” Grian snorts. “You always want something when you come over to visit, don’t play cute with me.”

“I am always cute, thank you very much.” Scar’s smile turns lopsided. Grian hates that he agrees. At least he can keep his mouth shut about it, making sure he lets none of his cheesy, sappy thoughts free. While Scar would probably like them, take it as all platonic, it’d be embarrassing. “And, anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to mine with me? I’m finally taking down Ore Mountain!”

Grian blinks.

Does he want to…

1. A) Tear down what is essentially a monument to Scar’s dedication and obsession with mining, something that looks like a historical landmark?
2. B) Spend time with the very man that Grian had promised himself he’d back off of? 
3. C) Do potentially hours of gruelling work with Scar, infamously prone to shoving people off of ledges or otherwise shooting them mid-air?

“Yeah, sure, bud,” Grian answers, smiling. “I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to take it down. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re even going through with it at all. The mountain is beautiful, man, don’t we remember my crappy recreation? Wait, no, now I kinda wanna keep it⎯”

Scar laughs. “Grian! No! I have to take it down to make way for the redwoods I’m growing. It’s gon’ look amazin’ once it’s done, but first, the mountain’s gotta come down. Besides, maybe then I’ll finally stop being so poor! Big Ron and those pesky snails have all but robbed me blind, I hope you know.”

“Haven’t the faintest clue.” Grian says, easily falling into step with Scar as they begin the trek back over to his train. The landscaping is gorgeous, of course, transforming from regular grassy plains and wheat fields into steadily-building marshy wetlands. The trees winding around the land are gorgeous, if a bit smaller than Scar usually goes for, and everything is so packed with detail that Grian feels like he needs to stop and stare for a whole day to properly appreciate it all. “Big Ron? Who’s Big Ron?”

“That’s exactly what I’d like to know, G!”

“And those pesky snails, well, I don’t control one bit of what they do,” He continues, content to walk at Scar’s side on a warm summer day. There’s the scent of moss in the air along with a hint of salty seawater, along with Scar’s familiar cologne. It’s vanilla and sandalwood, and Grian sort of wants to bring Scar’s wrist to his nose and just breathe. That’s an urge soon discarded, though.

“Of course, of course,” Scar agrees sagely, amusement curling his lips. He’s addictive, Grian thinks, looking like that and smiling so easily. Every part of him makes Grian fall harder, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. His wings are made of paper and wax, and Scar is the sun, dooming him to the crests of saltwater below.

“Oh, wow, Scar! This bridge is amazing!” Grian declares, abruptly tearing his gaze away from Scar’s and turning it to the ground as the terrain shifts from wet moss to solid rock. It truly is an amazing little formation, looking totally natural even though Grian knows Scar made it himself. He watched it happen, for Void’s sake, and yet⎯ He’s utterly baffled by Scar’s skill with terraforming. “I love it! It’s super cool, looks so natural and yet it’s functional, too, and hey⎯ You used the glass panes for rivergrass!”

“I did!” Scar exclaims, bouncing slightly as he mirrors Grian’s enthusiasm. “It was a great idea, G, thanks so much, as always. And the arch was maybe my favourite part of building this whole landscape? Except for Bruce, of course.” He nods self-assuredly, like that’s supposed to make any sense at all to Grian. The avian blinks at him, hoping to convey his confusion without words. As always, Scar remains oblivious, cheerfully whistling as they make it over the rocky arch.

“Who’s Bruce?” Grian breaks finally, because he can’t take not knowing. Scar brightens with a sly smile, making him suspect that had been the man’s plan all along,t o get him to ask about it.

“Bruce!” Scar declares gleefully, pointing near the corner of the front of the train. A pretty, clearly handmade tree rests there, one of the bigger and more convoluted ones. It’s very good, actually, and Grian can see why he favours it over the rest. “Don’t ask me why his name is Bruce, he just looked like a Bruce and we went from there, okay? Anywho⎯”

“Bruce is lovely,” Grian compliments, earning a broad beam.

“Thanks, G!”

“Mhm. Now, Ore Mountain?” He tilts his head. Scar nods rapidly, reaching for his hand and immediately dragging him through the rest of the landscape hurriedly. Grian laughs, allowing himself to be pulled. They duck underneath one of the train carriages and through the tracks, coming out on the other side to a burst of sunshine. It’s a beautiful day, and a few cherry petals spiral around them, floating down from Magic Mountain. Void, they’ve really been into mountains this season.

“So, I already started chipping away at the top of the mountain, I got all the way down to the diamonds, since I wanted everything neatly packed away before I worked on the rest of it, so we’ve got basically the boring bit left? I’d say sorry, but you’re the one who agreed to be here, Grian! There’s complementary pickaxes in this chest in case yours breaks, and I’ve already prepared a rep⎯ repre⎯ preptriore⎯ playlist of mining songs. Sung by yours truly, obviously.” Scar winks, presenting the chest in question with a dramatic flourish.

“Naturally,” Grian agrees, feeling so fond it sort of hurts. “Saved all the fun bits for yourself, did you?”

“Duh, G.”

He snorts. No one can ever accuse Scar of not being blunt, that’s for certain. He checks his inventory briefly, situating his hotbar and making sure he has his good pickaxe pulled out. It’s not in danger of breaking anytime soon, but as Grian eyes Ore Mountain, he has to admit that Scar’s chest of complementary pickaxes may come in handy. At least they’ve got the beacon beaming up into the sky nearby, granting them waves of haste.

“Alright,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “Time to get started, then.”

“Yep! Oh, wait, one sec⎯” Scar is off like a rocket, zipping away back to his train so rapidly that Grian feels dizzy watching it happen. He blinks once, twice, and then shrugs to himself. Whatever. Scar always acts strange to some extent. He wanders over to the chest, opening it and examining the pickaxes that Scar has stuffed in there. They’re diamond, which is to be expected, given his lack of netherite status, and all enchanted with mending. He doesn’t want to know how many diamonds Scar has just been… giving away to Cleo this season. Grian is sure it’s gotta be stacks by now.

“Grian!” This time, he doesn’t flinch, but only because he heard Scar fumbling behind him. Grian turns, tucking his wings close behind his back and smiling as he watches Scar trip over his own two feet and go sprawling in front of him. “Ow! This is fine!” Scar offers a beam, awkwardly crouched due to the way he skidded across the grass on his knees. Grian tilts his head, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

“Oh! Oh! This old thing?” Scar’s grin turns sly. He rises to his feet in a motion that’s surprisingly fluid, holding out a large piece of dark purple cloth draped across his hands and arms. It’s impressively detailed, looking to be made out of a sturdy but soft material, and covered in…lilacs, sunflowers, and poppies? Grian blinks. The detailing is all done in a lighter shade of purple against the dark backdrop, naturally drawing the eye. “This is, pssh, this is nothin’! Just a little something I scrounged up ‘cause I know you don’t like mining up high where the wind can catch your wings, plus I figured with all of the dust, you’d want some basic protection, anyway, and⎯”

“You… Scar.” Grian goes entirely still. “Scar, did you make this?”

“Maybe?” Scar looks nervous, then, just slightly. He takes a quick step forward into Grian’s bubble of space, arms still outstretched. This close, Grian can see that it’s a cloak, modelled after the one he used to wear back in Third Life to protect his feathers from the sand. An overwhelming mixture of emotions suddenly coalesces in his chest, making his heart skip a beat. “If you don’t like it, that’s okay, you absolutely don’t have to wear it, but I figured, y’know, I haven’t seen you with your usual cloak this season, so… Maybe you could use a new one? But if you don’t need it, that’s okay! I promise! Ore Mountain isn’t nearly as high as it used to be, anyway, maybe the wind won’t be that much of a bother.”

“Scar,” Grian breathes, barely managing to look away from the stunning craftsmanship. He didn’t even know that Scar could sew properly, and not just in the way that comes with stitching wounds and minor rips. Scar meets his gaze in a flash of effervescent, toasty brown. A shiver dances down Grian’s spine, goosebumps erupting across his arms. Slowly, he reaches out, touching the fabric with an air of reverence. His hand stays gently overtop Scar’s own, only a layer of fabric separating Grian from the heat of his skin. “You made me a cloak?”

“Yeah,” Scar sounds softer, then, not immediately running his mouth in an anxious waterfall of words. There’s something in his eyes, an emotion Grian does not have the words to describe, something like a baby’s first laugh and the dripping of a dewdrop as the sun rises and the wind whistling through a canyon and a million other things that Grian has Witnessed throughout the years. None of it, somehow, can hold a candle to the man in front of him. “I did. For you.”

“I love you.”

Scar’s eyes go wide.

Grian can’t breathe, hand on the fabric of his cloak, the cloak that Scar made him, the one in the shade of a rich purple, the one detailed with lilacs and poppies and sunflowers. A reminder of the things he has escaped, left behind, a reminder of friendship, a reminder that being alone is not forever, a reminder that Scar cares for him, trusts him, maybe even loves him, if not in so many words. 

“I love you,” Grian repeats, and it’s like a weight has been lifted from his chest. Why was he waiting? All this time, agonising over Scar saying it to him, and all he had to do was gain the courage to say those three little words himself. Whether Scar returns his feelings or not is not relevant; Scar deserves to be loved and to know that he is loved, and Grian can provide that. “Thank you. I love you.”

Now that he’s said it, it’s as if it’s all he wants to say.

He thinks, if Scar wanted, he’d shout it from the top of Magic Mountain.

Ore Mountain, too. Anywhere Scar wished.

“I love you, too,” Scar says, and it’s as if everything clicks.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Grian breathes. Scar’s lips quirk into that maddening smirk of his, and Grian slides their hands together firmly, pulling him close and pausing close enough for their noses to brush. He can smell Scar’s toothpaste, something that was surely sparkly and pink because Scar doesn’t like mint toothpaste, and his breath is warm, fanning across Grian’s lips, and this close, he’s gorgeous.

Grian can hear his heartbeat.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

He wonders if his has settled, too, matching Scar’s.

He thinks he would not be surprised if it had.

“I thought you said you were going to kiss me?” Scar teases, and it’s insufferable in all the right ways that come with Scar. Grian, for a moment, can feel every lifeform crawling through every blade of grass and then some, below their feet. He breathes in, bubblegum toothpaste sandalwood vanilla salty sea cherry blossoms, and there’s a cloak between them and his hand reaches up to cup the side of Scar’s face and he thinks, this is it.

“I love you,” Grian says again.

Their kiss does not rock his world. It doesn’t need to. It does not need to compare itself to exploding stars or swirling blackholes or the riptide currents of the ocean. It’s soft, and warm, and Scar, and it feels like home. It does not feel like Grian has been completed, but rather, like he’s been given more than he knows what to do with, that he’s outpouring with love and affection and sheer, inherent good.

“I love you, too,” Scar breathes, once they’ve separated, just far enough to press their foreheads together. The angle is silly, and maybe in any other moment Grian would laugh, but he finds himself entirely consumed with the sight of Scar’s pretty eyes. His own fall softly shut, though he’s still aware of every inch of their surroundings, right down to the feeling of his feet in sunwarmed shoes, and he tries to breathe.

“Lilacs and poppies,” He whispers.

He can feel Scar’s smile.

“I’ll be your friend no matter what, G.”

“Sunflowers?”

“I’d never leave you alone. Not for long.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

⎯end.