Chapter Text
The bustling atmosphere of the coffee shop was something Scar was quite used to.
The drum of chatter and noise was an easy background to listen to. Soothing in its familiarity, at least, and that was the main thing Scar was looking for. He sat at his usual table, a booth against the wall of the shop, right by some large windows. From here, it was easy to observe the passerbys and the customers alike, easy for him to do one of his favourite hobbies: people watching.
Like right now, if he turned his head towards the counter, he could see a woman with a baby in a stroller at the front of the line, trying and failing to keep him from crying. And next to her? Her husband, presumably, struggling to order over the noise of their child.
Scar took a sip of his coffee, a bit amused. The people in line behind the family were growing impatient, cringing at the cries of the infant, exchanging glances like they had much better things to do than stand there. After some time, the cashier finally registered the words of the husband, and the entire trio moved relievedly to the side.
Scar took yet another drink of his own order while he watched the husband attempt to appease the child with false keys. Today, Scar was drinking a caramel flavoured coffee, something he didn’t normally get, and it was good. At least, it was warm, and he appreciated that compared to the chilly rain that was drizzling outside.
Speaking off…he scrunched his nose and turned his head to look back out the windows. It was still coming down, though not as hard as it had been an hour or so ago. Even so, it would suck to have to go patrol in that later.
Scar felt an inexplicable sadness at that. When he was a kid, he used to love the rain. He would sit curled in his room, listening to the sound of it as it fell against his roof. He would fall asleep to nature's lullaby and wake up to watch the streams and creeks rush with the fresh water.
But Scar wasn't a kid anymore, and he lived in the city now, not the country. The rain wasn't the same here; it was echoed by the sounds of cars honking and people shouting. Plus, he would have to patrol in it, because that was what the agency wanted him to do, and Scar always did what the agency told him.
After all, Hotguy was ranked the number one hero in all of Hermit City, and nothing was going to bump him from that top spot. Especially not a little rain.
Scar sighed, shifting a bit. He redirected his attention out the windows, focusing on the moment, trying to ignore the odd pang in his chest that he didn't know what to do with. Across the street, he could see an Enderman hybrid hurriedly opening an umbrella, the drizzling rain sparking on his skin.
Scar winced. That had to hurt. He didn't know any Enderman hybrids, so he wasn't sure how much water truly affected them, but he could imagine it wasn't pleasant.
Another thing that was unpleasant? Outside, around the hybrid, people were keeping a wide berth as they skittered by, eyeing the man with distaste.
A sour feeling filled Scar’s gut as he watched this, the same feeling that always crept up his spine when he saw a hybrid being discriminated against.
It had been over five years since the Hybrid Inclusivity Act had passed. Five years since the majority of the city council voted in favour of allowing hybrids to coexist with humans, five years since democracy decided it was time for a change.
Five years is half a decade. That feels like a lot of time, and in many ways, it is. But when put up against centuries of prejudice and bias…well, five years hardly holds a candle.
In fact, Scar was beginning to think that nothing fully changes in five years at all. And besides, it takes a lot more than a few words on paper signed by officials to turn the minds of the common person.
Scar didn’t really understand it, if he was being truthful with himself. Being a hybrid was nothing to be ashamed of, in his opinion, which was the unpopular one. In all honesty, he was rather intrigued by it all, the idea of having wings or horns or something like that. Part of him would have loved to go talk with that Enderman, just to get to know him. To see what it was like.
Of course, he wasn’t going to do that. As much as Scar thought these things, acting on them was a completely different story. If he ever did, the agency might find out, and despite Hotguy being so beloved by the community…
Well, the agency could paint him in a very bad light if they wanted to. They could knock him down a few pegs, make him suffer for a while as a minor hero. They could destroy his reputation altogether if they thought his crime fit the punishment.
The thought had Scar furrowing his brows, shifting a bit in his seat. He hated that the agency had so much say in his life, hated that even now, in a little coffee shop, they were meddling with him.
It wasn't that the agency was bad, per se. After all, they were the city government’s top police force. They trained every hero for years before deploying them into the real world to fight villains, and they did a good job of it, too.
Scar himself had been a nobody before coming to them. His interview had been a disaster (he hadn't been able to properly demonstrate his power, Persuasion, very well at such a young age) and he'd been certain they would turn him away. But somehow, maybe as an act of pity, they'd accepted him. They'd given him a roof over his head, clothes on his back. They'd trained him and turned him into “Hotguy”, the name he chose at fourteen that just sort of…stuck.
And here he was today.
Of course, that wasn't to say the agency didn't have their faults. Though obviously the Hybrid Inclusivity Act had applied to them, too, they didn’t really follow it.
Under the act, businesses weren’t supposed to turn away someone based solely on the fact that they were a hybrid. Shops couldn’t put up signs that said No mutants allowed! and court cases were to be fair and unbiased, along with a plethora of other things.
Scar wasn’t one to be negative, but he…hadn’t seen much change over the past five years. Though stores did take down their offensive signs so as not to be arrested, it was still basically understood to hybrids that they weren’t welcome.
The agency was no different. They said they “embraced differences” and “included the unique”, but Scar practically lived there. He knew that wasn't true. Sure, the agency had hired a few hybrids for show, but they were never allowed to advance the ranks. They were given the worst jobs, the most minor of tasks, all while labeling them under the glowing pretense of “Inclusivity!”
Bullcrap. It was obvious to everyone. You can take down a sign.
What you can’t do is change the way someone treats another.
In fact, Scar knew for certain that the very cafe he was seated in had once had a sign deterring hybrids. Not anymore, of course, not with the law, but a quick glance around the space proved that no hybrids had dared to spend their morning here.
Scar wasn't that surprised. That was just how the city was, divided and fighting constantly. Hybrids on one side, humans on the other.
Obviously, there wasn’t an actual line or anything, but it was understood which sides of the city belonged to who. The left: humans, wealthy and prospering and normal. The agency was in the middle of it all, towering above everyone like a supposed beacon of hope.
And then there was the right side. The place where police didn't bother to patrol, the place where villains retreated to plot and scheme. The place where hybrids lived. It was poor and dirty and the people there, supposedly, were vicious. Ruthless, brandishing their claws at any chance they got. Savage.
Over the past few years, the two sides had slowly started to blend into each other. There was a middle section forming, at least, where humans and hybrids lived together, though going there was always tense and unpleasant. Even there, they were still learning to co-exist, and the process was long and painful and not easy at all.
That was where the university, the place where Scar worked when he wasn’t Hotguy, was. Almost in the middle of the two areas, it was a large building that was open to anyone who had the willpower to brave college. In five years, it made sense that it was university that had learned to accept hybrids the quickest; young people were always so adept at change. Sometimes dangerously so, sometimes without asking enough questions, but in this instance it worked well.
Scar was proud of this fact, even if he couldn't openly say it around most people. He was also proud of the Uni staff; in the past years, they'd hired several hybrid teachers, and Scar remembered seeing an article last week that quoted a blaze-hybrid student, “Everyone has been really kind. I’m so happy for the change of pace.”
It gave him hope, at least. Despite everything else that was going wrong in their city, Scar cherished those words. It was good to know that somewhere, things were going well.
Just not here.
He was so focused on his thoughts that he didn’t even notice a new customer coming in. In fact, the only reason he did notice was because suddenly, the shop went deadly silent, and the lack of a dull roar of conversation pulled him back down to Earth.
Scar blinked, turning his head from the windows to check. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but–
But this was not it.
Because standing in the doorway of the shop, with rain splattered into little circles that coated a light blue sweater vest?
A hybrid.
And it wasn’t just any hybrid. An avian.
Scar blinked again, staring, something like shock swirling around him. The man who'd just walked in was clutching a satchel bag with both his hands, furrowing his brows as he swept his gaze around the shop. He looked…fierce, in a way. At least, he would have had to know that this cafe wasn't exactly hybrid friendly, if the way people were looking at him wasn't indicator enough, and yet he’d still chosen to come here. Finally, his eyes landed on the ordering counter and the worker who was standing behind it. Scar turned to look, too.
The cashier at the register was a young girl, maybe mid-twenties. Her eyes were wide and cautious as she watched the avian, her shoulders stiff, nearly hunching over.
The shop was deathly still. Scar was certain you could have heard a pin drop, certain that the lack of noise was unnatural in every way.
The avian must’ve felt it, too. At least, after several long moments, he finally moved, a single step forward, and half the shop recoiled.
Scar felt disgust rolling in his gut at the behaviour of his fellow citizens. There wasn't anything he could do about it, but–seriously? They were all acting like children.
Of course, he also wasn't a complete idiot. He knew there was more to it than the man being a hybrid.
Because, sure, all hybrids of all shapes and sizes were discriminated against, but avians.
Well, they were dangerous.
After all, they ran the villain top organisation in the entire city: the Watchers.
Scar felt himself gripping his cup too hard at just the name. If the Watchers were just a protesting group, or something, it wouldn't matter. As it was, they were a criminal band made up solely of avians, and they stole and plundered and even murdered to get their way. Their number one goal was to take down the hero agency, claiming that their unjust, biased ways was reason enough for overthrowing them.
As Hotguy, Scar had interacted with them several times. They were all nasty, vicious people, but it seemed their best fighter was a Watcher called Xelqua. Scar had no idea if that was his real name, but that's what the media and everyone else called him. Even when Scar was face-to-face with him, his features were impossible to make out; some sort of Watcher magic hid them away. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and his eyes glowed an unnatural, sickly purple when his power was activated. His wings, large ones protruding from his back, were coated in thick black dust that hid the real colour.
For all purposes, he was a ghost. He could've been anyone, and Scar and the agency would be none the wiser.
The point was, the Watchers had given all avians a bad name in recent years. People feared them, and for once, the hysteria was not exactly without reason. Still, it was disturbing to see it up close, pointed at somebody who likely had no connection to the Watchers at all.
He watched as the newly entered hybrid glared at the people around him. He probably wasn't helping his case very much, but Scar couldn't exactly blame him.
Customers kept a wide berth around him as he made his way across the cafe. When he tried to get in line, the people in front of him fell over themselves to step away, clearing the path as if coming in contact with a hybrid spelled instant death.
The avian stood there, alone, an island by himself, for several moments. Scar watched the hesitation flitting his features, the way he rocked back and forth, as if trying to decide if he should stay or go. Trying to decide if this was worth it after all.
Don't leave, Scar found himself thinking. Stay. Fight.
His thoughts were useless. Projecting them across the crowded shop wasn't going to do anything except disappoint him, and he knew this. But despite the worthlessness of such things, the avian must've made up his mind on his own. A second later, he slid his way towards the counter, his footsteps heavy and careful.
He stopped in front of the female worker, who visibly leaned away from him.
“Good morning,” the avian said as a greeting. The words were proud, in a way, strengthened by something inside him.
The cashier eyed him, looking up and down, and didn't say anything. It was a big difference from the peppy way she'd greeted Scar, and a large part of him hated that.
The silence coated the air in a heavy, sticky way. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, exchanging glances with one another..what was the big bad hybrid going to do next?
Nothing, it seemed, besides awkwardly clear his throat. “One iced coffee, please,” he said, his voice still strong, though now it was faltering a bit. “Medium.”
The woman behind the counter was visibly tense. Again, she eyed the avian like he might snap and pounce on her. “O-okay,” she finally stuttered out, reaching for her machine. She tapped a few times, never once taking her eyes off her customer. “That’ll be--that'll be $6.21.”
The avian produced a ten dollar bill and went to pass it to her. The cashier violently flinched, her nose curling in disgust.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not gonna touch you.”
Scar couldn’t see the avian’s face, so he wasn’t sure what expression was there, but he sounded exasperated as he said, “I don’t have some disease, you know. Being a hybrid isn’t contagious."
If possible, her nose wrinkled more. “I don’t care.” She had seemed to find her strength in putting her foot down.
The avian, for his part, merely sighed. He set the bill on the counter and pushed it back, eliminating the possibility that she would touch his hand. It occurred to Scar that this was a practiced action, rehearsed; he was used to this. The avian retracted his fingers from the money and the barista snatched it.
“Keep the change,” he muttered, stepping to the side to allow the next person in line to move forward, which they didn't, because he was still standing there. There was at least five feet of space between them.
Another tense moment passed, and then the man slumped and moved even further. Scar watched the avian make his way to a little lonely booth. There were empty seats all around him, and as he collapsed onto a bench, a horrible sadness filled Scar.
This–this wasn’t right. Scar had seen a lot of injustices during his time as a hero, but this—
This was one of the most pressing.
A sort of fire lit in him, and before he knew it, Scar was grabbing his coffee and his bag and standing to cross the space. He marched past gawking customers and came to a stop, by the avian’s booth. “Can I sit here?”
The avian’s eyes blinked up at him, then filled with confusion. He ran his gaze over Scar, then to the seat Scar was looking at, right across from him. “Here?” he emphasised, pointing, his voice surprised. Scar noticed he had claw-like nails, sharp and glinting.
“Yes,” he answered, nodding.
The avian seemed dumbfounded. “It’s your funeral,” he said.
Scar offered a smile and deposited himself in his new seat. He had his coffee clutched in his hands and brought it onto the table, then thrust his hand out. He was acutely aware of the eyes of strangers on him and thought, This is what it must be like to be a hybrid.
The avian hesitated before reaching his own clawed hand out, tense. Scar was curious about it, but he didn’t want his inquisitiveness to be mistaken as something offensive, so he merely shook his hand. It was calloused and warm.
“What’s your name?” the avian asked, still looking hesitant. But Scar wasn’t an idiot; he could see a certain rebellious streak lighting in him. He was going to make the most of this.
“It’s Scar,” he said. “What about your’s?”
The hybrid eyed Scar, perhaps catching on the marks on his arms, perhaps thinking that the name was a bit ironic. But all he said was, “I’m Grian.”
Grian. Finally, a name to the face. Scar grinned and was about to say something when a snarky voice interrupted, “Do you want your coffee or not?”
The two of them turned to see a waiter there, looking much more fierce than the cashier had been. He was clutching the iced coffee like it physically repulsed him, and he was looking at Grian much the same way.
Grian’s eyes narrowed considerably. “That’s why I ordered, it, yeah,” he snapped back.
Scar could see the anger, the hatred, that filled the man’s eyes. He slammed the drink down, hard enough that it nearly spilled.
When he turned to walk away, Grian called, “Man, this is excellent customer service. I’ll be sure to leave a positive review.”
Scar stifled a laugh at that, but it quickly turned to horror as the man turned back. He marched forward, and without a word, grabbed the coffee cup and overturned it on Grian’s head.
Scar’s mouth flew open. He was frozen there for a moment, in awe of what had just happened, before pure lava lit in his veins. He launched to his feet, hands fisted by his sides, expecting Grian to do the same. But the avian was just sitting there, wiping dripping coffee from his eyes.
“Do you have some sort of problem?” Scar asked the waiter. He knew he was intimidating; he was bigger and broader than him, and he was angry.
The waiter scoffed, but there was fear coating his eyes. “I–um–”
“That’s what I thought,” Scar snapped. “Get out of my sight before I do something I won’t regret.”
The waiter bristled, but he was too much of a coward to stay and fight. He turned around and hurried away, the eyes of the other patrons watching with varying levels of spite and horror.
Scar sighed after making sure he wa really gone, finally turning back to Grian. The sadness from earlier filled him again as he watched the man attempt to wipe the coffee up.
“This stinks,” he muttered, before Scar could offer to help. “I have a job interview today.”
A frown grazed Scar’s lips and he sat again, reaching for more napkins. “Here,” he murmured.
Grian hesitated, then reached a clawed hand out and took them. He patted his sweater vest as best he could, but the coffee stains weren't coming out. Scar didn’t think it was going to; Grian’s outfit was officially ruined.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Scar said, because he didn’t know what else to say in a situation like this.
Grian’s eyes were distasteful, but not surprised. It occurred to Scar, once again, that he was used to these sorts of things. “It’s fine…Thank you for standing up for me.”
Scar blinked, surprised. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Nobody else was going to.”
Scar opened his mouth to argue that, but he closed it again a second later, glancing at the other customers of the cafe. They had mostly gone back to minding their own business, but it was clear they were avoiding Grian like the plague.
Yeah…no one else was going to.
“It’s not right how they treat you,” Scar said, matter-of-fact, tearing his gaze away from the crowd.
Grian shrugged. He looked angry, but also…defeated, in a way. He confirmed Scar’s suspicions when he responded with, “I’m used to it.”
Which didn’t make it right. Which didn’t make it good.
Scar shook his head. What was he doing, arguing with a stranger? “You said you have a job interview,” he said, changing the subject. “When is that?”
Grian flipped his wrist to check the time on his watch. “Uh. Half an hour from now. And it’s at least twenty minutes back to my apartment.”
Scar cursed. That meant that there was no way Grian would be able to mae it back home to change in time for his interview. Everything darkened considerably, hopelessness sort of hanging over the table.
But–wait a minute–an idea sparked in Scar’s mind. He snapped his finger, drawing Grian’s attention again.
“I’ve got it!” Scar exclaimed, turning to dig in his bag. After a few moments, he found what he was searching for: a large, bright red sweater. He pulled it out and showed it to Grian “I always carry one around in case I get cold or something happens,” he explained. “It might be a little big on you, but if you want it…”
He trailed off. Suddenly he felt very awkward; what was he doing, offering a stranger his clothing? And a hybrid, no less?
But Grian’s eyes were wide. He looked shocked, but not deterred. “You–you’re serious?” he asked, and he sounded doubtful. Like this was the least likely thing to ever happen to him.
Scar boobbed his head. “Yes,” he answered. He was serious, for all his inward doubts were swirling.
Grian hesitated again. “You know I have wings, right?”
Scar blinked. His face flamed as humiliation climbed up his body. “Oh my gosh, I–can you not wear it, then? I’m such an idiot. I wasn’t thinkin–”
Grian held up his hand, stopping Scar’s tirade. “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he assured, still looking a bit dazed, though now he also had an amused glint to his eyes. “But I will have to cut holes in it.” He reached into his own bag and held up a pair of scissors.
Scar blinked. “Do you just…carry those around?”
“You never know when you’re going to need them.”
“...in a cafe?”
Grian scoffed and shook his head. He waved the scissors again and his expression turned more serious. “I’ll have to cut your sweater,” he said again.
The words were emphasised, maybe to make sure Scar really understood them. But he did. “That’s fine,” he told Grian. “I don’t care.”
The avian’s eyes filled with doubt. “You’re sure?”
Something like softness settled in Scar’s chest. “Of course.” He pushed the sweater farther. “Take it.”
Grian hesitated yet again, then finally, he gingerly reached out and accepted the sweater. His grip was light and gentle, like the clothing might crumble before his eyes. “It’s soft.”
Scar had to laugh at that. “Yes, it is,” he said
“You’re sure it’s okay for me to ruin it?”
Scar wrinkled his nose. “You aren’t ruining it. And yes, it’s fine.”
“How much was it? I can repay you,” Grian said, reaching for his bag again.
“Absolutely not!” Scar snapped, waving his hands. “Jeeze, why are you trying so hard to refuse this? Consider it a gift.”
A difficult to read expression crossed Grian’s face, but at least he dropped his hands from his back. “Won’t it be bothersome to not have your sweater to carry around?”
Scar shook his head. “Don’t worry about that,” he answered. “I don’t really need it; my students give me sweaters for holidays all the time.”
Something strange shifted in Grian’s eyes. “Your students?” he asked. “Do you work at the university?”
Scar blinked, surprised, and then nodded. “Yes, I do. I teach botany.”
Grian’s face broke into a small smile that suited him well. “My interview is there today. I want to teach Marine Biology."
It was Scar’s turn to be momentarily surprised, and then to fade into a similar grin. “Really? Well, then, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“If I get the job,” Grian reminded him.
Scar shook his head. “Of course you’ll get it. You’ll be great. Speaking of, you should probably go change.”
Grian looked like he wanted to argue, but then he checked the time again and nodded. “Yeah, you're right. I’ll be back."
With that, he stood, gripping the scissors and sweater. Scar offered a wave which he returned lightly before he slid towards the bathroom.
Scar watched him go, his hand dropping. A frown toyed his lips now that he was alone. He looked around the shop, noting the way that the customers had managed to get over themselves. Of course, some people kept their eyes on Scar, curled in distaste, but–
But it wasn’t as bad.
Scar glanced back at the bathroom. He had no idea how long it would take Grian to get changed, and an idea grazed his mind. He stood, taking the opportunity to approach the counter and order Grian a new drink. He couldn’t remember what exactly he had gotten, but he knew it was iced, so he got him some shots of caramel and called it a day. The waitress that rang him up was the same one who’d handled Gran, and she had seen them sitting together, but she must’ve been too intimidated to try anything. Scar watched her carefully as she made the drink, making sure she didn’t try anything, and when he concluded it was good, he took it back to their seats.
Just as he was sitting, Grian came shuffling from the bathroom, looking a bit unsure. His hair was flat, like he’d run it under the faucet and combed it back. Luckily, it didn’t look like coffee had spilled on his paints (somehow), and there wasn’t anything on his face. Behind him, his parrot-like wings curled neatly.
“Looking good,” Scar praised as Grian set his soiled clothes in the chair next to him.
He wasn’t lying. The sweater complimented Grian’s colourful feathers nicely, and though it was big on him, it still looked professional. Now that his face and hair had been cleaned, too, he didn’t look half bad.
Grian smiled shyly, his face flushed. “Thanks, Scar,” he said, sounding like he meant it. “I’m not sure how to repay you.”
Scar waved him off. “This again? No repaying necessary. It was my pleasure,” he assured.
If possible, Grian’s grin grew softer. His gaze fell to the table and his eyes widened in surprise. “You got me another coffee?”
“Yep!” Scar held it out to him, and though the avian faltered for a moment, he took it gratefully. “Figured since it’s still so early, you’d want some caffeine.”
Grian took a sip of it, swishing the drink around his mouth. “Does this have caramel?”
Scar nodded. “Yeah, I didn't know what you had ordered, so I just got mine,” he said sheepishly.
Grian merely blinked and took another drink. “It’s really good.”
Scar’s face blossomed. “Well, glad you like it!”
Grian looked about to say something else, but then he closed his mouth. He checked the time. “Ah, I’ve gotta get going,” he muttered. “I’m gonna be late.”
The words were out of Scar’s mouth before he knew he was saying them. “Hey, how ‘bout I drive you? It’ll be much quicker.”
Silence. Grian stared at him. Scar became acutely aware of how he looked, a sort of self-conscious feeling rising up in him. He was about to take back the offer when Grian asked, “You’re not some sort of serial killer, are you?”
Scar blinked, surprised. “Of course not! Why would you even–wait, are you?”
Grian shook his head. “Nope. But you never can be too safe, and you’ve been super nice to me. Maybe you were getting me to trust you, or something.”
Bristline, Scar shook his head. “Wait? That’s insane.”
The avian simply shrugged. “Just checking. Sure, I’ll ride with you.”
It was Scar’s turn to shake his head, bewildered and confused, but not exactly annoyed. An amused smile tugged at his lips and he let it show as he grabbed his coffee and rose to his feet “Come on, then.”
Grian gathered his things and followed Scar to the door. As they walked, he became aware of all the stares, drawn again by the movement. People looking at him like he was some kind of monster, just because he was walking with a hybrid.
How horrible.
Scar tried his hardest to ignore it and led Grian outside, holding the door for him. The air was cool and humid, and though it seemed like the rain had stopped for the moment, there was a promise of more hanging in the grey clouds above them. The streets themselves were still bustling with people, most of them humans, but Scar saw a few hybrids darting between them.
Not a lot, though.
He shoved that thought aside and ushered Grian to his parked car, once again holding the door for him. Grian shot him a grateful smile and slid inside.
Scar blew out a breath as he walked around to the other side of the vehicle. He gathered his courage, reeling slightly from how crazy his day had gotten, and then got into the car..
The car was silent as Scar started it. He fiddled with the heating system, turning it up warmer, before finally turning to see Grian. The avian sat stiff and tense, awkwardly holding his ruined clothes, trying not to smear coffee on his new outfit.
“Ah, you can set those on the floor,” Scar told him. “It’s not a big deal.”
Despite the reassurance, Grian hesitated before doing what he was told. That seemed to be a big part of him: hesitation followed by action.
Scar decided not to mention it. He put the car in gear and slowly pulled out, minding any pedestrians. The streets were busy today, but not bad enough that traffic was too crowded to drive, so they made decent time as they headed towards the university.
“Are you excited for your interview?” Scar asked when the quiet had gotten to be too much for him. He never liked the silence.
Grian shifted, a bit. “I am.” A pause. “Do you…have many hybrid teachers at the Uni?”
Scar bit his lip, thinking, trying to figure out how best to answer that. “I wouldn’t say many,” he finally murmured. “But there certainly are a few. Cleo, our art teacher, is a zombie hybrid. And Etho is a wolf-mix, too.”
There were even a few more than that. Tango, the blaze. And Doc the creeper. Besides, that, though…
But Grian looked delighted at this news. “So they won’t instantly turn me away because I’m an avian,” he said, more of a statement than a question. He sounded significantly relieved.
Scar nodded. “They wouldn’t be allowed to, anyway, because of the Hybrid Inclusivity Act.”
Grian’s face twisted, his excitement dropping easily. He scoffed. “Like that would stop them. People don’t really care about that.”
Scar wanted to argue, a part of him wanting to defend his people, but he thought back to the coffee shop. What had happened there; Grian’s still-wet hair…
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. A bit miserable at the state the world was in.
Because even if you make people equal on paper, that doesn’t change individual citizen’s minds. And when those citizens are against a specific group, that group grows up thinking they're lesser.
Scar knew from experience. When you’re told you’re worthless all the time, it doesn’t matter what some stupid paper says. You are worthless.
End of story.
“But hopefully this will be different,” Grian said after a beat, forcing cheerfulness into his voice.
Scar hummed but didn’t say anything. For some reason, this felt like a taboo topic, like something he couldn’t give his opinion on. He had no idea if Grian would be hired or not, and if he wasn’t, there was no way of knowing he hadn’t been due to being a hybrid or due to not being qualified. It was a grey area, as dark as the sky hanging about them.
Scar knew that either way, it was a slippery slope. The media would turn every case into something nasty. There was no winning.
Even so, as Scar finally pulled up to the university and parked, he wanted Grian to get hired. Found himself sort of ensnared by the avian, captivated, found himself hoping against hope that he would get there the next day and see him.
They exited the car and walked in together, both lost in their respective thoughts. It had begun to rain again, light and growing heavier, the droplets splashing against the concrete and jumping back up. They didn’t speak as they climbed the steps into the thick stone building, and even when they were inside, their lips remained shut. They walked for a bit until they came to a ‘T’ in the hallway. Scar went to go right while Grian went left.
They stopped and turned. Awkward silence settled in the air, brushing against them as they looked at each other. It felt like there was a lot to say, but neither of them knew how to say it. Beginnings can so often feel like endings. Scar hated the silence.
“Thanks for the ride,” Grian finally whispered. He had shoved his dirty clothes into his bag and now it was bulging, but he looked neater. The new iced coffee was still in hand, half gone, a testament to how much he had liked it. There was a pause and he added, “And for everything else.”
“Of course,” Scar answered, easily. “It was the least I could do.” He took a deep breath, considering. “I’ll…see you around?”
Grian nodded. “Sure,” he replied. “If I get the job.”
Scar bit his lip. “Well, then…good luck.”
The avian’s grin was small, but it looked genuine. “Thanks,” he said again. He hesitated, then he turned down the hallway, starting down without another word.
Scar stood there, watching Grian’s retreating form until it was gone. Then it was just him, alone in the corridor. His morning had been a chaotic one, something he hadn’t expected at all, something he was still turning over and over in his mind.
Grian.
(Scar hoped, in that moment, more than anything, that Grian really would get the job.)
He shoved the foolish thought from his mind and turned. He walked away, too.