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Grian wasn’t nervous.
So what if he was starting a brand new job today? So what if it was at the most prestigious university in Hermit City? So what if there were going to be new people?
So what if he was an avian?
None of that mattered. It wasn’t like Grian had moved to this city, alone, just for the sole purpose of getting this job. It wasn’t like his entire career rested on this, or anything.
(Except, wait. He had done those things. And yes it did.)
But whatever! He wasn't nervous!
And if he took a little extra time to get ready this morning? What was the big deal? He just wanted to look good. That was normal, you were supposed to want to be presentable on your first day of work.
Granted, you were also supposed to look professional, and Grian’s bright red sweater didn’t really hit the mark. But . . . well, it was comforting. It practically swallowed him, giving him plenty of room to breathe, and the fabric felt soft against his feathers. And he had put on a button up shirt underneath it, so he was technically still in dress code.
He was also prepared for this. He had all his supplies packed up in a nice bag that he’d gotten together the night before. Plus, he’d already double checked that he had what he needed: laptop, charger, keys, wallet. All important, all necessary.
Not to mention the fact that he’d stayed up practically every day this week, running over the names of his students. He honestly doubted he would be able to remember them all (there was a lot ) but better safe than sorry, right? And he’d already read and reread his lesson plan.
Twice.
He was as prepared as he could be. Over-prepared, he could even say. He was ready for this.
So, no , Grian wasn’t nervous.
(Even if, just a tiny little bit, he was.)
Grian heaved a deep breath, trying to shove away the thoughts. He pinched the hem of his jumper to steady his shaky hands.
Over thinking things definitely wouldn’t help. He just had to. . .play it cool, play it chill. He’d worked to get in this position, just like everyone else.
Surely they would all respect that.
Even if he was an avian.
Grian closed his eyes at the thought, only for a moment. Avians weren’t exactly. . . frowned upon, per se, but he’d definitely gotten his fair share of judgements bestowed upon him. Words like ‘freak’, ‘mutant’, ‘hybrid’ were regularly tossed out.
‘Monster.’
Though, to be fair, those insults had significantly dropped in count since moving to the city. Grian had figured it would be the reverse, but he guessed not.
Still, it was hard not to be cautious. He knew first hand how hard being different was.
But–he’d gotten this job, even though he was an avian. He’d earned it, fair and square.
Whoever didn’t like it would have to suck it up.
Yeah.
Grian shivered, sinking deeper into the thick fabric of his sweater. Even if the jumper was a questionable fashion choice, he was glad for the warmth it brought. It was late Fall, and the city was chilly and foggy the way it normally was. The air held a distinct crisp to it, like breathing in ice, and the wind whipped at his ears and hit his exposed wings, ruffling the feathers. It almost made Grian regret not taking the subway.
Still, he was glad for the calming notion walking brought him. The slight exercise helped his excessive amount of energy, giving his shaky limbs something to do besides, well, shake.
At least the students would probably be as nervous as he was. It would be their first class in architecture, their first class with him , and Grian can remember from his own experience at uni the anxiety that came with meeting a new professor. They’d probably stare a bit at his wings, but they were young. They wouldn’t question it too much.
But. . . if he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t really the students he was worrying about.
It was the other professors.
Sure, he’d met a few of them during the interview process, and they’d seemed pretty nice. And of course he’d personally met with the dean of the university, who had assured him that all the staff members were friendly and kind and wouldn’t try to pull anything.
But it was the ones he hadn’t met yet, the ones he was slightly afraid of meeting, that had his pulse growing quicker. He couldn’t help wondering what his coworkers would think about having to rub elbows with a hybrid.
And what if—stars, what if they just simply didn’t like him? Being an avian aside, Grian knew his personality could be a bit. .. chilly, at times. He was definitely sarcastic. And blunt.
Would that make them dislike him?
He hoped not.
Because despite what Grian told himself, staying all alone in the city, so far away from home. . .
It was hard.
And lonely. And he wanted, needed friends.
It helped a little bit that his cousin, Jimmy, lived there, so he technically wasn’t entirely alone.
But. . . it felt that way sometimes.
Grian shoved the thought away and continued walking. He would probably feel less alone if he actually saw Jimmy more, but as it was, the other avian worked tirelessly for his journaling career. He was constantly gone, trying to get the “best scoop” on the latest headlines.
Grian had tried to tell Jimmy that he was wasting his potential in a boring place like this, but Jimmy had waved him off.
“I like my job,” he’d said, eyes bright, “and I like my coworkers.”
Grian had just shrugged. He guessed that was all that mattered, but he still stood by his original claim. After all, Hermit City was sort of a dreary place. The sun never seemed to be able to penetrate through the thick haze of clouds that sunk into the city in the mornings and never left. It was rainy and windy and on a good day, visibility was barely considered passable.
But despite the harsh conditions of the city, the actual residents were. . . really friendly. Grian had met some, from coffee shops and small stores, and they seemed to genuinely enjoy living there. They hadn’t given him or his wings any weird looks and had treated him the same as the other customers.
It was no wonder Jimmy liked it so much. It was hard to find a place like that.
Grian thought that maybe, given time, he’d grow to like it too.
Well, if this first day went well.
Aaand with that great thought stuck in his brain, Grian continued on.
The walk to the university seemed shorter than he remembered it, and in almost no time, he was suddenly there, standing in front of the double doors and gazing up.
It was big. And scary.
And he wasn’t nervous.
Grian heaved another stuttering, deep breath, trying to calm his jumping muscles, and ascended the steps.
Inside, the foyer was just as fancy as Grian recalled it. Despite the fact that he’d been there multiple times for interviews, it still managed to amaze him. Tall ceilings, beautiful fixtures. . . whoever had designed it must’ve been an amazing architect.
Grian shook his head to clear those thoughts away. Focus . He was here to teach, and his first class was—
—still an hour off.
Oh.
Well, maybe he’d arrived a little bit early.
But—hey, at least he had time to find his office!
Grian settled on that fact, nodding to himself, and started walking down the halls. His office was on the second floor, he knew, room 208 according to the dean. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, the goal of avoiding people fresh in his mind. Maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone other than his students today. He thought maybe he could survive that.
Thankfully, the halls were mostly empty, save for a few people here and there. Grian risked a few glances at them, but they were mostly students, with earbuds shoved in and faces tired. None of them spared him a second glance, which served him just as well.
Eventually, after a little time spent searching, Grian found his office. It was still marked with the name of the former employee who had worked there, but the staff had assured him they’d swap it out soon enough.
Steeling himself, the avian pushed the door open. The hinges creaked loudly, rust causing them to shriek and cry and wail. Grian winced at the horrible noise, fighting the urge to cover his ears.
Inside, the office was smaller than he’d imagined. It was crowded, with empty book shelves lining the walls and a desk that took up about half of the small space. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and dust was clearly visible on the floor. There was a window, but it was dim and hardly let in any light.
Right. This was. . . nice.
Grian awkwardly set his bag down on the chair, coughing when dirt erupted into the air, showering him.
Great.
Slowly, he shut his door, the air smelling stiff and stale and slightly moldy, but he didn’t really care. At least he was alone. His anxiety calmed the slightest bit.
Though, really , you would think that a university known for its prestigiousness might have better offices. Grian was starting to see why the last professor had quit.
But he’d have to make do. He’d worked hard to get here, had put in countless sleepless nights, and he wasn’t going to waste it all over something as trivial as an office space. He’d tidy it up, fill the shelves with his favourite things, and it would be like home.
Nodding to himself, Grian set about doing just that. He didn’t have any personal items with him, just his bag, but he rummaged through it and produced a handkerchief. He used the cloth to start dusting the room, humming to himself softly, surprised to find he was actually enjoying his time.
A surprise. But not an unwelcome one.
He was about fifteen minutes into his chores when his stomach growled and he remembered something.
He’d skipped breakfast.
At first, Grian tried to ignore it. He didn’t really need to eat. He’d gone many times without food before, for a lot longer than a couple hours.
He was fine.
But as the hour continued on, his hunger was becoming harder and harder to forget.
The dean had told him there was a lounge for staff, complete with a vending machine and some free food, and Grian was tempted to check it out, but that—
—that would mean going out and actually interacting with people.
He didn’t want to do that.
Grrr , his stomach rumbled in reply.
Sighing, Grian turned from where he was dusting a shelf. He tossed his piece of fabric back into his bag and made his way to the door, peeking his head out.
Swipe right, swipe left. Clear.
He fully crossed the threshold, hands moving nervously as his sides, the anxious energy needed an outlet somewhere.
Okay, he could do this. Just go to the teacher’s lounge, in and out, super quick. No one would even see him! He’d be fine.
Perfect.
Now for the execution.
Slowly, Grian walked down the hall. The lounge was on the second floor, too, a short walk from his own office. His shoes tap tap tapped on the ground, and he winced, trying to quiet his steps. He was grateful that there were lectures going on. Less foot traffic, less chance of someone seeing him, which was totally fine by him.
Eventually, he spotted the door to the lounge, marked by a tiny tag to the side. It was half open, dim light peeking out and across the hall.
Grian paused, listened.
Nothing. It didn’t seem like anyone was in there.
Taking a deep breath, Grian gently pushed the door open, holding the air in his lungs in anticipation.
Empty.
Thank the stars.
He heaved an exhale in a massive sigh of relief, practically slumping over, and made his way towards the small table in the center of the room. In the middle there was a bowl of fruit with a little notecard that said, in happy handwriting, “Take one!”
Grian obeyed, hands wrapping around a red apple.
Okay, target acquired. He just had to get back to his room and—
“Well, hello there!” a voice sounded, right behind him.
Grian jumped out of his skin, dropping the apple with a loud thud. He whipped around, eyes wild, to see a man in a wheelchair. He had messy brown hair and scarred skin, but his expression was bright.
Grian opened and closed his mouth. His face felt hot, and behind him, his wings twitched.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said, holding up his tan hands in mock surrender.
Grian forced his lips to move. “Uh, it’s—it’s okay.”
Smooth.
“You must be the new professor,” the man continued, looking oblivious to Grian’s pending breakdown. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Scar Goodtimes.”
Grian blinked, eyes automatically going to the scars lining the man’s skin. That seemed a little. . . rude. Very ironic, but also insensitive.
But who was he to judge?
Shakily, he reached a hand out, skin connecting in a firm shake. “Uh,” he said, very intelligently. He cleared his throat. “I’m Grian.”
“Nice to meet you, Green!” Scar exclaimed, the mispronunciation making the avian wince.
“It’s Grian,” he corrected, dropping the man’s hand. His fingers felt oddly cold. He tucked his wings closer to his body
“ Grian , of course!” Scar replied, brightly, rebounding perfectly. “Well, it’s still nice to meet you.”
“Uh, you too,” Grian replied, awkwardly. He didn’t know what to say, and the room dipped into tense silence, which was arguably Grian’s worst nightmare.
“Have you met any of the other staff yet?” Scar asked, saving Grina from having to think of something to say.
He shook his head. “I meant a few during interviews, but not–not a lot.”
Scar nodded, listing his head slightly to the side. “You’ll like them, they’re super nice. Mumbo’s our engineer. He’ll probably be pretty shy, but trust me, that goes away once you get to know him.” He laughed loudly, and Grian mimicked him quietly. “And–let’s see–there’s Impulse, who teaches math. Bdubs works in art, and Joel does photography with his wife, Lizzie.”
Grian blinked at the swarm of information. “Wow.”
“So, what do you teach?” Scar jumped back in almost immediately, like the words were pushing against his teeth. Grian got the distinct impression that Scar always talked like this: rushed, random, and somehow endearing.
Scar reached for the fruit bowl while he waited for a reply. He selected an apple, just like Grian, and took a large bite.
“Architecture,” Grian said. He gently kicked the apple he’d dropped underneath the table and copied Scar, selecting a new one in replacement.
Took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Finally stuttered out, “What about you?”
Scar shined the apple on his dress shirt, which Grian really didn’t understand considering the man had already started eating it, and said, “Botany.”
“Nice,” Grian replied ineptly. He was caught in indecision, wondering if he should sit down or leave while he was ahead. He glanced down at his watch. There was still twenty minutes until his class. He could definitely get a few more shelves dusted by then, maybe reread his lesson plan.
“Well, it was good chatting with—”
“So what do you like to do?” Scar asked, before Grian could finish getting the words out.
Oh-kay. Guess he was staying here.
Awkwardly, he lowered himself into a seat. He took another bite of his apple, to avoid answering immediately, conscious of his chewing. After a moment, he said, “Uh, I like to walk? And listen to music.”
Scar’s head perked. “Oh? What type of music?”
Grian felt his face flush. “I like. . . instrumental. Classical.”
Instead of a puzzled, slightly taken aback expression that Grian was expecting, Scar’s entire face lit up. “You like instrumental music, too?” he gasped, leaning forward in his chair until his chest hit the edge of the table.
Grian blinked. “Uh, yeah?”
“No one else here likes it!” Scar exclaimed, waving his hand, the one holding the apple. “I keep trying to get Gem—she teaches Criminal investigation—to give it a try but she won’t. ”
“Really?” Grian could feel his defenses lowering, the slightest bit. “You actually like it?”
The man nodded enthusiastically.
“Who’s your favourite composer?”
Scar thought about it, taking a bite in the meantime. After a moment, he said, “I gotta say Paul Reeves.”
Grian felt his jaw hit the table. “Me, too!”
“You know of him?”
“Yes,” Grian gushed, surprised when the words started coming easier. He was actually. . . enjoying this. “Favourite song?”
Scar didn’t even need to consider it. “When I Recall. You?”
“The Smile of a Child,” Grian responded. “But I like that one, too.”
“What are you two talking about?” a new voice asked, before Scar could respond. Grian turned his head to see another man enter the room. He had pale long hair and pale skin, eyes amused.
The avian’s wings hunched forward, slightly. Self consciousness gnawed at his feathers, but the newcomer hardly paid them a glance.
Scar answered, “Instrumental music!”
The man laughed, a hearty sound, and Grian relaxed into it. “Oh, Scar, you found your matching freak!”
“Not funny, Etho,” Scar mumbled. Grian felt his lips crack into a slight smile at the tease and exaggerated reaction.
These people were actually. . . nice.
Stars above, Jimmy was right .
The man, Etho, turned to Grian. “You’re the new architect instructor, right?” His voice was kind.
Grian nodded in answer. Etho continued, “Well, welcome aboard! This place can be very crazy and hectic, but it’s fun, I assure you.”
“Could calm down a bit if we played some more classical music,” Scar countered, and Grian actually let out a small laugh at that.
“Not this debate again,” a girl’s voice sounded, yet another professor coming in. She had large, frizzy red hair and pale skin, but something about her eyes screamed dangerous. Grian thought that maybe she looked like the type to say something about him being a hybrid, but she just blinked at him like she didn’t even notice.
It was. . . nice.
“ Yes , this debate again,” Scar shot back, crossing his arms in an almost pout. He looked up at the girl, glaring.
“Gem, this debate will always be a thing,” Etho told her, laughing as he reached for the coffee in the corner of the room. “You know Mumbo and Scar won’t give it up.”
Gem rolled her eyes. “For star’s sake, all I know is that instrumental music is music for nerds. Right, Grian?”
Grian felt his face heat up at the direct mention, surprised she even knew his name. He shot Scar a look. “Well, actually. . .”
“No,” Gem gasped, pressing a hand to her chest like she’d been betrayed. Scar started to laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side?”
Grian gave a little apologetic shrug, a grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe?”
Scar pumped his fist, still laughing. “Woo! Welcome to the dark side!”
“The nerd side,” Gem countered, sauntering towards the coffee machine, too. She reached over Etho and grabbed a green mug. “That’s what Pearl calls you guys. And Bdubs.”
“Pearl likes classical music,” Scar defended.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Scar bristled. “If she weren’t lecturing her students about the cosmos right now, I’d call her here to prove you wrong.”
“Well, it’s a good thing Pearl always goes long.”
“Guys, please ,” Etho jumped in, holding up his hands as if trying to calm a fight. “You’re arguing in front of the new guy. Think about presentation .”
“When Gem admits she’s wrong, I’ll stop arguing,” Scar muttered, at the same time that Gem exclaimed, “The new guy is literally in on it!”
Grian laughed loudly, wings shaking behind him, surprised to find that the action came naturally. Against all odds, he was actually. . . really enjoying himself. These people were chaotic, sure, but it was a fun type of chaos.
The kind you wouldn’t mind losing yourself to.
And they didn’t seem to care about him being a hybrid.
So instead of going back to his office like he had originally planned, Grian stayed right where he was. He chewed on his apple, listening to the background bickering of Gem and Scar. Who would have thought that his love for classical music would cause such a debate? But it was also a good thing, an unexpected opening into their tight little circle.
(Definitely a conversation starter to keep in mind for when he needed one in the future.)
Etho, at one point, settled at the table next to him, chatting politely. He told him a bit about the others professors, what they liked and what didn’t and when Grian might be able to meet them. Grian replied where it was needed, chewing on his fruit while the other man sipped his coffee. It was nice, calming, and he lost himself to the conversation, feeling laughs and smiles come much more easily as Etho told about Impulse’s failed projects or Joel’s sense of chaos.
These were the people he’d been scared of? They were much friendlier than he had imagined them in his head. And based on the way they all talked about the others, they seemed just as nice, if a little strange.
But Grian was strange, too.
And he was realising that wasn’t a bad thing.
A few minutes of talking and eating later, Grian finished his apple off. He tossed it in the bin and flipped his wrist to check the time.
“Oh, shoot!” he exclaimed, voice cutting over everyone else’s, wings jumping.
“Something wrong?” Gem asked, listing her head. Concern lighted her eyes, despite the fact that she had just met him.
Grian cursed, throwing his head back. “I”m late for my first lecture!”
Etho seemed to be stifling a smile behind his hand, while Scar laughed outright. “Yeah, that happens more often than you’d think. Better get going!”
Grian nodded quickly, rushing towards the door. He still had to stop by his office to grab his things, and then go to his lecture hall.
Guess he’d gotten carried away.
Before he fully left the room, he called over his shoulder, “It was great meeting you all!”
“You, too!”
“Likewise!”
“Bye!”
And as Grian rushed to his class, he knew one thing for certain.
There had been no reason to be nervous.