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Grian is an avian. It isn’t a secret, at least not anymore. The whole server knows. What they do not know is that he has certain… instincts… nesting instincts. He really does his best to hide it, and push it off–something he got into the habit of during high school–but he can’t stall forever.
For a fortnight a year, he is forced to succumb to those revolting instincts. He’s become good at making more like 18 months, but that only makes it worse when it does happen.
So, here he sits, two years since his last nesting episode, in fetal position on the floor, trembling wings hugging his shoulders. He’s wrapped in the one blanket he allows himself, chirps passing through his month without his consent, despite his best efforts to swallow down and muffle them.
This is fine. He can get through this. He doesn’t need to steal his friends’ things, shut up brain.
What if he steals his friends?
Nope. Not doing that either. He’ll be fine on his own, he’s been fine before. The hermits don’t need to know–and not because he doesn’t trust them. He knows that they are the most kind, caring people he has ever met. But that doesn’t make it any easier to let them see such an intimate part of him.
The creaking of an opening door snaps his attention back to reality. With weak, shaky arms, he pushes himself into an upright position.
“Grian?” Danggit, it's Pearl. And she sounds worried. “Gri, where are you?”
He scoots into the corner behind his bed in an attempt to hide. He knows it’s irrational to hide from her, but he can’t help the paranoia. He wraps a hand tightly around his mouth and holds his breath. Maybe she won’t find him if he’s quiet enough?
“G, I know you’re in here. I can smell it.” Of course she can! He’s exuding pheromones, and it’s disgusting. She’s his sister, of course she’d smell him.
He whimpers softly as she peaks her head around the bed.
“Hey, G,” she speaks softly. He squeezes his eyes shut with the shake of his head. He thinks maybe the trills falling out of his mouth were an attempt at words, but he just couldn’t figure out how to move his mouth in the right ways.
A cool hand rests on his forehead. It’s nice, even though it made him jump.
“Breathe,” And he does. She wraps her jacket around his shoulder and sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He draws a wobbly deep breath. “You’re okay, I’ve you. You’re not alone this time.”
And, despite the anxieties, he thinks maybe this won’t be so bad?