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Most people found change to be scary, especially when the change involved picking up their entire life and moving to new surroundings. However, for one Skizzleman, the change of packing up his keepsakes and switching to an entirely new server couldn’t be more welcomed.
Hermitcraft was a server with history, full of talented builders and innovative redstoners, but that wasn’t what made Skizzleman’s switch to the server special. No, what made it special was getting to spend as much time as possible with one ImpulseSV—the man who hung Skizz’s happiness in the sky like the sun. It became quickly apparent to the other Hermits that the two of them–Impulse and Skizz–completed each other.
Cooking dinner for the two of them became an unspoken decision. The muses of Hermitcraft often provoked inspiration beyond the physical limitations of the stomach, and the Hermits were the dedicated sort. After one too many a time of catching the other ravenously devouring carrots from a chest, Skizz had taken to charging himself with making a fulfilling meal once a day for the both of them.
Craving something easy to make, Skizz was currently stood with a large pot running under the tap water of the sink, digging through the pantry for tomato sauce and noodles. Last night’s extra hamburger would chop up nicely for an easy bolognese.
Skizz barely stops the tap before water overflows into the sink. He pours out some of the excess water, before setting the pot on the stove to boil. Taking a step back, Skizz crouches down to pull out the saucepan from another cabinet, however, his search is quickly interrupted.
“Hey!” Skizz jolts into the hands digging into the back of his wings, scrunching his entire body as a reflex. Standing up while turning around, he nearly bats Impulse’s body into the side of the counter with his wings—the saucepan long forgotten, “Warn a guy, Jerkface!”
Impulse’s giggles are a balm to his startled nerves. “Noo– never!”
“You’ll be subject to my cold hands then.” Skizz wraps his arms around his giggling best friend. Despite the hiccuping laughter, Impulse leans into the embrace like a willow bending to the soft summer winds.
“You say that like I don’t already deal with your frozen toes digging into my own legs.” Impulse retorts back, still carrying the light-hearted tone from laughing into his voice.
“You like it.” Skizz practically sings. He wraps his wings around his best friend as a second embrace, letting feathers drape around Impulse’s shoulders like a living cape. Skizz’s hindbrain responds in kind, jumpstarting a chorus of humming giggles at the thought of protecting his Impulse with his own wings.
“Unfortunately.” Impulse responds in faux-sarcasm, but Skizz knows the slight crook to Impulse’s lips screams of his best friend’s soft fondness. Skizz had a PhD in impulse-ology, afterall.
Skizz chooses to let his light humming answer the response, leaning his own chin down to Impulse’s shoulder.
From this position, Impulse is hidden from the world, completely surrounded in a blanket of Skizz. Time is irrelevant here when bracing against Impulse’s form. The tension in his best friend's body erodes into warmth; like grains of sand swirling against lapping waves.
There’s something so comforting to the fact that here where Impulse relaxes, finally lets the thrum of nervous hesitance out of his body, is in Skizz’s embrace. That encased in Skizz’s wings, swaying in the kitchen, Impulse is at peace. He would stand here forever in this moment if it wouldn’t limit Impulse’s freedom, no matter the fact his wings would thrum with tingling numbness.
“Have you been neglecting these again?” Impulse grazes his hand into the covert feathers of Skizz’s wings.
Both of them already know the answer. Skizz’s nature was to drop everything and help with any projects necessary, from gathering materials for community building, playtesting a new game, or even being recruited on the fly to prank another Hermit, Skizz was more than happy to help. The flipside of this nature meant that other self-centered tasks often took a backseat to helping, including preening his own wings.
“‘Cmon. We'll do it now.” Impulse attempts to step back, but Skizz’s wings block the way.
Skizz tries to hide his displeasure. “Dop! How ‘bout we just stay here! My wings aren’t too bad!”
Impulse gives him a look, the kind of look that can’t be easily translated into words, but gets the muddled playful frustration infused with a fond concern. However, it quickly fades into a determined smile.
Uh oh.
Skizz braces himself to be softly hit, but instead Impulse shifts to lean stronger back into hugging Skizz. The motion stunned Skizz, but not enough to re-tighten his arms around his best friend’s form, slowly relaxing again.
That’s where Dop follows through on his attack. He had snaked his hands around Skizz’s back, jabbing at the extended shoulder muscles until they gave up enough for him to escape.
“Dipple-Dop!” Skizz shrieks, muscles spasming from the barrage of pokes. “You suck!”
Impulse’s giggles mirror his own; though the two were hunched over for differing reasons. It takes a full minute for the lighthearted laughter to fully go away, extended by the lunge Skizz makes for Impulse’s own back as retribution.
“Stop fighting me so I can take care of you!” Impulse dodges the playful attack, letting Skizz stumble past his body to sneakily grab onto Skizz’s shoulders.
“I have so much to do tonight! Blueprints for the pyramid and material gathering for Bdubs. You interrupted me mid-cooking!” Skizz complains, trying to spin his body in a way to free himself from Impulse’s grasp.
“Wing Time.” Impulse declares, lightly shoving him towards the living room. “All those things can wait ‘til you’ve got clean wings.”
“But the spaghet-”
Impulse cuts Skizz off, “The water on the stove isn’t even boiling, you can do it later.”
“Okay, but don’t make me look like a plucked chicken.” Skizz acquiesces with a mixture of defeat and sass, “I don’t want any comparisons to Grian after the Honey Prank.”
“Mmm, I’ll try my best to not leave your wings naked.”
"Yeah right, you can't wait to see me naked."
Impulse chooses not to respond with words, but responds by digging his fingers playfully into Skizz’s wings abruptly. Skizz jolts, switching his teasing giggles for startled laughter, but before Skizz can bring himself to complain, Impulse bends his fingers, to scratch gently at his skin in tiny circles.
Skizz melts.
The hidden tension liquifies from his muscles, wrung out at the mere presence of Impulse’s diligent touch. Layers of hidden stress gone with simple pressure. A deep sigh is pulled from his chest, fully relaxing into his best friend’s warm hands.
It would be more embarrassing how easy Skizz gave in if it wasn’t Impulse. The universe tangled their very souls as if they were one being; Impulse knows Skizz in his entirety more than Skizz could even know himself.
“Should probably head to the nest.” Impulse lifts his fingers off of Skizz’s skin, but doesn’t pull his hands out from between the downy barbules. “Your back will thank you later.”
“You calling me old?” Skizz teases, shuffling forward into the living room to the massive pile of softness.
When trying to make an interior that actually provided some comfort, Skizz at one point overestimated the normal amount of pillows, blankets and beanbags one room needed when gathering. Whether the hindbrain overtook him during building is hotly debated, but the large area of plush beanbags layered with soft blankets and sprinkled with pillows had become a favorite part of the home. From hosting game nights, pillow fights, or cuddling tight with friends, the nest grew into truly a sentimental main feature of the living room.
“Maybe.” Impulse taunts back, pushing Skizz face first into the mountains of blankets.
“‘ey!” Skizz shouts back, mouth full of fluffy fabric.
“Careful not to suffocate yourself.” Impulse kneels by Skizz’s side, carding his hands through the outer coverts, picking away bits of dust and debris. Skizz hears the unsaid message, and relaxes into the nest to let Impulse work.
Dop works quickly, realigning the feathers gently with graceful familiarity. He removes the dead skin with light scritches and covers the barbules in protective oil. With each second, Skizz sinks more and more into the blankets, limbs heavy at his sides. For once, Skizz’s racing mind is calm, savoring the attention by overfilling his thoughts with an unwavering calm affection.
That is, until Impulse moves his attention to his back. Skizz moans as Impulse’s fingers prod at his muscles.
“The neighbors are gonna get the wrong idea of what’s happening over here.” Impulse jokes.
“Let them-m,” Skizz groans, “I swear you have magic hands. People would pay the—hm–big dollars to have their very own massages from the way you make me into a pancake.”
Impulse chooses that moment to dig into the scapula muscles towards the base of Skizz’s wings and tease out the tension in the largest flight muscle. “So you’re saying I should be charging you, huh?”
“Only if I get to leave–” Skizz is cut off by his own whine. “L-leave a review.”
“Hmm.” Impulse presses deeper into a stubborn knot, trying to release some of the tension. “What would you say?”
Skizz tries his best to form coherent words, but Impulse’s hands kneading into his aching back straight up sabotages his words. “Hngggggghh”
“Mm.” Impulse hums. “Real insight there.”
“Shad-up, J-Jerk.” Skizz manages through jittery teeth. It’s not his fault that Impulse refuses to play fair.
Impulse doesn’t respond audibly, but Skizz can hear his fond smirk in the air. With a bit more prodding of his stiff muscles, Impulse turns to straightening the undersides of Skizz’s wings.
He’s so relaxed that Skizz doesn’t even notice his own eyelids growing heavier and heavier.
—
Skizz is awoken by being rolled over, with the weight of a ceramic plate being set in his lap.
He blinks awake slowly, stretching his limbs out like a starfish, his aligned feathers singing with their fresh clean state.
“Watch the sauce!” Impulse cautions, leaning over him to steady the plate of spaghetti on his lap. “I’d hate for you to ruin all my hard work on your wings immediately.”
Warmth surrounds Skizz—the steam billowing from the noodles, the cozy blankets radiating his own body heat, the gentle heat from Impulse sitting against his own side, the glistening peace in his best friend’s eyes, the swirling comfort in Skizz’s own chest.
There’s something indescribable about basking in such love. Enduring and affectionate, scattering through the skin like sunlight. Like you’ve managed to slot into the perfectly you-shaped hole to hear the universe’s kind words echoing through your own form.
Looking over to Impulse, Skizz sees the same peace in his friend’s eyes as he slowly twirls his spaghetti around his fork. Reverberating love through every motion, every breath, every moment.
Skizz smiles. The world smiles back.