Chapter Text
Grian unlocked the front door just as the early morning sky began to pale, light creeping in between buildings. Inside, the café smelled faintly of coffee beans and disinfectant.
Several heads lifted the moment he stepped inside. He flipped a switch, and the sign above the counter flickered on. Paws and Pour.
Cats rose from window perches and cushions, hopping down with soft thumps and padding toward him. Tails flicked voices rising into a chorus of insistent meows.
“Alright, alright,” Grian said, already smiling. “I’m here. Hold your horses.”
He set his bag aside and moved behind the counter, reaching beneath it for the bowls. The cats followed closely, clustering around his ankles.
“Breakfast is coming,” he promised. “You’re all being very dramatic.”
They disagreed loudly.
He worked his way down the line, setting bowls down one by one until the noise settled into contented crunching.
Once everyone was fed and thoroughly distracted, Grian straightened and let out a quiet breath.
He rinsed his hands in the sink behind the counter, warm water washing away the lingering scent of cat food. He reached beneath the counter and pulled out his apron, slipping it over his head. The red fabric was soft from too many washes, a stylised paw print cradling a steaming mug stitched on the front.
He tied it behind his back, then reached for one of the headbands hanging next to the aprons. The felt cat ears earned a small smile. He would never admit it, but he really didn’t mind this part of the uniform. He slid the cat ear headband onto his head and adjusted it until it sat just right.
His hands were still on his head when the door burst open.
The bell clanged wildly against the doorframe.
A dark figure stepped inside, a cloak draped from his shoulders and falling in folds around his boots. Yellow detailing traced patterns across the fabric of his suit, and a black mask covered the top half of his face, leaving only his eyes visible beneath his hood. A dark sword hung at his hip, secured in a simple sheath, an unspoken warning at his side.
Grian froze.
“A vet,” the villain breathed into the silence. His voice modulator rendered the words flat and metallic. “I need a vet. Now.”
Fear hit Grian hard and sharp.
Phantom.
The most dangerous villain in the city, was standing right there in his doorway.
His pulse thundered in his ears. It took a moment for the villain’s words to register. Then Grian looked down.
There in the villain's arms, a cat was cradled, small limp body held with care. One arm supported her weight, the other curved protectively around her injured side.
Grian let out a shaky breath as the tightness in his chest eased, his eyes still fixed on the sight before him.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, genuine regret in his voice. “This is a cat café, not a clinic.”
The villain stopped short.
For a moment, he just stood there. Then his shoulders slumped.
“Oh,” he whispered. “I thought. I saw the signs. The cats.”
Grian swallowed.
“The regular vets won’t open for another hour,” he said. “The nearest emergency clinic is across the river.”
Phantom went still.
“That’s… unfortunate,” he said quietly.
He looked down again, fingers brushing gently through the cat's fur. “Come on, Jellie.”
Phantom turned toward the door, his dark cloak swishing softly as he moved.
Grian noticed the careful way he held the bundle in his arms, like he was afraid of breaking something already shattered. He watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest, saw the villain’s back straighten as if sheer will might be enough to save her.
Grian hesitated.
Every sensible thought screamed at him to stay quiet. To let the villain leave. To not get involved.
But he knew the cat didn’t care about any of that.
“Wait,” Grian said.
Phantom paused, half-turned, surprise flickering through his posture.
Grian stood there for a moment longer, wrestling with the decision.
“I can help,” he blurted out. “Come with me.”
Phantom stared at him.
“You’re a vet?”
“No,” Grian said. “But I can help.”
“You know who I am,” Phantom said quietly, the words hovering between a warning and a question.
“Yes.”
“And you still want to help?”
Grian looked at the cat. Then back at him.
“I can’t let her die,” he said simply.
Something unreadable passed through Phantom’s eyes behind the mask.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Lead the way,” he said.
And the villain followed him into the back.
The back room was small and quiet, meant for storage and food prep, not emergencies.
“What happened?” Grian asked hesitantly.
“I’m not sure,” Phantom said quietly, the words coming out rough. “I found her on the side of the road close to my house. She must have gotten out somehow.”
Grian ignored how strange it was to hear a villain talk about their home and focused instead on the small grey-and-white cat cradled so carefully in his arms.
Phantom’s gaze flicked around the room, sharp and searching, as if expecting Grian to reach for a med kit or a cabinet. When Grian's hands settled gently over the cat's injured side instead, Phantom stiffened.
“What are you—”
Light bloomed beneath Grian’s palms.
The warm golden light lit their faces and the walls of the small room, threading softly through torn muscle and bruised bone. Grian focused, careful to keep it controlled.
Phantom’s gaze locked onto Grian, sharp and disbelieving.
Grian stayed focused on the slow work of healing rather than the weight of Phantom’s stare.
The glow beneath his palms softened, then faded entirely.
Only then did the villain look down again.
The cat blinked up at him, bright-eyed and unmistakably alive. She shifted in his arms, and let out a small, indignant meow.
“Jellie,” the man breathed. “Thank goodness.”
The laugh that followed was shaky as Phantom lifted her and held her close.
Grian stepped back, relieved. He walked toward the front of the shop, leaning against the counter as he tried to calm down. Phantom followed close behind, his attention fixed on the small bundle of fur in his arms.
“She’ll need soft food,” Grian said, crouching beneath the counter to grab a packet of wet cat food. “And water. She’ll be very hungry.”
He straightened and held the packet out, the gesture awkward and uncertain.
It took a moment for Phantom to notice. When he did, his gaze lifted from the cat to Grian.
Absently, he reached out, took the packet, and tucked it into his coat pocket.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt suddenly taut, like a thread pulled too tight.
Grian shifted on his feet, uncomfortable under the weight of the villain’s gaze.
They both knew the question hanging between them.
Why is a healer here?
Healers weren’t allowed to live quietly. They were accounted for. Watched. Used. Not serving coffee in a cat café.
When Phantom spoke again, his voice was steady in a way it hadn’t been before.
“I’m in your debt.”
Grian blinked.
“No, you don’t need to—”
“I do.”
Authority edged the words, smoothing over any room for argument.
“I know what you're risking,” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
The corner of Phantom’s mouth curled, “I came here fully intending to force the first vet I found to help me.”
His voice dropped, almost to himself. “But you helped willingly.”
Grian swallowed, suddenly very aware of the strange situation he found himself in.
“Uh,” he said. “I can, um. I can make you a coffee? If you want.”
The words tumbled out awkwardly, a reflex more than a thought.
Phantom blinked, clearly surprised by the offer, then smiled. His gaze locked onto Grian, lingering long enough for him to realize the situation he found himself in.
He was alone.
With a villain.
And he’d just offered the guy coffee.
Phantom stepped closer, eyes narrowing behind his mask. His hand lifted slightly, as if to reach for Grian, then stopped, fingers curling inward into a fist at his side.
His gaze dropped to the bundle of fur cradled in his other arm. Whatever internal battle had been raging seemed to settle.
“Tempting,” he said at last, the word pulled tight through his teeth, a quiet edge of frustration beneath it. “But I should get this little lady home.”
Jellie let out a small, insistent meow, as if agreeing.
Phantom started to leave, then stopped, turning back to look at Grian, a glint in his eye. His next words were laced with power.
“You won’t tell anyone about what happened here.”
Grian’s eyes went wide, breath catching as the command settled heavy and absolute in his chest. The words feel like a physical force.
“I’m sorry,” the villain said, the apology quick and genuine. “I can’t take the risk.”
Grian stood blinking, heart pounding.
Phantom glanced at the name tag on Grian’s chest before looking back up. “Thank you, Grian,” he said quietly. “For her. For everything.”
Turning, he headed for the door without waiting for a response. The bell chimed once as he stepped outside, his dark cloak billowing in the wind.
Grian stood there for a long moment after he was gone.
Then he slid down against the counter, shoulders hunching forward as he dropped his head into his hands.
“That was so stupid,” he muttered. “So stupid.”
The café was quiet again, save for the soft sounds of cats moving around. Traitors, Grian thought fondly. Not one of them had so much as twitched in his defense when a villain had been standing right there.
He closed his eyes.
He could still see that small body cradled in Phantom’s arms. The way the man had looked frantic and lost, like the world had narrowed down to one little life and nothing else.
Grian pressed his palms into his eyes, breath steadying.
He couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
The rest of the day insisted on happening, as if he hadn’t just had a stare-down with a supervillain.
Customers drift in and out as the morning stretches on. The events of earlier already began to feel like a dream rather than reality. The television mounted above the counter flickers quietly, more background noise than anything else.
Grian looked up just in time to catch the broadcast switching over to a live news feed. They were interviewing the city’s number one hero.
Xisuma stood at a podium, masked and immaculate, the familiar insignia of the Hero Commission projected behind him. His voice was calm and steady, like always.
“Reports of villain activity are increasing,” Xisuma said, his voice measured. “While incidents across the city have become more frequent, I urge all citizens to remain calm, vigilant, and to report any suspicious activity immediately.”
Grian winced, left with the uncomfortable sense that he’d done something he very much wasn’t supposed to.
He kept watching Xisuma as he spoke and wondered, not for the first time, how the hero was holding up. If he was resting enough. Eating enough.
Grian’s thoughts drifted despite himself.
Xisuma had shielded him years ago, when Grian was young and far too vulnerable. He’d protected him from the Hero Commission, downplaying the extent of his healing powers and insisting Grian’s ability wasn’t useful enough to warrant attention. He knew exactly what would happen if the Commission ever found out what he was capable of.
He was also the one to introduce Grian to Mumbo, calling it a safer arrangement. Grian hadn’t understood what that meant at the time, but he did now.
Xisuma was the closest thing Grian had to a parent, and he couldn’t even talk to him. Not without drawing attention.
Grian let out a regretful sigh as the broadcast ended, the screen shifting back to regular programming.
Grian turned the volume down and went back to steaming milk, hands steady even as his chest felt tight.
On the way home, he stopped at the corner store, grabbing something easy for dinner. He hesitated, then added a pack of biscuits Mumbo liked, smiling to himself.
He relaxed as his apartment building loomed ahead, familiar and unremarkable. He climbs the stairs two at a time, keys already in hand.
Inside, the place smells faintly of oil and metal. Something mechanical hums from Mumbo's room.
“Grian?” Mumbo calls out. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” Grian replies, as he toed off his shoes and leaned back against the door, enjoying the feeling of home after a long, draining day.
Mumbo pokes his head around the corner, frowning when he sees him still standing by the door.
“You good there, buddy?”
Grian startles slightly, then smiles. “Yeah. Just a long day.”
Mumbo hums, not entirely convinced, but doesn’t push. He glances at the grocery bag in his hand. “I can handle dinner, if you want. You look wiped.”
Grian’s smile tightens. “No,” he says quickly. “Please. I would really like the apartment to stay in one piece.”
Mumbo splutters. “I can cook.”
“You can build rockets,” Grian counters. “That doesn’t mean I trust you with a stove.”
Mumbo grumbles something under his breath and disappears back into his room, defeated.
He still didn’t understand how someone capable of designing propulsion systems could be so completely incapable of safely boiling water.
Grian shook his head and set the bag on the kitchen counter. He reached inside and pulled out the packet of biscuits, opening it to set three on a plate before carrying it over to where Mumbo was hunched over his workbench.
He set the plate down beside him.
“A little pre-dinner snack,” Grian said, smiling.
Mumbo looked up, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into something warm.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he said, already reaching for one.
Grian’s smile lingered as he turned back toward the kitchen.
For all his brilliance, Mumbo had always been terrible at taking care of himself. Grian didn’t mind filling in the gaps.
Grian returned to the kitchen to continue unpacking groceries, trying not to let his thoughts drift back to the interaction with Phantom.
It had been a one-off, he told himself. That was all. A strange interruption to an otherwise normal day.
He would probably never see the man again.
Grian reached for a pot and set it on the stove, trying to push the thoughts away, even as he wondered whether Jellie was doing all right.