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Grian sat cross-legged on the soft carpet of his bedroom floor, next to a pile of feathers and wings splayed out behind him, hunched awkwardly as he twisted to reach the feathers at their base. He was bent almost comically backward, straining with one arm while the other tried to brace his weight. His wings needed preening — badly — especially now that the bandages had finally come off.
It should have been simple. After all, he’d lived alone for twenty years. Preening on his own had never been a problem before.
Except... well. That was before his capture.
Two years of constraint had left his wings stiff, sore, and stubborn. He’d been working hard to build his strength back up — stretching, flying longer and longer distances, moving them slowly through the motions they’d been denied for far too long, and that had worked great! He was able to fly properly now, no problems there.
But flexibility didn’t return overnight, and no amount of effort could seem to get his arms to bend the right way anymore. No matter how he twisted, the entire back span of his wings remained maddeningly out of reach — everything except the parts he could carefully curl around his sides to preen from the front.
He let out a heavy sigh, the sound sharp in the quiet room, frustration simmering beneath his skin. Through the narrow treehouse window, he watched the last edge of the sun sink below the horizon, painting the sky in fading shades of orange and pink. The light filtered through the leaves, casting long, dappled shadows across the walls.
It had been about a month now since he, Scar, Pearl, and Cub had returned from their trip to the North.
Slowly but surely, things were beginning to settle. The air on the island had taken on a new stillness, one welcome after the storm had passed. They hadn’t returned to the sea yet, though Grian knew it was only a matter of time. The ocean always called them back.
Still, for now, they were content to stay here, tucked away in their little safehaven among the trees.
That didn’t mean everything had gone still. Just a few weeks ago, he’d taken Pearl to visit their mother’s grave, seeing as it was long overdue. The moment had weighed heavy on them both, but it was theirs to carry, and theirs alone.
They had also held a funeral. A real one. Just the two of them, standing quietly in the clearing as they said goodbye to a man who Grian wished he’d had the chance to meet, and who meant a lot to his sister.
It was quiet, honest, and bloodstained in its own right. A reminder that even in peace, the war left a permanent mark.
So, tonight, Grian had thought preening might help. It was one of those small, grounding rituals — comforting, familiar. A task to keep his hands busy and his thoughts still. After everything, it had seemed like exactly what he needed: simple, soothing, and his.
But no. Of course not . Because nothing could ever go smoothly for him, could it? Nothing could ever just be easy .
He grumbled under his breath, wings twitching behind him in irritation.
Figures.
He was jolted from his thoughts by the creak of the treehouse door swinging open, followed by the unmistakable voice of Scar cheerfully announcing his arrival, as if this were his place and not Grian’s.
Grian loved that man — he truly, deeply did — but damn if Scar didn’t have the absolute worst sense of timing.
He let out a quiet sigh and rose to his feet with a wince, shaking out the stiffness from sitting so long on the floor. Padding toward the main room, he mentally braced himself for whatever whirlwind his partner was bringing through the door this time.
He still wasn’t entirely used to calling him that . That word carried a weight he hadn’t been sure he’d ever get to feel. But even so — it made him smile every time.
Scar had his back turned, in the middle of hanging up his hat — the lilac and feathers Grian had given him a couple of days ago still tucked neatly into the band. He fumbled with it slightly, trying not to drop the box balanced under his arm, which smelled unmistakably like sugar and fried dough. Grian blinked.
Scar was clutching a box of donuts.
“What’s this, then?” Grian asked with a laugh, one brow raised as he stepped into view.
Scar gave a very undignified yelp and spun around, eyes lighting up like sunrise when he spotted him. “OH! Why hello there, Grian! You startled me! I didn’t expect to see you here!”
Grian folded his arms across his chest, giving him a pointed look laced with amusement. “You didn’t expect to see me in my own home?”
Scar, utterly unfazed, shrugged with a crooked grin and casually set the donut box down on the kitchen counter. “Well, you know. You’re all over the place sometimes. Could’ve been out flying. Or by the beach. Or off antagonizing Jimmy again.”
Before Grian could retort, Scar was already closing the distance, arms looping around him in a warm, familiar hug, and pressing a kiss into the top of his head. Grian melted into it immediately, eyes fluttering shut. He would never get used to the way Scar made the world quieter just by existing.
Then Grian pulled away, crossing his arms again, pretending not to miss the warmth already.
“Now,” he said, trying to sound stern despite the soft edges of his smile, “may the mighty pirate captain please tell me what his grand plan is here?”
Scar gasped, clutching his chest like he was mortally offended. “Me? Plan? Never! I simply had a feeling I should stop by… and in an act of completely selfless generosity, I liberated some donuts from the main kitchen to bring along.”
“Cleo is going to have your head for that.”
Scar waved a hand dismissively, like the threat of Cleo’s wrath was no more dangerous than a summer breeze. “Wouldn’t be the first time. That’s fine! ”
Grian snorted, shaking his head in fond exasperation.
“I also,” Scar added, a bit more cautiously, “might have noticed your feathers looking a little… um… ruffled, since you got those bandages off. And I was wondering if I could maybe, possibly, in a dream scenario… help you? With them? …If you want?”
Grian’s brain completely short-circuited.
Did— did Scar just offer to help him preen?
His entire face lit up with heat, and he had to turn away fast, blinking at the floor as if it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. His heart was fluttering madly in his chest. He didn’t even need to look to know that Scar was probably smirking like a smug idiot about it, too.
Preening someone else’s wings was considered an incredibly intimate gesture in avian culture. It meant turning your back to another person — exposing your most vulnerable side — and placing your wings, sensitive and defenseless, entirely in their hands. The wings themselves were packed with nerve endings, so being touched there wasn’t just emotional — it was physically overwhelming. For most avians, the gentle, rhythmic grooming was enough to lull them into a dazed, half-conscious sleep in minutes.
So in short, it was a big deal.
“I did some research on avians,” Scar blurted, as if trying to defend himself before Grian could decline. “So don't worry, songbird, I totally know what I’m doing. I think. Probably. Hopefully.” He paused. “...Assuming you say yes, of course. Which you don’t have to! You’re totally free to say no. Totally reasonable. Completely understandable. I just thought I’d offer. In case. You know. That I am an option. If you want. Which again, you don’t have to—”
Grian finally turned back toward him and couldn’t help the fond smile tugging at his lips. Scar’s face was just as flushed as his own, eyes wide and rambling as if he hadn’t quite thought through the impact of his suggestion until after he’d said it out loud.
He was ridiculous.
His ridiculous man.
Had Scar really gone out of his way to study how to help him — just because he knew he might need it one day?
The thought alone sent sparks fluttering through his chest.
And he did need help. He’d just spent the last half hour proving exactly that to himself, frustrated to the point of muttering at the sunset. He was struggling, and Scar… Scar had come knocking with donuts, somehow knowing exactly what he needed.
How could he possibly say no?
Grian raised a hand, halting Scar’s rambling before it was too late, and reached out to take his hand. “I was in the middle of preening already, so it’s perfect timing. Come on.”
Without waiting for a response, he tugged Scar gently back toward his bedroom and the plush carpet he’d been sitting on earlier. On the way, he made sure to snatch the donuts off the kitchen counter — it’d be a shame to waste them, even if Cleo would probably kill them for it later.
Once inside, Grian paused to take stock of everything. The quiet hum of safety settled over the room, but tension still lingered at the back of his mind. He wasn’t entirely confident about letting a non-avian touch his wings. The last time that had happened had been… well, back with the northern sailors.
And the touching then had been anything but kind.
But this was Scar.
Scar, who’d stuck around. Scar, who never pushed too hard. Scar, who always made him laugh.
He trusted Scar.
“So,” Grian began, a little cautiously. “Where do you want me?”
Scar blinked like he hadn’t expected to be given a choice. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“You’re the one doing the work,” Grian replied with a soft laugh. “We can sit on the floor, unless that’s uncomfortable for your legs?”
Scar shook his head quickly. “No, no — I’ll be fine!”
Grian chuckled as he lowered himself to the carpet. Scar’s sudden nervousness was oddly endearing — a far cry from the charming, confident pirate captain Grian had first met. Then again, it was still him. Both of them coexisted within the same brilliant man, and somehow made perfect sense.
“Okay, so you’ll need to sit behind me,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. Scar obeyed without protest, and Grian unfolded his wings with slow, careful movements. The feathers rustled softly, catching the light in vibrant shades of red and gold.
“Do you know what to do?”
Scar, seemingly back in his element, spoke up with renewed bravado. “Not to worry, Gri! I assure you — I am a professional avian wing-preener.”
Grian barked out a laugh. “Yeah? And just how many avians have you been preening?”
“Oh, well,” Scar said with a dramatic sigh. “I was saving myself for you.”
Grian flushed immediately, then smacked his wing lightly into Scar’s face. “Shut up and get to work.”
Scar laughed, muffled behind a feathery smack, but he did exactly that.
His hands settled in without hesitation, parting feathers and working through them with a quiet sort of efficiency. Grian tensed, out of habit more than anything, but Scar didn’t flinch or pause. He just kept going, finding his rhythm.
And he was… surprisingly good at it . It was clear he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d done his homework.
It warmed his heart.
Feathers clicked softly between Scar’s fingers. Damaged ones were plucked and set aside quietly. Grian stayed quiet, munching on a donut and trying not to give anything away.
It didn’t work.
A faint, involuntary chirp slipped out of him. He grimaced.
Scar chuckled, but didn’t say anything.
His hands kept moving, brushing down the length of each primary with a kind of focus Grian really hadn’t seen from him before. Every so often, he’d mumble an apology under his breath when he caught a tender spot, which Grian didn’t answer, but he knew Scar understood. In all honesty, Grian wasn’t able to answer.
He hadn’t experienced someone doing this for him since he was little, and he’d completely forgotten how relaxing it was. Another trill escaped before he could swallow it. His muscles were melting under his skin, joints loose, brain fogging. Birdbrain nonsense.
Grian swayed, his eyelids heavy as another feather slipped free under Scar’s hands. He stopped fighting it after a while, letting his body go limp as he sank down onto a pillow he’d set aside before starting, suspecting this might happen. His wings drooped, his mind fuzzy and humming, the world growing soft around the edges as sleep tugged at him.
As sleep pulled him under, Grian barely registered Scar finish up, gently lifting him into bed and settling beside him before tucking them both in.
“Good night, light of my life,” he whispered, blowing out the candle illuminating the room.
And in that moment, Grian had never felt safer.