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Flaring his wings to buffer the air, Grian flies a circle above Joel’s workshop before landing on the cobbled street. He’s spent the better part of two days looking for the man by now; he must have turned off his communicator or something. Were it not for the other residents of Magic Mountain assuring him they’d spotted their newest member around his area, Grian would see himself forced to raise some kind of alarm now.
A clanking sound draws his attention. He heads towards it, finding Joel bent over a workbench in his customary white shirt and vest, handling a welding torch like he’s trying to exterminate the plague. When he sees Grian, he flicks the gas lever.
‘Hello, Grian. Are you here to admire my building skills? I’ve made a staircase. It leads right to Impulse’s parking lot.’
‘I’m here to talk about Etho.’
Joel pulls off his safety gloves and goggles. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Nothing.’ Grian hops onto the closest unused crafting table, crouching on top. ‘I just think the two of you have some unfinished business you should sort out.’
‘What kind of business?’
Grian takes a measured breath. Ever since his less-than-successful conversation with Etho three weeks prior, he’s been working on how to break the news to Joel. ‘I think he likes you. No, wait. I know he likes you.’
Joel’s brow wrinkles. ‘That’s good, isn’t it? Getting along with people in a new place, that’s what you want.’
Apparently he hasn’t been clear enough. ‘He wants you, Joel. In a suck-your-blood kind of sense.’
‘Oh.’ The creases on Joel’s forehead deepen. ‘Is there a reason he’s not coming to tell me himself? Did he ask you to do it?’
No, he didn’t, no matter how much easier that would have been. It’s been giving Grian migraines for a fortnight. ‘You know how he is.’
‘I don’t actually.’ Joel stops fiddling with the strap of his goggles and tosses them into an open chest containing additional safety equipment. ‘I don’t know how he is. We spent six weeks together under the influence of a soul bond – which was your idea, by the way.’
He grabs the welding torch, carries it over to his shelving unit and shoves it into the narrow space between a stone cutter and a toolbox. ‘For most people, that wouldn’t be enough to form a friendship, let alone more.’
Wiping his greasy hands on his shirt, he returns to Grian, shaking his head. ‘I like him, but so far all he’s said to me since I arrived was “hello”.’
Grian purses his lips. ‘Have you tried talking to him? Have a conversation, maybe?’
‘No.’
‘You should.’
Joel’s eyes settle on him, coal-dark and unreadable. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘What?’ Grian shrieks. ‘Why?’
The other shrugs. ‘If he wants me like you said, he should be the one to come to me.’
‘Joel,’ says Grian. He leans forward and grabs his friend’s shoulders. ‘I’m aware you like to play hard to get, but this is important.’
‘Then he can drop by and tell me that himself.’
‘He probably thinks he’s imposing on you!’
‘Sounds like a him-problem.’ Joel pushes his hands away. ‘He knows where to find me.’
Grian manfully suppresses a gigantic sigh. ‘Why do you both have to be so stubborn? You like him. He likes you. This should be the easiest thing in the world!’
Joel gasps. ‘You’re calling me stubborn? If anything, he’s the stubborn one! Besides, you don’t have a leg to stand on!’
‘… Touché.’
‘What does it even matter to you? What horse do you have in this race?’ Joel’s proper agitated now; there are red splotches forming on his cheeks. ‘Wait, did you only bring me here to– what? Feed Etho?’
Grian’s wings rustle in annoyance. ‘The two of you got along so well during Double Life. I thought you’d be glad to see each other again!’ He wrings his hands. ‘Can you please just talk to him.’
For a moment, Joel looks like he’s considering it. He bites his lower lip and his eye-teeth stick out of the corners of his mouth. Then he rubs a palm across his face. ‘Sorry, Grian. I know you’ve been friends with him for a long time, but I don’t see how what you’re saying can be true.’
He holds up his index finger to pre-empt Grian’s immediate retort.
‘An artificial soul bond is not a real connection. You warned us, remember? You said we shouldn’t give it additional weight.’
‘I didn’t mean–’
‘Can you stop meddling in this?,’ Joel interrupts sharply. ‘Any more than you already have, at least. It’s none of your business either way and I’m not comfortable with you trying to make something happen that isn’t meant to be.’
‘From the way things are going, you guys need someone to meddle,’ Grian grouses.
‘Grian.’
‘You two are my friends,’ he exclaims. ‘I want you to be happy.’
‘Well, people don’t generally dance by the tune of your flute. Okay, Jimmy does,’ Joel amends. ‘But other people have a mind and wishes of their own. Like me. I don’t wish to talk about this any more.’
He turns and heads for the back exit of the workshop, but stops in the doorway one last time. ‘If Etho can’t tell me he likes me on his own, he’s a coward and I don’t want to hang out with him anyway.’
With a snarl, Grian jumps off the table. ‘You cannot be serious.’
Instead of an answer, Joel just stares him down until Grian, fuming, whirls and stalks out without another word. When the rainbow-coloured swirl of his feathers has disappeared, Joel slips away himself, into the narrow passageway that leads to his own, private tree nursery. He briefly contemplates looking for Etho, but decides against it.
The beast inside of him gnashes its teeth in response, pacing in a circle. The truth is, Grian is right – and Lizzie was right long before him, for the record. The memory of their time spent together in the belly of the Relation still haunts him. His skin recalls their desperate touches all too well; the soft, slick noises of their locked lips.
But it takes two people to make such things happen. Joel already came here to join the Hermits, he’s definitely not going to be the one to prostrate himself before the other and beg for the attention, too. The ball’s in Etho’s court.