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A sullen song rang out through City Park. The mayor stood at a podium. Wiping away tears, masking his fear, he spoke into the microphone. “We gather here,” he sniffled. “To mourn the loss of our city’s hero, Cuteguy.”
A crowd of what seemed to be hundreds of people sat in front of him. There was a loud silence. Not a single voice. You could hear a pin drop. It seemed like the whole city was here.
“We will forever miss and appreciate Cuteguy’s work for the city.” He looked at the sky. “Wherever you are– whoever you are, veiled citizen, we will forever set store by you. We will forever mourn you. We will forever remember you.”
Another person walked to take the stage. “And in remembrance, We will be adding a statue of our beloved hero right in the middle of our City Park. We estimate it to be up by July.”
The mayor returned to the microphone. “And for our unwelcomed. We hope that someone will take his place to fight our villains. Hotguy will be stopped. We will not give up. Wherever he is; out there, watching us,” his gaze traced the skyline, lingering on the capitol building, “we will catch you. We will not give up, until all mayhem is ceased.”
“You died?” Hotguy swung his feet off the side of a building, peering down at the funeral, like a strange television show, entertained.
“A shame really,” Cuteguy responded, grabbing Hotguy’s hand and bringing it to his face. He lightly kissed it, and pulled it behind him, forcing their faces together. He eagerly kissed him.
They smiled at each other. Another scratch of the microphone rang out, catching their attention again. The words were blurred, and it was hard to understand, but they got the gist of it. Hotguy defeat this, Cuteguy remembered forever that.
It was rather surprising that they considered Cuteguy the hero after everything, he just caused harm to buildings and woke everyone with another early morning explosion. He never really did any good other than chasing Hotguy around. And that was only because he saw him on the TV once and thought he was hot. And hey, did it get him a man . Cuteguy squeezed his hand.
A cold breeze blew past them, sending goosebumps up their arms.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” Scar tilted his head, grinning.
Grian nodded in agreement. He got up, dragging Scar up by the hand. They walked across the cold, beaten concrete of the roof. On the side, there was a ladder connected to the fire exit stairs. They swiftly slid through a half-cracked open window. They entered their apartment. It was an abandoned building, and they’ve been living together for years now. There was shelves and shelves of plants, courtesy of Grian, and a cat, courtesy of Scar. Jellie rubbed up against his legs as they hopped down from the window sill.
He pulled Scar to the couch, watching as he sat down, crossing his legs. Grian flopped on top of him, stretching out his wings and laying them across Scar’s lap and face. He felt hands grab and readjust them, and suddenly fingers combed through his feathers. It was a sudden relief, relaxing all his muscles like a massage. He loved getting his wings preened. He felt Scar pick out a feather, and it was like an itch scratched he never knew was itchy. This happened a couple times till he felt Scar’s hands leave his wings and move to reach the TV remote.
“Scar,” he whined.
“What, I wanna watch your funeral!” Scar giggled. He licked his finger and scratched off dirt stuck to one of his feathers. Grian sighed contently.
Suddenly a loud, whirring noise came from outside. A helicopter flashed lights outside their window. Scar flinched, hard, and panic radiated off of him. Grian sat up and grabbed his hands and gave him a reassuring look.
“They’re reenforcing the security measures now that I’m ‘dead’,” he added hand quotes.
“I heard,” Scar glanced at the door anxiously.
“Everything will be okay.”
Scar suddenly got up, throwing Grian off his lap with a start, who threw his hands back just in time to catch himself. “No, it won’t be, though.”
Grian watched him, concerned. The sudden mood change was something he hadn't seen before. “Are you okay?”
“No!” Scar exclaimed. “You don’t get it.”
“What don’t I get? I assure you, I bet I do.”
“You don’t! You’re the good guy. You saw, the mayor was there, he was crying .” Scar flung his arms out. “If I died, they’d all cheer and be happy like I wasn’t a real person! If I went down there right now I’d be dead in a matter of minutes !”
“You. Don’t. Get. It,” Scar emphasized.
Grian flinched. Fear struck through him. Scar stood over him, anger radiated off him.
“I’m sorry–” Grian stuttered– “I didn’t know you were feeling like this, I–”
Scar saw the fear in his eyes. He reached down and wrapped his arms around Grian, sitting down and holding him comfortingly. “I’m not mad. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Grian’s hands were shaking. He dug his face into Scar’s shoulder.
Grian pulled away, tearing up, and bringing his hoodie sleeve up to wipe it away. “I didn’t know–” he sniffled– “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
God. He hated how sensitive Sam had made him.
“It’s okay. Hey,” Scar tilted Grian’s chin up to look at him. “We’re in this together. It’s us against the problem, not us against each other.”
Grian smiled. He let himself fall into Scar’s chest, burrowing into his lap. Scar smiled, running his hands through Grian’s hair. He picked out a feather that had found its way into his hair, stuffing it into his pocket.
“I saw that,” Grian whispered.
“It’s a perfectly good feather. No point in wasting it,” Scar attempted a whisper but it sounded more like a low growl.
They sat there for a moment, enjoying each other's company. Each other's selves. Eachother.
“Hey Scar?” Grian asked, muffled.
Scar hummed in response.
“What if we ran away?”
“What?”
“What if we ran away. Together. To a new country. Nobody will know.”
“That's… that’s a good idea.”