Chapter Text
HotGuy and CuteGuy have been the most prominent and successful partners-in-crime - errm - partners-in- heroics their city had seen for nearly eleven years. They rarely made mistakes; at least, never any that were too dangerous to be corrected by their next move. They truly cared about the citizens they were saving. They kept collateral to a minimum and often stuck around to help with cleanup when they didn’t have other hero duties to attend to. And, much to their PR team's liking, they were popular for their attitudes as well.
There were often videos circling the internet about any one of their most recent interviews or a sneaky video of them helping a child. Both heroes were kind to the people they spoke to, but that’s not quite what the public liked.
The public, well, they’re ones for drama and HotGuy and CuteGuy sure provided it.
After battles and during partner interviews, they were usually bickering; pointing out flaws in each other's actions, disputing about who did the most saving, who was the most heroic, who deserved to be on camera first. Little, niche things that no one should really be arguing about.
To any outside eye, they were more fitting for enemies than colleagues and could care less for the others' safety.
But, tucked away at the very tippy-top of HotGuy tower, in their shared apartment, they were free to be themselves. They were free to be the happy, loving husbands Scar and Grian GoodTimes wanted to be.
Before becoming heroes, Scar and Grian attended Hermit High, meeting in their first year. They were quick friends, or, in Scar’s case, quick nuisances. Slowly, Scar nudged Grian out of his shell. Grian had been the one to confess, if you could even count it as such, during one of their weekly study nights in Scars bedroom. Scar was going on and on about his Space class and, as much as Grian loved listening to Scar talk, his thoughts were stuck on Scar’s lips and he couldn’t register a single word. He’d quickly had enough and burst out with a “Will you just shut up and kiss me?!”
From then, it’s history.
At 18 and 19, just a month after graduating, they landed a job as interns at a decent hero agency. Moony’s agency, to be precise. Now, don't be impressed quite yet; they didn’t exactly earn their place there. All it took was a long session of begging Grian’s sister, Pearl, for a place. The best she could offer was errand boys, and they took it, if only to say they worked at an agency. However, Pearl knew just how much her brother and his boyfriend admired the heroes. During the spring, when crime rates were impressively low, just a year into working at Pearl’s agency, they were allowed one patrol. Now, Moony would be going herself, so she had no reason to worry for the two, but still, she held Grian down and strapped a bullet-proof vest to his chest, just in case.
It was a silent patrol, just as she’d expected. The boys were dressed in costumes Moony’s design department had constructed and rejected and thin plastic masks were tied around their eyes.
Moony caught the flash from the corner of her eye just a block from her agency. She hadn’t had a chance to shout a warning before they were surrounded. Paparazzi. Suddenly, Moony was reminded why she hated patrolling.
“Moony!” Someone shoved a microphone in her face. “Moony, are you debuting sidekicks?”
“What are their names?”
“What are their powers?”
Questions were being shouted from every direction and Moony was growing ever annoyed. She’d listened to Scar and Grian’s on and off flirting and childish quarrelling for the better half of three hours and her temper was dwindling. Right on cue, it seemed, the two found something else to argue about. Moony didn’t care to figure out what it was as she shoved her way through cameras and people.
“They’re a bunch of dumbasses, is what they are,” she growled, reaching to take their arms and drag them the rest of the way back to the agency.
Grian’s parrot-like wings puffed out, whacking Moony in the face and keeping her just out of reach. It wasn’t intentional, of course, and Moony knew that. The eyeroll she gave the nearest camera told any viewers not to worry as well.
Scar threw his hands above his head. “Obviously it’d be me!”
“You?! With a name like HotGuy?! You would be the hero everyone made fun of.”
“Made fun of? I’ll have you know that HotGuy is a very unique name and I would be very loved!”
Moony raised both arms, still not having caught the attention of either boy, and smacked the back of their heads. Their arguing stopped immediately, and they turned towards the hero. “What. The hell. Could you possibly be arguing about now?!”
Grian huffed, placing his hands on his hips and covering Scar’s attempt at an answer with his wing. “He thinks he’d be the more popular hero.”
Scar pushed Grian’s wing down. “I would be. Right, Moony?”
Moony only gaped. She was speechless in every sense of the word. After a moment, she gathered herself and pointed down the sidewalk towards her agency. “Home. Now.”
“What?” Grian squealed. “But the patrol-”
“-Is over. I am tired of you two. I don’t know why I thought this would work.” She turned back towards the crowd of reporters and the like as the wannabe heroes trudged away. She gave a heavy sigh and attempted to smile. “Interns, am I right? Apologies, but I must be going, now. I’m not sure they can make it to the doors without finding something else to fight about.”
After that, their popularity miraculously rose and, within two more years, at 20 and 21, the HotGuy agency was being constructed. Their ranks in both lone heroes and partnered heroes skyrocketed.
At 24 and 25, when the hecticness of starting and running an agency died down, Scar took the chance to pop the question. And, no, the public knew nothing of their relationship. Actually, family members and very few choice coworkers were the only ones to know of Scar and Grian’s truely domestic relationship.
. . .
It was just supposed to be a normal patrol. Crime rates were at an all-time low, thanks to our favourite duo, and walking through the early morning city was honestly quite leisurely.
A bout of distant sirens caught their ears and, having nothing more amusing to do, HotGuy and CuteGuy followed the sound to its source.
A warehouse - the biggest one their city had - was spitting bright flames into the sky.
CuteGuy perched silently on a police car. “What’s going on?”
The officer jumped, obviously missing the avian’s entrance. “CuteGuy! U-umm- there was an electrical fire. The building is very old. The sprinklers never went off.”
CuteGuy nodded. “Any missing people reports?”
As if he’d heard, another officer approached. “The owner says there’s someone missing. Her name is Julie Marz. She works in an office above the work floor.”
The first officer spoke into his radio. “One missing. Top floor. Female. Name: Julie Marz.”
The radio crackled before a voice responded. “It’s too dangerous. I’m not sending in any more people. The building is on the verge of collapse.”
“What?!” An annoyed scream sounded over the emergency responders. “If there are still citizens in there, we should be helping!” HotGuy must have arrived just in time to catch the end of the report.
“No one? Fine, I’ll find her myself.”
CuteGuy shook his head at HotGuys figure dashing into the smoke. He’d find her.
Just as HotGuy disappeared, the building creaked.
“Take cover!” Someone shouted. “It’s coming down!”
CuteGuy shielded himself and the officers he’d been talking to with his wings. The only visible entrance gave way.
. . .
A news helicopter hovered over the site, taking in the scene below.
The anchor did her best to describe what she could see. “We are above Main and Gary with the biggest fire this city has seen in years.”
The camera panned over the building and first responders. “Wait, is that-?” Her hand pointed across the lens to a peculiar sight. “Is- It looks like CuteGuy is being restrained by the authorities. Is he responsible for this?”
The microphone picked up pieces of the camera man asking “Where’s HotGuy?”
“HotGuy? Well, HotGuy is-” she paused, searching for the hero. “Where is HotGuy?”
She frowned, scanning the people outside again. She gasped. “Oh my- he’s- he’s inside! Oh, no! HotGuy’s gotta be in there! Why is nobody doing anything-?”
She was cut off by a groundbreaking trembling as half of the roof caved in, smothering some of the flames in the debris. She shrieked.
The camera followed a figure running from the back of the flaming building.
“Is that him?” The cameraman asked.
“My source on the ground tells me her name is Julie Marz. HotGuy is still in there.”
There was indiscernible yelling as three fire-fighters ran into the mess.
The reporter whimpered. “Please find him. Oh, god, please find him.”
A shrill, tortured scream cut through the air. CuteGuy was on his knees, still struggling against the authorities, wings flapping pathetically behind him.
The flames were suddenly raging again, shooting high into the sky.
The whole world, it seemed, waited with baited breath for any sign of their hero. The only sound was the cracking and whipping of the fire and the sound of hoses desperately wetting the flames.
“Look!” Someone hollered. A sturdy figure waded out of the smoke. Dressed in bright yellow came a firefighter. He shook his head sadly.
A camera on the ground was finally set up and the angle switched, its attached mic catching CuteGuy’s heart wrenching sobs as the officers released their hold. He fell completely to the ground, heaving wet tears into the cement. He begged for HotGuy to come home.
Silence, still, as everyone began to mourn a tragic loss.
. . .
CuteGuy’s earpiece spluttered in his ear. He heard a cough and sat up, tears streaking down his cheeks, staring hopefully at the wreckage.
A familiar chuckle echoed through his head. “Don’t cry, baby, I’m-.” And then: nothing.
Suddenly, “There! Look! It’s them!”
Sure enough, three figures hobbled from the demolished building. HotGuy was being supported by two firefighters.
CuteGuy let out another strangled sob as he stumbled to his knees. Both officers reached again to hold him back, but he managed to slip away. He sprinted as fast as his weak knees would let him towards the love of his life.
At sight of a charging bird, HotGuy, too, pulled away from his helpers. He couldn’t move quite as fast as the other, but he made as much effort as he was able to get to his partner.
In a flurry of feathers, HotGuy was tackled to the ground. A gasp echoed through the gathering people and reporters. Police did their best to keep the worried crowd at bay. Whispers spread quickly: “Is CuteGuy seriously trying to fight with him after that?”
CuteGuy’s wings finally settled, letting the crowd see the supposed ‘fight.’
What they saw, instead, was a hunched over CuteGuy bawling into HotGuy’s neck and squeezing around his shoulders. HotGuy used one hand to support their weight, the other rubbing comforting circles on the space between CuteGuys wings.
CuteGuy pulled back. His gaze held anger. “You-! You-!” He gulped. “You idiot! I thought you were dead!”
HotGuy smiled apologetically. “Oh, birdie. I’m okay. I promise.”
“What was I supposed to do if you didn’t come back?” His argument was weak as his voice gave out.
HotGuy only gave a pathetic laugh. “I’ll always come back, hunny. You know-.” He was cut off by a familiar pair of lips pressing against his.
. . .
“It seems like HotGuy’s okay,” the reporter let out a relieved breath as the camera zoomed in on the hero duo bundled on the floor. “Probably, no, definitely , a medical check-up. It looks- well, what a surprise. CuteGuy seems to be arguing with HotGuy.” She gave an annoyed sigh. “Just as I thought we’d have one day without their fighting- Oh, my god! CuteGuy- CuteGuy is kissing HotGuy!”