CuteGuy Would Prefer Greatly If HotGuy Never Ever Had Any Nice Things, But Especially Not His Good Friend And Roommate Cubfan135 (2/3)
prev / next
Grian, as CuteGuy, landed softly on the other side of the parking lot, tucking his wings non-threateningly at his back. Calm. Cool. Relaxed. He hadn’t been home when Cub left to meet HotGuy, but Grian knew well enough Cub would be timely, and with any luck, a little early. With no one in the empty parking lot, Grian wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself, but he didn’t have to wait long before he spotted Cub down the street, absorbed in his music as always. Sure enough, Cub didn’t even notice CuteGuy as he entered the parking lot, only spotting him after sitting down on the curb and looking up, presumably for HotGuy.
It didn’t feel tense when their eyes met. Cub didn’t look afraid. Part of Grian was deeply relieved; he cared very little about how the world viewed him, preferring they feared him if they felt anything at all, but.. Not Cub. He didn’t want Cub to be afraid. The other part of him was worried; did Cub not fear him because he recognized him? Not CuteGuy the villain, but Grian, who he thought was staying out of trouble and getting help- and it wasn’t that Grian wasn’t trying to get help. He was getting better, really! He hadn’t gotten into any fights as ‘Grian’ in weeks- hadn’t gotten arrested in over two months! But no amount of therapy could keep him calm in tense encounters or high stress moments; thinking about how he’d make it right, how he’d get them back later. That did it. Those sentiments brought the air back into his lungs.
“Should I leave?” Cub asked, a healthy caution behind his voice.
“I’d rather you stayed. I don’t want to hurt you,” Grian forced his voice lower as he spoke, hoping Cub couldn’t tell, and cursed himself for not thinking to practice. He sounded stupid. And given the small quirk of Cub’s eyebrow, Grian didn’t sound sincere, either.
“I don’t want to hurt you, either. But I do have pepper spray. Just so you’re aware. And it hurts. I know this from personal experience.” Cub paused briefly in a silent debate with himself, “I was curious. Mistake.”
Grian chuckled, but he couldn’t laugh too hard, not when he was there, and not when he had also pepper sprayed himself in some sort of horrible solidarity. Bad day. Horrible judgment from all sides, mostly because they had no one else to look out for them, literally as well as metaphorically. Top five dumbest things Grian had ever done, for sure. Even thinking about that day was enough to make his skin itch and burn. But there was a fondness there too, the type of fondness you can only achieve by doing something incredibly, irrefutably idiotic with your best friend.
“I’ve been there. Not eager to go back, either, so I’ll keep my distance if that’s what keeps you comfortable. I’d like to sit though, if that’s alright.”
Cub shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
“You can say no.”
“I don’t know if I can.” Cub eyed him evenly, not unfriendly as was often assumed about him, but cautious, appraising. It was a little bit funny. Cub looking at CuteGuy, a fairly well known supervillain, the way he’d look at any stranger; gauging intention. Cub didn’t navigate the world under the assumption that everyone was out to get him, but he was also the kind of person that liked knowing, and a Cub in the dark was not a Cub at ease. Grian hoped he’d be able to get Cub to relax with him before HotGuy arrived, but that would be no easy feat, not as CuteGuy. Cub was smart; he probably suspected CuteGuy knew HotGuy was coming. This was not a chance meeting. CuteGuy wanted something. And Cub wasn’t wrong, not really.
“You can,” Grian tried, hoping again he sounded genuine, but in these forced lower tones, it was hard to accurately get the emotions he was aiming for across. Grian wondered if Cub noticed the oddness in his voice, and was immediately sure of the answer. But Cub wouldn’t say a word, not to the avian known for being quick to anger.
“Well in that case, I don’t mind,” Cub said, almost dismissive as he looked back at his phone. Grian couldn’t quite tell if Cub actually did mind or not, but he sat on the curb regardless, not too close, but not far either. Grian winced at the thought of being pepper sprayed. He wouldn’t see it coming, that he was sure of; Cub was very good at concealing his tells. “Just so you know,” Cub continued after a moment, almost thoughtful, “HotGuy will be here soon. I’ve heard you two don’t get along, and, well..” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely, but Grian got the message.
“I don’t know about that,” he said, the line vindictively practiced, and Grian couldn’t keep the smirk off his face, “Heroes are fickle things. I have a feeling HotGuy will be late, if he even shows up at all.”
Cub nodded, though Grian wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. “What’s he up to then, if you know?” His tone was mild, almost monotone, but there was a mutual understanding as to what was going on here. Grian knew better than anyone that Cub knew how to play his cards, and that he wouldn’t sit idly in the dark if he thought he could get away with it. Grian couldn’t remember a time when Cub had judged a confrontation incorrectly, or pushed his luck too far.
“Poultry Man made a bit of a mess on the other side of town. Left a message specifically for HotGuy, and if you didn’t know, HotGuy’s been dying to chat with him. As if Poultry Man would speak to anyone.” Grian laid back across the curb, spreading his wings in the grass. “No need to ask. I was involved, of course. We look out for each other, Poultry Man and I, but I just wanted to make sure you knew exactly where HotGuy’s priorities lie. Believe me when I tell you that you’re far from the only man he’s chasing. In every sense of the word.”
“What did he do?”
“What?”
“Poultry Man? What did he do?” It was a perfectly amicable, almost innocently curious question. Grian knew better than to take Cub at face value, but his facade was rock hard, and Grian had no idea what he was actually feeling.
“Told me he was saving these nails and things, sharp, sturdy stuff, and that he was going to dump a whole bunch of them in various parking lots of government buildings. They’re painted, of course. Like chickens. I don’t know how he was planning on leaving a message for HotGuy, but I’m sure he managed.”
Cub chuckled, which Grian didn’t expect, expecting even less for Cub to look genuinely amused. “I like that guy.”
“You-“ Grian felt his heart stop, or maybe beat faster, “You like Poultry Man?”
“Yeah. I kinda do.” Cub didn’t elaborate. Grian didn’t really expect him too, but he desperately wished Cub would. Well. He’d have to push for answers if he wanted any at all.
“I don’t understand how you can like Poultry Man and HotGuy. They’re like- complete opposites. Egg themed rebellion versus pathetic attention-hungry bootlicking, it’s not anywhere near compatible.”
“I wouldn’t go as far to say that I like bootlickers. I don’t.”
I know you don’t. Words Grian almost said, but couldn’t, so he settled on, “Well, given that’s basically HotGuy’s entire job, you may want to reconsider.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? HotGuy is like the government’s top lap dog! He isn’t even that good at what he does- he’s just got a tragic backstory and a chiseled body, so the whole damn world can’t help but fall for him. He’s going to use you until he gets bored, then dump you, because he’s HotGuy and he can do whatever the hell he wants without paying the price.”
“I just mean that I don’t know. It’s as simple as that. I don’t know him. But I’d like to. We’ll see.”
“You’re going to get hurt.”
Cub threw him a critical side eye, the type of look a winner might wear, the type of look that let Grian know he had made a mistake. Almost agonizingly, Cub did not gloat or hold this victory of gleaned information over Grian’s head; he just sat there, silent, contemplative. He gave Grian nothing. No hints of his thoughts or feelings. Cub knew he didn’t have to. He knew just as well as Grian did that Grian would keep talking, keep losing ground, keep revealing too much. But still, Grian couldn’t stop. It was fine, fine that Cub knew he was emotionally invested in some way, but clearly this wasn’t working, so it was time for a pivot. Throw him off.
“I think you can do better. I think you deserve better. My hands are plenty dirty, but not any more than his.”
Cub blinked, looking up. There were a mix of emotions there that not even Grian could decipher, but the fact that he even bothered to look at all showed interest. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” Grian had Cub’s attention now, and he wasn’t about to let go, “You can play with heroes and see where it gets you, or cut the shit and have a little fun. Do you want to play games, or is it easier to believe HotGuy’s any different than me?”
“I don’t think HotGuy hurts people on purpose.”
“How many accidents need to happen before the people he hurts are a product of careless negligence. That’s what he is, Cub, careless. And no matter what he does, no matter how many people die under his watch, he will never be punished.”
“Good point.”
“How does it feel to put your heart in the hands of someone who’s above the law?”
“I think you’re making quite a few assumptions, CuteGuy.”
“I can see where this is going.”
“And you think I’d be better off with you? I don’t believe we’ve met, stranger. If I didn’t know any better, I might think you’re only here to spite HotGuy.”
“The things I’m telling you are true.”
“They are. And I’ll keep them in mind. But I’m not looking to trade out one interest for another, so you don’t have to pretend like you care.” Cub turned back to his phone. Grian gritted his teeth behind closed lips.
“I think you’re cute.” Distantly, Grian heard footsteps, the fast, heavy footfalls of someone running very quickly. Cub heard them too, but he didn’t look up, so Grian didn’t either.
“I’m sure you do,” Cub said.
“I do.”
“Well thanks. I think I’m cute, too.”
“He’ll treat you carelessly.” The footsteps were louder now, quite close.
“I’ll make that judgment for myself.”
“Hey!” HotGuy yelled from the other side of the parking lot, but apparently that was all he had in him, hunching over with his hands on his knees and panting. He jogged the rest of the way, chest still heaving, and spoke as he neared the curb, “Is,” HotGuy had to stop, not having enough air to form the words, “this guy,” another pause, shorter this time, “bothering you?” The last words fell with what looked like a massive effort, HotGuy, hunching again to breathe.
“Not really,” Cub said, not put off in the slightest. Grian didn’t bother to get up, only snorting as HotGuy caught his breath. Though that seemed to set him off, the hero jolting upright to fix Grian with a fiery glare.
“You know, I am fed up with you!”
Grian choked on his own laugh, “Fed up? You’re fed up with me?”
“I am!” if HotGuy understood Grian was laughing about his choice of words, he didn’t show it, “I can not believe you sent me on a wild goose chase tonight, when I told you I had plans! And why- why are you talking like that? You’re going to mess up your throat; I had to take tons of voice lessons to-“
“You know, I think we should go.” Cub stood up, definitive in his tone, but HotGuy didn’t move.
“Where are we going?” Grian asked, and HotGuy seethed; honestly, Grian was having trouble telling if he was legitimately pissed off or not. Cub fixed him with a glare of his own, which Grian was not expecting, and couldn’t stop himself from shrinking under the look.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” HotGuy hissed through gritted teeth, drawing his bow, and at this point, Grian was pretty sure he was actually angry. Cub had backed off considerably at this point, but behind HotGuy, Grian saw him stiffen, a far more real look of terror crossing his face.
“You can show me whatever it is you wanted to later,” Cub insisted, and Grian recognized fear in the way his voice lost all of its edge, but HotGuy clearly didn’t, not even turning around as he nocked an arrow. “No-“
Grian wasn’t about to wait around to find out if HotGuy was actually angry enough to shoot him, launching himself forward off the curb and under the line of fire as the arrow whistled by. He aimed to grapple HotGuy’s legs, but the hero had just enough time to retaliate with a weak kick, sending both of them stumbling in opposite directions.
Grian didn’t have time to look for Cub before HotGuy was closing the distance, and Grian had to roll out of the way to avoid another much stronger kick. He felt the boot graze his feathers, but HotGuy was vulnerable in the follow through, and slow; adrenaline didn’t change the fact he had run quite some distance, and in this state, it wouldn’t be long before he got tired. Grian rebalanced with a few beats of his wings, shooting forward before HotGuy could recover and sinking his claws into the hero’s shoulder pads, hooking his legs around his chest, and battering HotGuy’s head with his wings.
HotGuy yelped, spinning uselessly, but there wasn’t much he could do besides shield his face- at least, that’s what Grian had thought, but then he was falling- they were both falling, and Grian couldn’t even scream when HotGuy crushed him under his weight, knocking the wind cleanly from his chest. Blackness curled over his vision, but a glint of something sharp brought his sight back, just soon enough to see the wickedly barbed arrow in HotGuy’s fist, raised above his head.
“I promised not to shoot you.”
Grian was hardly aware of his own body as he moved, kicking up and connecting with something- he heard the crack of contact, but he didn’t stop moving, flipping back onto his hands and toes, with distance the only thought on his mind.
“FuacKing-“ Grian saw HotGuy out of the corner of his eye, stumbling with his hands over his nose, “Avians. Flexible.” Blood fell from his fingertips; dark blood, always too dark. Grian never loved to see people bleed- it didn’t satisfy him, not like fear, not like bruises, but he especially disliked HotGuy’s blood. It wasn’t right. It looked sick.
HotGuy was breathing hard already, his arms holding a slight shake. Pretty bad, even for a human. Just how far had he run before to tire out so quickly now? But before Grian could make his next move, he was distracted, his eye caught by the lack of a presence, the lack of-
A fist connected with his cheek, and Grian was violently reminded of just how fast HotGuy was, even this exhausted. If not for his wings to balance him, he would have been thrown off his feet, but HotGuy was relentless, throwing punch after punch before Grian could even hope to recover from the first. He ducked sloppily under the second, then the third, but the fourth grazed his mask, and the fifth landed squarely at the side of his head. The sixth was only dodged because Grian stumbled, and Grian didn’t even feel the seventh under his chin before he was nothing.
…
Being something again was more than unpleasant, especially being crumpled in all the wrong ways on the cement ground. Grian struggled to his hands and knees, but when he looked up, HotGuy wasn’t anywhere near him, brows hitched as he stared at his phone and paced.
HotGuy looked up at the movement, looking far more distressed than angry. “Did you tell him- tell him what this was before I got here? Why- why did you tell Poultry Man to- you made me late!”
Grian blinked, first slowly, then faster. His face hurt. Shit, if he had a black eye he was screwed. And then he remembered. Cub was gone.
He was too disoriented to lie. “Didn’t say anything. Just tried to keep him off you.”
A moment of anger flashed across Scar’s face, but it didn’t last, melting back into distress when he looked back down at his phone. “You must have said something. Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you must have- you- Why did I let you ruin this for me!”
Grian grunted, his sense returning just enough to be indignant, “It was your idea, asshole. What, did he figure out this was a set up?”
“He wouldn’t have if you didn’t come early!”
“Whatever.” Grian stumbled to his feet on wobbly legs, trying to keep some amount of his dignity intact, “You’re an idiot and he’s whip-smart. Doesn’t matter what I did, he probably would’ve found you out regardless.”
“What?” HotGuy snarked, “Did you figure all that out in the twenty minutes before I got here?”
Grian couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice. “Yeah, actually. Played me like a damn fiddle, he did. Couldn’t break through no matter what I did. This was stupid, anyway, but I’m glad I came. I hope he’s mad. Hope he hates you forever.”
“You- you’re so immature! You lost. Feel bad about it.”
“Y’know, I think I’m just going to let you dig your own grave here.”
“I- I don’t want to deal with this right now. I don’t have to deal with this. I’m going home. You suck.” HotGuy dug around in one of his pockets, producing a small envelope, “Take your damn money.”
Grian didn’t think he could get any more surprised. “You’re actually paying me?”
“Take it. And try not to be a pain in the ass next week, so maybe I can pretend like this was worth something.”
Grian stepped forward cautiously, like a mouse to a trap, then snatched the envelope from HotGuy’s hand before the wire could snap down. But HotGuy did not move, eyes glued back on his phone.
Grian reminded himself he did not feel bad before taking off.
Time to check the damage. Not at his apartment of course, no, he had a different location for nights like these. The money couldn’t have come at a better time; he was running out of foundation, and getting low on concealer as well. Given how badly his face ached at every corner, he had a feeling he would be covering up some nasty bruises.
39 notes
·
View notes