Chapter Text
It’s funny, Grian thinks. Just a few months ago, she would’ve done anything and everything just to get an hour away from Hotguy. The peace and quiet, the escape from his ridiculous monologues and attempts at flirting, Grian was desperate for it. She practically spent every single day looking for a way to get him to quit, to leave her alone. Just a few months ago, she truly wanted nothing to do with the man. She had plans upon plans, ones which all varied in complexity, to annoy Hotguy enough that he’d quit of his own volition. All Grian wanted was some quiet.
But now, as she sits alone in her office, she wants nothing more than to see Hotguy stroll through her door with that stupidly handsome grin and greet her. After knowing him for so long, she can practically picture it too. The way he’d saunter through the doorway, lips curling in such a jovial and charming smile. She’d give it a tossup on whether or not he’s dressed in his hero suit or casual clothes. But regardless, he’d look at her with that smile, the forest green of his eyes shimmering as he calls out “Good morning Ari!~” as he so loves to do.
Grian sighs, leaning back in her chair as she forces herself to look away from the door. When did everything get so boring without Hotguy around?
She feels like her entire life has been in upheaval ever since Hotguy started working as her personal bodyguard. She’s settled into some kind of routine with him, one that she’s unknowingly come to treasure and hold close. Where she once used to dread being around him, needed to be guarded to protect herself, now there’s something else. A warm, fluttery feeling. One that’s soft and unfamiliar, burrowing into her chest and making a home there. It only ever appears when Hotguy is around, or she’s thinking about him, annoyingly.
But the startling point, is that something in Grian feels whole with Hotguy. It’s like he fills a gap, he slots neatly into a missing piece of her life that she never knew was missing. He’s a pop of color, a spread of paint on an otherwise gray canvas that makes up Grian.
And well, she likes it when Hotguy is around. She really, really does. So it’s only natural that when Mumbo told her Hotguy wouldn’t be coming in because of a sudden schedule change, Grian was… disappointed.
She's been sitting in this chair for at least a few hours now, mind feeling oddly numb, unfocused. She’s attempted to answer a few emails, to compile inspiration photos for new stage outfits, she’s even tried reviewing the sample mp3 files Joel sent her. Grian did do it all, but it’s taken her far longer than she anticipated.
…maybe because her eyes keep shifting to the now washed and cleaned Hotguy hoodie folded on her desk.
It’s a constant break in her concentration.
And perhaps, it’s making her feel a bit lonely.
Grian groans, laying her head down on her desk. She’s usually so good at ignoring these kinds of feelings, the aches of loneliness. Growing up, it was something she dealt with constantly. Making friends, forging connections, those were things she was never great at. It’s why her friend group in high school consisted of her siblings, Scott, BigB, and Mumbo. And when she wasn’t with them, there was a pit in her stomach, a hole in her chest. The cold, aching claws of loneliness would settle around her, leaving her to yearn for some kind of companionship to help lessen it.
The ache would go away when she was surrounded by the people she cared about. But it always came back when she was alone again. Growing up, the feelings were never intense, they didn’t linger often. They were certainly there, and Grian found that her siblings helped lessen it greatly. She was always bothering them, seeking out their company. Sometimes, Grian thought Pearl and Jimmy secretly knew what she was up to, what she was looking for. They were always ready with snacks and a movie.
The loneliness only grew worse, more intense, during the years of her contract with One and Watcher Records. Those couple of years saw Grian constantly overworking herself, going home to an empty apartment with no family around. Pearl and Jimmy were busy leading their own adult lives, with partners. The few times she had reached out, they were busy with a date night, or something for work. She and Mumbo had grown distant, and for a little while things between her and BigB were kind of awkward. Grian had no one except her label.
Those years saw her curled up in a ball under the blankets, either staring blankly at the wall or sobbing until her eyes ran out of tears. There was some faux comfort to be found in her producer and the few people she worked with, if you can even say that of manipulative, apathetic individuals.
Maybe that’s what made her so hesitant to tell anyone what was happening.
These were people she saw every day, company to quell the terrible ache that constantly persisted. One shattered everything Grian knew about herself, dismantled her confidence, ruined her self image, but at least he was someone she routinely saw. She hardly got to see her family, her friends. Her connection with One, however abusive it was, was a connection that she clung to. Back then, Grian had been terrified to lose it. Because being alone would ruin her then. Then, she’d have no one. Watcher Records simultaneously lessened the loneliness and accentuated it all at once.
Grian’s apartment grew colder and colder, while the shadows that haunted her wrapped around her throat until she couldn’t breathe. And suddenly, being forced to work late was a blessing (until she was left alone in the studio).
She could only withstand it for so long before she inevitably broke. She had been so terrified of isolation despite already living in it, and when Mumbo finally pried the truth out of her, the floodgates flew open and Grian let years worth of loneliness spill from her lungs. Mumbo had held her so tightly as she cried, and cried, and Grian clung to him like he was going to be taken away if she loosened her grip.
It took a long, long while for her to feel fuller, whole again (and even then, she doesn’t feel complete). For a while she was temperamental, struggling with asking for help, for someone to keep her company so she didn’t spiral. The loneliness that Watcher Records brought her, forced upon her shoulders, had only sunken in deep, digging into her brain and heart with fierce claws that refused to dislodge. Grian doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to fully remove them, even now she can feel the pinpricks. But over time, those sharp, stabbing claws have dulled.
Some days she forgets they’re even there. And others…
Days like these, days where her routine is thrown off, when there’s a lack of someone at her side, she feels the edges of loneliness’ claws stabbing her. She supposes it helps knowing that her best friend is just a few rooms away, that she’s not truly alone.
But without Hotguy… the day just doesn’t feel right.
Laying her head on its side in her arms, Grian stares out the window. “So bored…” she mumbles. She’s been oddly miserable all morning, and no she’s not going to blame it on Hotguy’s absence. If she does, then she’ll have to examine that further, and she wants to avoid it.
Thankfully, the sound of the door swinging open saves her from having to think about that further. Instead, Grian’s head shoots up, eyes darting to the door. A sudden rush of hope expands in her chest, rising like a balloon in the sky, and Grian has never wanted to see orange and teal so badly in her life. It’s happened before! Hotguy had unexpectedly come in, or came back after leaving early, leaving Grian with this sort of elation. Excitement. A hesitant smile spreads on her face, brown eyes absolutely shining as someone walks in.
Only… her shoulders sag lightly, the smile on her face falls. It’s not Hotguy.
“Geez, Gri, you could at least look a little excited to see me,” Impulse says, walking over to her desk.
Immediately does Grian grimace. “Sorry, sorry. I’m always happy to see you, Impulse,” she apologizes, and the man offers her a teasing smile.
“I’m only messing with you,” he assures. “Besides, I know you were hoping it’d be a certain someone coming in.” He winks. “Gem mentioned walking past your office and seeing you all mopey without him around.”
Grian’s eyes widen as her cheeks turn bright pink. “I am not moping,” she argues. “I’m just very focused! I can finally concentrate in peace without Hotguy talking my ear off constantly.”
Approaching her, Impulse chuckles and sits on the edge of her desk. “Uh huh… so how much work have you gotten done without Hotguy around?” he inquires, lifting a brow. His tone is light and teasing as he smiles at Grian as she stiffens and curtly looks away. Deciding to spare her, Impulse hands her a folder. “Some papers for you, mostly stuff about upcoming collaborations and the sort.”
“Oh, thank you.” Grian takes the folder, setting it down on her desk. She flips it open to look through some of the papers tucked inside the two folds, particularly curious about the mentioned collaborations. Humming quietly to herself, her eyes scan the pages, taking in the information. “So we’ve got new perfume… some makeup products… clothes…” she hums thoughtfully. Turning the page over, Grian stops at the name she sees. Mouth dropping open, she looks up at Impulse with widening eyes. “Renbob? I’m doing a collaboration with Renbob?”
Impulse grins, “He was pretty pumped to be working with you. Even got in touch with me personally to talk about doing a song.”
Working with Renbob is something Grian has wanted to do for a while. He’s a well known musician in the industry, and a very sought after talent for collaborations. She’s always wanted to write a song with him, and from the brief interactions they’ve had, it’d be an absolute blast. She thought about reaching out a few times to set something up, but their schedules always got in the way. The opportunity just never presented itself. Until now. Instinctively, she glances to the side, words of excitement sitting right on the tip of her tongue.
Except… when she sees the void, the place where someone should be. There’s a distinct presence that’s missing, a space that she’s so used to seeing filled.
Her chest pangs unknowingly, shoulders that were once risen now drop and sink low. Oh. Right. Grian looks away, shaking her head lightly. Get a grip, G. It’s not the end of the world. Turning back to Impulse, she collects herself, pushing the disappointment down. Instead of lingering on the open space next to her, she smiles. “How soon am I working with him, oh Mr. Manager?”
Something flickers in Impulse’s face too quickly for Grian to catch it. It passes and fades as he crosses his arms over his chest, holding his chin. “Probably soon-ish. I don’t think we’ve settled on a start date just yet. Ren’s looking at his schedule,” he answers. And then, he quiets, letting his arms drop. His gaze softens as he looks at Grian, the brown of his eyes gentle, almost parental as he offers her a small smile. “You’ll be able to tell him tomorrow,” Impulse kindly reassures. “The news is all yours to share.”
Grian stiffens at the blanket reading of her and her thoughts. Impulse sees through her easily, of course he does. She grows defensive, shoving the folder shut. “Good to know,” she huffs quietly as she leans back in her chair. “I would hope that he makes up for the absence today.” A frown tugs at her lips, forcing them down.
“I’m sure he will.” Impulse nods in agreement. As his phone buzzes, he pushes himself up from her desk, “Ah, that’d be Tango. I should go see what he wants. Let me know if you need anything, or have any questions about what I just gave you.” He offers her a smile as he starts to walk off toward the door. Yet before he actually goes to exit, he stops.
Grian catches the movement, tilting her head. “What’s up?” she prods.
“Nothing, just…” Impulse shakes his head as he looks back at her. The corners of his lips quirk up as something akin to relief settles into his expression. It’s the sort of look one might have after a long, long time of worrying. And for a moment, Grian is hit with a reminder of how old Impulse is—not in a bad way of course. Sometimes it’s easy to forget. Sometimes she forgets there’s a reason why he can read her. Age comes with experience, after all. “I’m glad you finally warmed up to him, G,” her manager admits, “you’ve seemed a lot happier with him around. He’s good for you.”
Her eyes widen some as Impulse walks out, leaving the singer stunned. Grian is left speechless as his words ring in her head like a persistent bell, and her face feels warm. She stares at the doorway as if he’ll come back and explain himself rather, not that Grian expects him to.
Honestly, she’d prefer if he explained why her heart is beating so erratically in her chest.
The rest of the day passes in a blur, and before Grian knows it, she’s flopping backwards on her mattress. She throws an arm over her eyes as her legs hang off the side, letting out a deep breath.
Today felt… long. Unbearably so. Despite her very quiet hopes, Hotguy hadn’t shown up at all today. Realistically, she knew he wouldn’t. Mumbo had told her that he took the entire day off, there was no reason for Grian to hope she’d see him. Yet she hoped anyway, and was met with disappointment. When did she start looking forward to seeing him so much? Since when did Hotguy’s presence impact her mood so greatly? Before he started working for her, the solitude of her office didn’t bother her nearly as much. And when it did twist her thoughts into something… somber, she’d simply whisk herself away to Mumbo and Impulse until it subsided.
Yet that didn’t even help her today. It didn’t stop her from watching her door, staring at it longingly, hoping to see a flash of orange or teal. It didn't stop her from sitting with her chin in her hands as she gazed off into space. There was a loneliness clinging to her that not even her loved ones could cure. Because for once, her loneliness isn’t just some unidentifiable blob, a mass that encompasses her and permeates the air around her. No, this loneliness is from a person. A person that Grian… really wanted to see today.
Because yes, as much as she hates to admit it… she was a bit mopey today. She misses Hotguy. In fact, she misses him a lot. And not seeing him today leaves her a little upset.
But just like Impulse said, she’ll see him tomorrow. It’s not the end of the world (so why does it feel like it is?).
“You’ve seemed a lot happier with him around. He’s good for you.”
Impulse’s words haven’t stopped ringing in her ears. They’ve circled her thoughts all day, and Grian truly has to wonder.
“Have I really become… happier?” Her voice is no more than a whisper, a murmured wonder as she considers it. It’s a soft contemplation as she turns the thought over and over in her mind. Has Hotguy made her happier? Is she happy when they’re together?
The only answer she receives is the silence of her bedroom. The darkness of night, the traffic outside. There is no one here to answer her, only herself. That difficult drum of her heart is back as she considers it more and more. The thought is overwhelming, and scary, because—no. No, no, no, no. She has to stop that train. She has to. It’s not going to lead her anywhere good. She can’t, she can’t.
What does it matter if Hotguy makes her happy? If his smile sends flurries right through her chest and down to her stomach? If his arms are a place Grian would like to curl up in forever? If his laugh is greater than any song she’s ever made? If his softness, his kindness, is something she doesn’t know how to accept, but god does she want to keep it? What does it matter? It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.
“Stop,” she tells herself firmly. “You’re not thinking about it—about him.”
She's not thinking about how excited she is at the thought of seeing him tomorrow. Instead, she’s grabbing her phone, and distracting herself from her thoughts. She opens Twitter (doomscroll central), and is greeted by cat videos. The perfect thing to take her mind off of her Hotguy-shaped problem. She rolls onto her side, scrolls past anything that isn’t a cat video. Ones of cats playing, snuggling, purring, anything to soothe her. Grian has no idea how much time passes, but she watches a video of a cat trying to climb the counter in someone’s kitchen and failing horribly at it.
Points for trying, at least.
When the video finishes, Grian scrolls down to the next post which happens to be a link to an article. She pauses at the sight of it, almost going to scroll past, when she sees a name. Hotguy’s name. Grian hesitates.
‘Illegal Advanced Tech Market Busted by Hotguy.’
Grian’s eyes widen at the article name, reading it over a few times. Is this why he wasn’t able to come in today? She stares, fully knowing that this is the exact opposite of not thinking about him. But the title has her, well, curious. Worried. Biting the inside of her cheek, before giving herself the chance to reconsider, she clicks the link. Heart thrumming in her chest, right against her ribs, Grian reads through the article quickly, as if waiting for some bad news to greet her within the words.
However, she doesn’t find anything of the sort, nothing more than a summary of the events that transpired during the day. Apparently Hotguy had stormed a warehouse that was housing illegal technology for dealings. He managed to catch just about everyone who had been involved, but he didn’t find any clues about how the dealers got their hands on the tech. Some collateral damage was taken by the surrounding area, although that’s kind of standard for Hotguy by now. Any technology was appraised and handed over swiftly to officials that arrived on the scene after Hotguy notified them. Other than that, the article mentions that Hotguy is on the lookout for the source of these weapons and the mastermind behind it all.
There’s an image attached to the article, and of course, front and center is Hotguy. Grian stares at it, eyes tracing every detail of him. He looks like he just got out of a fight, which is par for the course. Some strands of hair are falling out of his ponytail, dirt covers his cheeks and face. There’s some bruises on his arm, and his suit is cut up on the side, showing some skin, where there’s a gash. Still, despite the minor injuries, he’s smiling. Even if he’s hurt, he wears a smile.
Concern spikes in Grian’s heart as she remains on the image, gaze locked onto the hurt covering Hotguy. She can’t help but frown, finding herself wondering if he has anyone to turn to who’ll wrap that wound. Will there be someone to share Hotguy’s burden? To help the hero when he needs help? Will there be someone to tell him to rest, that he deserves it after a battle well fought? Part of her hopes that he does, that when he goes home, when he sheds that mask, there’ll be a friend to press bandages against his side. And the other part wants to be that person. She recalls the time he showed up to choreo practice with a bleeding arm and tried to brush her off? Something tells Grian that maybe there isn’t someone.
It’s a thought that pushes her to open her messages and find Hotguy’s contact. She’s had his number since they started working together, but she’s texted him sparingly. She even muted him at first, back when Hotguy was considered more of an annoyance than anything.
heard about the warehouse. are you okay?
Her finger hovers over the send button, and Grian finds her heart pounding in her chest all over again. She worries her lip between her teeth, and she can’t quite bring herself to press send. Why is she hesitating like this? All she’s doing is checking up on him, nothing more. So why does she feel so… nervous? There’s nothing wrong with texting him, and certainly nothing wrong with making sure he’s okay.
So then why.
Why is she so nervous if it doesn’t mean anything?
Why—
“ The beauty of vulnerability invites love. There’s nothing more special than that.”
If it doesn’t—
“I hold a lot of respect for Ariana… you could say I’m a bit of a fan, but who isn’t? She’s incredible.”
Mean anything?
“ You don’t have to be afraid, not when I’m around. I mean it when I say I want to protect you; I don’t want anything in return. Just your smile.”
But that’s not true, is it? Because it does mean something. Hotguy means something to her. Without her noticing, he became a foundational part of her world, a person she can’t live without. Hotguy is gentle, sweet, and every touch sends butterflies through her. He makes her happy, happier than anyone has ever made her. A part of her heart has carved out space for him, has let him inside, has given him the invitation to hold her. It can’t mean anything, it shouldn’t, because that means Grian is ruined. It means a piece of herself isn’t hers anymore, and she can’t even begin to think about how dangerous that is.
“I… I don’t want to be alone.”
“Then here I’ll stay.”
Because… because…
Grian’s breath hitches. “…I love him.”
In most cases, the realization of love is something beautiful. It’s the moment the metaphorical orchestra kicks in with sweet sounding notes from violins and violas and cellos. Fireworks go off in the air, roses are thrown. To most, being in love is something deeply cherished and held dear. Every girl dreams about the day she falls in love; many believe their own knight in shining armor will come to sweep them off their feet. And in most cases, the realization of love is something to be happy about, to giggle endlessly with dopey smiles. It’s meant to be something pure, something exciting, and so very soft. Love is a good thing.
At least, it should be.
How? How did he do this to her? And how did Grian lower her guard enough it could happen? Somewhere along the way she just… fell for him without even realizing. His charm, his smile, his laugh. He’s become her safety, a sanctuary within fear. He’s shifted her world, her routine. His embrace is a place that Grian so desperately wants to know intimately. He’s what she’s been subconsciously reaching for, yearning for, the missing puzzle to her life. She wants to lose herself in him, and he could very well destroy her.
Hotguy cures her loneliness. But he also worsens it. He leaves her off balance, unsteady. He is a tight rope she’s walking across and he could easily let her fall. Hotguy draws something out of her, something that not even Grian herself knows, and she’s reminded of the bird painting.
He is the human she’s turning to while injured, and even if he has no intention of keeping her from the sky, what if that changes? What if she only leaves worse than before she met him?
Grian never wanted to be in love.
Feeling her throat closing up on her, Grian dials a number she knows by heart. She knows how many times it’ll ring before it’s answered like clockwork.
One.
Two.
Thr“—Gri?”
“Mumbo,” Grian croaks, panic clawing its way up her spine like a vicious beast. She squeezes her eyes shut, curling up. “I’m in love with him. I—I fell in love with him..!”
“Okay, okay, let’s just uhm, let’s take a deep breath, yeah? Slow down here,” Mumbo stumbles over his words slightly, focusing firstly on calming her. Grian tries to follow along with the sounds of his breathing on the other end. “There we go… now uhm, who exactly are you in love with?”
“Hotguy.”
“O-Oh. Oh goodness.” The line falls silent, and Grian can only curl into herself more. “Erm, forgive me for asking, but… isn’t that a good thing? I mean—you’re in love, Gri!”
But he doesn’t get it. Grian frantically shakes her head, even though he can’t see it. “No, no, Mumbo, that isn’t a good thing!” she exclaims. “Do you realize what that means?”
“Uh, not… exactly? I’m gonna be honest, you’re kind of losing me here mate,” Mumbo answers, awkwardly chuckling.
“I can't stop thinking about him and his stupid smile, or--or how much I want to tell him every little thing when he's around. He broke everything down without even trying and he makes me feel so vulnerable,” she mutters, chest aching. “I can’t afford that, not after everything. I’m not soft, and I can barely even love myself right, let alone the people around me.” Her eyes burn, whether it be from tears or the contacts, she doesn’t care to know. “I… I’m gonna hurt him. Or he’s gonna hurt me.”
She barely registers the pained noise on the other end, the sort that can only come from a knife being twisted in someone’s heart. “Grian—”
But she isn’t done yet, because the gates continue to flood. Her eyes are watering, her fingers have found purchase in her hair as she cups her face. Tidal waves are crashing down on her as the storm rages on in her heart, in her head. She's drowning, she’s drowning, she’s drowning. “I don’t—I-I don’t do emotions Mumbo, you know that..! I'm not built for the kind of love that he deserves, I can’t—I can’t be in love with Hotguy,” Grian’s breath hastens, letting herself fall deep into the ocean of pure terror. “I don’t—I can’t—everything is going to change. I’m going to change and that—I hate it. These feelings… Hotguy… they’re going to ruin everything.”
On the other side, Mumbo sits at his desk, and feels his heart break into thousands of tiny pieces. He’s never heard Grian sound so distraught before. Upset, sure. Crying? Of course. But to hear this amount of fear in her voice… all over being in love, Mumbo clenches his fist. It reminds him all too much of that fateful night, when he had decided enough was enough and he was going to get to the bottom of Grian’s isolation. Once more does that protective instinct flare up inside his chest, and Mumbo knows exactly what needs to be done. Once more does he curse that man and his label for hurting his best friend.
"I think everyone is a little afraid of love, in some capacity," he gently points out, wholeheartedly believing it. Love is scary, and change is equally as scary. It's like taking a leap off a cliff while not knowing if water is down below. “I know you have every reason to be afraid, considering the past, but doesn't the fact that you're worried about treating him right speak to your care for him?" Mumbo's brows knit together.
"You're so much kinder than you think you are, Gri, we all see it. You’re loyal, sometimes stubborn about your feelings and a bit of a prank happy pesky bird. But you love so fiercely and warmly, and you take care of the people you love. Any changes that your feelings might bring about... well, who's to say that's necessarily a bad thing?" he considers. "If Hotguy is making you happy, or you're thinking about him more, or going out of your way to spend time with him, or even opening up to him because he cares about you, those all sound like good things in my book! The feelings you have don't have to change or ruin anything you don't want them to, Grian. You don't have to be so afraid of them."
She doesn't see the way Hotguy looks at her, but Mumbo and the others? They all do. They see the way Hotguy looks at Grian with pure, unfiltered adoration and care.
She'll be okay with him. More than okay.
“I don’t know anything else,” Grian quietly admits with another sniffle, and Mumbo feels like something punches him right in the stomach. His heart twists and turns, nothing but an aching pain spreading through him. He hates hearing her like this, how small she sounds, afraid. “I don’t… I-I don’t know what to do, Mumbo. I’ve never…”
In return, he stands from his chair, grabbing a sweatshirt and going over to his shoe rack. “Okay. Okay, uhm. How about this for now?” He glances around his room once his shoes are on. “I’m going to come over, and we can figure it out together over a nice little thing of ice cream.” He pauses just as he grabs his keys. “If—If that’s what you want of course.” Talking about this over the phone just doesn’t sit right with him. And it very much sounds like Grian is in need of a hug.
“…cookie dough?” Grian shakily asks, and Mumbo heaves a silent sigh of relief.
“Cookie dough,” he affirms. “Got it. Uh, I’ll have to drive to the store but I should be there in… twenty minutes, give or take? Do you want me to stay on the line?”
“Please.”
“I’ll grab my headphones then.”