Work Text:
The wind was cooling today— the breeze was soft and gentle, unlike the violent gust of wind that emitted from a puff gem. They were sat atop a hill, far from spawn, far from almost everyone’s bases; they were stranded at least a dozen blocks away. It was way more peaceful than whatever chaos that ensued at spawn— no sudden ambushes, no impending doom, none of that.
Despite the lack of mayhem and commotion there, the persistent pestering of one another was obnoxious— but in a way that filled the empty silence, a comforting type of annoyance that didn’t necessarily make them want to rip their skins off, but it still pissed them off in a lighthearted way, almost like a joke between one another.
“Bro— why do you want to braid my hair so badly?” Mugm’s tone was stern, clearly annoyed at how Wyll kept asking the same thing, over and over again.
The question lingered in the air for a while longer before a reply was mustered out from his teammate.
“Because it keeps getting in my fucking face when the wind blows, bro.”
Part of that was true; he wasn’t wrong at all, Mugm’s hair was too long for his own good, it bothered the voidling himself too. It always got in the way when he swung his sword, he could barely wield a mace properly without his vision being obscured by his hair, couldn’t even eat without getting a strand of hair in his food— it was infuriating to him too.
But he never had the time to actually cut his own hair.
Sure, he could just use his own sword and chop it off, but that would look unethical and definitely messier than he’d want— he doesn’t exactly have the best experience with cutting his own hair, and using a sword that has been tainted with other people’s blood? He’d much rather not.
“Then give me a haircut instead,” Wyll looked at Mugm, confusion plastered on his face, an eyebrow raising as a silent gesture to elaborate on what he meant. “I don’t have enough time to take care of my hair, so might as well just, y’know, chop it off.”
—————————————————————————————————————
That’s how they ended up here— back at their base, Mugm on a makeshift stool; a wooden stair placed down on the floor, hair no longer tied up by a singular worn, crappy hair tie that he insisted on using— it didn’t even hold his hair well, why he still used it? No clue either.
Wyll sat behind Mugm, kneeled on the floor, holding a pair of sheers and a small comb on one hand. Surprisingly enough, despite the nature of the server, Wyll knew what he was doing and he made it clear that Mugm could trust him— what choice did Mugm have anyway, it was either this or a chopped bowl cut that he will never live out.
A mirror was placed in front of him— almost like he was at an actual salon instead of the confines of their own base. Between the two, Wyll was definitely the more kept one. His hair didn’t appear as greasy and messy as his own despite being inside the same server and suffering through the same environment.
And between the two, Mugm was definitely more scrawny from the lack of nutrition— u don’t exactly get to eat luxurious meals in a server where bloodlust is normalised, a single bowl of stew was a blessing itself. Cooking a crockpot of food for a team of two wasn’t exactly the smartest thing, it wasn’t like they could refrigerate it and heat it to eat for another day. Food itself was a scarce supply, wasting it was like being an ungrateful child born into a poor family.
Wyll wasn’t exactly human too— just a very humanoid mechanical hunk of metal that worked almost exactly like one— he bleeds like one too! His body worked almost exactly the same as a human, save for the occasional maintenance he had to get from time to time, but it was no different from having a clinical check-up at the hospital.
The only difference between them was the sturdiness and lack of emotion Wyll held; though he was programmed to be able to comprehend emotions and copy them, if u were to focus solely on it, u can hear the artificial tone that was held in his voice, a voice that didn’t know how to express emotions fully, a soft mechanical sound that further proved that he wasn’t the same as others— but it didn’t mean he can’t feel them, no, he can feel emotions the same as a normal person would, he just can’t portray them like a normal person would.
But it didn’t lessen their trust for each other; even if there were moments of doubt, it never lingered for more than a while. As much as they wanted to place distrust upon each other, they knew that all they had was one another— their fates were intertwined and if fate wishes them to separate, it would’ve happened long ago.
It definitely didn’t, though.
Through thick and thin they both thrived, even if one was significantly stronger than the other, one had a more rational thought process compared to the other, a lot less reckless in comparison. Vines bound their hearts together, a knot so tight that it couldn’t be tugged apart; and if these said vines had thorns or pricks— anything sharp to harm them, then both of them would suffer the consequences of it. If the vines bud and blossom; an array of petals covering the tendrils, blooming and thriving under the beautiful circumstances.
Even if Mugm’s skills in combat were noticeably better, Wyll was better at forming a plan that wasn’t just about rushing in and retreating when it didn’t work out; he’d arrange something to ensure their odds of losing were the lowest it could be.
And if it still didn’t work out? They both would just silently panic between them, still trying to save their faces and reputation from a single scratch, their dignity and pride would allow none of that— but of course, it still happened from time to time. They aren’t perfect, but at least they had each other.
Snapping out of thought, Wyll starts combing through Mugm’s hair, parting it into sections for him to work with later on.
“Are you sure you want this?” Wyll was awarded with a small hum and a slight nod. He almost wanted to opt on asking again, but it was like he could hear that scoff from a mile away, therefore he refrained from doing so.
Wyll wasn’t the best at cutting hair, but he wasn’t the worst either. He had some knowledge on cutting Team Gilded’s hair and it didn't turn out all that bad— though it would definitely look better if it was done by an actual professional— either ways, it’s not like they’d find a salon out in the server, especially not in this one.
He trimmed Mugm’s hair to shoulder length, slightly longer at the back and shorter at the front; Mugm always complained about how his hair was always getting in his face when the breeze was stronger than usual, and to be fair, it was annoying to watch the hair get inside Mugm’s mouth every time he wanted to talk or simply just try to do something with it.
Mugm already had his eyes closed; if Wyll didn’t know him better, he’d think he was already asleep, but that wasn’t the case— he isn’t one to fall asleep easily, and definitely not when he’s in the presence of someone else unless he’s on the brink of deprivation. But in Wyll’s? He usually slept soundly, not that the voidling would admit himself. Hell, he’d be dead asleep if it weren’t for the nature of the server they were in.
Mugm didn’t entirely trust Wyll— not after what happened last season, not after betraying Mugm right at the finale. Naturally, it took a while for him to warm up, for him to actually lower his guard around him, finally giving in on trusting him. But even then, he still couldn’t put a hundred percent of his trust on him.
Wyll had tethered Mugm’s line of trust for life, a cut that would heal but would leave a nasty scar behind; no matter how much it was coaxed to heal, it was bound to leave a mark that stood out from the rest. A wound that would always bleed no matter how much pressure was applied— blood will continue to spill just because of one action driven by envy.
But even so, there had been countless times where Mugm dozed off or was on the brink of it when he was keeping watch at night— not that Wyll would mind, technically nobody would go out their way to track them thousands of blocks out on a remote island, but Mugm insists on keeping a lookout every once in a while— paranoia isn’t an easy thing to bypass by any means, but if Wyll was there, maybe he could let his thoughts pass.
Mugm always puts his friends on priority.
Even if he didn’t voice out his intentions, deeply rooted in his heart, his morals will always remain the same from the start until the end.
But sometimes, he didn’t see Wyll as a friend.
He saw Wyll as a brother; a bond stronger than what he had with the Brotherhood.
A teammate that was his parallel, a partner that understood him without needing any elaboration, a person he could trust, someone he could rely on when things get tough.
He didn’t want this friendship to be severed ever, he hoped that Wyll wouldn’t betray the second he turned his back; maybe if he and Wyll worked out, then he can learn how to trust once more. Maybe then he could disregard Nezo’s betrayal, ignore the rumours Puki spread about him, turn a blind eye to the looks and murmurs the other players gave him every time he passed by, and brush aside the fear that radiated off of everyone the second he proposed a duel.
Wyll thinned out Mugm’s hair; at one point, his hair was so thick and unmaintained that it looked like a bird’s nest— hair messy and unkept, poking out from all directions possible, tangled into knots and clumps that were almost impossible to untangle by hand.
[PRE-BLISS SMP]
A beautiful cherry grove meadow in the middle of the server, flowers surrounding the outskirts of the forest, a perfect spot to hang out with friends. The temperature was just nice, the warmth holding everyone in its vicinity in a comforting embrace that felt nostalgic in a way.
Thud.
A crash echoed, a thudding that sounded somewhat painful in a way; branches cracking under the momentum, the crunch of the foliage under Mugm, the stones digging into his body in a painful way.
And it just so happened that Wyll passed by.
Mugm’s hair was a genuine mess, sticks protruded from the tangled hair, leaves poking out, twines entwined within strands of his hair. Mud, dirt and specks of tiny pebbles were scattered on the shabby fabric that he insisted was ‘proper clothing’.
Compared to Wyll currently? The voidling looked like he went through shit.
“What the hell happened to you, kid?”
The voidling wanted to scoff at the nickname, but opted to stay silent and just shrug the question off as he grabbed one of the branches and pulled it out from his hair, untangling it from the mess.
“Just had a rough landing,”
Mugm pointed at his unpreened wings, loose feathers barely hanging on and misaligned— that couldn’t be comfy to the slightest. It looked matted from the excess debris and dirt that had accumulated, it almost seemed damaged in a way.
Before Wyll could offer to try and preen his wings for him, Mugm had already set off for flight; wings flaring behind the voidling, flapping a few times before jumping and hovering above ground, leaving Wyll alone once more.
But it wasn’t a long flight, no.
A loud splash sounded from within the forest along with the rustle of leaves and the cracks of twigs. Wyll cringed at the image of Mugm crashing down from the impaired flight he had— even if he landed in a lake, that had to hurt in some form.
Cautiously, he made his way to the source of the sounds, careful to not step on the branches; he didn’t want Mugm to be startled and start jumping him just because he caused a fright.
A small body of water, not deeper than a few feet, but the mud under looked like it’d give under the slightest bit of pressure— the real depth of the lake wasn’t able to be measured accurately from sight alone.
But for some odd reason, it was quiet— too quiet. No splashing of water, no wet footsteps of boots filled with water running away, not a single crunch or rustle of the dried leaves that were accumulated in that spot. The water almost looked unmoving from afar too, save for the air bubbles that floated to the surface and gravel that fogged up the once clear water.
Wait— air bubbles?
Wyll’s feet moved faster than his mind, rushing over to the small lake, kneeling onto the dried foliage that scattered across the greenery, leaning down to take a look into the body of water. A small figure, a silhouette barely able to be seen, growing smaller as time passed— and soon enough, the figure disappeared from sight, no longer able to be seen within the opaque water.
He untied the jacket on his waist— he didn’t need to be weighed down more than needed— especially not when he weighed tons; being an android meant being a hunk of metal that was practically deadweight if he ended up unconscious in a way.
Diving into the lake, submerging himself in the body of water— he just hoped that the panel that lead to his internal wirings were screwed shut and water wouldn't seep in— short circuiting underwater wasn’t the best thing to experience, he knew this from experience and it certainly wasn’t fun being paralysed underwater, not when you’re basically a hunk of metal that was almost impossible to resurface without the help of a whole group.
He wounded his arms around the voidling’s torso, coiling it under Mugm’s own arms, holding him close against his chest as he kicked his legs swimming back up to the surface.
It wasn’t easy to bring up two people above ground after being in water, the pressure underwater felt too heavy, the surface suddenly felt so far, every kick of Wyll’s legs felt like it didn’t bring them anywhere closer, just barely propelling them upwards.
But he didn’t give up.
Something in him told him that, maybe, it would end up worth it one day.
So he continued, kicking with all his might to reach the surface. The sun looked like it was growing bigger, the clouds looked like they were closing in. He reached out, arm reaching the edge of the lake and gripping onto the ledge, all whilst still bracing Mugm against his chest— the voidling almost looked small like this, the intimidating teenager no longer biting, or even squirming at that.
He was knocked unconscious probably from the lack of rest; he never really saw Mugm take a break, he was always busying himself with doing some shit, probably regearing for god knows what he does in the other servers— all he knows is that Cupid always complains about Mugm’s lack of safety regardance, always out to pick a fight, always risking his life despite being so close to dying forever with no chance of revival.
Maybe that instinct just flowed in his blood; something that his hemoglobin carries along with the necessary oxygen throughout the vessels of his body. Something that came naturally, something that grew and flourished deep within, becoming more akin to an instinct rather than skill. The urge to shed blood, the need to spill crimson across the stone pavement, colouring the world underneath his feet red as more and more people lose their lives to a kid— or a demon?
Theories were circulating throughout the village, a rumour where Mugm wasn’t a normal voidling; murmurs of Mugm being a curse sent from hell itself, whispers saying that Mugm was nothing more than a demon, misfortune that was bestowed upon the village. Voices that echoed throughout the small town, something that would never die down fully unless the whole place was exterminated— like a wild fire that continued to spread through the bits of sparks that flew.
Wyll reached his hand above the surface, touching the gravel that gave in under the slightest pressure, only contributing in fogging up his limited vision even more— suddenly he felt glad that he didn’t have actual eyes, using a visor that could see through the half-opaque waters.
He hoisted Mugm up first, bringing Mugm’s head above the water before pushing the scrawny body onto the flat ground in front of him, legs still dangling in the water. Struggling against the sudden change of pressure but still ended up successful, Mugm was brought back to the surface despite being fully deadweight to Wyll— his wings were definitely not helping on lessening the burden, if anything, it only served as more weight for him to carry from how much water they soaked in.
Wyll brought himself up next, sitting down beside the limp body, letting the water that had seeped into the crevice of his balljoints, spilling water onto the soil and stone beneath. He sat upright, staring into the sun; the yellow warmth glinting on his visor, glaring and blurring his vision. The heat drying the surface of the metal plates covering his body, warmth seeping between each nook and cranny— the heat was immaculate today, it felt like he was in the nether from how high the temperature was.
He spares a glance at the voidling— he was still breathing, though seemingly unconscious, limp and unmoving. Mugm looked like a wet crow, a poor creature that was dunked into the water unwillingly— a crow that had wings that was kin to their homes, a mess of feathers that were carelessly misaligned, an animal that wasn’t thought on how to groom itself— well, an animal that didn’t care enough to.
Strands of hair scattered across the floor, painting it a black that made it look almost akin to the endless void, a color that blends in with Mugm almost perfectly, a shade that camouflages him in the pitch darkness entirely.
Wyll poked Mugm’s shoulder, waking him up instantly. The voidling’s body tensed up, sitting upright almost immediately, jolting to consciousness as the gears in his head started working once more.
“How does this look?”
A second passed. Wyll was nervous in a way— what if he didn’t like it and he resented him for it?
His hands were placed on the voidlings shoulders, firmly gripping them in case Mugm ends up standing up then wanting to kill him for messing up his hair.
Two seconds.
He almost apologised before he noticed the look Mugm had in his eyes.
It was almost like he was beaming, an actual emotion plastered on his face before it disappeared just as quickly. A small cough replaced it, something to fill in the awkward silence that was placed between them.
“It’s fine… to say the least.”
It was Wyll’s turn to have a smile form on his face, a small grin that was filled with nothing more than appreciation, the feeling of unease soothing inside him.
“Well, I should definitely get paid for my work!”
Mugm scoffed, brushing off Wyll’s hands that were placed on either side of his neck.
Maybe the haircut wasn’t perfect, but it was something that indicates the trust between them that was kept.
Only God knew how many times Wyll asked to help Mugm out with his wings.
It genuinely bugged him out, the fact that Mugm could barely fly a long distance without losing control of direction and crashing into a hill— there had been countless times where he popped his totems just because of his stubbornness and refusal to groom his own wings. It wasn’t even that hard, but time was precious to him— too precious to be wasted on something so small as self-care.
He didn’t even remember all too well how he managed to persuade him; all he knew was that he was popping a joke as per usual, and the voidling actually agreed.
Now, with Mugm sitting in front of him, cross-legged, he felt like all the knowledge he had on birds had disintegrated— he was nervous to say the least, he felt like he might mess up the second he set his hands on the voidling’s wings.
But what can he do? He can’t exactly back out, that’s just asking to be humiliated for the rest of his life.
He sighed internally, hoping that his uncertainness wasn’t visible on his deadpanned face.
Wyll reached out his hand to grab on a loose feather, pulling it away from the mess. He tucked back the pinfeathers that were too young to be plucked, all with fake expertise and a mask of carefree, not wanting to plaster his lack of knowledge towards bird preening.
He smoothed out the feathers, aligning the feathers together perfectly and plucking away more loose ones.
Maybe that’s good enough, it doesn’t look too shabby.
He grabbed a wettened rag, bringing it to Mugm’s wings before dragging it across, catching any filth that had accumulated. Mugm cursed under his breath, but Wyll paid no mind to it, continuing to clean Mugm’s wings from the collected dirt and dried blood that gathered.
The once filthy feathers were now pure once more, retaining its void-like texture that looked smooth and silky.
Mugm flexed his wings, stretching them out before standing up and taking a few steps. He flapped his wings, loose dirt and gravel blown away before Mugm took flight, hovering mid-air. He steered above Wyll for a moment, circling around the android before landing beside him, feet touching the ground softly.
A smile plastered, almost too small of a change to be seen, but a slight upturn on his face. A small grin that was definitely different from his usual deadpan, something that was filled with relief and appreciation.
”Thanks for letting me trust you.”
A voice so soft, almost unable to be heard. Something that was unlike the voidling, a word of gratitude that wasn’t easy to be drawn out.
Maybe teaming up with him was worth it after all.