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Bright golden lights flashed on the stage, in tandem with the faint rhythmic melody. The crowd screamed his stage-name like a chant, “Ariana! Ariana! Ariana!”
Grian smiled as he heard the love he commanded. He looked at his reflection one time in the mirror. His honey-blonde hair was left ruffled, bangs brushed to the side. His sky blue eyes were sharp, contrasting against the pink, glittery eyeshadow. He was wearing a bright pink cropped top, a heart-shaped mirror on the centre revealing a small patch of pale skin. He wore black shorts, that as their name claimed, were short—very short, accompanied by knee length boots. Not to toot his own horn or anything, but he thought he looked good.
Picking up his microphone, he ran onto the stage, hearing the shouts of his name crescendo. He waved and hyped up his crowd, “Are you ready?” He grinned, hearing a unified scream of ‘yes’. The beat to one of his most well-known songs started playing in the background, earning more excited yells from his crowd. He let out a small breath and let himself get lost in the music. He sang and sang like that was all he was good for, which he was. He sang until his throat ached, until the stage lights dimmed, until the music ebbed away.
Now it was the meet and greet. Grian found it very easy. All he had to do was smile, wave, and do whatever a fan wanted, be it demanding an autograph, a photo, or asking him something, granted it wasn’t too personal or something he has answered more times than he’d like to admit, such as questions regarding his gender. Everyone automatically assumed he was a woman, especially when he just started out. It had shocked everyone when they found out he was in fact, not a woman. Some of them were pleased, others enraged. In the end, he didn’t care.
He sat on the other side of the table, enveloped on both sides by his body guards. One by one his fans approached him in a line, and he repeated his routine—smile, wave, do whatever was asked of him.
“Uh hi!” The brunet man before him greeted, his voice painted with nervousness. Grian recognised him.
“Hey, I know you. You’re Scar, right?” He snapped his fingers as he recalled who the man was.
“H-how do you remember who I am?” He asked, flustered.
“Well…” Grian pretended to look lost in his thoughts, “You’ve attended every single concert and meet-and-greet of mine. I’ve also seen your social media posts. They’re pretty popular. You’re quite a big fan of mine, I’m honoured. And also it’s hard to forget a handsome face such as yours.” He stifled a giggle as Scar turned red, impossibly so.
“You have millions of fans, I’m just surprised you recognise me.”
“Great memory, I guess,” Grian interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on them, “So need me to sign anything?” He grinned, flashing straight, pearly white teeth at him.
Grian retreated to his hotel room, plopping himself down on his bed, ruffling and wrinkling the red covers that laid upon it. He opened the lid of his laptop. Ensuring he was on VPN, he went to his search browser and went into his bookmarked tabs. All of them were articles surrounding the one and only, Hotguy. Grian paused to stare at one of his photos, eyes trailing over all of him—the mask that rested over half his face, his smile that dimpled his cheek, his sly, green eyes. Grian stared at him as if his photo could reveal the deepest of his secrets, but alas it could not, and he broke eye contact with Hotguy. Sighing, he sent the document to print.
Now, he wasn’t obsessed with Hotguy. Absolutely not. He was just doing his job. Which is exactly why he had probably millions of printed Hotguy photos. For research purposes only. Nothing else. He wasn’t obsessed, like Mumbo claimed he was.
He was sitting in a fancy hotel in Paris, France, close to where Hotguy was, scarily so. To be fair Hotguy did invite him, maybe not him, but Ariana Griande. Hotguy apparently needed a performer for the gala he was hosting tonight. The invite was send anonymously with an address attached, and a great wealth promised, but after Grian poked around and made the connection, he accepted instantly. He didn’t think then but he was thinking now.
This was technically an undercover mission, he was handed the perfect opportunity to get close to Hotguy, and peel away all the walls he built up to protect his illegal secrets. Hotguy wouldn’t know who he truly was. It was going to be easy, he reassured himself. Nothing was going to go wrong, it never did. Everything was going to be a-okay.
To be honest, now that he was thinking, why did Hotguy just email him his address like that? Forget Grian, Ariana Griande could’ve figured it all out and reported him to the police! Well in all fairness, he probably didn’t expect Grian to be a… spy nor for Grian to figure out who he was. Besides Hotguy was good at escaping capture, even if Grian did turn him into the police.
A glance at the time made Grian’s train of thought crash as he jumped out of bed, taking his covers down with him. Tripping on his feet, he rushed to the bathroom to get ready. He could get ready for such events himself, he learnt a lot from Pearl. He didn’t really need a makeup artist right now. He pulled on a pink top, black shorts and a pair of white gloves— his signature look. Instead of wearing tall boots, he pulled on fishnet leggings and put on black heels.
Applying some makeup and deciding he looked good enough for the night, he snatched his oversized, grey hoodie, a mask to hide who he was from the prying eyes. Hidden, he let himself be escorted to Hotguy’s mansion.
The mansion was… big. Well, no shit. Pristine white with intricately carved arches, lush green trees wrapping around the gate, rose bushes enveloping the path leading to the main door— it certainly was fancy. He discarded his hoodie and handed it to one of his bodyguards who tucked it under his arm.
He held his head high, and walked as confidently as he could, picking up a fast pace, as if to outrun his fears and doubts. He pushed open the door, not too hesitant, not too bold. Upon his arrival, the guests erupted into cheers and before they could swarm him, his guards stepped up in front of him, a wall, a barrier, a fence to keep out everyone.
And then he saw him.
Hotguy.
He was having a chat with one of the other guests. He was still wearing his mask, a shame. He caught Grian’s eyes and grinned. Then in a voice loud and boisterous, he said, “We have our music, folks.” He outstretched his arms, encouraging more applause from the crowd. He gestured to his right with his head. Grian followed and saw a small stage, adorned for him.
Breathe in. Breathe out. He didn’t know why he was getting so nervous. It wasn’t like he was in the mansion of one of the most dangerous criminals, like ever. He took the mic from the man, whoever he was, standing next to the stage, and stepped onto it. He tapped the mic twice, just to check.
He already knew which of his songs he was going to sing. Music blared out from the speakers, and he sang. He moved, he danced, he sang, he laughed, but he didn’t once take his eyes off from Hotguy. Hotguy was standing in the corner, just barely hidden by the shadows, arms crossed, leaning against the wall carelessly, his head slightly bouncing to the rhythm. For some reason that made Grian smile.
He didn’t know how long he was singing or dancing for, but his legs ached, and he couldn’t breathe. It was almost over, he told himself. Sure enough, the music ended, and heaving, he said, “Thank you everybody!” and blew a kiss at the crowd. He walked down the stage, handed the mic back, and grabbed his hoodie from his bodyguard. He didn’t want too much attention. He wanted to blend in.
“I’ll be okay.” He told his guards, a subtle leave me alone, please, for now and they understood.
He looked back. Shit, he lost Hotguy. Well that was great. Grian ducked and dodged through the crowd, ignoring the too-eager fans who clearly didn’t understand personal space. He broke free of the crowd and leaned against the drinks table, clutching his ribs as he struggled to breathe. Performing always did that too him, and no, he was not getting old, as Mumbo loved to tease.
A tap on his shoulder made him jolt. He tensed and swung his head around so swiftly, wincing as he strained his neck. He tilted his head back to meet Hotguy’s eyes, emerald green looking down at him with amusement. “Always enjoy your performances.”
“Oh, thank you!” He grinned, hoping it didn’t look strained or forced. Up close, he could take in every detail of Hotguy— and damn, he was hot. Hotguy stood next to him, shoulders brushing. Grian didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do.
Soft jazz music flooded the room, as people, in pairs, took to the floor and began a slow dance. That surely was a contrast to his upbeat concert. Hotguy turned to look at him, “Would you care to honour me with a dance?” He bowed gracefully, holding out his hand for Grian to take, which he did. He needed to get close to Hotguy after all. He definitely did not have any other motives.
Hotguy lead him to the centre of the floor, tugging Grian close to him. Surprised, Grian gasped, and fisted his hands in Hotguy’s suit. He craned his neck to look up at him, only to find he was smirking. His hand settled on Grian’s waist as they swayed to the music.
“What do you call a dancing cow?” Hotguy said, breaking the silence that lingered between them.
“Huh? I’m sorry, what?” Grian blinked up at him.
“A moo-ver,” he giggled at his own joke. Grian groaned and rolled his eyes but he managed a subtle smile as well.
“Ooh, I’ve got another: what’s a pirate’s dance called?” His eyes glinted with something like joy. It was enthralling.
“Don’t, please.” His pleas landed on deaf ears.
“A booty-shake! Get it?”
“Unfortunately I do,” he playfully smacked Hotguy’s chest. They continued dancing, and Hotguy continued with his horrible jokes that ended as the music did. They both made their way back to the drinks table.
“Drink?”
“Uh sure.” His voice suddenly went dry. He watched Hotguy carefully as he took two empty glasses and poured the wine in both. After making sure Hotguy hadn’t slipped anything in his drink, he accepted it and brought it to his mouth, tipping the glass and letting the crimson red liquid trickle down his throat.
“Want to go somewhere a bit more… private?” Hotguy said, punctuating his words with a noisy sip. Grian nodded slowly, even though the alarms in his head blared, a warning. He let Hotguy lead him to the second floor, and to one of the balconies.
The chilly wind hit his face, carrying with it the faint traces of floral. The moon shone brightly, casting a ghostly hue on both of them. Grian leaned against the railing, finishing his drink quickly and placing his glass on the small table nestled in the corner of the balcony. Hotguy mirrored his actions.
“So,” Grian cleared his throat, “Is this your headquarters?”
“My headquarters?” Hotguy echoed, blinking.
“You’re an elusive criminal, and a pretty good one at that. You must have some secret lair where… you do secret lair-y stuff.”
“I do, but it’s not here,” Hotguy replied, “Curious, Grian?”
Grian froze. How did he know? He was Ariana. Not Grian. Sure Grian was a part of his name but he was Ariana right now.
“I know,” Hotguy leaned against the railing next to him. “I also know you’re obsessed with me.” He laughed. The sound felt so evil. He wanted to run, but he was glued to the spot by a mix of fear and determination, and something else he refused to acknowledge.
“I’m not. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, trying to keep a straight face as he blatantly lied.
“Don’t lie to me.” The voice came from… behind him. He turned around only to be met with Hotguy trapping him. His breath got stuck in his throat. “I-” Hotguy’s sweet, earthy perfume enveloped him, the smell a bit too pleasant. His long hair fell across his forehead as he looked down at Grian. Grian found himself squirming under his gaze.
Hotguy’s hands hovered inches from his waist. He coughed, “Um are you okay with me touching you?”
Was one of the most dangerous men alive asking him for his consent. “I thought you took whatever you wanted without ever asking for it?”
“I may be a bad guy but I’m not a monster and I certainly have standards.” Hotguy withdrew his hands but Grian grabbed them swiftly. He didn’t know why he had done that. Maybe he was a freak. Maybe he was enjoying this. And he was. He was enjoying this. Way too much than he should have.
“You can.” Grian nodded. Hotguy carefully rested his hands on his waist, looking for any signs of discomfort from Grian. Grian didn’t know bad guys were this respecting of boundaries, but he appreciated it. He also appreciated the touch. He was liking this a bit too much.
“It was so adorable watching you follow the trail of breadcrumbs I left you, thinking you were getting somewhere,” he moved Grian away from the balcony’s railing and instead pressed him to the wall. Grian was cornered. He couldn’t run. Maybe he didn’t want to. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this, his mind screamed, but his pounding heart ignored his mind.
“W-watching me?” Grian asked, outraged.
“Not in that sense but as in tracking your internet activities.” He clarified.
Standards, right.
He continued, “I must give you credit, you’re smarter than the usual people I have trying to get to know more than me. But not nearly smart enough.”
Grian stayed silent, unable to think of a witty retort.
One of Hotguy’s hand left his waist and rested on his face, thumb stroking the skin beneath his eye. “I’ve been a biiigg fan of yours. You’re a great singer, and a really cute one, too.”
“Didn’t know one of the city’s greatest criminal enjoyed ‘girly pop’.” That’s what his music was described as.
Somehow, somewhere he lost all the fear. If Hotguy wanted to hurt him, he already would have. He wouldn’t be here chitchatting. Grian would’ve been long dead and his body probably thrown down the balcony. His blood would’ve already stained the well-kept grass.
“Hey, it’s great music!” He defended himself, “Am I not allowed to have a refined taste in music?”
“I’m just saying.” Grian boldly wrapped both of his arms around Hotguy’s neck, running his fingers through the short hair on the back of his neck. Why the hell was he doing this? Sure, he wanted this, but this was supposed to be an undercover mission! Which… failed. And now he was inches away from kissing the one man he swore to unravel. Their breaths mingled into one, the space between them almost nonexistent.
“And it doesn’t help that you’re just so ridiculously amazin’ at it, too,” Hotguy whispered in a low voice, “No wonder you’re my celebrity crush.”
“My honour.” Grian grinned.
“This okay?” Hotguy asked.
“Mhm.”
That was the only confirmation Hotguy needed before he pressed his lips to Grian’s. Chapped lips against soft, pink ones. It was hungry, messy, rushed, not perfect. Hotguy nibbled on his lower lip and Grian parted his lips, granting entrance. His tongue explored his mouth, mapping it, tasting every bit of him. He kissed as if Grian was the last drop of water in a scorching hot desert. Hotguy lifted him from the ground, and he instinctively wrapped his legs around his waist. They pulled apart when the need to breathe overpowered all.
Chests heaving at uneven paces, hearts pounding madly, they stared at each other. Wide-eyed.
“If you value your life, you’ll stop searching for stuff you’re not meant to see.” Hotguy warned him
“Why, scared I’ll find out something you don’t want me to?” Grian teased, “No. I won’t stop. You can kill me, tear me apart, but I can’t stop.”
Hotguy only looked at him regretfully, “Sad. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will have to, in the future, if you don’t stop.”
“Then hurt me. But don’t expect me not to bite back.”
The words they uttered were harsh, but wrapped up in a soft tone.
Grian loved the feeling of Hotguy’s lips on his own, but he couldn’t enjoy it anymore than he did tonight. The kiss they shared couldn’t change the fact that Hotguy was dangerous and Grian was intent on getting him behind bars.
Hotguy gently lowered Grian till his toes brushed the floor once more. Grian looked up at Hotguy once more. His pupils were dilated, regret shining in them, mixed with a faint hint of love (it couldn’t be love, it shouldn’t be love), his lips were pink from Grian’s lipgloss and a red blush flooded his cheeks.
“I’m sorry.” Grian apologised.
“Don’t be. To be fair, I must admit I do enjoy you chasing after me, granted you stay on the path I’ve paved for you.” Hotguy immediately changed the mood. “Might invite you to more of my events. You’re fun company and besides I know you won’t get far anyways. I won’t let you.” I’ll hurt you if I have to.
Grian nodded curtly, “I’ll go now. But I will not stop.” He reminded Hotguy before walking away.
Part of him enjoyed tonight. The other part regretted it. He shouldn’t have gotten this close. He shouldn’t have let his feelings interfere with either of his jobs. Accompanied by his body guards once more, he walked out the building.
Loneliness hit him once more.
He turned back to see Hotguy still leaning against the railing, watching him leave.
Would it be wrong if he wished they’d kiss once more? Would it be wrong to fall in love with someone who would only break him bit by bit?
Yes.
But he still wished. He still fell in love.
He’ll still continue chasing after Hotguy. Both for his job and for his heart. He could die in the end, but he’ll be happy. Hotguy wouldn’t hurt him, not after tonight. He hoped.
That’s all he could do now. Hope.
His hands went into the pocket of his hoodie. He felt a crumpled up paper and pulled it out. It was a number with a scrawled message at the bottom.
Here’s my number, so call me maybe <3 (this is not my real number nor can it be traced back to me, so don’t try)
I know I shouldn’t but I kind of like you a bit too much. You’re as dangerous to me as I am to you but I like you xoxo
Seems like he wasn’t the only one with contrasting, conflicting feelings. Both of them were moths drawn to a flame that would consume them mercilessly but it would be worth it, just to feel the slightest bit of warmth.