Chapter Text
Grian was avoiding Scar.
There was no other way to put it. He knew he was avoiding Scar, he knew why and he knew Scar was beginning to notice the drastic shift in his behavior. But Grian didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know what he was going to do if he were to find himself face to face with Scar, he didn’t know what he would do if a flower made its appearance midway through a conversation with literally anyone on the server.
So Grian chose to avoid Scar and Mumbo and Joel and Pearl and everyone else who was in his immediate vicinity. Or any vicinity.
He even moved all his stuff down into the mending book shrine he had created months ago. No one knew it was even there except for Cleo and a few others, and Cleo wouldn’t think of looking for him there if they needed him either. Which meant his chances of avoiding everyone increased tenfold.
But no matter what Grian did, nothing could stop the cough and the blood and the flowers. And the constant thoughts about Scar did nothing to help either. He found himself going over every interaction they’ve ever had, trying to pinpoint when did Scar become Scar to him. When did it start? The flowers in his lungs? Why did it take his body to start self destructing for him to find out what he felt? Why did it take him being on the brink of permanent death for him to realize what was going on?
What is he going to do now that his body is killing him for falling for someone who didn’t feel the same way? There was no cure for hanahaki. Even if Grian convinced himself to go to Xisuma for help, what could the admin do? The only power he had for this was to remove all the love from Grian’s heart. And to think about that was physically impossible for Grian.
So all he was left with was a deathbed of flowers of his own making.
The universe was cruel that way.
Grian managed to hide out in his Mending book shrine for a whole week before him leaving the place was more out of necessity than want. He decided to leave at night when at least ninety percent of the server would be asleep. And if they weren’t then they would still be working at their bases therefore letting Grian do his work without being interrupted or confronted.
He flew up into the sky, the taste of copper so normal that he forgot what his mouth used to feel like before all the blood. The night was still, even the mobs seemed to not be too focused on terrorizing the land, only the occasional skeleton clattering around.
Gliding over Mumbo’s base, Grian flew by as quietly as possible, keeping an eye out for the man. He spotted him at the riverbed, talking to someone he couldn’t quite see just yet. As he got closer, he could see that it was Scar, who had a big basket of something in his hands. That just made Grian speed up more, getting away from the area as quickly as possible.
He made his way to the shopping district with nearly no incident, the only issue being the sharp prickly sensation that was becoming permanent in his lungs. Grian made a quick job of buying building materials and golden carrots and apples before someone else found him. The Hermits were known not to have good sleep schedules, it came with being a builder on here as Grian found out in his first ever season.
Which also meant that while it may be two in the morning, it was like two in the afternoon for everyone awake. And that meant he could run into anyone right now. Grian looked like a ghost and he felt like it too, so he would very much prefer not seeing anyone who might question what is happening with him. Which happened to be everyone.
The entirety of the Hermitcraft community knew each and every one of their peers like the back of their hands having spent so many years together. And Grian, well Grian was an open book to all of them. Especially Pearl, Scar, Gem and Mumbo. With Joel joining them, that just added another name to the list of people who could tell that something was wrong with Grian if he blinked wrong.
All in all it was a very inconvenient arrangement for him considering ninety-nine percent of his problems were in fact irrelevant and not worth the amount of time these guys would spend on it for him. The 1% could be this current situation Grian had found himself in if he tried hard enough, but was it really that serious? No.
A sharp pain shot through his chest, reminding him of what was growing inside of him. The thought of something inside his lungs and chest was creeping Grian out day by day and he almost had half a mind to claw the roots out of his body on his own.
He slipped into Joel’s honey shop, honey bottles being the next item on his list. In a world of magic, Grian knew honey wasn’t really all that needed for remedial purposes, but he had grown attached to the simplicity and nostalgia honey tea would bring him. Although him buying it meant putting Joel on his case. Also why he was there at two in the morning. The music wouldn’t work at such an ungodly hour.
Or so Grian thought.
He placed the diamonds in the chest, and turned around, honey bottles in his inventory only for—
Honey honey honey—
Oh no.
Oh no no no—
Grian stumbled over his feet and burst out of the shop as the song all but blared into the quiet night. Almost like it was a security alarm. His communicator pinged as he did the most logical thing he could think of and ran away from the shop.
It was only when he was halfway through the shopping district that it occurred to him that he could just— fly. Which he then did, shoving all his items into his inventory and pulling out his communicator. He took flight, unlocking his communicator. Grian knew full well that this was an accident waiting to happen but he just had to make sure no one actually saw him. Even if that meant flying without concentrating.
There were a couple of messages in the general chat, mainly people asking who on earth was buying honey at this ungodly hour. Grian chose to ignore those. Scar’s icon sat at the top of his unread messages list, the number of messages only increasing.
It hurt Grian in a way previously thought impossible to continuously ignore Scar and his attempts to talk. But he just couldn’t . He couldn’t find it in himself to face the man. To know what was happening to him because of what Grian felt. And to know that it’s happening simply because there was no possible way for those feelings to be reciprocated.
He put his communicator back in, almost losing control of his flight in the process. Heart racing, Grian took the long way round to his base, over the cherry mountain and away from Mumbo and Scar’s bases.
Landing quietly on his fishing dock, Grian looked up at his base on the mountain side. He could see some sort of movement, squinting to try and make out who it was.
Oh.
There was no mistaking the enormous hat he could just barely make out from where he stood. Before Scar could notice him standing at the docks, Grian all but ran to the secret entrance in his fishing hut. A ping at his communicator made him pause to check, Scar’s icon bobbing up and down to indicate a new unread message.
< Goodtimeswithscar whispered to Grian> where are you :( can we talk?
< Goodtimeswithscar whispered to Grian> im sorry if i did somehtng :(
< Goodtimeswithscar whispered to Grian> grian..?
–4 unread messages from Goodtimeswithscar–
He swallowed thickly, the all too familiar prickling sensation closing in on his throat before slipping the communicator back into his pocket. Grian simply couldn’t face Scar right now. Or ever.
The password to the secret entrance to his Mending book shrine had been changed a little after Grian moved into the place just in case Cleo did manage to figure out where he was. They were the only other person to know the password and Grian was not going to let there be any chance of discovery.
The area was humid and a little too wet for his liking but it was underneath the river so he really couldn’t complain about it being too wet. He had set up a bed near his statue and a furnace and crafting area in the driest part of the cavern. Grian was about to set up a kettle of honey tea when another ping from his communicator distracted him.
< Smallishbeans whispered to Grian> what the hell are you buying honey for its 2am
< Smallishbeans whispered to Grian> i know it was you, are you sick
< Smallishbeans whispered to Grian> where are you? Scars worried sick and so is everyone
<4 unread messages from Smallishbeans>
Scar’s worried sick .
Grian thought back to a bit ago when he saw Scar’s silhouette outside his house. The tightness in his throat lessened ever so slightly, his mouth dry. He sniffled, the author’s warning of hanahaki and the inevitable flashing in his mind.
He couldn’t face Scar. He couldn’t tell him what had happened, no matter how worried his friends were.
After all, Grian was dying, he couldn’t let Scar’s last few memories of him be riddled with the guilt that he knew would follow if he did tell Scar. Because if Grian told Scar that he loved him, he would have to face the reality that Scar didn’t feel the same .
And Scar would have to live with the fact that that is what was killing Grian. That something completely out of his control was killing Grian. And he didn’t blame Scar. How could he? He brought himself into this situation. All Scar did was exist. And be wonderful and kind and beautiful and everything that confused Grian to an unimaginable extent.
So no, no one could know. No one could help him with his illness. Even if Xisuma could, he couldn’t ask that of the admin. So Grian made his decision. He was on his own for this, which wasn’t unexpected. But he will not let anyone else get involved with him and his illness and surround himself with the pitying looks and everything that would come with dying .
As expected, his body hated the decision. Within seconds, Grian found himself curled up on the unforgivingly cold stone floor, wheezing and retching, clumps of blood soaked petals filling his mouth.
Eventually, the coughing fit ended and Grian was surrounded by the poppies and lilacs that were killing him slowly and painfully. His communicator pinged occasionally as his friends kept trying to establish contact with him. Grian reached out to the device, fingers cold and clammy and shut it off completely.
The silence that followed was near deafening. It was as if the silence itself was echoing off the cavern walls. The cavern was poorly lit, adding to the pressing quiet. But, Grian found the peace that it brought almost, comforting.
With his communicator shut down, they couldn’t find him based on coordinate either, which was doubly helpful. Gathering all the flowers into a singular pile, he lit them on fire. It was a particularly bad coughing fit, weakness pulling at his bones. His wings lay limp and his legs felt like they were on fire with every movement he made. His hair stuck to his forehead, sweat beginning to form all over his body.
He managed to drag himself into bed, shaking and trembling as the fire he had lit crackled to an end. The bed was comfortable, and Grian, exhausted, gave into the sleep that pulled at him, trying to keep the image of Scar out of his mind.
Grian’s health worsened as the days passed by. He didn’t dare switch his communicator back on in fear of seeing what was waiting for him on the other end of the screen.
It was getting increasingly difficult for him to get out of bed. His wings felt heavy and limbs weak. Grian barely had any energy to even move in his bed. The only time he actually forced himself to move was when he could feel a coughing fit crawl up his throat.
But blood stained lips and crumpled sheets had become a constant factor of his life now. Grian had lost track of time and the days passing. His only indication that time was passing was because of the way the river water would reflect against the glass dome of the cavern.
The glow of the torches, paintings and statue were faint and didn’t provide as much light as Grian had expected either. It left the whole area dreary and dark. It was depressing.
The only things consistent in his mind were those cursed author notes of that book of diseases haunting his every breath and— Scar . While the author’s notes which sealed his death in ink and paper haunted his breaths, Scar haunted Grian’s heartbeat, his dreams, each and every movement. It was as if a ghost of Scar was looking over his shoulder at any given moment.
Grian knew exactly what Scar was feeling as a result of his decision to avoid the man. He had done this exact thing a couple years ago as a joke. A simple prank in the middle of them messing around. It had been hardly for a day or two. But it destroyed Scar. To be ignored by Grian was something Scar simply couldn’t fathom. He was at Grian’s door every half hour back then, holding flowers and cakes and trinkets and simply anything to get Grian to talk again.
And so he knew, Grian knew exactly how this decision of his was tearing Scar apart. He didn’t need to access his communicator to know that. It destroyed Grian to put Scar through that again. He had promised his friend he wouldn’t ever try something like that in the future.
But Grian made his choice. Because he knew Scar the same way Scar knew Grian. And if Scar had even the slightest hint that he was why Grian felt this way. And why Grian’s body was in irreversible self destruction—
No. Grian would not let any of them, not Scar, not Mumbo. No one. He would not let any of them live with that information and guilt. He would not cause any more pain to them than he already had.
His illness and problems were his and his only to tackle. Grian would not be bothering anyone else with this problem. And no one could find him either. They had no access to his communicator, and no one could get into his cavern even by accident.
Unless—
No.
They wouldn’t ask X to use his admin powers to locate him. Grian wasn’t worth that effort.
He could feel the flowers in his lungs taking deeper root, slowly but steadily taking him to the final stage of hanahaki. And— well, he didn’t know what to do.
Grian’s energy had depleted almost completely. The gapples and potions provided tiny energy bursts that felt like they were becoming more and more unstable with each dosage. He knew it was a direct result of the amount of magic coursing through his blood.
It wasn’t healthy or recommended or anything good at all really, even for someone with a higher magic tolerance like Grian. But he was starting to give up. He couldn’t think of any other solution to easing his pain other than magic. And because of that, he could feel his body falling apart at a molecular level. His bones were weak, his feathers dull. But to keep the cough and pain away, he was willing to push the limits as far as his body would allow.
On top of everything, his potion and food supply was slowly running out. Grian couldn’t find it in himself to even roll over in his bed, choosing to shiver under the woolen covers. About a stack of everything was left, but with the way he was running through the potions, Grian wasn’t sure how long he had left with these supplies. He curled up in his bed shivering and sweating. And he prayed to whoever was watching for all the pain to just end .
“Grian?”
Grian squinted in the bright light. He was outside his fishing hut, the sun warm and gentle on his skin. Scar was running over to him, a comically large basket in his hands.
“Scar?”
“Oh my god Grian, where have you been?” Scar dropped the basket and crashed into Grian, enveloping him in a hug, “It’s been so long, how dare you do that to me.”
Grian’s face was buried in Scar’s shoulder, the air squeezed out of him due to the force of the hug. So all he could say was—
“Mhmpgph.”
Intelligently. Obviously.
Scar let go of him minutes later, Grian shaking his head to reorient himself.
“What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the basket at Scar’s feet.
“Oh! This is for a picnic! I wasn’t sure if you’d actually be here though— otherwise I’d have brought way more.”
“More?” he snorted, “Scar this looks like you’ve fit Mumbo and Cub in this along with food and drinks.”
Scar laughed, a sound ever so magical Grian forgot about all the pain that was eating away at his insides.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Scar said, suddenly becoming serious, “where were you?”
Grian sucked in a breath, trying to think of an acceptable enough answer. He looked away from Scar, feeling the other’s eyes burn into him like he was trying to read Grian’s mind.
“Well,” Scar cleared his throat, “if you’d like we can talk about this while having our picnic? Would you be more comfortable with that?”
He looked back at Scar and nodded ever so slightly. Scar let out an indecipherable noise and put an arm around Grian’s shoulder. He let Scar lead him away from his fishing docks and towards where he had his trees and wheat field.
After Scar found a spot that provided the perfect amount of shade and sunlight, Grian was directed to sit down against a tree while he ‘set up the picnic’. Whatever that meant.
Scar seemed to have thought of everything as he watched the man set up a big, very comfortable looking blanket and then set literally every sort of food imaginable on top of it. Grian watched how the wind ruffled Scar’s hair making it even messier than before. The sun made the man look ethereal and Grian simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from the whole scene. How could he?
“Scar,” he began after a moment, voice raspy and painful as he remembered what exactly his lungs were going through, “Scar, where are we going to sit?”
“Your job is to sit and not worry,” the other said, looking at Grian with a grin, “everything will be taken care of.”
Grian frowned. Something didn’t feel right about how Scar was acting. Why was he being so nice? He had abandoned Scar. He probably looked horrible as well, from the days spent underground out of the way of everyone. Scar didn’t seem to mind that however, as the man hummed along to some song setting up a jug of lemonade.
Scar looked up at him with a blinding grin, “come on! Let’s eat!”
He even sounded weird. Scar sounded like he was forgetting what Grian had put him through. And was choosing to just move past it and ignore it forever.
Grian moved over to sit on the tiny amount of space left on the enormous blanket, Scar settling down next to him.
He accepted the large glass of iced lemonade that Scar had poured for him, sipping as slow as possible to ease the pain in his throat. The two of them sat in the comfortable silence, watching the butterflies flit around in the meadow.
Scar looked at him with an indecipherable expression, before reaching out and fixing Grian’s hair. The tightness in his chest bound by the roots of the lilacs and poppies began to unravel so quickly by that action, he felt like the air was knocked out of his lungs.
He cleared his throat, cheeks reddening. Scar didn’t seem to notice, smiling brighter than the sun. He looked almost— detached. Which was weird.
“G?” Scar began, and Grian’s stomach sank at the tone his voice had taken. He was going to be questioned about his disappearance. “Can I ask you something?”
All he could do was hum, bringing his knees close to his chest, wings beginning to wrap around his body.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
Grian slowly looked at Scar, the man’s eyes— blank.
Blank?
“Um—”
He coughed into his elbow, wincing at the pain shooting through his chest. The action didn’t go unnoticed.
“What’s wrong?” Scar asked, looking concerned, emotion returning to his face, “that cough didn’t sound too good and—”
The man cut himself off, eyes locking onto something on Grian’s face, eyes narrowing.
“Is that blood?”
Grian’s eyes widened, wiping his mouth, fingers coming back red. A million thoughts raced through his head, and he could see the same in Scar’s eyes. He could feel the roots coiling tighter in his lungs as he scrambled to find the right words to say.
“Grian, why are you bleeding.” It wasn’t even framed as a question. Scar’s voice was strained, and— Grian couldn’t really name the emotion in it.
He opened his mouth to respond but instead of words, flowers began spilling out of his mouth. Grian began to cough and choke, entire flowers falling out of his mouth. Scar only stared at him, the bloodied flowers falling into his hands.
“Grian, what is this?”
“It’s— complicated—” he wheezed, the flowers slowly stopping.
“Complicated?” Scar was shaking, now properly facing Grian, “what is this?”
“I— can’t tell you,” Grian coughed, moving away from Scar.
“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me? Why didn’t you just tell me? Surely there’s a way to fix this?”
Grian shook his head, “There isn’t. Not really—”
“What do you mean not really? Does this have to do with that book Joel was telling me you were reading? About the diseases?”
Joel did what?
Grian didn’t know what to say. Scar took out his communicator and began tapping at it furiously. He began to shift away from the man, wings shielding him from everything. Or rather, his wings shielding the world from him.
“He said you were looking at, what was it? Han-a- haki disease?”
The words felt like a double punch to the gut. Grian parted his wings only enough to be able to see Scar squinting at his communicator screen.
“Oh.”
Grian didn’t dare to look. Scar’s voice was flat. The sun was covered by clouds now, the wind suddenly getting incredibly chilly.
His heart was racing and he could feel the blood rushing in his ears as Scar was silent for a moment, most likely reading up on hanahaki. Which he somehow had gotten the information through his communicator.
Then Scar started laughing.
Laughing .
It wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t forced. It was pure genuine laughter that felt like it was meant to pierce Grian with millions of thorns. It wasn’t like Scar’s regular laugh, his beautiful laugh. No. This laugh was a mocking laugh. Mocking him. Mocking Grian . It was cold and cruel and almost inhuman.
“Oh Grian ,” Scar laughed, Grian parting his wings to look at him, “you can’t be serious.”
Scar was laughing at him.
The thorns in his lungs tightened, spots forming in Grian’s eyes. He tried to say something as Scar laughed and laughed and laughed and why wouldn’t he stop laughing . The wind picked up, cold and harsh, the sun completely blocked out by the dark clouds. Flowers began to crawl up his throat, his breathing panicked and head dizzy.
Scar’s laughter echoed in his ears as the flowers poured out of his mouth, thorns digging into his lungs and into him . Grian bent over heaving and wheezing, the laughter loud and cruel, the weather suddenly harsh. The spots in his vision increased with each wheeze until it took over his whole vision as the thorns and roots pierced through his body reaching for the ground as Scar finally stopped laughing to say something.
“I’ve never loved you, Grian.”
Grian shot up in bed, wheezing and heaving, blood dripping from his mouth onto his sweater that contained more red blood than red dye at this rate.
Just a dream, just a dream.
A horrifyingly realistic one. The laughter was clear in Grian’s head as if he had experienced it live. The water reflected down on the glass dome, indicating that it was sometime in the middle of the night. Grian felt groggy and he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. All he could feel really was the excruciating pain in his chest. And throat.
There was no real food left in his chests or inventory, only gapples and potions and everything that was killing him. He groaned, weakness in every fiber of his being. He rolled over trying to get under the covers again, only to roll right out of bed into a pile of petals and blanket.
His wings were bent at an odd angle, his foot was in the wrong place and his vision was way blurrier than he thought. Grian managed to crawl out of the tangled mess he had become after what felt like two years.
Eventually, he got to his feet, only to realize his legs had turned into literal jelly as he crashed to the floor again. Groaning, Grian pushed himself upright after another two years worth of effort and energy.
He needed to get actual food. Grian wasn’t sure what exactly possessed him to make this decision. His subconscious confirmed via very terrible dreams that what he suspected was right. So really he should just let all his supplies run out and let the flowers in his body turn him into a permanent flowerpot. He coughed, a singular petal floating out and onto the ground.
Grian found himself slowly but steadily making his way out of the mending book shrine. He didn’t know how, but he eventually ended up outside the hut. But what he did know is that it took up every single sliver of energy left in his body.
His base swam before his eyes, nausea building up in his throat. Grian stumbled forward, disoriented and unable to walk or stand or even see. What was he doing ? Why was he out here? He took a step forward, attempting to regain his balance.
Something caught on his foot and the next thing he knew, the pathway was rushing to meet his face—
“ Grian—!”