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Grian hates his wings. Obviously not in Hermitcraft, but in the lives series, he hates them with a quietly burning passion. It's not something he proclaims loudly - no one would really get it - but every time he sees them in the reflection of the river, and every time they twinge with pain, and every time the weight of them holds him back, he's overwhelmed by memories.
Dunes of burning sand. A sandstone mountain, silhouetted by the furious red sun. The remains of a home with the walls all blown in by a failed tnt trap. A broken body at his feet, blood on his knuckles, a friend felled at his own hands. That quiet sense of weary relief that it's finally over. The whispering of ghosts in his ears. The terror that comes when he sits there, and nothing happens. Grian is alone on the Third Life server, and an awful sense of certainty overcomes him when he realizes that one person alive is one person too many.
A cliff, a jump, and a fall.
It's the first time he's fallen without wings. It's terrifying. He flaps the useless appendages on instinct, even though he's the one who hurled himself off this cliff, even though they don't work anyways in this world, and nothing at all happens.
He falls. He dies. Third Life is over.
He thought it was over, then. He thought it was all done. He made it back to Hermitcraft, his wings worked again, everything was absolutely fine. So what if he occasionally flinched at the mention of sand, or deserts, or Scar? It was fine, and he meant that.
And then everything went to hell again.
A few words exchanged with Mumbo. Chatter about how this farm was a terrible idea. The nether roof, the stone pathways, high above the ground. The deep teal of the endless abyss they headed into, and it is okay because Mumbo was there and Grian isn't alone and even though he was on yellow, it's fine.
A shout of alarm, a piercing arrow, the plummet of his heart into his stomach as his body does the same thing. It is worse this time. He's caught by surprise, at first, and then his mind just says 'oh, open your wings!' and then he opens them and they don't work and he's back in the desert except this time he . And it's been seconds upon seconds and he should be dead by now and he's not, and how tall was this tower? and he cranes his neck to see if maybe a miracle has befell him and maybe he's going to be okay and then he hits the ground and it hurts and then he's back in his bed and he's reeling from the sudden stop.
He can almost pretend it's a nightmare, because of how he's teleported back to his respawn bed, but the bright red - red like the sun in the desert - of the heart over his chest speaks volumes.
***
Grian is standing in his second, more pitiful attempt at a double life base. After Scar managed to clutch up and Grian himself hopped on a boat and ran, they've somehow both survived - and they're the last greens on the server. Once again, it's him and Scar against the world, but this time they're both targets. And this time, if he dies, so does Scar.
Grian won't lie: he didn't think they'd make it this far; he didn't think Scar would be useful as a soulmate. He's too bright, too passionate, he tosses his heart to the world for everyone to see. Scar is careless, with his life and with his feelings, and it scares Grian. Scar is the sun - bright, but blinding, and if you get to close, you can get burnt.
That's a little too apt a metaphor, seeing as their builds keep getting burnt down.
"G?"
Grian blinks. "Sorry Scar, what were you saying?" he asks a little sheepishly, having not been listening. It sounds like Scar has been trying to get his attention for a few minutes now.
"Oh, nothing much," Scar is facing away from him, but he can still hear his familiar smile on his voice, comforting as always. "Just wondering if you were going to preen your wings soon - they're all muddled up with dirt and stuff, if you haven't noticed."
"I don't really need to preen them," he said, voice tight with a force dismissiveness, like he wants this conversation over with as soon as possible. Grian, as has been mentioned before, hates his wings. "Seeing as they're useless regardless of what I do."
Scar doesn't hesitate; doesn't beat around the bush. That's one of the massive differences between them - hell, if Scar had found that they were soulmates before Grian, he would have told him right away. Scar wears his heart on his sleeve. "You know I can feel it, right?"
"What?" Grian isn't quite sure he understands.
"I may not have wings, but it's phantom pain all the same. If you're hurting - even if it's just a little, constant ache - then I'm hurting. I can feel that they're heavy and achy and sore - I thought I'd give you some time to sort it out on your own, but it's been weeks."
Grian's heart drops, and guilt replaces any sense of superiority he had - this is why he doesn't want a soulmate. He hurts too much. This is especially why he doesn't want Scar as a soulmate. "Oh, Scar, I'm so sorry - I'll preen them soon, then - "
"Grian."
He rambles on, ignoring his soulmate completely because he knows that he won't want to hear whatever Scar has to say. "Just give me a few hours and it'll all feel better - "
"Grian!" He stops. Scar smiles sadly. "I want to talk about this. I know you don't but - I don't want you to preen your wings just for me. I want you to take care of yourself for you."
Grian doesn't know how to respond, and so he does the only thing he can think of: snapping at Scar. "You're one to talk. Do you think I think it's a coincidence that in every other series you've been frustratingly reckless with your lives? And now that we're bound, all of the sudden we're the only green pair alive, and you're being careful and safe - "
Scar's voice rises above Grian's. "We're not talking about me right now! We're talking about you and your wings."
"Well, if we talk about me, we have to talk about you. We're soulmates now, whether you like it or not," Grian says, settling into a stubborn stalemate. He's not budging. "What's yours is mine."
"Fine, then," Scar concedes. A moment of silence passes. "Maybe this soulmate thing is good for both of us. It forces us to - to take care of ourselves a little bit more."
Another beat of silence, and then Grian is speaking. He doesn't register the conscious decision to talk, but once the gates have opened it's hard to stop. "I don't like to think about my wings when I'm here."
"Why, because they don't work?"
"Well, that, but - it wasn't like that at first, really. I just accepted that they only worked in Hermitcraft, and that I wouldn't be able to fly here. It was a little jarring, but not - not awful. I preened them, to keep them in good shape. I was okay with having them. You know this."
Scar does. Days and weeks spent in the desert together gave him the most knowledge of anyone on the server of Grian's progression through the lives series. He'd even learned to preen the bits that Grian couldn't reach, after some trust was created and instructions were given. "But then you stopped."
"It was after Third Life ended. Obviously, in Hermitcraft I still preened them - I needed to, to fly - but when we got back to Last Life... it was easier to let them be uncomfortable than preen them, since they were useless."
"What changed?" Scar asks, as gently as Grian's ever heard him.
"Well, I kept turning to look at them, and all I could think about was falling. At the end of Third Life, after you - after I - after I killed you. I jumped to end the series, you know?"
"Oh." No other words are needed, not for that. Grian knows that Scar doesn't begrudge him for any of that, but it's still a painful memory.
He draws in a rattling breath. "I preened them occasionally, though. It was okay. Until I fell in Last Life - remember? How Joel shot me off the tower? I fell, and it was a long fall, and then I became red, and I couldn't look at my wings without remembering just how useless they were. So I stopped. And I didn't preen until Hermitcraft. And now we're here, and I just can't... I don't really see the point. I'd rather it hurt, you know?"
"Oh - oh, Grian, that sucks, man." It's not the most serious response, but it's what Grian needs to hear right now. He lets out a watery laugh and Scar presses on, always earnest. "I'm serious! And I'm glad you told me. We can - I can always help you preen, if you'd like. Maybe it'll remind you of the desert before things went south, you know?"
Grian smiles, a timid expression but a smile all the same. "That - that actually sounds like it might help."
"And if it doesn't, that's okay too," Scar hurries to reassure him. "But we'll figure it out. I promise. Soulmates, you know?"
"Soulmates," Grian says, and this time, maybe he isn't so worried that Scar is his.