Archive of Our Own

Grian sat at his dining room table, shaking. He couldn’t believe this, he’d been one year away from achieving tenure, and here he was. Fired. As pathetic as it felt, tears dripped down his face. What was he going to do?

—---- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Hello there, I’m Melissa, I’ll be filling in for Gem today,” a nurse Grian hadn’t seen before said, stepping into his room with a cheerful smile.

“I’m Grian, nice to meet you,” Grian said in response, stretching his wings slightly as he sat up so it’d be easier for her to take his vitals.

“How are we feeling Grian?” she said as she looked down at him, grabbing a blood pressure monitor and undoing the velcro before wrapping it around his arm, pressing her stethoscope against his skin as she started to increase the pressure.

“Pretty good, mostly the same, just tired, ready to go home.”

“111/76, that’s good,” she said as she slipped a heart and oxygen monitor onto Grian’s hand before checking his IV bag.

“Grian,” she murmured to herself, “I feel like I recognize that name.”

“I’m sure you saw I’m a victim of the attack at the university, I’m a professor there, so maybe that’s how you know me,” Grian said as he stared down at his finger monitor.

“Oh! That’s it! I think my daughter’s taken one of your classes! You’re a- uh, an architecture teacher right?” Melissa said, perking up.

“That’s me,” Grian responded, almost enthusiastically, he was really starting to miss the normalcy of work. “What’s her name?”

“Jennifer Davis, she’s a junior right now,” she said as she started to examine Grian’s wings, “she never mentioned you’re an avian! Must be helpful when it comes to construction!”

“Oh yeah, I don’t really share that at work, you know how people can be,” Grian said as she looked at his facial wings intently.

“I can understand that, I’ve seen stories about that on the news,” she said supportively before pausing, “but doesn’t it worry you a little bit? I mean what if whoever attacked you was a mutant in hiding too? They must’ve been right?”

“I mean I guess, yeah, but there are bad people in every group, I don’t think they did that because they were a mutant,” Grian said, feeling a little uneasy at where the conversation was headed.

“But they wouldn’t have been able to do all that if they weren’t, I mean humans can’t possess people, and thankfully my daughter wasn’t in that section of campus at the time, but it keeps me up at night, the thought that someone could do that to her, and she’d have no idea until it was too late,” Melissa said as she wrote notes on Grian’s chart. “It just would’ve been nice to know the risk she was taking.”

“I really doubt that whoever did this actually works at or attends the university,” Grian said, trying not to push back against her too hard and risk her getting worked up, but having a hard time just accepting what she was saying without trying to counter it.

“You’re probably right, sorry for getting so serious there, it’s just, I mean the press didn’t even say you were an avian, but isn’t that pretty important in this scenario? Just makes me wonder if they’re doing all they can to keep us safe…” she trailed off as Grian stayed silent, feeling stuck in a very uncomfortable situation. He did not appreciate what she was implying, but didn’t figure that trying to challenge her beliefs would lead to anything productive.

“Anyways, everything’s looking good here, except your heart rate is a bit elevated, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” she said as she took the monitor off Grian’s finger. “I better get to my next patient, it was nice meeting you!” she said as she headed to the door.

“Yeah, you too,” Grian said half heartedly, falling back into his pillows as the door shut. He was so excited to get out of there.

—---- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Grian had only just gotten home from a hospital last night, and today he’d checked his mail. He’d been surprised to see a letter from the university, and when he opened it his jaw dropped in utter horror. It was a letter of termination.

“Dear Grian Solidarity,

We’re writing to inform you that, effective immediately, your employment at Allium University has been terminated.

In the aftermath of the recent incident it has come to our attention that for the entirety of your employment with us you have been in violation of our policy as well as state law regarding disclosure of your status as an avian. This information has led to multiple complaints from concerned students and their relatives and has negatively impacted our image as a safe place for our staff and students.

Your belongings should be shipped to your residence within three to five business days. Due to the severity of your infractions and at-will employment we will not be offering severance. You will receive your final paycheck on the typical biweekly schedule.

We wish you the best in your recovery and future endeavors.”

His hands shook as he read the letter over and over again until his tears made it impossible for him to discern the letters. After six years of education and a grueling job search in a competitive market his position had been a miracle. He’d given every single thing he had to his job, and he had truly loved it.

Outside of being Cuteguy, his job was really all he had. It was how he’d made all his friends, what he dedicated all his passion to, and how he stayed close with and spent time with Jimmy. It was where he got to see Scar. And now, in the blink of an eye, after years and years of hiding, everything was undone in an instant all because he happened to be a victim of a freak possession. He’d put everything else in his life on hold for years just to pursue this dream, and it only took an instant for him to be thrown away.
Everything was ruined now. Everything.

He needed to know who did this. Of course his first thought was Hotguy, but then he was reminded of something. A conversation he’d had with a nurse that had left him feeling unsettled. He pulled out his phone, wiping away his tears rapidly to try to see, and started to keyword search the name of the university along with avian. It didn’t take it long for him to find it, an online forum for parents, and there was his name everywhere, with a user claiming she discovered he was an avian, followed by intense outrage from many parents, which only devolved into more and more hate the farther he scrolled.

He couldn’t get himself to look away, and he became even angrier as he scrolled through their previous posts. He saw many people, including mutants who were registered, receiving huge amounts of vitriol and degradation. Parents promised to call universities, send them letters, some even discussed making up stories of mutants being violent or dangerous to try to convince universities to fire or expel them. When he saw a post about Tango show up, he finally put his phone down. This wasn’t their first time doing something like this, and clearly the university listened to them.

Of course, he thought to himself, of course after all this, all his dedication, his perfect record, his shining reviews from students, none of that mattered. If humans said he was dangerous, suddenly he was. It didn’t matter if he’d never done a single thing wrong, it didn’t matter if he was the one who was the victim of an attack, he was just a mutant, and he’d never belong in their world.

Grian didn’t sleep that night. He just laid on his couch, staring at everything they’d said about him, everything the university had so easily believed, reading their words over and over again. The longer he read the angrier he got, the more he wanted them to feel how he did, but at the same time, even when he wasn’t consciously aware of it, the words sunk in, lingering inside his head. He ignored texts from Jimmy and Mumbo checking up on him, feeling the burdens of his identity settling over him like a layer of silt, polluting his thoughts. He hated what being what he was had taken from him.

—---- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Grian didn’t leave the house for three days after that. He didn’t respond to a single text or call, except one from Jimmy with a simple confirmation that he was alive but wanted to be left alone. He didn’t eat, he only drank when the dehydration from crying became unbearable. He felt like his life was over. He never wanted to be seen again, by anyone.

In his more lucid moments he considered applying for a new job. Maybe moving away, somewhere no one knew him, where he could start over. He could be a “human” again. But every time he got close to applying, he just googled his own name, and it always led him to the same place, back to the forums. It felt too late, it all felt too late.

He thought about registering himself. He thought back to what Tango had been through, and it was bad, but they couldn’t fire him over it. He could get a job. But then the thought of it, the thought of them, that group, the government, everyone that hated him winning, it overroad all self preservation instincts. They’d finally get exactly what they wanted. Another compliant mutant. The thought made his blood curdle with rage. He hated them more than he cared about his own wellbeing. Sometimes it felt like that was all he could feel, anger and apathy.

By the end of the three days though, everything went numb. It all faded into a dull ache in the background, like a constant headache in a spot he couldn’t quite place, and the world around him started to feel farther and farther away. His body felt empty, hollow, he felt like he was barely controlling it anymore. He became convinced he was haunting his own house, that his life had already ended, and in a sick turn of events he was being forced to watch every painstaking moment building up to the ultimate, unavoidable finale.

The intrusive thoughts of everything those forums had said about him didn’t even hurt anymore, they just nestled in comfortably, feeling at home. It all felt like a constant in his life now that he really thought about it, the way people treated him, or more so the threat of how he knew they would if he didn’t hide. It almost felt like his oldest friend the longer he dwelled on it, the more comfortable he got sitting with it, looking it in the eye. He started to wonder, why had he given everything he had when this now seemed to be the obvious inevitable consequence?

—---- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

On day four Jimmy and Mumbo showed up at his door. He pretended to be fine, he pretended to be happy to see them, he pretended to be appreciative, but it all felt like nothing. Just like everything else. Even when they hugged him, it was like he could barely feel his own limbs, like he’d been trapped inside a brick wall and was just scratching at the plaster, trying hopelessly to reach the outside. When they comforted him, it was like he was looking down on them all, watching it happen to someone else. Still, he didn’t want them to be hurt so he put on the best show he could, not that he could say how well he did, it felt impossible to know for certain anything he did or didn’t do at this point. His story had already ended, what was the point in continuing to pay attention?

Still, he ignored a lot. He ignored many dangerous mobs terrorizing the city, leaving Hotguy to continue to go it alone, even though he was perfectly physically capable of helping. He ignored every post and article questioning what had happened to Cuteguy, every positive comment he saw, fanart and fan cams wishing for his return. Compared to the hatred, the absolute vitriol of the people that destroyed his life, their words, their praise, their love, it felt laughable. It felt pathetic. He felt pathetic for ever believing anyone could love him enough to make all of this worth it. Why had he held on so hard to the belief that he could build for himself a life that was anything but this? Why had he cared so much that he let this happen?

—---- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A few more days passed. He didn’t know exactly how many. He remembered often how he used to feel that he was moving forward through time, making new ground, working towards his future. Now it felt like time was a rope sliding through him, right through his stomach, the constant friction of the unwanted movement burning him over and over and over, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Time would march on, and it would drag its way through him if he stayed stagnant. He had to do something.

How could he though? So much had stopped, even if he was technically doing more. Sure, he texted Jimmy and Mumbo back now, sure, he ate the food they sent him, sure, he sat on the phone with them. He even submitted a few applications to make them feel better because all his shame had worn away, and in the emptiness there was nothing left to lose, nothing left to fear, no pride left worth protecting. It was his thoughts that had stopped, and now hours went by in a peaceful but aching nothingness, and he wished that it didn't hurt in its own unique way, because every now and again it almost felt serene, giving in. He was static, and he both wanted to stay that way forever and was dying for something, anything, to change.

It just felt nice, reassuring even, to give up. To let the millions of hands pressing down on him finally bury him.

—---- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He didn’t know why it caught his attention. Little did. He found himself on a live broadcast on the news of a fight, unable to remember ever turning on the tv. It was Hotguy fighting a horde of endermen that had been unintentionally aggravated by a group of teens that had wandered into the woods at night. It was nice to see him, and although Grian couldn’t know for sure if he was right, he felt like he was stuck in time too. He looked exactly as Grian had left him, unaffected by everything Grian was going through, unlike everyone else he knew. It almost made him smile to see someone else so unchangeable.

As he laid there, curled in on himself, staring at the bright screen, a little portal into the ever moving world that existed outside his apartment, he thought about how Hotguy was in love with him. It felt weird to think about it so plainly, so honestly. He’d never really let himself interpret it so bluntly before, he’d been scared of what he might feel, what it might mean for Cuteguy, but now he couldn’t feel anything, so nothing felt scary anymore. It all felt the same. Except, maybe, that thought. That thought felt like a relief.

The longer he thought about it, the more he realized why. Because Hotguy’s feelings were honest, they were raw, and they were passionate, as passionate as all the bigotry he’d faced. Hotguy was as unwavering as them, as determined. He loved him with the same consistency, with the same unyielding persistence as the strangers that were willing to ruin him out of hatred for how he was born. No one had ever loved him like that before, and while for so long it’d been overwhelming, now it felt like the only thing strong enough to make him feel anything but anger and pain and regret. And it was nice. It was really nice. It was the only thing that had been nice in a long time.

And it could be his.

It could be his, even as an undocumented avian. It could be his even if the rest of the world hated him. It could be his no matter how he showed up. Maybe it was the only nice thing that would ever be able to be his again. Maybe this was it, his final chance, his final chance to make any of the last fourteen years of his life worth anything. And maybe was enough when everything else was certainly nothing.

—---- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

By the time Cuteguy arrived to the area, the fight was over. Of course, Hotguy had won. He always won, every single time. He landed on a rooftop, stumbling slightly, the feeling of flying weirdly alien to him, just in time to see Hotguy scale a nearby building after finishing speaking with the press and leap onto the rooftop. Cuteguy felt like he was seeing him for the first time, or maybe more so as if he was seeing him with new eyes, and he looked real in a world that felt like it was crumbling into obscurity.

Cuteguy just stood there for a moment, watching him the same way he’d watched him on tv, hoping he’d see him, wondering if he could, but as he saw Hotguy bend his knees, preparing to take off, he realized he had to take matters into his own hands. He had to do something. He had to move forward in time, as much as it hurt. He could almost feel that frayed rope passing through his stomach.

“Hotguy!” he yelled, with everything he had, which wasn’t much. The sound of his own voice piercing through the night surprised him. He hadn’t been talking much recently.

It surprised Hotguy too, who turned immediately to look at him. Cuteguy couldn’t see his eyes, but he could feel them locking onto him. Without hesitation he lunged forwards at full speed right at Cuteguy.

“Cuteguy?!” He yelled in response as he rapidly approached.

In only a moment their bodies collided, Hotguy grabbed Cuteguy and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into himself, shock rippling through both of them, like neither could believe that the other was in front of them.

And Cuteguy felt it. He actually felt it. He could feel his own skin, his own arms, his own torso, pressing against Hotguy’s. He no longer felt like a ghost pressing on the walls of his own body, begging his nerves to activate, to reconnect to his consciousness. He could feel Hotguy’s heart racing, the heat radiating off his body, the minor texture differences between his human and vex skin. It was real, and he could feel it all, and it felt good.

Just as quickly as they came together, Hotguy pulled himself away, holding Cuteguy’s shoulders, looking him up and down, clearly concerned.

“Are you okay?! What happened?!”

Cuteguy didn’t want to sit in someone else’s concern though. That wasn’t why he was here. He reached up and pushed Hotguy’s hands off his shoulders before diving back into his chest again, clasping his hands together behind his back, holding on tight, enjoying the grounding feeling of Hotguy’s chest rising and falling.

“Woah,” Hotguy said in response to Cuteguy’s almost aggressive affection. “Cuteguy, what’s going on?” he said softly as he reciprocated, one hand on Cuteguy’s back and the other against the back of his head.

“I just missed you,” Cuteguy said into Hotguy’s chest. He didn’t want Hotguy to let him go again, he wasn’t ready. It was still hard to think, but he knew this was where he wanted to be, and he was ready to fight to stay there if he had to.

“I-I missed you too birdie,” Hotguy said, sounding a bit dumbstruck as Cuteguy just leaned into him harder, wrapping his wings around him as well, trying to maximize their physical contact, trying to maximize his own ability to feel.

“Do you love me?” Cuteguy suddenly asked. The question sounded scary in concept, but in reality, if the answer was no, Grian had never had anything left to begin with. There was nowhere to go but up.

“Do I- Cuteguy what are you-”

“Do you love me?” Cuteguy said louder, even more firmly, feeling Hotguy’s body tense against his anxiously. He wanted an answer, the answer was all that mattered. He needed to be sure, he needed to hear it. After everything he’d heard, he needed to hear this.

“Yes,” Hotguy said, slightly shakily, “yes… I love you,” he trailed off into a whisper, although Cuteguy heard every word.

“Good.” Cuteguy said confidently, if not a bit desperately, feeling Hotguy’s body relax slightly. “I-I want you to.” Those words however made his voice crack.

He could feel the cold night air, he could feel the breeze rushing past, he could hear the cars down below, a train in the distance, crickets singing. It all felt so different from how it had only minutes ago. It felt alive, it felt the way Grian wanted to feel. It felt endless. The world felt big again for the first time in so long.

“I’m so confused,” was all Hotguy managed in response, still holding Cuteguy.

“I was confused, but I think things are getting clearer,” Cuteguy mumbled quietly, mostly to himself.

Hotguy finally pulled away again, leaving Cuteguy there to feel the emptiness left between them. The cold became harsher, less inviting without Hotguy’s body there to warm him up. The loneliness crept at the edges of his psyche again. He hadn’t realized how much it had consumed him until Hotguy had lessened it, but now it seemed like an imminent threat, trying to force him to shut down again mentally.

“This is great, I mean I love being with you, but I’m like really really confused, please talk to me,” Hotguy said, right in front of Cuteguy, but feeling farther and farther away by the second as he shifted uncomfortably. Cuteguy didn’t want to be here anymore, in the vastness of the city's skyline, not on his own.

“Can I come home with you?” Cuteguy asked, like he hadn’t even registered what Hotguy had said. It felt so natural coming out of his mouth, even though he knew it shouldn’t.
It was just so hard to care about social norms and expectations when everyone felt a million miles away.

“I- you’re the one who said we could never risk our identities! If you come to my apartment, I mean I’m sure my name will be somewhere!” Hotguy said, trying to process what was going on.

“You can come to my house,” Cuteguy offered casually, staying as emotionally static as he had the whole time which contrasted heavily with Hotguy’s panic and confusion.

“That’s-”

Cuteguy reached forward and grabbed his hand, silencing him.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll respect that, I’ll leave, but I want to, I really want to. I need you,” Cuteguy said, looking into his eyes, although he could only see their outlines behind his visor.

Hotguy looked around for a second, indecision written across his face, before he finally looked down at Cuteguy’s hand clutching his.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Hotguy sighed before pulling Cuteguy closer, scooping him up in his arms which Cuteguy embraced readily, nestling against him again, relieved.

“Alright, let’s go home birdie.”

—---- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cuteguy didn’t pay attention to where Hotguy was taking him, he just closed his eyes and tried to hold onto this feeling, trying to remember it for when things got bad again. When everything else slipped through his mind like sand, he needed to remember that this existed, that it had happened, that there was still something, someone out there for him.

He could still feel Hotguy’s hesitation in his movements. He was being gentle but there was uncertainty there too. He didn’t hold Cuteguy as tightly as Cuteguy held him. Cuteguy figured he must still have so much he didn’t want to ruin, so much he could lose, and he didn’t yet know that Cuteguy wasn’t one of those things that was on the line.
Cuteguy felt the air around them change and looked up as Hotguy finally slowed down, coming to a stop in his apartment. It looked just like his own apartment, at least in essence, really they all looked the same, but it felt so different to him. His apartment had become something of a cocoon to sit in and rot, but Hotguy’s apartment looked like a home.

Hotguy took a few more tentative steps forwards into the center of the living room, his hands shifting slightly on Cuteguy’s body, getting a better grip.

“So, uh, what now CG?” he asked slightly uncomfortably as Cuteguy just sat in his arms, still looking around, still clinging to him. “Do you want to talk about whatever happened?” Hotguy looked down at him with care.

Cuteguy just shook his head slightly into him. He didn’t want this to be about that. It was, of course it was, but he didn’t want it to be. He wanted anything in his life to be separate from that, separate from how the world viewed him, how the world treated him. He needed a break. He needed to make sure Hotguy never saw what they said about him, that the words that bounced around behind his eyes twenty four seven never got the chance to reach him.

“Can we just pretend this is normal? That this isn’t the first time?”

“I-I can try, this is just, a lot, and you were gone for so long, I was so worried…”

Cuteguy finally shifted, putting one of his feet down, prompting Hotguy to let him go. Cuteguy turned to him and took his hands.

“If we could be anything you wanted, what would that look like?”

“I-” Hotguy looked away from Cuteguy’s consistent gaze, blushing, “This is, this is too much I-I can’t-”

“Hotguy.” Cuteguy said firmly, reaching up with one hand and grabbing his chin, turning his face back, forcing him to look at him. “Just answer the question, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

Hotguy just stood there, completely frozen as Cuteguy struggled to make him see things the way he saw them. Not that it’d be good if he did. Cuteguy realized it would be quite cruel to wish his mindset on anyone else. Still, in the pit of his nihilism, it felt like the absolute truth.

Hotguy felt so complex compared to him, he probably had a million goals and dreams and hopes, so many things that made this all so complicated, so nerve wracking. But Hotguy had said he loved him, Hotguy had shown he loved him, so underneath everything, Cuteguy knew this was what he wanted too.

The way forward. Change. He wanted to embrace it.

“Does it look something like this?” Cuteguy asked, stepping forward, pushing himself up onto his toes, tilting Hotguy’s face down towards him.
He stopped, right there, centimeters away from his lips, pausing, looking up at him, his eyes obscured behind his visor. He was right there, right where Hotguy had tried to get him a million times. Cuteguy wanted to see him do it, to finally move forward, to leap through time, to start something new. He wanted him to do what felt impossible for him to do, to take the step for him.

And he did, gently, raising his hand to the back of Cuteguy’s head, holding him like he was made of glass, like he was a piece of precious art. As their lips locked together Cuteguy felt like he was waking up, like he’d been drifting through a nightmare for days, maybe weeks, and finally he was being woken up by a beam of sun through his bedroom window. He held Hotguy like he was unbreakable, his hands running over his body until he reached his waist, wanting to memorize every inch, every inch of the man that had loved him through everything.

Hotguy pulled back tenderly and the moment their lips parted Cuteguy felt trapped in time, between the endlessness of that moment, that moment that had almost made all the emptiness fade away, and how it still somehow disappeared so quickly, tumbling into the past, becoming nothing but a memory. He had so many good memories, memories of his students, his coworkers, bonding with Jimmy, lunch with Mumbo, getting to see Scar, and when he needed them, all they’d done was drag him down. He needed more than memories. He couldn’t let this become the past, not yet. He was so close. He just had to move forward.

“Yeah, it does look like that,” Hotguy said lovingly, his hand moving through his hair to his cheek, pressing against Cuteguy’s soft and tired face.

“Then that’s who I want to be for you,” Cuteguy said, placing his hand over Hotguy’s pressing it into his face, his expression bittersweet, a mixture of the overwhelming pain and the merciful relief he was experiencing.

“Cuteguy,” Hotguy almost laughed, “the only person I want you to be is you, that’s who I fell in love with, over and over again.”
He could feel the walls in his mind finally shattering, and it hurt. It hurt like it had in those first hours when he’d realized his life had truly and irreparably fallen apart. That was all he’d wanted to hear, that it was him, it was him that someone wanted, that someone he loved could love him, an avian in a human world. He felt it all rushing back, everything he’d lost, everything he’d given, everything he’d given up, everything he’d taken, and there was so much grief there, so much loss, a lifetime of suffering that amounted to nothing. He finally felt safe enough to feel it, to see it, to take it. Maybe even to let it go.

He crumpled, tears dripping down silently, falling to his knees on the floor, his wings falling limp behind him, his breath caught in his throat. Hotguy kneeled down next to him, fear written across his face, and as Cuteguy raised his head to see him, he felt it. The will to get better. The will to get help. The desire to finally crawl out of the ashes of his old life. He’d waited so long for this.

He lunged forwards, right into Hotguy’s arms, almost knocking them both over, and then the sobs began, the guttural sobs that had been trapped inside him this whole time. He had spent so long trapped in his apartment, scared of who could hear him through the walls as he cried, wanting to disappear. But here, now, he screamed into Hotguy’s chest in agony, and in return Hotguy just held him tighter. He wasn’t going to let go. Finally Cuteguy could be sure, he wasn’t going to let go.
He was finally ready to feel it all. To feel it all and still decide he could rebuild himself. To believe he could have a life worth saving. He could still create a future that would be worth the price he’s paid to get there. Now he knew there would be someone waiting for him on the other side.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here,” Hotguy said softly, holding him, at last with the same desperation that Cuteguy felt holding him. It felt so good, even as his body was wracked with sobs. Someone was seeing him, and still someone was keeping him, keeping him close.

“I know,” Hotguy reassured as Cuteguy’s tears dripped down his shirt, droplets hanging from the mesh, “I know it hurts, but whatever happened, I’m here, I’ll keep you safe, I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

The words cut through his mind. He heard them, even though for so long all that’d sat inside him replaying over and over, night and day, was their words, their feelings, until there was no room for him, no room for Jimmy, no room for Mumbo, until those words emptied him out completely and there was no room for anything. But here, now, there was something else. Him. His voice, his tenderness, it stayed. He believed his words, every one of them, with the same devotion with which those people had torn his life apart. He believed them.

Hotguy’s hands adjusted around him and for a moment he only cried harder, fear he was going to let him go washed over him, fear he was going have to be anywhere other than with him, but in only a moment he felt Hotguy’s grip solidify again, his calloused hands lifting Cuteguy as he laid, partially stiff from his stomach contracting from the painful sobs, and partially limp from the effort. His head lulled back, tears completely clouding his vision, and Hotguy just adjusted his hand, using his arm to support Cuteguy’s back while using his hand to hold his head against his chest. Cuteguy felt so thankful.

“I’ve got you,” he said as he made his way across the room and into his bedroom, standing in front of the bed.

“Is this okay?” he asked as Cuteguy struggled to comprehend what was happening between the overwhelming pain, the crushing exhaustion, and his tear stained vision, but as soon he understood he found the strength to speak.

“Yes,” was all he could choke out. And he meant it. This is exactly what he wanted, to be somewhere where they could be together, alone, where the rest of the world couldn’t reach them, where he could be loved. Where he could feel like he belonged in Hotguy’s life. Where he could imagine a future where they were together, where they were here, together, every night. Where he could imagine any future at all.

Hotguy adjusted his grip again, balancing Cuteguy precariously for a moment so he could use his free hand to throw back the comforter before setting Cuteguy down on the edge of the mattress. He sank into it like his body was already empty. He couldn’t remember how long it’d been since he’d slept in a bed instead of on the couch or on the floor. So many times in the last days he’d woken up plastered to the floor, unable to remember how he got there, why he fell asleep, and wondered if it was some sort of sick punishment, a prank his body, which no longer felt like his own, was playing on him. Putting him in his place.

He was pulled out of those memories of the hard floor pressed against his sunken in face by the mattress shifting next to him. He heard the sound of metal slipping off skin before the mattress sunk again and he heard the heavenly sound of Hotguy sighing as he pulled his legs onto the bed and laid down. Cuteguy used what little energy he had left that his body didn’t force him to use to cry to roll to face him. Above all else, he had to know he was there, to always know he wasn’t alone anymore.
He saw Hotguy’s hand hovering in front of him tentatively, hopefully waiting to hold him in the same way that he was waiting to be held, but there was fear written across his face, although this time it was more focused. Cuteguy could see that it wasn’t the rest of his life he was considering anymore, it was just him, and in the same way Cuteguy thought of only him in hopes he could be the rest of his life. Hotguy was seeing him.

He reached out desperately and grabbed Hotguy’s frozen hand, pulling it right to his face, his wet and aching face, and smiled at him. The smile conveyed almost nothing but sheer pain, but under it all he hoped Hotguy could hear what he was trying to say, that he would see he was getting better, even if it was hard to believe that this is what better looks like. That he was getting better because of him. That it had always been him. That he wanted him the same way Hotguy had for all those years that Cuteguy was too clouded by his need to cling to a comfortable but precarious life that had, in the end, amounted to nothing. Nothing but them. Nothing but this. And now this would be enough.

“Oh birdie,” Hotguy said, pulling his whole body closer, pressing him against himself, stifling Cuteguy’s sobs with his own body, “what did they do to you?”

Cuteguy felt his body start to shake too, and then a few tears dripped down Hotguy’s nose and onto his head, but it didn’t feel the way other’s grief for him felt before. This didn’t feel like just another punishment, a reminder that he was just a burden on so many of the people that had attempted to save him, just the way he’d suffered for trying to protect himself. This felt like… sympathy. And that felt very different from empathy. Maybe Hotguy really had been frozen, just like him, waiting for this moment as well.
They laid like that, holding each other, both crying, and Cuteguy found that he was able to think new thoughts. Things crossed his mind more effortlessly than before, thoughts moved through without ripping through him or fading into absolute nothingness, leaving a hole in his mind in their place. He was still thinking about his job, everything he’d loved that he’d never have back. He was still thinking about what they’d said, everything he’d read that he could never unsee. But he also thought about how he wanted to help Hotguy feel better. That was two things now. Two things that he wanted that he could have. Two reasons to get better.

The tears came less frequently, the sobs quieting as he laid pressed against Hotguy’s slightly shaking chest, the room around him completely dark, the only thing he could perceive being him and the bed. If that was all there was, maybe he could be happy. Maybe he could finally go to sleep and not feel like it was dragging him under and then spitting him out. Maybe waking up for once wouldn’t feel like learning how to breathe again after a horrible nightmare about what would happen if they found him. Maybe he could wake up and things could be better than before he went to sleep, and that thought, that was the thought that finally quelled his tears.

“I’m okay,” he said into Hotguy, almost in a whisper, although that hadn’t been his intent. “Will you go to sleep with me?”

It took Hotguy a moment to pull himself back from his desperate grip on Cuteguy to look at his face. Hotguy’s visor was gone, likely taken off when he started crying, but all Cuteguy saw when he looked into his eyes was him. He wasn’t looking for anyone else. He didn’t care who was under there, he was happy with who he had already. All he could see was him.

“Do you,” the words came out shaky, Hotguy took a breath, “do you want me to get you some pajamas? Or water?”

Cuteguy just nodded, the sleepiness starting to take over his body as he tried to keep looking at Hotguy, to see him for as long as possible, to finally get to truly meet his eyes.

“Okay,” Hotguy said as he started to pull away and Cuteguy almost scrambled to grab onto him, to try to keep him there, but his bones were too tired, his aching too deep. Hotguy did hesitate after seeing his face, but still proceeded forwards, grabbing his cane, which Cuteguy didn’t even notice, and leaving the room, looking back over his shoulder as Cuteguy’s eyes followed him, trying to keep him in his thoughts instead of everything else that had made its home there.

When Cuteguy heard Hotguy shuffle back in his eyes had closed, mostly without him noticing, and he just focused on the sounds. He could hear a glass being set on his bedside, he could hear dresser drawers opening, then he heard the sound of scissors snipping. When he opened his eyes Hotguy was standing over him, one hand on his cheek, the other holding a set of clothes. His clothes, that he’d cut up to accommodate Cuteguy’s wings.

“Do you,” he hesitated again, looking into Cuteguy’s tired but hopeful eyes, “do you want help?”

Cuteguy nodded, glad he could tell, and let Hotguy pull the blankets back, taking off his shoes for him and setting them on the floor and pulling his gloves off before unclasping the back of his shirt carefully, still leaving him fully covered.

“I’ll leave so you can get changed,” Hotguy said as he walked back out, grabbing another set of clothes he’d left out, leaving Cuteguy to lay there for a moment as his body ached with the weight of the grief it’d been carrying.

It took reminding himself that he’d be alone until he changed to finally get his limbs to move and he, slowly, while still laying down, shimmied out of his shorts, then his tights, before slipping on Hotguy’s shorts. He struggled more with his shirt, not enjoying the dizziness that came with sitting up. Still, after he slipped his wings through the shirt Hotguy had left him he remembered to drink some water, knowing he’d regret it if he didn’t. It felt weird, thinking ahead like that. Planning for a future he wanted to be able to look forward to. It had been a while.

He collapsed back into the mattress and the soft pillow that seemed to draw him in. Hotguy glanced back in finally before reentering, now in a similar set of pajamas himself, all attempts to protect his identity abandoned, not that Cuteguy cared, not that he saw any difference. All of that meant nothing to him now.

Hotguy crawled back into bed, this time there was no hesitation when he reached towards Cuteguy and wrapped his body around him protectively. Cuteguy could barely move or think as he fought for a few more moments in his arms, so he couldn’t thank him, but he hoped he knew anyway.

“I called off work tomorrow,” he said softly into Cuteguy’s hair, “so I’ll be here. For whatever you need I’m here, okay?” he asked, even knowing he wouldn’t get a response.
With that reassurance, with that piece of confirmation that tomorrow really would be better, Cuteguy gave in, letting every fiber of his exhausted consciousness finally fizzle out into sleep.

—---- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The first thing Grian noticed was the dehydration. His head hurt and his body still ached with that familiar feeling, like all the grief had settled into his bones and was emanating out of them. Still, it was the best he’d felt since he received this letter, because as he became reacquainted with his body after sleep he could still feel his arms wrapped around him, his warm breath on his skin, one of his legs hooked around Grian’s. It had been real. He felt his body relax as he let go of the fear that he hadn’t even fully realized had been trying to pull him back down, that he’d wake up again, alone, on his floor, and everything would be exactly as he’d left it.
He stayed like that for a while, his body begging him to address all the pain, but his mind overwhelmed by the need to hold on to the relief of his new reality. He needed time to take it in, to accept all the love Hotguy was pouring into him. He needed time to sit in this new type of emptiness, the calm and peaceful emptiness that came from laying asleep with someone you loved.

Finally he decided it was time to move. He was laying on his back with Hotguy wrapped around him and so, as he slowly opened his eyes, he tried to roll towards Hotguy to embrace him back. As soon as his eyes opened they were met by Hotguy’s who’d been watching him intently and who understood right away, pulling Grian into himself, taking most of the burden of moving off his shoulders, letting him just melt into his strong and beautiful body. Now they clutched each other with the exact same certainty.

“Good morning,” Hotguy said softly, his chin resting on the top of Grian’s head as Grian nuzzled into his neck.

“Good,” Grian croaked out, struggling to finish the statement. His mouth was very dry. His half a glass of water had not been enough to make up for, what was it now? One week? Two? Of not taking care of himself. Of depriving his body as much as he could stand, letting it shut down along with his mind.

“Oh, do you need some water?” Hotguy said, shifting immediately in response to Grian’s pained sounds. Hotguy carefully untangled their limbs, making Grian thankful he’d taken the time to lay with him before making him aware he was awake, and grabbed his cane before making his way quickly to the kitchen. In the meantime Grian pushed himself up and drank the other half of his glass of water from last night, clearing his throat afterwards.

Hotguy came back carrying an almost comically large cup filled with water which he set down on the bedside table. Grian grabbed it right away and started drinking, trying to will his headache away, only stopping once he realized he was going to make himself sick if he continued. He cringed as he remembered how many times he’d thrown up from stress in the last days and how it only made him feel more disgusting.

Grian snapped back to reality, feeling his mind starting to wander again. As his eyes came back into focus he saw that Hotguy was still just standing there, next to his side of the bed, looking down at him, waiting for something maybe, or maybe lost in his own thoughts, it was hard for Grian to tell, but he figured he should try to speak again.

“Good morning,” he finally said, and although his voice still sounded a bit pained, it felt much easier to speak. He offered Hotguy his best attempt at a smile, although his facial expression still felt somewhat foreign to him. Regardless, Hotguy smiled back, although his expression started to melt almost immediately as tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Grian asked quietly, as he grabbed his hand.

Hotguy just stood there for another moment, shaking slightly, clearly trying to prevent the inevitable feelings from taking hold of him. Then what he was thinking finally slipped out.

“What did they do to you?”

The words were heart shattering. His emotions were so raw, so tangible, his eyes squeezing shut as Grian stared up at him in awe, feeling his hand shake. Grian could feel it, the weeks of concern, the wave of his emotions, the permanence of them, rising to meet his own. And it almost felt like home, the solidarity they shared, the mutuality of their feelings.

Grian pulled, hard, harder than he realized he could, right into himself and Hotguy embraced it right away, crawling on top of him, sharing his side of the bed, resting his head on Grian’s chest as Grian wrapped his legs around him, keeping him close. Grian leaned down, curling around him as well, and Hotguy shifted up slightly until Grian’s chin could rest on his forehead, Hotguy’s arms fully wrapping around his waist.

“They-” Grian attempted, trying to think of what to say, how to explain, before pivoting. “Everything’s” he paused again, his body shaking as he prepared to say it, to speak it into the universe, his voice empty “gone.”

“I’m-I’m here,” Hotguy stuttered out into his chest, sounding as if he was trying to prove it to himself.

“Everything but you,” Grian quietly confirmed, kissing the top of his head, his jaw chattering slightly.

“Did someone hurt you? Are you still in danger?” Hotguy asked desperately, finally looking up into Grian’s eyes.

“They’re gone now too,” was all he said in response.

“Well-well if they ever come back, I’ll-I’ll do whatever I have to to protect you, okay? Whatever it takes. You can always come to me G,” He said, clutching Grian’s sides, almost begging him to depend on him.

“G?” Grian responded, horror starting to settle in. Not because he felt any sort of danger from Hotguy knowing his identity, he was far past that, but because he wasn’t ready to be Grian again yet.

“Oh,” Hotguy said, looking up again, the surprise and confusion seeming to stop his tears, at least for the moment, “Do you not, do you not recognize me?”

The feeling that washed over Grian as he realized was horrible. It was Scar. It had been Scar the whole time. Scar, who had been working at the university since before Grian even started there. Scar, who must’ve known he was fired, although Grian had no idea if he knew why. Scar had seen him, the version of him that people had been drawn to hate so passionately after only ever hearing about him. He hated it. He hated it so bad. He wasn’t ready to be that person, to be seen as that person. He’d felt with Hotguy that everything he’d done and seen could finally wash away into irrelevance, even if it was only for a little while, and now here it was, overcoming him again like a tsunami, inescapable. Staring him in the face. And it had his eyes.

Grian scrambled backwards, his wings puffing up in fear, his eyes wild as Scar pulled himself back to give Grian room, his confusion only growing more evident. Grian just felt scared, scared he was going to be pulled back into his memories of what he’d lost. Scared that another person he loved would become just another trigger. Just like Mumbo. Just like Jimmy. Just like everyone who knew him as Grian.

“Did I do something?” Scar asked, clearly trying to get a grip on the situation. Grian was barely there though, his eyes were wide and foggy. He was miles away.
“Grian? Are you okay?” Scar tries again, sliding his hand across the bed towards him slowly. Grian pulls his own hands back, wrapping his arms around himself, perched there precariously, wings still fully unfurled in a subconscious demonstration that he is a threat.

“Did you… not want it to be me?” Scar choked out, his tears returning as he attempted to smile, attempting to turn it into a joke. It wasn’t.

Grian heard him this time, he heard those words, because they were an exact echo of how he felt. It wasn’t Scar, it wasn’t Scar at all. It was him. He didn’t want to be himself. He didn’t want Scar, or Hotguy, or anyone else to see him. He didn’t even want them to want to see him. He just wanted that person to disappear, and everything they’d been through along with them until his past melted into obscurity and his previous identity couldn’t drag him down anymore.
But Scar, he didn’t want Scar to feel that way. Never. He never wanted him to feel how he felt.

“No no no no no,” Grian said, his gaze shifting from defensive fear to a much softer fear as he started to slowly gain control of his body, starting to fold his wings back against himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Grian said as he started to move forward across the bed to where Scar was still sitting, tears dripping down his face as he was clearly struggling to stay present as well. Grian knew that look all too well, and he felt terrible for being its catalyst.

He collapsed right next to Scar on the bed, his body still tired, his muscles hurting from contracting aggressively when he became defensive. His head still hurt and thoughts were dragged through his aching mind painfully as he tried not to feel it was hopeless to even try to fix things. He wanted to believe, for Scar.

He reached his arm out and wrapped it around Scar tentatively, hoping he wouldn’t reject him now, although he would’ve understood after what he just did. To his relief Scar immediately pulled him back in with the same tenderness he’d held him with before his outburst. He just cried in thanks and guilt and tried to think of what to say, how to explain, where to start. He didn’t want to have to explain a thing because he didn’t want any of it to be real. He barely wanted to be real. But if he hurt Scar, it’d certainly be over.

“It’s not you, I just, didn’t want you to know me as… him,” he finally managed. “I don’t want to be him at all anymore. And I- it seemed like nobody else did either-” The words only made him cry harder, but it felt nice to admit, to tell someone what he’d been holding back for fear that his reality would overwhelm them. “But I do want you, so, please don’t, don’t think that meant, it wasn’t about you it was- it was- I don’t want you to leave!” he stuttered out, barely sure if what he was saying was even sensical. He hoped Scar could hear him. It was so hard to tell. Sometimes it felt like his mind was screaming but his body wouldn’t move. And sometimes he woke up from nightmares where he’d screamed so hard it started happening in the real world too. None of it made sense to him.

“But-” Scar’s voice was louder than Grian had expected, more defensive, and he felt himself flinch away, worried the damage was already done, “I love him! I love you! Both of you or-or just you however you want to say it!”

Grian laughed with relief and it felt like glass was shattering in his stomach, the emptiness of his body allowing it to collide and hollow him out even further. Then, just as quickly as it started it ended and his sobs intensified as his mind became overwhelmed with emotion. It was almost too much to bear, his internal turmoil and self hatred clashing with Scar’s almost innocent unwavering devotion.

It hurt to try to think about his words, to try to accept them. His deominzation of himself was done out of mercy, he realized, as his mind scrambled desperately to soothe himself. It made him feel better to imagine there really was something wrong with Grian, something unacceptable and unique that could be hated, something he could leave behind. That the pain wasn’t senseless, wasn’t unending. But here he was being told the version of him this city loved with just as valuable as the version of him this city hated. Maybe they had truly seen him, maybe he wsan’t two halves of a person but just one whole, and that whole was entirely unworthy. He’d grabbed onto hope again that maybe Cuteguy was different, maybe that’s why Hotguy could love him, and the idea that that wasn’t true was terrifying.

“I’m not going anywhere, and I promise I never wanted you to leave, not once. What made you think that?” Scar asked softly as he processed Grian’s words further, trying to udnerstand.

Grian just shook his head, trying not to say what he really felt, not to tell Scar how abandoned and how worthless he’d felt, how unworthy he’d come to believe he was in the human world. He didn’t know if he could handle hearing that, if anyone that loved him could face the reality of how far he’d spiraled, of how deep he still was. Of how much he still truly believed all those terrible things they’d written about him.

“Is this about what happened with the mycelium?” Scar attempted to prompt him.

“They fired me!” Grian finally managed, spitting the words out as fast as he could. “Because I’m-” he couldn’t brign himself to say it.
Scar’s eyes widened in horror at this realization.

“They told me- they told me you decided to quit after the mycelium incident- how did they- birdie I promise I didn’t tell anyone-!” Scar said as he scrambled to grab Grian’s hands, his eyes pleading with him to believe him, his desperation intense as he clutched him.

“I know, I know, I know,” Grian repeated as he just shook his head and Scar curled into him further in relief, his tension lessening ever so slightly. “It wasn’t you.”

There was another long pause as Grian thought about saying it, but he couldn’t bring himself too. He couldn’t tell Scar how many people detested him. He couldn’t tell him about the forums and risk him looking into it for himself. He couldn’t risk letting Hotguy know how quickly his self image crumbled just because strangers willed it to. It all sounded stupid suddenly, trying to explain why this was enough to destroy him so utterly after everything he and Hotguy had gone through together.

“I missed you,” Scar said, cutting through his spiraling thoughts, “Everyday at work. So did everyone else, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Grian said meekly, still trying to calm himself down as his mind fought, desperately clutching onto both the emotional highs and lows, both of which were beginning to become a bit nauseating. He almost missed the quiet numbness he’d grown so accustomed to, the one that slowly leaked energy out of him instead of yanking it out of him harshly.

It was when Scar kissed him gently on the forehead that he finally remembered why he was putting himself through this, why he was tolerating finally feeling the full extent of his emotions. Why he’d subject himself to the excruciating pain of healing.

“I love you too,” Grian finally said, letting that feeling settle into his bones side by side with his grief and distress, letting it at last become a part of who he was, who he would always be from here on out. Rebuilding felt like the greatest risk he could take, believing that the world could ever be any kinder then it had already shown itself to be felt like a delusion, but in front of him was something even more real then all those fears.

Scar place his hand on Grian’s check letting him lean into him desperately for a moment before he brought their lips together and held Grian close as he felt true happiness for the first time in a long time.