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Grian liked his starter base.
The greenhouse was coming along beautifully, his cake ladder was the talk of the server, and the river just at the front by his dock was perfect for fishing— not even mentioning the view from above ground, and it was only going to get better once he started his megabase.
But he was nowhere near ready to start with all that. Meanwhile, winter was approaching fast, and Grian was beginning to remember why people typically built their houses on the surface rather than underground. The December clothes had come out of storage mid-November when the mornings got chilly, mostly out of barely-contained excitement for Christmas, but the winter season was becoming less and less novel with each passing day. The scarf and earmuffs and even the thicker Christmas jumper couldn’t protect him from the cold, and his base provided no reprieve whatsoever. To put it plainly: Grian was miserable.
Usually, it wasn’t such a problem. He liked the holidays, and he spent all year waiting until Winter so he could spend his evenings drinking hot cocoa with friends and his days making snowmen and snow angels (which he was awesome at, by the way, since his wings did all the work for him). They’d all gone ice skating last season, and Grian had enjoyed that most of all, even after Etho, Beef, and Gem made everyone else look like amateurs as soon as they showed up with their skates.
But early-game winter was a different vibe altogether.
There weren’t any insulted buildings, he didn’t have a cocoa bean farm and couldn’t buy hot cocoa anywhere, and there wasn’t much infrastructure in the shopping district to do any holiday decorating. And even if there were resources, everyone was way too busy getting settled to have fun together. Maybe Grian would have escaped to the Nether for a bit of relief from the cold, but it was so early-game that even the Nether Hub was in its early building stage and the risk of a hoglin breaking into the tunnels and tearing him apart wasn’t negligible enough.
So his excitement turned to frustration over the days. Touring the server took his mind off things slightly— part of him considered actually staying in Gem’s new inn, but he didn’t want to leave his base for too long and end up getting sidetracked.
And in his head, he started counting the days until Springtime.
It was all he could do to keep himself sane; there had been a point in time when his tolerance for the cold just switched, and if he thought about it for too long, the fuzziness of something forgotten would poke at the edges of his brain. Snippets of freezing cold nights and sandstone.
But thinking about it hurt, so he tried not to.
—
The wind up on the cherry hills nipped at his cheeks and nose, but somehow, it was preferable to the unrelenting chill of his cavern. Grian was bundled up to the ears (not that it helped), sitting on one of Scar’s chests with his knees tucked up against his chin.
“It’s freezing, I don’t know how you can find the energy,” Grian mumbled, cutting Scar off mid-tangent as he went on about his plans for the season. They sounded wonderful, no doubt about it, but Grian found himself jealous— he wasn’t thinking right, with the change of temperature. Sketching out blueprints was the last thing he wanted to think about doing right now. Instead, he considered migratory birds and briefly wondered whether he was supposed to be flying South right now.
“Oh, but just think about how warm and cozy you’ll be, all snuggled up under the covers after a long day of work! Maybe even a hot chocolate in hand, if you can pocket some cocoa beans.” Grian wasn’t surprised to hear that Scar was doing just fine. He was still wearing that crop top, for Void’s sake, of course he was fine. The scarf and gloves he’d put on just a day or two ago weren’t fooling anyone.
“Easy for you to say. I live in a cave, there’s no such thing as warm and cozy.”
Scar frowned.
“Rusty’s belly is pretty warm, if you ever want to spend the night. My bed always has room for you, G.”
Grian grimaced on instinct. He’d been inside of Rusty once, and even though it had been perfectly fine— not even a smell! —being inside of an alien’s stomach-chamber was kind of nauseating, no matter how much Scar insisted that people did that all the time with Rusty’s species back on his home planet. It wasn’t that Rusty wasn’t a sweetie (even though he did try and eat just about everything he could fit in his mouth, to Scar’s frequent dismay), Grian just preferred to appreciate his pets from outside of them, thank you very much.
But really, there was more to it than that. Grian was always hesitant to make himself at home in other hermits’ bases this early on in the world— everyone needed their space right now as they got back into the rhythm of a new season, including him, and pesky birds tended to disrupt that kind of mindset. Grian knew he was fun only because he was so playful— charmingly, sometimes, but usually, it was just annoying. People didn’t say it to his face, but even he could recognize it sometimes. Scar had enough on his plate already.
Scar was laughing, because apparently Grian didn’t know how to fake a neutral expression anymore. Oops. “Or not, Rusty understands. But don’t you forget I offered!”
“I’ll let you know if I change my mind,” Grian conceded, smiling, “but don’t get your hopes up.”
As if on command, Rusty shifted from where he had been napping, his long neck stretching over to say hello to them. His snailish eyes moved lazily in different directions, one focusing on Scar, the other blinking wetly at Grian. His fur was softer than it looked, Grian mused, running his hand across top of his head.
“See, even Rusty wants to extend the invitation,” Scar said, already snickering as he rolled forward to reach up and scratch just behind Rusty’s ear. He continued in a lower voice, trying (and failing) to get Rusty to look as if he was speaking by poking at the seam of his mouth as he continued, “You can come hang out in my stomach anytime, Grian! I don’t mind!”
Despite himself, Grian laughed. The whole ordeal had cheered him up and distracted him from the cold, if nothing else. He played along for good measure. “Wow, Rusty. Since when could you talk?”
Scar giggled, eyes crinkled with glee. Maybe Grian actually would think about it.
–
There was so much to do around the greenhouse — the farms weren’t going to build themselves, no matter how cold it was, and he desperately needed to gather resources for his future megabuilds before it got even colder. After years of surviving cold Hermitcraft winters, Grian was now certain that he would never fully adapt like Xisuma said most people did. The seasons had to be a little exaggerated— with Enderborn and Netherborn living on the server together, it was only fair to ensure that everyone got a few months of perfect temperature.
Nearly a decade ago now, that first season had been brutal, all alone out on his spire in the ocean; the seabreeze had a certain bite to it that never failed to draw him in, but in the winter, it was nothing short of violent. Then again, the violence was part of the appeal, he supposed.
No matter. Grian was already developing plans about basing in the Nether in season twelve (because that wouldn’t go wrong, surely).
The hours passed sluggishly, and every time Grian looked outside, it was all grey skies and thin snow just starting to coat the mountains like powdered sugar on a cake. The river was frozen now, too— when nightfall finally arrived, he couldn’t hear the rushing water anymore.
But he could hear Rusty snoring. Taunting him.
The furnace crackled from a block away, embers glowing and shifting and never providing enough warmth. The wind howled through the ravine and the big greenhouse windows creaked with the pressure. Grian loathed to think about how much snow he would have to shovel in the morning just to make it outside; his feathers had to redevelop each season, as they needed a chance to finish growing in with new colors and patterns. They were cute this time around, all brown and fluffy, an orange accent here and there, a bit smaller than usual. Something to do with the wretched cave he was living in, he guessed. He had control over his appearance to some degree, but not fully— just enough to keep him from looking too much like a Watcher, for his own sanity.
When he finally fell asleep after much tossing and turning, Grian dreamt of Scar’s offer. A warm bed and warm arms to fall asleep in, and it started off pleasant. But there had been a recurring pattern for the past few nights, and it was presenting itself again: the thought of cuddling for warmth reminded him of another half-forgotten memory, a related recurring dream (or, more accurately, a nightmare) of dunes and the sweltering sun followed by an ice-cold night, grains of sand all dispersed in the bedsheets— cold arms (though warm by comparison to the rest of the world) to fall asleep in, bitter iron on his tongue. Grian’s real Scar was always sweeter. It was almost certainly Scar in his dreams, though he could never make out any faces.
(He’d spoken about it to Scar once, and Scar had almost understood. He said it was different in his dreams: not sand, but there were fields of yellow— not wheat, Grian, of course you’d think of wheat, maybe flowers? —and it was lonely. Except for the shadow people, now and again. It was vaguely implied that somehow, Scar’s ‘shadow people’ were related to him. Not knowing how to feel about that, Grian hadn’t brought it up again ever since.)
The nightmare faded, like it always did, and the other dreams felt more tangible in its wake. Rusty’s snores reverberated all around them, impossibly loud, and Grian curled his wings around Scar’s body to better trap the warmth between them. His wings were always bigger in his dreams, huge and rainbow or maybe sleek purple-black depending on the angle. Scar was asleep and snoring quietly with his head resting against Grian’s chest, but then again, maybe he was awake and speaking quietly, whispering as to not wake up Jellie, his smile so evident in those big green eyes.
Grian woke up colder than usual, and the embers in the furnace were dead.
It was almost two, and frankly, he didn’t think he could stand the misery for another minute. Still half-asleep, Grian stumbled through the greenhouse, carrying one of his blankets along with him for good measure as he put on his shoes and made his way to the cake ladder. Trash whinnied as Grian crawled onto his back, not pleased about being woken up at this hour, and Grian tried to recall whether or not there was a warm place to leave him overnight at Scar’s. Certainly there was, because Scar would never have left Pudding out in the cold this time of year. Grian just hoped that his new donkey was as friendly as Pudding was.
The snowstorm was blinding, and not for the first time, Grian was grateful that he was basing so close to his neighbors. Donkey knew the path by memory, and Grian led him to Scar’s donkey hole in no time. It was already mostly snowed-over, covered with a few wooden slabs and heated by glowstone carefully packed beneath the hay at the bottom of the hole. Trash seemed happy enough— he was already curling up beside Scar’s donkey when Grian peeked back down at him, a final check before leaving for the night. It was probably warmer in there then at home, Grian realized, a pang of guilt hitting him unexpectedly. Now he needed to add 'make a stable’ to his already lengthy to-do list.
Climbing up Rusty’s side during the day was difficult enough of a task. In the cold, it was harder.
“Sorry, buddy,” Grian mumbled, patting Rusty’s side in apology after slipping and nearly pulling his fur out in the ensuing struggle not to fall.
Rusty was a heavy sleeper, thankfully, because he didn’t wake up even after Grian found the entryway to Scar’s bedroom— the little opening on his back with a direct route —and he managed to find it after only a few moments of searching blindly against the darkness and the snow. Grian held his breath as he hopped in— it wasn’t too dissimilar to a water elevator, he supposed. Just drier and squishier.
The shift in temperature was immediate.
As much as Grian loathed to admit it, Scar was right. The cold melted away before Grian was even fully aware of the warmth surrounding him, and suddenly he didn’t even care where he was, just that it was insulated. Maybe the lonely nights of struggling against the cold had weakened Grian’s opposition to Rusty’s stomach. Even the vibrational rumbling of his snores felt inviting.
Grian removed his shoes, shaking the blanket to dislodge the snow and running his hands through his hair to ensure that none was stuck there, either.
“G?” Somewhere in the dark, Scar had woken up. Grian stumbled blindly towards his voice.
“I’m taking you up on that offer,” Grian said, swallowing his pride. He found the edge of the mattress after only a few seconds of feeling around and was pleased to discover that Scar was already lifting up the blanket for him. Even caught off-guard and half asleep, he stayed true to his word: Grian really did always have a place to sleep in his bed.
“I knew you’d give in eventually,” Scar slurred, unable to resist rubbing it in even when he was so disoriented he could barely talk, but then he jolted when Grian snuggled in close. Sweet revenge. “My Void, you’re so cold! Give a man a warning next time!”
“Then warm me up already,” Grian said, muffling his voice into Scar’s chest. “Didn’t come all the way over here for no reason.”
“So bossy when you’re sleepy,” Scar complained, but he wrapped his arms around Grian’s frame nevertheless, ghosting his hands over the soft feathers at the base of his wings until he reached Grian’s head and was able to comb his fingers through his hair. The warmth combined with the smell of Scar was intoxicating, and Grian was weak to its influence; he’d always been a lightweight, anyway. He ragdolled as Scar pulled Grian’s head close up to his own chest and curled his tail over Grian’s legs.
Pressed close like this, Grian could feel a gentle rumble starting up in Scar’s chest. Scar’s purring was a familiar comfort, something Grian associated exclusively with Scar’s affectionately clingy cuddling— well, almost exclusively. Scar would also purr whenever he watched Star Wars, but cuddling and Star Wars usually coincided, anyway, so who’s to say what actually caused the purring?
It was ironic, maybe, that Grian liked it so much. Weren’t cats a natural predator of birds?
Well, Scar certainly didn’t feel predatory. Or maybe Grian’s avian instincts were just blinded by his charm. The thought must have triggered something— something fading and static all at once, another fuzzy moment. What his brain forgot, his body remembered, because there was suddenly an urgency somewhere deep in his bones. Or maybe it was fury. His skin where Scar was holding him stung like a sunburn for a moment, but just for a moment, because then Scar was kissing his forehead and hushing him. Grian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, breathed in deep and focused on the earthy smell of Scar’s hair. Wet like a cavern, mossy, refreshing, not too unlike Grian’s cave before the cold front hit. Tangible.
“Hey, G.”
A kiss to his cheek, then to his nose, and then Grian was mustering up what little strength he could gather to lean in and press his lips against Scar’s. He felt the smile appear in real time.
“You okay?” Scar tucked a strand of wild hair behind Grian’s ear and Grian nodded.
“Sleepytime now?” Grian could barely fit the words in around the yawn that overtook him, and Scar laughed, softer now, pulling Grian in close once more. Quietly, Grian added, “Hope you don’t have any early plans, ‘cause I’m definitely not getting up before noon.”
Then, in a wave of worry, “Unless you need me out. I can leave, if you’re busy”
“No, no, I definitely won’t be kicking you out.” Scar held him tighter, as if he could squeeze the anxiety out of him. Maybe he could, if he tried hard enough. “My calendar is clear as day! Aside from keeping you nice and toasty warm, of course.”
Grian chirped as Scar scratched at the back of his head. Void, he’d lucked out with this server. Another kiss to his forehead, then Scar was getting comfortable again so he could go back to sleep. “Sweet dreams, Grian.”
“Love you, Scar.”
The nightmares had been haunting Grian’s sleep more than usual, almost as relentless as the cold. But in Scar’s arms, he rested easy— all he knew was warmth and tender affection.
As far as he was concerned, Winter was finally over.