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Grian and Scar have been dating for quite some time now — three years to be exact — but it still doesn't make up for the years of helplessly pining for each other.
They had met in college, bonded through classes, and continued to strengthen their friendship even after graduation. It hadn't been all coincidental that they both managed to strike a job at the same university, they just found a job listing opportunity and took it; together.
All strategic, if anyone asked. And they certainly did not lie in their resume.
Just improved a few lines to charm the school. But hey, it worked didn't it? And they're not fired, so it worked splendidly.
So on and forth, Scar and Grian began their new chapter in life as colleagues in the university they work in. Living off as partners in crime and best friends forever.
Best. Friends.
Despite having a large circle of friends they keep close to, Grian has always had a soft spot for Scar.
No matter what and no matter when, he'd choose Scar every single time.
The sentiment was soon shared when just merely three years ago, Scar worked up the courage to take Grian out on a date; and asked to be his loving partner.
And only then had Grian realized that his soft spot for Scar — was love.
Which leads him to his current situational distress of the moment. Because also three years ago, Grian made a bold decision to become a vigilante.
It wasn't easy, juggling a double life, but somehow he made it work.
He vowed to never tell another soul. And albeit the pain and guilt eating him alive, he also mustn't tell Scar.
Grian made it work. Their dates would mostly be having lunch together, picnics, or morning coffee cafés. None had ever been the type to go out at night anyways, so Grian always had the perfect excuse to slip out of plans every moon.
Scar didn't seem to mind, saying that he too was not a night owl.
So Grian continued soaring the skies and kept a keen eye for trouble.
“What are you thinking of?”
Grian jumped, startled as he immediately looked back to the source of the voice behind him. “Hotguy,” he exhales. “Nothing for you to worry about.” He keeps it plain, not wanting to disclose anything too personal that puts his true identity at risk.
Hotguy is the hero that may have inspired Grian to start vigilantism in the first place. (But he could never admit it to his face.) The only difference between the two is that Hotguy is government approved, paid, and sponsored. Grian is not.
Sure, he prefers it that way. Kindness and heroism isn't something that can be measured by money — and it's free in any sort of way. So why get hired in the first place?
It might be illegal. An avian hybrid vigilante.
But no one has ever stopped him. And if they did — the people would not be too happy about it.
But still.
Illegal.
“Awe, but, Cuteguy! Why wouldn't I be worried?” Hotguy bats his eyelashes, pouting ever so slightly, “You're my sidekick-friend afterall!” He's enthusiastic with his statement, and dramatic in all aspects. As if being on top of one of the highest rooftops in the city wasn't anticlimactic enough, then this definitely was.
“Uh-huh.” Grian deadpans. He's never approved of the title Cuteguy. He earned it from the public when he made his first appearance beside Hotguy as they fought off ravenous creatures. Though, he supposes… he never gave names much thought, so he doesn't have any better ideas.
Cuteguy it is then.
“I suppose I could require some advice or two from you,” he sighs, defeated. He knew he couldn't keep it in for so long. Usually, when he's having problems such as these, he always runs to Scar for assistance. For advice, for a hand, for an ear, for a hug, or even for someone to just be there. Scar never fails to be there for when he needs him.
It's just so unfortunate that his current problems can't be shared with his loving partner. It makes his skin crawl with guilt. The guilt of having to lie to someone he loves. Of having to hide away a piece of him when Scar has openly shared everything with him.
It makes him a bad partner.
So he supposes, maybe Hotguy can help him out here. He can surely relate. Right?
“Shoot away,” Hotguy made a gesture, and Grian took it as his cue to start talking.
“Does it ever bother you?” That's what Grian starts with. “The lying? The hiding? The whole persona act?” He swings his hands, gesturing up and down from Hotguy’s figure.
“I just… I've been hiding this part of me from everyone I love for years now and–” Grian winces, biting his tongue hard. “I don't know how to continue this without betraying the other,” he sighs.
He looks up to meet Hotguy's gaze, not realizing that he's been staring at his feet for quite some time. He's met with understanding eyes. Not mocking. Not teasing. Not shock. But camaraderie.
Hotguy smiles at him, “There's not a day that it doesn't.” That… wasn't what Grian was expecting, but he doesn't speak, letting Hotguy continue. “Of course it's hard,” Hotguy sighs. “All of this. The gear, the fame, the secrets, everything but—” he looks out towards the sights of the city — taking a deep breath of air. “—It can be worth it. It gets hard sometimes, and when it does, I try to think of it as more of a… protecting my loved ones rather than hiding it from them.”
Hotguy ponders for a while before sighing, he frowns, “You never know what villains can do to them if anyone finds out.”
And that… that's what undoes Grian. “I never thought of it like that…” he mutters quietly.
Hotguy shoots him a smirk, “glad I could help out, CG!”
Silence stretches out longer than it should have, and before he knows it — it's time to turn in for the night.
Before bidding his farewell, Hotguy decides to drop one more piece of advice. “Hey, CG? Remember, it's always alright if you wanna quit. But if you don't… then remember, you always have open arms to look forward to at the end of every patrol.”
Scar was pacing uncontrollably.
Back and forth in the lounge room, where Bdubs sloped comfortably on one of the couches, rolling his eyes at the sight of a nervous Scar.
“Gee, Scar!” He exclaimed. “You're both disgustingly in love with each other! What are you so worried about?”
Scar stops in his tracks, fidgeting his hands anxiously now. “What if it's not enough?” Bdubs shoots him a glare. “What if it doesn't go right? What if it doesn't go as planned! What if he–”
“Here we go again,” Bdubs groans, burying his face in his hands. “We've been at this for hours! He's not gonna say no.”
“Bu–”
“No buts!”
Bdubs continues, “He loves you. And you love him. If he doesn't wanna marry you — which he does! — he would say so.”
Scar finally sighs at the reassurance, smiling sheepishly at Bdubs. “Thanks, Bdubs.”
“No problem,” he raises a thumbs up at Scar. Encouragingly, does he get up to yell out to Scar. “Now go out there and get your man!”
“I'm here.”
They both scream in surprise as they turn to the door frame where Grian leaned comfortably at.
Oh no… oh no, no, no, no. How long has he been there?!
He starts to walk towards the two that were now frozen in place, like toddlers caught eating from the sugar jar, “Now what's this about Scar needing me?” He raised a brow, mischievously, “Unless there's a secret third that I don't know about…”
Bdubs stiffens, gulping, “Oh, uh, look at the time!” He raises his arm to look at his wristwatch, tutting. “I better get going, good luck, Scar!”
Before Scar could protest, angered by how suspicious Bdubs sounded, the man was already far and away from the two.
“You're the only one I love! Swear!”
Scar raises his hands up, as if it would help prove his innocence. Grian only gives a minute of silence, before laughing uncontrollably.
“You should've seen your faces!” He choked. “Honestly, Scar, why are you so pent up?”
Scar chuckles awkwardly, snapping back into reality when he notices how close Grian is standing to him. Instinctively he settles his hands on Grian's hips. Holding him firm and steady.
Keep it cool, Scar…
“Birdie,” he whispers, “Why don't you and I go on a picnic this weekend?”
Grian's breath stutters, cheeks flashing pink.
“I found a great place with a view not far from town. How does that sound?”
Grian smiles at him, nodding his head. “I would love to.”
Scar smiles lovingly before leaning down to capture Grian's lips in a soft kiss. It doesn't last long before Grian interrupts it, pulling away, he grins.
“You still have some explaining to do,” he says.
“Oh, c'mon, G!” Scar pouts. “Can't a man kiss his boyfriend silly?”
Grian pretends to think about it, humming as Scar only pouts more.
Who is he kidding? He can't resist good kisses.
He sighs, leaning up to kiss Scar once more, hands trailing up to cup his neck.
Scar melts immediately, one hand firm on Grian's hip, the other tracing his jaw.
They can talk about it more later…
For now…
Scar and Grian mostly spend the weekends together in Grian's apartment.
Their day would be spent lazily. Watching a movie, cuddling in bed until noon, or just some simple activities for them to do.
Scar would help Grian with his wings — they'd get ruffled up in a mess from hiding them all the time — which is why Grian would oftentimes refrain from engaging in activities involving the outside world, wanting to spend the day in instead of out.
Grian's wings aren't much of a secret. It just isn't something Grian wants to flare and huff everyday, it would be a true struggle when he did.
Close friends know, acquaintances don't.
Luckily, the world isn't so divided on human races and hybrids anymore — making it much easier to handle.
Yet, Grian still feels the need to hide and conceal a part of him from the world. He still has the urge to go out and there, openly, and freely as a hybrid. Letting it be known to the city that anyone and everyone can be a hero. Even those who were previously cast out as villains…
So he keeps it a secret. Holds it close to his chest and keeps it hidden.
Today isn't about that.
Today isn't about identity crises’.
Today isn't about vigilantism.
Today was about him and Scar.
It isn't everyday they decide on going on a date, replacing their lazy days for a fun day.
But today was an exception.
And maybe… just maybe. He can also tell Scar today.
He'll have to eventually.
Right?
“We're here!” Scar announced, parking the car as they unfasten their seatbelts. They both exit the vehicle, taking out the picnic essentials, bringing it along with them.
“So… where are we?” Grian questioned as he looked around the horizon.
They stopped near small hills where trees can be seen everywhere. There seemed to be a trail in the forest, leading Grian to assume that this was some sort of nature park.
Scar locked the car before walking to stand close to Grian. “You'll see soon enough.”
He follows Scar as he makes his way towards the sturdy path in the forest. Trusting that Scar knew his way around the unknown, newly found territory.
They walk together, talking their mouths off mindlessly about the most random things they can think of. From playing eye spy with my everything eye to gossiping about their friends.
“When do you think Tim and Tango finally get together?”
Scar hums, “Well which one of them would actually have the guts to confess?”
“To be honest…” Grian wonders. Jimmy is certainly the type of person that would only confess if his life depended on it — likely a very dramatic-end-of-the-world situation. However, Tango on the other hand… he might send hints of his love for Jim, but decline allegations…
“None.”
That earns a snicker from Scar. “Wanna bet on it?”
Grian lights up at the suggestion, “oh yes.”
The walk isn't long.
Grian doesn't feel sore nor tired, and it was certainly worth it.
At the end of the path, they're met with a view so sunny and wondrous — he almost can't believe his eyes.
There are hills almost everywhere, surrounded by flowers in every direction. Actually. Scratch the hills, there are flowers everywhere.
Flowers of different sizes and shade, all occupying the grass, only leaving a small trail of gravel for dwellers and visitors to step on.
What really makes the place stand out are the Sunflowers.
There may be a whole collection of roses and tulips and even orchids of all sorts, but the sunflowers have their way of capturing the spotlight.
There's a farm nearby, near enough to make known that they're probably the owner of the fields, but far enough to not cause any disruptions.
“Do you like it?” Scar asks.
“Like it?” Grian parrots. “Scar, I love it!”
Scar chuckles, “I'm glad.” His eyes sparkle with genuine love, staring at Grian like he’s the only man alive. He stares at Grian just like he did all those years ago when they first met.
With knowing eyes. Eyes that could tell more than time ever could — that this was the man he was gonna spend the rest of his life with.
They take their time walking towards a nearby hill where there are seemingly less flowers. It's perfect. The landscape is flat enough for them to settle for a picnic, and perfect that they get to see the view.
It's perfect…
They settle down, fixing up their picnic blanket on the ground before sitting criss-cross, across from each other.
The picnic basket comes next as they unpack it together, revealing the baked goodies they've prepared together.
They munch on the ham and cheese sandwich that Scar prepared before their trip. Delighting in the cheesy taste that meets their taste buds. They packed along sweet treats as well; fruits, candies, and beverages they know and love.
Grian opened the bag of marshmallows and Scar tore the chocolate packet, making budget cut smores that taste better than the real deal.
It’s simple. Easy. Perfected. Even as time goes by, their dates will never bore. Everyday will always bring them a unique adventure that they go through together.
Soon after finishing up with the food, they opted to take pictures along the landscape — not wanting to miss a single second of the day.
They find themselves in the middle of the field, a small patch where they cannot step on flowers, and only grass.
“Scar,” Grian says, wary and worried, filling his voice. “I have to tell you something.”
It’s now or never.
Scar surely won’t hate him for it right? Won’t hate him for being an illegal vigilante. Surely. If anyone ever were to accept him, it would be Scar. If there were someone to love him no matter what, it would be Scar. If anyone were to hate him for it, it would not be Scar.
“Oh,” Scar says, looking mildly nervous. “What a coincidence! I have something to confess as well.”
Grian swallows, “You should go first.” Grian knows that Scar would never bear bad news on a bright day like this. Good news always comes first, the bad can wait.
“Are you sure?” Scar asks and Grian nods — taking it as a sign for Scar to do what he's about to do.
And oh boy.
Scar's heart is pounding fast now, threatening to leave his ribcage as he tries his best to compose himself. He's trying to regain his confidence with this, not wanting to mess it all up and create the worst proposal ever.
He takes a deep breath. One. Two.
Three.
He takes Grian's hand in his, as he moves down to get on one knee. Grian's breath hitches, and from here he can see the way the wind blows his blond hair — sun in his face, and cheeks red as cherry.
Grian doesn't speak, he lets Scar do his thing — he doesn't wanna ruin this. Not for him. Not for Scar. Not for anyone.
“Grian,” Scar exhales, nervous. “When I first saw you, I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. And when I got to know you, I knew I wanted to spend all my life with you.”
There's tears threatening to spill from Scar's eyes now, overwhelmed and anxiousness making itself known.
Grian is no less, his breath is caught in his throat. Smiling so brightly, he might as well have been the sun.
“When I first kissed you, I just knew I had to make it happen.”
Scar reaches into his pocket, pulling out a shiny diamond ring. “You are the most extraordinary person I have ever known. You are the sun to my darkest nights, my light.”
“I love you with all I am. Grian. Birdie. Darling—” Grian scoffs as he rolls his eyes light-heartedly. “—Lovebird. Light of my life. Will you make me the happiest man on Earth and spend the rest of eternity with me?”
Grian doesn't hesitate, he nods vigorously. It takes everything in him to be patient when Scar puts the ring on Grian's finger, whining for him to hurry up, earning him a snicker.
Tears stream down his face, he sniffles quietly. Immediately does he wrap his arms around Scar — tackling him to the ground — uncaring for any dirt that would stain their clothes.
“I love you too, Scar,” he muffles to his shoulder. “I love you so much.”
They lay there for a moment, holding each other, soaking up each other's warmth as they whisper sweet confessions to one another.
The sun would soon go down, letting the moon's light cast a glow on the bright field, making it their sign to head home.
But for now, time can wait.
By the time the sun was about to go down, they were already in the car, ready to head their way home.
Grian had been admiring the ring the whole time, thrilling in delight every time a shiny spark caught his eye.
“It's so pretty,” Grian whispers.
Scar laughs, “You've said that about 50 times now, G!” His laugh softens into something sweeter, gentler, “I'm so glad you love it.”
“I almost forgot,” Scar's eyes widened as he started the car. “What was that thing you were gonna tell me before I proposed?”
Grian stiffened, he completely forgot about that. Caught up with the surge of emotions and enthusiastic acceptance, he completely forgot that he was supposed to tell Scar.
“Don't worry about it,” he says. But his mouth is full of venom. He wants to spit it out.
He wants to tell Scar the truth.
He wants to share who he is.
“Are you sure?”
This is his chance.
He should take it while he still can. To spill the beans and let the cat out of the bag.
He can't let Scar down.
“Actually, Sca–”
RING. RING. RING.
Scar's phone rings, he ignores it. Waiting for Grian to continue talking. But Grian bites down his tongue hard. “It can wait.” Cowardly, he smiles. “Pick up the phone. It might be important.”
Scar shoots him one more reluctant look before sighing as he answers the phone. He puts it on speaker as he continues his drive on the road.
“Scar!” The unmistakable voice of Jimmy is what greets their ears. “Where the hell are you!?”
“Hey, Jim,” Scar greets. “Is something wrong?”
Jimmy's voice sounds angered. Annoyed? But also mildly panicked. Grian's leg starts bouncing slowly, growing concerned as each second stretches.
“You've gotta come help me!” He half whispers, half yelling. Scar and Grian share a glance — a nonverbal agreement — before Scar drives faster.
“What's wrong, Tim?” Grian speaks this time.
“I think someone broke into my house,” he replies.
Grian’s heart is beating faster now, face once warm with love — now pale with fear. The dreadful possibility of unknown situations makes its way into his mind as his leg bounces faster.
“Stay on the line.”
Lucky for them, the road is mostly clear. And the path towards Jimmy's place isn't a long way ahead.
They arrive at Jimmy's place in due time, letting the man on the other line know about their arrival.
The first thing they notice is the silence.
It's too quiet, some may say too quiet for a break in.
The second thing is the dark.
All lights have been switched off, and the only source of light available is the road light and the moon's.
Hastefully, they exit the car — practically running towards the entrance at the speed of light.
Grian can hear his pulse, faster than ever. Scar doesn't look any less, eyes locked with fear. They had debated on whether or not to call the police, but Jimmy had refused firmly. Grumbling something about criminals holding grudges and whatnot.
Scar turns the knob of the entrance and—
It's unlocked.
It flings open in one swift. They both step in, reluctant and confused. The house is eerie, silent, and dark. There were no footsteps to be heard or flashlights seen. They continue walking further into the hall, and stop where it would seem to be Jimmy's lounge room. Grian's head hit something light, but enough to be noticed. A string? Well huh. Well that's stra–
“SURPRISE!”
Too many things happen at once. The light flickers alive, illuminating the room — revealing the contents and source of sound. There's a group of people standing in front of them, all their friends, huddled together with party blowers, party poppers, and party hats on their heads.
Above them is a handmade banner, spelling out the words “CONGRATULATIONS!” In glittery letters. In the very middle of the room is a strawberry cake, decorated with frosty icing and strawberries on top.
The whole room was decorated with all sorts of party decor. Floating balloons on the ceiling, and some were on the floor. Confetti from the party poppers decorated the floor with color and celebration.
“Bdubs may have let it slip that you two were getting engaged today,” Pearl spoke first, making Scar shoot a glare towards Bdubs’ direction.
Lizzie added, “So we decided to throw you a surprise engagement party!”
Grian winced at the overwhelming sense of people knowing their business. Scar likely had sensed it when he held Grian's hand and looked him in the eye, “G, I am so sorry.” He whispered, “if you want we can totally go straight home.”
He took a look back. Everyone was there. All their friends — a cake had been baked, decorations were prepared, they had put on all this effort for them. He couldn't just go home.
“They gave so much love and effort into this.” He shakes his head, “No, I wanna stay.” Scar's worried frown turned to a genuine smile. “Only if you want to as well.”
Scar squeezed his hand. “I wanna be where you are, songbird.”
“Do you guys like it?” Another voice — Etho — yelled out.
“No, it's terrible,” he scoffs, earning a round of light laughter from the group.
Jimmy finally emerged from the crowd, taking a step forward to face the couple. “So, I'm sorry for worrying your butts,” he starts with a chuckle. “But it was worth it wasn't it?”
“We'll get you next time,” Grian threatens.
Jimmy goes pale at the declaration, “oh no.”
Gem appears next to him, scooting the man away as if he had invaded her personal space. “Now, show us the ring!”
He sighs, rolling his eyes fondly as his cheeks warmed again. He stretches his arm out, showing off the rock on his finger proudly — earning squeals of excitement from everyone.
“You did well,” Cleo patted Scar's shoulder proudly as they shot a thumbs up at Grian.
“Come on now,” Impulse encouraged everyone to follow him towards the dining room. “We made food!”
The long dining table was also prepared for the special occasion. Plates were scattered, food was served, and drinks were ready to be poured.
Joel came up next to them, “You better tell us the whole story.” He says before settling for a seat between Lizzie and Jimmy. “Don't leave a single detail out.”
Scar laughs nervously as he makes himself comfortable on the seat next to Grian. He leans towards him, whispering in his ear, “Reckon they're gonna be this insufferable the whole night?” Grian nods.
“I wouldn't have it any other way.”
The next time Hotguy makes an appearance is Monday evening. Rain dropping from the sky, falling mercilessly on his head. The concrete is way too slippery to be running and jumping from building to building.
He grimaces, wiping the wetness of the exterior of his visor with his sleeve. Not like it did much, but it was performative action.
Scar scanned the street from above a rooftop of an apartment complex, observing the place with a hawk eye — searching for any suspicious activities it may withhold.
The storm made it harder to see clearly, gray clouds covering the bright sun, letting the darkness shadow the light. Streets are foggy, dark, and touched by the rain’s grace.
He doesn’t notice the alarm at first — too caught up with internally complaining about the storm. What catches him off guard is the gunshots.
His heart stops momentarily, as if it was turned off to properly hear the noise.
Two gunshots ring in his ears, making him turn on his heel to race towards the sound. He runs fast — faster than he’s ran before — uncaring for the puddles and the danger of slipping.
Scar makes it to the fire exit, speeding up as he practically flies down the building and runs towards the sound of screaming.
It’s a jewelry store.
Classic move for thieves to be on the act in a heavy downpour like this. Jewelry stores are vulnerable during harsh weather. And they always seem to lack security.
But nevertheless.
When Scar arrives, he’s quick and wary of his surroundings. No too sudden movements to make the intruders fire more shots and risk frightening more scared civilians. He’s trained for this. He’s saved hundreds of jewelry stores in his rookie year.
This should be a piece of cake.
“So, what’s the plan?” A quiet voice from behind him makes him yelp, turning immediately to find the one and only person he expected.
So this really is gonna be a piece of cake. (Especially with Cuteguy by his side.)
“CG!” Scar shrikes quietly, “I wasn’t expecting to see you out today! You usually hate the rain.”
He rolls his eyes. “I hate getting my wings wet,” he corrects. And as if on cue, his wings puff up rather depressingly as it was soaking wet.
Cuteguy looks different, not so overly changed that no one recognizes him. But different in attitude. He’s more giddy than usual, his mouth not so frowning — but he isn’t smiling either.
He looks… happy.
Scar almost let himself get distracted, when another distressed and muffled call for help snapped both their attentions back to the task at hand.
Better get to work then.
Cuteguy takes a quick peak inside, “There’s only two of them. Shouldn’t be a big hassle,” he whispers. “A crow hybrid and the other is what seems to be a human.”
“No weapons needed?” Scar asked.
Cuteguy gives a smirk, full of danger and mischief. He nods, and parrots back in confirmation, “No weapons needed.”
It’s a dangerous game they play. Something Scar never thought of doing until Cuteguy showed up and showcased all his stunts. Hotguy always uses his weapons. That was the protocol — it was often justified as self-defense — in order for no legal issues to surface.
But ever since Cuteguy showed up, Scar found new ways of being a hero.
One that doesn’t need violence when saving the day. Someone who doesn’t draw weapons to withdraw fear. A hero that doesn’t need fancy armor and gear to save people.
Hotguy may have been trained to be a hero.
But Cuteguy showed him what it's like to be a hero.
Cuteguy nodded to Scar once — and he took the lead.
Hotguy jumped to action, “Drop your weapons and put your hand up where I can see them!” His voice demanded authority, obedience, and action.
“Dude, it’s Hotguy!” One of the masked robbers yelled out, eyes widening with fear.
Cuteguy was quick to release the civilians whose wrists were tied in a tight rope. Hotguy worked fast, disarming one of the robbers by hastily grabbing their wrist, forcing them to drop the gun in their hand.
Scar glanced towards Cuteguy who was doing the same, he smiled. Job well done then.
But something about the situation felt odd.
It felt a little too easy — anticlimactic, and simple.
He took out a handcuff that was resting on his belt, finding it like a bit of a breeze to just click the cuff in place.
An eerie feeling started to stir in Scar’s gut, when he looked back towards Cuteguy’s direction — it was almost too late.
The masked robber had a dagger under his sleeve, swiftly grabbing it in his hand and managed to slit Cuteguy’s wrist while he was trying to cuff him.
A loud hiss of pain escaped Cuteguy’s throat, causing his hands to weaken momentarily — loosening his grip on the criminal’s wrists.
Scar reacted fast, jumping forward and reaching out to pin the robber to the ground, successfully cuffing his wrists as well.
Perhaps he spoke too soon.
“Are you okay?” Scar directly turned to Cuteguy, who was assessing his bleeding wound. The slit was narrow, but long. It stretched from his wrist towards the palm of his hands, making it quite the sight to see.
The cut would’ve been worse if it wasn’t for the long gloves he was wearing — fashion really can save people.
“I’m fine,” Cuteguy assures. At once, Scar promises to help clean the cut once their current situation gets assessed.
After what feels like hours, the sound of sirens finally meets their ears — and Scar has never been more relieved in his life. The cops are speedy with their work — interrogating the staff for record purposes, thanking Hotguy and Cuteguy for another job well done, and taking in the robbers for their crimes.
It’s still raining, Scar notices. Looking out the broken window of the jewelry store, watching the tiny droplets fall on the glass shards and wet pavement.
“A shame, really,” Cuteguy chimes in. Scar must’ve said it out loud.
He takes a look at Cuteguy’s figure, watching his dark wings sag low, hair a mess, and blood still dripping from his hand.
The store was cleared out, the staff were encouraged to head home, and the cops were long gone. It’s just them now.
“Oh, yes, your wound,” Hotguy reminds, causing Cuteguy to roll his eyes half-heartedly as he obliges.
He tugs his gloves down, wincing slightly at the pain when the tight, leather gloves brushed past his cut.
Hotguy waited patiently, understanding that Cuteguy wanted to take it out slowly, rather than swiftly.
It took a few more seconds before all at once, the glove was off his fingers too.
Scar’s heart stopped.
“Phew,” Cuteguy huffs. “Wearing gloves in the rain is not for the weak.”
But Scar doesn't respond. His heart is in his throat, leaving him to choke on his words. He feels cold — way too cold and pale — but everything feels hot.
His suit is suddenly too tight for his body, leaving him trapped to try and catch his breath.
It was unbelievable.
Impossible.
Because on Cuteguy's finger, laid a very familiar rock. A stone he had spent months picking out, inspecting, and hiding — and just last weekend, used to propose.
It couldn’t be a coincidence, right?
Cuteguy took off his gloves more than once before, after brutal injuries or simply because he was too uncomfortable. It can’t be a coincidence.
Cutegu— Grian— spoke, “Hotguy? You okay?” He asked, unaware of the revelation that had just unraveled in his mind. “You’re looking kinda pale there, buddy.” Grian chuckled awkwardly.
How could Scar have not noticed all along? Cuteguy’s hair was slightly darker than Grian’s. Is he wearing a wig? And Cuteguy’s wings are dark, black, with shades of pink! Grian’s were red, blue, and yellow on the very tip.
Is this why he wanted to hide it so much?
His voice— Gods. His voice. How can he be so blind?! Or deaf!?
Was this the reason they never had any dinner dates? Sure, Scar never complained about it when Grian had told him that he simply did not enjoy night dates — explaining that he much preferred the morning sun — but Scar never questioned it any further.
Scar can’t breathe.
“I– I...” he stumbled through his words. “I have to go. Sorry.”
And with that, he raced towards the door — running off to God knows where.
Grian got home in just two pathetic bats of his wings.
In careful, practiced precision — he properly washed off all the dye on his wings and hair in the shower — using his special shampoo to do so. He then started drying off immediately, tossing his suit in the dryer as well.
His wings were the real hassle. Dripping shamelessly on the ground, making it a pain to mop afterwards.
Grian walked into the bathroom after changing into comfortable clothing — seeking out the first aid kit he keeps in the bathroom cabinet.
The cut really isn’t much. It’s narrow, so covering it up with bandages would just be a waste of perfectly good gauze. And it’s not deep enough to scar, so he has nothing to worry about.
Speaking of which…
He hasn’t heard from Scar since lunch.
Grian looks out from the window of his apartment — the sun is long gone — the moon and clouds have made their home in the skies. It wasn’t particularly a bad day — but there certainly were some particular aspects in his day that could’ve gone better.
But he shrugs it off — what’s done is done.
Though now that Grian is properly deep in his thoughts; he realized that he and Scar haven't had a proper conversation since their engagement.
Engagement…
Grian still gets giddy everytime he thinks about it. Everytime he looks at the ring.
Everytime he thinks of Scar…
Sure, they’ve talked since the proposal. But not the talk.
About living together, buying a house together, pets, dinner, family, and… and the wedding.
Grian’s heart pounds excitedly at the thought, but dread quickly replaces every drop of happiness in his heart when he realizes that on top of all of that.
He hasn’t told Scar yet!
Oh god.
He starts pacing back and forth — scrambling his brain for a perfect script and excuse as to why he never told Scar in the beginning.
“I mean, can you blame me?” He starts rambling to himself, “It’s not exactly the sort of information I can just drop out of nowhere!” His mind is racing, “Scar, I haven’t been a hundred percent honest with you, and I may or may not be an illegal vigilante flying around the city. Please, don’t break up with me, and as much as it makes me sad, but- if - you - hate - me - then - I’ll - break - up - with - yo—” He shrieks in surprise when thunder roared from the sky — breaking him away from his thoughts.
It’s now or never. Grian gulps, grabbing his phone with shaky hands. He scrolls momentarily, searching for Scar’s contact — when he finds it — he presses call.
It rings once.
Twice.
Thrice.
It rings long enough before it goes to voicemail.
“Scar?” He decides to try anyway, “Can you call me back as soon as you can?”
With that, Grian walks to his kitchen with the hopes of cooking up a lovely dinner for him and Scar to enjoy. That is… if his plan doesn’t go to hell.
Cooking doesn’t bring him far — in fact — it doesn’t bring him anywhere at all. It was only a matter of clanking pots and pans, and dropping onions, when there’s a sudden knock on his door.
He’s reluctant as he reaches the door frame, hoping that it isn’t anyone with the intention of killing him or robbing him, but all negative thoughts run away when the person behind the door calls out for him.
It’s a voice he knows all too well, a voice he loves everyday in every way.
He flings the door and the sight that greets him was not what he was expecting at all.
His smile quickly evaporates.
Instead of finding the owner of the voice, the love of his life; Scar. He’s met face-to-face with the figure of Hotguy.
His hair is slightly damp from the rain, he’s out of breath — panting like he’s been running for hours. “Grian.”
That’s his name. Hotguy knows his name. He doesn’t understand… why–? Why was Hotguy standing in front of him — why did Hotguy sound like Scar? Where even is Scar?
He wants to slam the door shut, to scream and shout for Scar.
What was happening?
“Wh– what do— why are you here?” He manages to croak, voice hoarse dry.
“Can I come in?” He asks, almost pleadingly.
Grian presses his lips in a thin line, he looks back in his apartment. There’s nothing to hide, so reluctantly, he nods.
He opens the door wider, letting Hotguy enter his home. The moment he does, he’s immediately reaching up to take off his earpiece, and mini microphone that was attached to it — making his voice differ from his real one.
“Wait, what are you doing?!” Grian shrieks when he sees Hotguy reaching up to take off his visor as well.
He sighs, “There’s really no easy way of doing this, G.”
Scar?
He takes off the visor, letting the last piece that was hiding his identity fall. The mask breaks, leaving only the harsh truth. Scar’s eyes are disappointed, smile torn, “I’m so sorry, Grian.”
Grian’s at a loss for words, “You knew?” It wasn't a question. It wasn't an accusation — it was confirmation.
Scar nods, and Grian can’t help himself but jump forwards to hug him. He squeezes Scar tight, causing him to yelp, “I wanted to tell you for so long.” Scar hugs him back with equal strength, burying his head in Grian’s hair.
“Me too,” he whispers.
“God, we were so stupid,” Grian huffs, “How did we manage to not find out until what? Three years later?” Scar laughs at that, agreeing just as much as Grian does that they were simply just oblivious.
“I was sworn to secrecy,” Scar mutters.
“I know.” Grian pulls back from their hug, staring fondly at Scar, letting his hand make its way to Scar’s jaw.
“Well, hello there,” he teases, startling a laugh from Grian. He holds the hand on his cheek, finding a rather bumpy ring on it. “What a fine ring you have there, good sir.”
Grian’s cheeks warmed, smiling bright, “Isn’t it?” He replies, “My fiancé got it for me.”
Scar practically purrs at the title… fiancé. Yes… He likes it very much. His hand travels further down, holding Grian lovingly, he delights in the way Grian’s breath hitches when his hand settles on his waist.
“He must be a good man,” he continues. “Probably gives the best hugs and kisses as well.”
“The best hugs indeed,” Grian agrees. “Kisses? I’m not so sure.”
Scar gasps, all dramatic and offended, “Well are you sure you judged it right?”
Grian raises a brow, laughing softly at how far the bit has gone. He allows himself to jump right into the trap Scar has carefully set up for him — there isn’t a world where he doesn’t.
“I don’t know,” he chuckles. “He’ll have to prove it to me.”
Scar grins, tugging Grian closer until they’re chest to chest before leaning down to capture his lips in a soft, delicate kiss.
Their kiss isn’t anything harsh, feverish, or hungry. They can have that another day, another time. This kiss is something formed from secrets being shared with one another — trusting their partner — and letting themselves fall vulnerable, knowing they’ll catch the other. It’s firm, yet gentle. Grounding them where they are with love and trust.
When they finally pull back, they don’t stay far from each other. Foreheads pressed together as they attempt to catch their breath.
“So does he give the best kisses?”
Grian laughs, loud and unfiltered. “I’m still not entirely convinced,” he teases.
“Well we can’t have that, can we now?” Scar tuts, dipping down to kiss him once more.
Grian hums into the kiss, letting their mouths move in tandem.
Later they’ll find themselves in the kitchen, dancing to an old love song as they try to make dinner without making the kitchen look like a war zone.
They’ll eat together as they share their own personal experience with being a hero, about how they felt working together side-by-side everyday and every night — and about all the times Cuteguy reminded Scar of Grian. And the times when Hotguy made Grian miss Scar.
They can laugh about it now. They won’t go home at night feeling cold and alone anymore — now they have each other’s arms to hold, to fall into when the battles get rough.
Afterwards, they’ll help each other with the dishes. Carefully washing and drying each plate together — hoping for the best that it doesn’t slip out of their grasp and shatter on the floor — but if it does. Then they’ll clean it together.
Maybe they’ll even put on a movie before bed, a silly romcom that perfectly sums up their relationship in ways that are funnier than most.
A wedding scene will play and they’ll talk all about it. Scar will mention the flowers, how they must be fresh and perfectly selected for the perfect occasion. Grian would talk about the weather, explaining that any season is perfect as long as it was their wedding.
They would have both also agreed that they must have their wedding in nature — that’s non-negotiable.
Before sleeping, they’ll have arranged to properly start planning the wedding on the following weekend.
They’ll have a lot to plan and even more to talk about.
But for now? It can wait.