Archive of Our Own

Scar had already been searching for hours with no signs of his husband.

None of his messages had been answered (though they had all been read), and Grian had turned off his location too.

Most people would think that wherever he was, he didn't want to be found.

But Scar knew better.

Grian had been losing feathers left and right for a week and a half now, and despite his persistent preening, he was never comfortable.

It broke Scar's heart to see him constantly miserable. But molting was unavoidable.

Grian's base was absolutely covered in stray feathers. Scar's home hadn't been spared either.

He was about to give up and let Grian come home in his own time, but still, the idea made his stomach churn.

Yes, Grian had been obsessively preening lately, but preening quickly turned to plucking when he was left to his own devices. And picking at his healthy feathers would only make his situation that much more unbearable.

Scar stopped wandering and pulled out his communicator. He leaned his cane against the trunk of the tree next to him and began typing one last message– just to let him know that he loved him, and would be waiting for him when he came back.

An interruption came in the form of a small, broken, red feather drifting down and landing gently on his screen. He wiped it off and looked at the ground around him. Somehow, he’d missed the small collection of dull feathers sprinkled in with the leaf litter.

As expected, when he looked up, he found Grian high above him, laying along a thick branch, wings hanging down. A hand messed with one of the wings on his head, tugging at loose feathers.

Scar sighed in relief, having finally found his Birdie. “Sunshine?” He called gently.

Grian ignored him.

He put away his comm and strapped on his elytra. With the boost of a rocket, he shot into the air with a bit too much power, colliding with a branch just above Grian's. In nothing short of a miracle, he caught himself before he plummeted back down to his death. His skull throbbed and he grimaced as his health slowly started regenerating.

“Sweetheart?” He asked softly, while climbing back up to stand on a branch.

Grian, who now laid at the height of Scar's shoulders, folded his arms and ducked his head into them.

Scar pressed a hand to the top of his own head, trying to use the pressure to alleviate his pain. Once his vision straightened and he was able to focus on Grian again, his expression softened. “Sweetheart, have you been picking at your feathers?”

His wings shifted ever so slightly and he hesitated, before shaking his head no.

Scar glanced at the wings on his head, finding a small trail of half-dried blood emerging from between pin feathers.

His heart squeezed and a frown tugged at his lips. Grian must've pulled off the pin feather's casing before it was ready. He let his gaze trail along the rest of his wings, thankfully not finding any more blood. However, they were still dull and patchy, with a mix of old feathers barely hanging on, pin feathers (reminding him of porcupine spines) sprouting from his skin, and a few bright, freshly grown ones standing out against the rest. 

Even his shirt was a testament to his current state of being. Rather than sporting a top with a large panel cut out for his wings, his whole back was covered, with only two slits for his wings to come out of. The rest of his feathers were completely covered, which couldn't be comfortable with the shedding and regrowth.

“G…” He took a step to the side and leaned against Grian's branch. Carefully carding his fingers through his sandy-blonde hair, he said, “Can I help you preen? We can go back to your base. I know you have your nest set up right now, it has to be more comfortable than this tree.”

Grian's wings twitched and moved back and forth in small motions.

Finally, he acknowledged Scar by folding his wings back in and slowly starting to roll towards him.

Scar sighed in relief, but his relief quickly turned to panic as Grian stopped, before rolling the opposite way of Scar.

He yelped and frantically moved to catch him by his waist before he could plummet to his death. His head and heart both pounded.

Scar took a deep breath and readjusted his footing. “Grian… Sunshine… Light of my Life… that's the wrong way.” 

Grian exhaled slowly and slid off of his branch (the correct way this time), and stood next to Scar, who still held his waist and arm.

He kept his eyes down and leaned forward, dropping his head against Scar's chest and groaning.

Scar wrapped his arms around him in return and planted a long kiss to the top of his head.

He ran his fingers through his hair once more, and said, “Just let me know when you're ready to go home.”

Eventually, when Grian was satisfied with the amount of affection he'd received, he straightened up. Before Scar could say anything, he started to shift around him, precariously walking closer to the end of the branch.

Scar's breath hitched as he braced himself to jump after Grian, in case he was planning to take the quicker route back to his home. 

His shoulders fell when Grian opened his wings and easily glided down to the ground. He didn't look back up, but Scar knew he was being waited for. 

So, he followed his path; just as the branch began to creak under his weight, he leapt off.

His elytra opened and carried him to the ground. However, in usual Scar fashion, he didn't quite stick the landing. He stumbled forward, legs not working properly, and only barely managed to keep himself from face planting into the forest floor.

Scar steadied his breathing and took his cane back from the base of the large, oak tree. He turned to Grian, who continued to keep his gaze averted. 

He met him where he stood and took his hand. “Alright,” he forced himself to sound cheery, ‘Let's go home.”

They started walking (because Grian had shown no interest in using his wings any more than he had to) and already, Grian began to lag behind. Strange, considering usually Scar had to tell Grian to slow down.

Grian dragged his talons along the forest floor. His wings hung down too, picking up more sticks and leaves as they went. He slowed with every step.

It wasn't even fifty blocks before Scar stopped. 

Grian immediately leaned against him, still holding his hand.

Scar looked at Grian's base in the distance, then at Grian himself. He bit his tongue and his ears flicked up and down.

Finally, he put his cane away in his inventory and scooped Grian up into his arms. 

Grian melted against him and moved his head-wings over his eyes.

Scar resumed their walk and immediately ached.

His legs were already having trouble supporting his own weight, adding Grian into the equation certainly didn’t help. Plus, his head still hurt. He probably should've eaten something after hitting it.

But he carried on, for Grian.

By the time they reached Grian's front door, Scar's balance was wavering, and some of his hair stuck to his forehead. He set Grian down gently then took his cane back out, leaning into it heavily. 

He grimaced as he opened the door, noticing the tremble in his hands. Regardless, he took Grian's wrist and led him inside.

Some time ago, Grian had taken all of his sheets, pillows, extra blankets, plus a good chunk of Scar's wardrobe, and used it to create a massive nest in his living room. An array of feathers were scattered around its outer edges.

Scar kicked off his shoes and stepped into it, laying his cane on the floor next to it. He sat down and pulled Grian with him, who still refused to move his wings away from his eyes.

Soft light streamed in through the open windows, revealing the dust particles that floated in the air. In the evenings, the light would shine more directly, warming everything in the room. Scar could see why Grian chose this spot in particular.

He held Grian’s hands and spoke softly, “Do you want to take your shirt off? That way I can get the feathers on your back?”

Grian made no move to respond.

Scar squeezed his hands, “If you don't want to, that's okay. I just want you to be comfortable and-”

Grian let go of his hands and turned around. He tugged on the back of his shirt and tucked his wings into the slits. Then, he popped them out from underneath and slid his arms from his sleeves. He pulled the shirt over his head and discarded it to the side.

Since Grian had decided to not wear an undershirt today, Scar finally had a full view of his feathers.

His heart caught in his throat. Much like the one pin feather on Grian's head, a few more had been pulled from his back too early.

Grian curled in on himself ever so slightly and his wings shuddered.

Scar placed a hand on Grian's waist and leaned forward, softly kissing the back of his neck. He whispered, “Just wait right here, okay? I'll be right back.”

He took his cane and stepped out of the nest. Before he made his way to the kitchen, he noticed Grian fidgeting with the crystal necklace he had given him years ago.  

Despite the pins and needles shooting through his joints, Scar knelt in front of him and took off his leather jacket, handing it to Grian. Thankfully, he took it without hesitation, clutching it tightly. The cool crystal fell back against his chest. 

Then, he raised one of his hands to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly. He rubbed a thumb over his fingers and set him back down.

Shakily, he stood and made his way into the kitchen. Objectively, the area was tidy, but loose feathers sprinkled the countertops and floors, gathering in corners. Stained glass suncatchers hung in the window, creating patches of color that scattered in the room. Sparkly trinkets and gems had been neatly lined up in the windowsill.

Scar turned on the faucet, letting the water heat up. He grabbed a spare cloth and ran a finger under the water. Deciding it was warm enough, he soaked the cloth through, and shut off the stream. He wrung the towel out, but left it damp enough to still be useful. Then, just to be safe, he took a large bowl from the cupboard and filled it too. He placed it in his inventory, where it would be safe from any spills.

Back in the living room, Scar found Grian had tucked his knees up to his chest and had buried his face into the inside of his jacket.

Scar smiled softly and took his place behind him once more. “Let me know if it hurts. I'll try to be gentle, but some of these might still be a bit tender.”

Grian didn't respond. But Scar expected that. He used the cloth to begin wiping away the blood. Grian shivered beneath his touch. Thankfully, he didn't flinch or pull away. 

Scar continued to gently stroke the towel downwards over the blood on his back, cleaning it up bit by bit, until all that was left was the injuries themselves, which would still take a bit more time to fully heal.

He reached forward for the hurt wing on Grian's head. Grian's shoulders fell as he relaxed into his touch. Scar opened the wing and cleaned off its blood.

With the most pressing issues out of the way, he could begin the actual preening process.

He kept the cloth in his hand while he guided one of Grian's wings open. The air left his lungs when he saw it fully out. No matter what state Grian was in, Scar would never think he was anything less than the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

The largest feather on this wing had a keratin shell wrapped around most of its body, leaving just the bright blue tip sticking out. Scar carefully squeezed the shell all the way down its several foot length, cracking it as he went. Then, he slid it from the feather and set it down. He ran his hands over the new feather a few times, before leaving it to fully come to form on its own.

He repeated the process on all of the ready feathers, leaving his lap covered in keratin bits, but he didn't mind. 

Next, he worked on straightening out the rows of feathers and pulling out any that were ready to go. For every feather taken out, he knew the other wing was either already missing its mirror, or would lose it within the next day or so. That way, Grian could still fly properly, even when he was in the middle of molting.

Scar's fingers carded through the rows with practiced precision. Long gone were the days of him uncertainly tugging on a healthy feather, or twisting one the wrong way.

He plucked out sticks and pebbles that miraculously managed to get wedged into his wings. The rag he was using eventually filled with dirt and dust, so he took the bowl of water from his inventory and placed it just outside the nest, next to his cane. No steam rose from the bowl, but the water was still perfectly warm for the task. He cleaned out the rag to the best and resumed cleaning between feathers.

He took extra care to be gentle around patches of pin feathers. The casing with pink tips still had blood flowing through them and wouldn't have fluffy, fresh feathers poking through them for at least a few more days.

Scar continued to take his time on just this wing, making sure to fix it up as much as physically possible.

By the time he finished, the wing still had patches and pin feathers, but it had been thoroughly cleaned. All the fresh feathers practically glowed against the old ones, and Scar couldn't help but linger on the pride that swelled in his chest. He didn't have feathered wings, but he was sure this had to be a much more bearable state than before. As a finishing touch, he placed a firm kiss to the wing, delighting in the way Grian’s feathers puffed up.

“Pretty…” he murmured. 

About a third of the way done with the whole preening process, Scar folded the finished wing back in and unfolded the other. He stretched away the pinch in his hands and rolled his wrists.

The sun moved steadily across the sky as Scar worked. Eventually, he leaned over to check on Grian, seeing his head on his knees, arms loosely wrapped around himself, leather jacket in the same place he left it. He couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not, but it didn't matter. If he was… well… he clearly needed it, and if not, then at least he was plenty relaxed.

By the time Scar finished Grian's second primary wing, keratin bits were scattered around the nest, and loose feathers which originally had been placed into neat piles, were somehow scattered even further.

Surprisingly, Grian hadn't let out a single chirp or coo this entire time. Even in Third Life, when he was still mortified by the sounds he made, a few had slipped when his wings were preened.

Still, Scar planted another kiss as the cherry on top of his handiwork and muttered, “Beyond pretty,” under his breath.

Grian's feathers puffed up again, signaling that he wasn't completely asleep.

Next order of business was Grian's back, which probably had been treated the roughest this molt. Pin feathers sprouted from his skin, and they certainly didn't look comfortable to endure for weeks at a time. Not many new feathers had finished coming in, leaving largely dull and broken fragments. The skin around the new growth was red and irritated, likely from Grian's picking.

Scar's ribs squeezed around his heart. The fact that Grian felt he had to hide this was what truly got to him. He was no stranger to insecurities about his appearance, whether when he was a child, not caring for his scars, or over changes made to him during his time trapped in the games (a thing that still bothered him on occasion).

He brushed the thoughts aside, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand: Grian.

He first removed a couple casings that were ready, then worked on straightening out the rest of the feathers, tossing aside any that shed along the way. As he did so, he warmed the towel again, and gently cleaned away any and all dirt and debris. Once cleaned, he softly held the towel against his irritated feathers, hoping to relieve any pain. Grian shuddered beneath his touch. 

After leaving the towel against all his sore spots for a minute or so, he set it to the side and kissed the space between Grian's wings. His feathers weren't at the standard he preferred them to be, but Scar's quiet statement of, “Prettiest Birdie ever,” wasn't any less true.

Grian mumbled something inaudible.

Scar's heart jumped from hearing him speak after so long. He blinked and realized he didn't actually catch what he said. “What was that, Songbird?” He asked sheepishly.

Grian was quiet for a moment before repeating himself. “You don't have to keep saying that.”

“Saying what? That you're pretty?” Scar rubbed the joints in his fingers.

Grian nodded slowly and wrapped his arms tighter around himself. Scar noticed him fidgeting with the wedding band on his finger. “I know you keep saying that because I like it, but you don't have to do it right now.”

Scar rested his hands on Grian's hips, “But why wouldn't I say it?”

He paused, “Because it's not true right now. That's all. I don't want you to feel like you have to say it just–” his voice wavered, “–because you usually do.” 

Scar could've sworn he heard his heart shatter. “Oh, G…” He pulled him into his lap and wrapped his arms around his waist. “But it is true.”

Grian scoffed and kept his head turned away from him.

“I'm serious! You're the prettiest birdie I've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.” He kissed his freckled shoulder, “You're the most pretty, beautiful, handsome, gorgeous, stunning, and all the other cinnamons person in the universe. Nothing could ever compare to you, Gri.” Just to be safe, he planted a few more kisses on his neck and shoulder.

“Scar… did you mean synonyms?”

“What did I say?”

Grian snorted, “Cinnamons.”

“Oh. I did?” Was all Scar had to offer.

Grian started giggling softly. Despite the fact that it was at Scar, he couldn't help but smile at the sound.

Grian mumbled, “I'm all the cinnamons,” between giggles.

“Alright, alright,” Scar said, a slight teasing edge to his voice, “But you know what I meant. Now can I preen the rest of your wings before I say anything else embarrassing?"

Grian sighed and sank into him, causing warmth to blossom in his chest and spread through his veins, “It's fine, Scar. These ones–” he opened and closed the wings on his head while he spoke, “–are easier for me. I can do them myself.”

“Oh no mister,” Scar said, “I'm here to make you feel better and I'm going to finish the job.” He shifted Grian off his lap (despite his groaned protests) and turned him so they faced each other.

Scar already missed the feeling of holding him. The space between them seemed to stretch for a thousand miles.

To combat this, Scar cupped his face and softly kissed his forehead.

Grian kept his gaze averted, but still held Scar’s jacket in his lap. He opened one of the wings on his head.

Scar smiled softly and began working through the feathers. The pattern of new growth and old shed matched the wings on his back.

He did his best to neatly preen the whole wing, but he supposed Grian was right about these ones being easier for him to do. His nails were sharper and his fingers slimmer, giving him an easier time to get between the smaller feathers.

Still, Scar preened to the best of his ability. And when Grian leaned into his touch, eliciting a soft coo, his worries dissipated.

Scar matched the sound and his heart swelled when Grian’s lips barely quirked into a smile. 

He finished the one wing and kissed it softly. Before folding it back in, he made sure to whisper, “Prettiest man I’ve ever seen.”

Grian’s feathers ruffled and a soft blush dusted his freckled cheeks.

Scar moved to his fourth and final wing. Shortly after he began, Grian leaned heavily into his touch. 

With a sigh and a soft smile, Scar cupped his face. “Gri, I can't preen you if you melt on me.”

Grian chirped in response and sank further into his touch, squishing his cheek.

“Just five more minutes. Then you can be as goopy as you want while I get your legs. Okay?”

Grian frowned. He spoke, albeit his words were slurred together, “Already did them.”

Scar glanced behind him, seeing a small mess of keratin and dull feathers. How he didn’t notice Grian doing so was a mystery to him. But, given his lack of flinches and sharp chirps, Scar could presume that he didn't pull anything too early.

“Then five more minutes and we can lay down.”

He pursed his lips and moved his head-wings back and forth. He chirped, which Scar took to mean, ‘Fine.’ Then he actually said, “But on the couch. My bed doesn't have any sheets right now.”

“That sounds perfect, G.”

Grian chirped again and lazily straightened up, letting Scar go back to preening.

Scar tried to make quick work of him, seeing as his head was starting to droop. In all honesty, Scar could also feel his mind growing foggier.

More quiet chirps and coos escaped Grian's lips, making Scar's heart melt.

Once finished, he placed one last kiss to his wing. “My pretty Birdie.”

Before he could close his wings, Grian leaned forward, dropping his head against Scar's chest.

Scar chuckled softly and pulled him back into his lap.

Grian curled in, clutching the jacket to his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice wavering.

“Always, G.” He wrapped his arms around him.

“And- and I'm sorry,” Grian's voice shook more with every word.

“Hm? For what?”

Grian's wings shifted, “For everything.” He sniffed and wiped under his eye. “I've been so awful to you today, and all you've done is be nice to me– no matter what I do.”

“Hey–” Scar caressed the back of his head, “–it's okay.”

“No, it's not!” Grian sobbed, “All you wanted to do was help me, and what did I do? I ignored you for hours, ran off, avoided you, then as soon as you started to get close, I ran off again! And finally when I let you find me, I kept ignoring you! And then you got hurt and I didn't even look at you, and- and I was just being a pest and made you carry me all the way back here even though I knew you were in pain.” He wrapped his arms around Scar, burying his face into him, “And even then you were still so patient, and preened my wings for me and kept telling me I was pretty even though my wings are so ugly right now. And just- I'm sorry for being such a jerk. You don't deserve that.”

Scar leaned back against the nest, keeping Grian firmly in his arms. “Well… I forgive you. It's just a rough day is all.” He stroked his hand down Grian's spine.

“But that doesn't mean I– I get to take it out on you! You have rough days too, but you never treat me any differently on those days!”

Scar bit his tongue. “Sunshine, I…” He took a breath, searching for the right words to say, “I love you. You know that.”

Grian hesitated, then nodded.

“And I married you.”

He nodded again.

“That means I'll stick by you on your best days and your worst days.”

“But-”

“I know you feel bad about today, but I don't want you beating yourself up over it. So you were a bit grumpy today; I forgive you.”

Grian sniffed. “You're too good to me.”

“What?” Scar laughed. “Sweetheart, you're being too hard on yourself.” He cupped his jaw and turned him back up.

Grian finally met his gaze.

Scar saw his dark eyes and the wetness around them. His lashes stuck together and overall, he reminded Scar of a puppy. He wiped his hand over his cheeks and smiled softly before kissing his forehead. “I love you, Grian.”

Grian sighed softly and leaned into him. “I love you too.” He looked away and held onto the front of his shirt. His voice turned watery again, “So much… More than anything ever.”

Scar held him tighter and kissed the top of his head, long and slow. 

Grian relaxed into his hold. His breathing slowly evened out.

Scar glanced out the window and saw that afternoon had started to turn to evening. He rubbed circles into the small of his back and asked, “Do you want to change, or just go lay down?”

Grian contemplated for a moment, fidgeting with a button on Scar's shirt. “We should change. It's getting later.” He slowly shifted out of Scar’s lap and put his jacket on, keeping his wings stuffed inside it. He then stood and reached a hand out to Scar. 

He took it and was pulled up from the nest. His balance wavered as he tried to find his footing. He nearly fell back down, but an arm wrapped around him and a hand took his forearm. 

Grian steadied him into a standing position and Scar embarrassedly muttered, “Sorry– sorry, I didn't think that would happen. I thought my legs were better.”

Grian's expression softened and he caressed Scar's jaw, making his heart flutter. 

He was pulled down and Grian stood on the tips of his talons, meeting him halfway.

Grian's lips were soft and warm, and perfectly aligned with his own. His hands found Grian's waist and he held onto him, sure that if he let go, his legs would give out from beneath him.

Grian tilted his head and Scar's heart skipped a beat. Even after all this time, Grian never failed to take his breath away.

Grian's hand slid into Scar's hair and he pressed their foreheads together when their lips parted.

Scar kept his eyes closed, simply reveling in the feeling of Grian's touch.

“Thank you… again,” Grian whispered, his lips a hair's width away from Scar's.

Scar smiled, “Always, Love.” His eyes fluttered open and he straightened up, finding Grian grinning back at him.

A quick spike of pain shot through Scar’s joints and he must've shown it, because Grian snapped out of his love-struck trance. “Oh– shoot– sorry, Scar–” He kept a hand on his arm and reached down for his cane, “–Here.” 

Scar took the cane from him, having to lean into it heavily. “Thanks, Birdie.”

Grian's feathers ruffled and he stepped out of the nest, offering a hand to Scar.

He quickly dusted off, plucked a few stuck feathers from his pants, then took Grian's hand, thankful for the added support.

Grian laced their fingers together and led him back to the bedroom.

As they walked, all Scar wanted to do was sweep Grian off his feet and carry him, but sadly, he knew they'd both end up in a pile on the floor if he tried that.

Inside, Grian guided him over to the bare, circular mattress. He pressed a hand down on his shoulder, forcing him to sit. (An action that totally did not make his heart skip three whole beats.)

“Wait here, I'll grab it all,” Grian instructed.

Scar nodded and undid the buttons on his shirt, tossing it in the hamper.

He watched Grian dig through drawers, picking out what to wear. After pulling out two pairs of sweats, he opened a drawer filled with pajama shirts (most of which were old t-shirts of Scar's that Grian had taken and cut holes into). Grian hesitated as he reached for them. 

He glanced at Scar, or more accurately: his torso, which was completely bare. His eyes darted from his shoulders, down to his waist, and back up again. Scar couldn't help but laugh softly.

Grian smiled and closed the drawer. “We don't need those. And I don't want them.” He stood and tossed Scar the larger pair of pants.

He caught them and laughed. “I probably wouldn't have worn it anyways. Or maybe five minutes at most. I was fully clothed all day, G! I'm surprised I didn't suffocate.”

Grian snorted. He started changing and said, “I'm surprised you didn't lure me out of the tree by taking off your shirt.”

“Would that have actually worked?”

“Probably… most likely.”

Scar couldn't keep himself from giggling. “I'll remember that for next time, then.” He tossed his jeans into the hamper and slipped into his sweatpants. 

Grian sighed and sat down next to him, dropping his head on his shoulder. 

“What?” Scar asked lightly as he took his hand. 

Grian's wings shifted. “I don't want there to be a next time,” he drawled. “Once was embarrassing enough.”

“Awe, G–” He laced their fingers together, “–you don't need to be embarrassed.”

He hummed and squeezed his hand in return. 

“Sunshine.” He used his free hand to cup Grian's jaw, making him look at him, “I think you're forgetting that I love taking care of you.”

Grian averted his gaze and blinked quickly. “Alright fine,” He ducked his head back down, hiding himself in Scar.

Scar shifted to face him more and added, “You take care of me and I take care of you. Today was just my turn.”

“I know,” Grian mumbled.

“I know you know! But sometimes a reminder is nice.” He placed a hand on his hip. “Thanks for taking care of me, Gri.”

“You're welcome,” he teased. “You've caused me a great deal of trouble over the years.”

Scar giggled and squeezed his side. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Grian's feathers ruffled.

Scar pulled him completely into his lap and kissed the top of his head. He smiled at the way he cooed. 

Grian sank into his hold. He slipped Scar’s jacket from his shoulder, leaving it on the mattress, and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

Scar held him and savored the warmth of his touch.

After a few moments, Grian softly pleaded, “Can we go lay down now?”

Scar glanced out the window. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon and a star or two had started to peek through the sky.

“Of course, Dear.” He started to stand and Grian squirmed out of his hold, but he kept his arms around Scar's shoulders.

“No, Scar.” He looked back up at him, a slight scowl on his face.

“No, what?” He asked, exasperated.

“You're not carrying me.”

“Why not?” He pouted.

Grian grabbed Scar's cane and put it to his chest. “You know why.”

He hung his head and sighed. “You're no fun.”

Grian rolled his eyes and took his hand, leading them back into the living room.

He supposed Grian was right. He walked much slower than he would've liked. Thankfully, Grian didn't seem to mind; he matched his pace and held onto Scar's arm with both hands.

Grian pulled him over to the couch and Scar plopped down onto the cushions. A few stray feathers launched into the air.

“Just sit right there,” Grian said.

Scar wanted to protest and pull Grian down with him, but he had already stepped back. He watched as Grian went to pull the blinds closed, which he guessed was a good enough reason to stay up.

Scar glanced down, noting that the nest was still a mess. The bowl of water he had used earlier remained on the ground, its accompanying towel still in the sheets.

If Grian could still be up and going, then so could he!

Risking a scolding, Scar hurriedly picked it up and started for the kitchen. Grian had already been through enough today– cleaning this up was the least he could do.

Soft shadows engulfed the room as Grian pulled the blinds shut. “Scar.”

He giggled and quickened his pace.

Surprisingly, Grian let him go, sighing.

Scar hastily washed the bowl and placed it upside down on a rack to dry. When he turned around, Grian stood right in front of him, making him shout and jump out of his skin, dropping his cane.

“You were supposed to stay on the couch.”

“W-well you were supposed to be letting me take care of you! So I guess we're both bad at following directions.”

Grian picked the cane up from the floor and handed it back. With a huff, Grian took his hand and dragged him into the living room.

Before Scar could even begin to think about cleaning up the top layers of the nest, he was yanked around. While he was busy tripping over his own feet, he was pushed back down into the cushions. He yelped in surprise as he landed flat on his back.

Scar propped himself up on his elbows and Grian giggled with only a slight hint of malice in his tone.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed. He turned on his side, leaving as much room for Grian as he could, and gestured him over. “C'mere.”

Grian lit up in a smile and practically dove into his arms.

Scar chuckled softly. “I'm glad you're feeling better, G,”

Grian pursed his lips and trailed his fingers along Scar's bare shoulder.  “Well… mostly better.” 

He wasn't meeting his eyes.

Scar's ribs squeezed around his heart. 

Grian would still be molting for a few more weeks. His wings were still far from being back to normal. They looked almost skeletal with the number of pin feathers he still had. But no matter. He'd repeat today's process as many times as needed if only just to offer a bit of comfort to him.

Grian hooked a finger under his chin, turning him back up to look him in the eye. “That's not what I was thinking about.”

Scar's ears pointed down and he smiled embarrassedly. “How do you know what I was thinking?” He teased.

“Because I know you and the way your brain works.” He smiled softly and added, “I do appreciate it, though.”

His cheeks flushed and he asked, “Well, what were you thinking, then?”

Grian's gaze flickered down for the briefest of moments.

The pieces clicked together in Scar's brain.

“Oh.. Oh!” His blushed deepened. “I get it now.”

“Do you?” Grian impatiently drummed his fingers.

“I do! It just… took me a second. But I'm pretty sure you want me to kiss you.”

Grian nodded. His voice softened back into a whisper, “I really want you to kiss me.”

Scar smiled, “Well I am more than happy to be of service.”

Grian smiled. The glint of excitement in his eyes made Scar's heart race.

His gaze dropped to Grian's lips for a brief moment. 

Then he closed his eyes and leaned in (Grian had already closed most of the distance between them). He didn't kiss him very deeply, but he did hold him firmly. His hands itched to slide into his feathers, but he forced himself to resist for fear of hitting a sore one, or ruining all of his hard work. He settled by holding his waist and sliding one hand into his hair.

Grian chirped against his lips and melted into him.

He could feel Grian's smile and he kissed him slower, savoring every little movement, every little sound that his husband made.

He debated on tugging at Grian's lower lip with teeth, but ultimately decided that it was best reserved for another time. He parted from him, but still stayed incredibly close. “Better?” He asked.

Grian chirped, which Scar assumed translated to, “Yes my dearest, darlingest, sweetest, most handsome husband whom I adore above all else. I feel so much better, all thanks to you.”

“Good,” he said. 

The two laid still for a few moments, simply listening to the other's breathing. 

Scar looked at the freckles dusting Grian's cheeks. His blush only made them appear darker. Grian took long, slow breaths and a smile started to tug at his lips.

Scar couldn't help himself and gave him one more quick kiss.

Grian hummed, satisfied.

When Scar pulled away, he muttered, “You're so pretty…” sounding as love-struck as ever.

Grian blushed deeply and groaned. He buried his head in Scar's chest, mumbling, “You can't keep saying that!”

“Why not?” Scar ran his fingers through Grian’s curly hair. As soon as the words left his mouth, he started to worry that he'd annoyed Grian with the frequent statements of his prettiness.

He shivered under his touch, “Because I'm really tired, and my brain is all fuzzy, and I really don't want to start crying again!” His voice broke at the end of his statement.

“Awe, Birdie…” Scar began to trail his hands down his spine.

“It's okay, Scar.” His voice continued to waver. “I'm just being ridiculous.”

“You're not ridiculous,” Scar laughed, “Maybe just a bit tired.”

“That’s the same thing,” He mumbled.

Scar kissed the top of his head, “How about you get some sleep and see if that still stands?”

He paused for a moment, then pleaded, “Only if you give me a few more kisses first.”

“Always.” Scar smiled and planted another kiss to the top of his head. Then he cupped his jaw and turned him back up, peppering him with affection.

Grian chirped and leaned into him. A cheesy grin had taken over his face.

Scar gave him one final kiss on his lips, lingering on the soft and sweet feeling of their connection.

“Is that enough?” He asked.

Grian nodded and chirped. He nuzzled into Scar, making himself comfortable. “That's perfect.”

“Good, good,” He said softly. “Now get some sleep, Birdie.”

Grian nodded against him and draped a wing over them like a blanket.

Scar sank into the cushions, grateful for the chance to finally rest. Sure, his joints might pay the price for sleeping on the couch, but it was a price he was always willing to pay for Grian.

Then, he wrapped his arms firmer around him and dozed off.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ༗ ˖  ࣪⊹

Much to Grian's surprise, he woke up first. He may be a bird, but he certainly wasn't an early one.

Already, his memories came flooding back. His childish and rude behavior, his pathetic begging for affection, and his near constant sobbing all replayed in his head.

He slid a hand down his face and groaned.

He must've really worn out Scar yesterday, considering he was still deeply asleep right next to him.

A pang of guilt shot through his heart and he squeezed his hands into fists. He untangled their legs and sat up in bed.

Which was strange because he shouldn't be in his bed.

He and Scar fell asleep on the couch last night, right?

Unless he was so bird-brained and emotional that he fabricated the memories?

No, no. They definitely went to bed, not in bed.

He fidgeted with his necklace, feeling the cool sensation that constantly radiated from it. Then he looked back down at Scar. The only explanation for their situation was that Scar must've gotten up in the middle of the night, made his bed, and carried him back to it. All of which were things he didn't want him to do.

A realization hit him and his wings tightened against his back.

Sleeping on the couch definitely wasn't a good idea considering Scar's apparent exhaustion. It made sense that he'd go through the extra effort to be comfortable.

But now Grian only felt twice as guilty for his actions yesterday.

Why on earth had Scar agreed to sleeping on the couch?

If he were being honest, he probably wouldn't have let Scar make the bed last night, even if he insisted.

‘Ridiculous man, always giving me what I want,’ he thought.

Knowing him, he probably went and cleaned his nest too.

Scar should've just said something, but now he'd probably be in even more pain today, and it was all Grian's fault.

He laid back down, wondering why Scar always felt the need to put him first, even at his own expense.

Grian’s expression shifted into something softer, and he stroked his fingers over Scar's hair.

He noticed his gentle purrs. Even after all these years, he would never admit that he was capable of such a thing. But that was okay. Because the inevitable day he caught himself purring would be the best day of Grian's life.

Aside from the day he got married, of course.

Scar stirred and Grian's hand stilled. His eyes fluttered open and he met his eye. He took on a small smile and whispered, “Well hello there, Sunshine.”

Grian considered returning his greeting and apologizing for waking him and for insisting they sleep on the couch. But he opted for, “I'm mad at you,” instead. Of course that wasn't the whole truth, but he felt the need to lighten things for a moment before he let his guilt pour out. 

Scar closed his eyes and pulled Grian closer, tucking himself under his chin. He took a long, deep breath, and asked, “And why is that?”

Grian sighed, his facade immediately crumbling. “Okay not actually. But you shouldn't have slept on the couch last night! I– we could've made the bed! It's not that hard.”

Scar shrugged, “You wanted to go to sleep sooner though.”

Grian took Scar’s hand and started massaging his joints. “But you were hurting! And I certainly didn't help with it.”

Scar melted into the pillows. He closed his eyes and lazily said, “Angel, it's too early for this.”

Grian frowned, “Too early for what?”

“For you to be thinking this much. If it were as big of a deal as you want it to be, I would've said something. But it's not.” He hummed, “Like I said, it was just one bad day. And I'd forgiven you from the start.”

“Hmph.” The fact that Scar forgave him meant that he had something to be upset over in the first place.

“I'm serious, G.” He wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. “You keep tearing yourself up over things that don’t matter. I told you already,” His voice softened, “It’s okay.”

Something in Grian’s chest loosened at the sincerity in Scar’s tone. He fidgeted with his own hands and asked, “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I am that I love you.”

The words caused Grian to pause. “You promise?”

Scar nodded. “I promise.”

He held still for only a moment longer, before completely relaxing into his hold. “Okay,” was all he managed to say, lest he start sobbing again.

He repeated the thought to himself.

It’s okay.

“Thank you,” Scar whispered.

Grian draped a wing over them both.

It’s okay.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Scar. He pressed his ear to his chest, listening to the gentle beating of his heart.

With a voice quieter than a whisper, he said to himself, “We're okay.”

Scar's hold shifted and he reassured, “We're okay.”

Finally, Grian believed him.