Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A pair of black eyes stared into a pair of green eyes.

The cat didn’t blink once.

Grian couldn’t stop blinking.

It started two weeks ago, and he assumed it would’ve ended two weeks ago.

He had just got home from his shift at the office, shirt untucked and clip-on tie loosely draped over his shoulder; he was in the process of yanking his watch and shoes off at the shoe closet when the inhabitants of his home came meowing at him.

He smiled and crouched down to pet behind their ears and across the expanse of their backs, Pearl flopped over to give access to her belly and Maui rubbed himself against Grian’s shins.

The moment only lasted seconds, however, because as soon as the two remembered what Grian was good for, they began their march parade, stunning vocals and all, leading Grian towards the kitchen.

Grian laughed and followed, setting his office bag down near the wall at the end of the hallway leading from the front door to the rest of the apartment.

It was shortly after giving the two their food, when he went to turn on the kitchen light, that he saw two reflecting lights watching him.

Nearly jumping out of his skin, his brain registered what was looking at him.

A cat was sitting on his window sill, using the railing of the fire escape where his patio door led, to stare bullets at Grian.

“Huh,” Grian started, breaking eye contact and moving to open his patio door, “Hello, cutie-”

The cat followed Grian to the door, so he quickly walked out and shut it behind him, causing his two cats to look up at the sound, before going back to eating.

The cat walked up to him and meowed, rubbing at his legs. Grian grimaced, not wanting the smell of this new cat to freak out his cats. He crouched down to get a better look at the cat, not seeing a collar on her, but she looked healthy and pudgey enough, not fitting the title of stray at all.

“What are you here for, hm? You look like you’ve got a home to get back to…” Grian walked over to the railing of his patio, carefully maneuvering around his sunflower and rose plants, leaning over to see if any of his neighbors left a window or patio door open.

Nothing.

The cat continued to purr at his legs, pawing up at his shin.

He sighed. He knew what she wanted.

Grian softly nudged the cat away with his foot so she wouldn’t come through the door, and walked back inside to his kitchen. He went to a cabinet, checking behind him to make sure his two cats were properly distracted, and sure enough, they were still head deep into their food bowls, Grian fished out one Maui’s old food bowls and dumped the leftover food from Pearl’s food can, then started back to the door, only to find the cat back at the window, staring at him.

He opened the window enough to slide the bowl out, then quickly closed it again as she began to eat. Grian smiled, and went about the rest of his night, happy about his good deed.

That was when it should’ve ended. Was it really Grian’s fault that this cute, pudgy faced cat was constantly hungry, therefore constantly being fed by Grian, or was it her alleged owner’s fault, who kept letting her out?

Now, two weeks later, Grian was quite sick of it.

She stared at him.

Grian frowned.

He couldn’t keep feeding her like this. Not when he knew nothing about the little fluff ball.

Frankly, he had no reason to even believe she had an owner. Despite her stature, she had no collar, no identification… maybe he’d be doing her a favor by…

Grian shook the thought out of his head. He couldn’t take this cat in, he had two cats already, and they were a handful themselves. Grian has probably had a few years taken off of his life with the amount of fur he’s inhaled or eaten.

His home was covered top to bottom with their cat toys and beds, and honestly, they eat better than he does. With a third though? He’s signing his own death warrant. He’d go broke by the end of that month.

Rather than think about that, he shoved the cat bowl only half full of dry cat food out onto the patio, then proceeded to open up his favorite video game, ‘Fishing Simulator’, and pretended not to hear Pearl and Maui meow at the strange cat sitting outside their patio door.

-

“Something on your mind, G?”

Grian had done everything possible to call out of work today. Cub was an immovable force, and Grian felt like a very flimsy, stoppable object.

“What do you mean?” Grian said, snapping to attention, not realizing Skizz had even showed up for his shift as well.

“Well, to start… When was the last time you shaved?”

Grian scoffed, rubbed his beard and moustache. He’d been too preoccupied with a certain fishing game’s leaderboards (and a cat he’s worried he’ll kill by overfeeding) to be worried about his appearance.

“I could say the same to you. We’re both trying something new!” Grian grumbled.

“Wow! Frisky tonight, huh?” Skizz smiled, not taking Grian’s sass, leaning against the front desk.

“I’m just… thinking. There’s this cat that comes to my apartment every night… she’s so cute… but…” Grian spun around in his office chair, deciding to keep Skizz hostage with his whining for a while, “I’m not sure if she’s anyone’s cat, or a stray. It’s killing me, not knowing! All she wants is food, and she’s too cute to shoo away!”

Cub wouldn’t mind. Surely.

Skizz was a bulky man, wearing a torn up and definitely not up-to-code uniform, sleeves torn off and shorts a little too short. His POE– Permit Office Enforcement– badge shined in the light, glinting off the cheap plastic gold.

“Well,” the man started as he leaned against the front desk, rubbing one end of his long mustache, staring at Grian as he did so, “Take her to a vet, G! I’m sure they’ll be able to, at the very least, tell you if she has one of those microchip things. Then, all you haveta do is follow the breadcrumbs! Like a detective-”

He pushed himself off the desk and pretended to use a magnifying glass, looking around the office.

The Department of Hermit Permits, or the Permit Office, as everyone liked to call it, was, in fact, not liked by anyone with half a brain to their name.

They specialized in distributing work permits to the town of Hermitcraft. It was a lousy, barely stapled together building calling themselves a Department of Labor Services.

Very bleak looking, as well, it’s inside no better.

Harsh fluorescent lights that had to be knocked a few times with the handle of a broom to buzz properly, a waiting room that has been off limits due to it’s carpet needing replacement for longer than Grian can remember back to, and a front desk that was only cleaned when the night shift officer remembered, which was usually never.

The only thing in the office that worked how it was supposed to, was the “Please Hold” radio, one Grian was never tired of using on anyone and everyone that walked in with any type of question.

“You don’t think I’ve tried that? She may be chubby, but the girl is fast! She jumps on the roof of my awning, I don’t know how she even gets there, let alone how I’m supposed to get there! I have to catch her first before anything else,” Grian groaned, resting his head in the little arm nest he made for himself.

“I was going to try and bring her to a vet again tonight, but here I am.”

“Maybe the cat distribution system is doing its job!” A new voice drawled.

Grian’s head snapped up to find Joel walking over, fixing his fringe as he meandered over to the counter.

“Oh not again-” Grian asked, slamming his head into his hands as Joel flashed his paper complaints with a toothy grin.

“Get out. We’re closed. It’s Friday,” Grian threw a pen at him. Joel dodged.

“Nope, your sign out front says O-P-N still,” spelling each letter of the fluorescent, broken, sign out, fistbumping Skizz, “Just cause that ‘E’ may be missing- doesn’t mean you can refuse service to a young lad like me.”

Skizz grinned, “That’s my queue, then, G-Sharp, I gotta go start my laps before Cubcub gets on my case! Clock me in, will ya?” Skizz didn’t wait for an answer before fishing his keys and singular earpiece, jabbing it in his ear as he walked out the door, “Joel, you better have your permits up to date!”

Joel stuck out his tongue and Grian saluted him off, pushing the rolling chair over to where all the time cards were haphazardly strewn together in a box, and skimmed through the names, looking for Skizz’s.

“Is it a stray?” Joel made his presence known again, putting the papers he came in with on the counter, a grand display of all the time Grian was going to spend hating his job.

“Mhm-” Grian nodded, lips thin as he squinted, unable to locate Skizz’s name, “At least, I think she is. No collar or anything, but she’s pudgy. She eats plenty.”

“I say take her in. What’s one more cat to the mix gonna do?” Joel leaned over, immediately finding Skizz’s time card, earning a smack to the hand from Grian, causing Joel to drop the time card, snickering.

“Oh the temptation is there, but I’ll be poor.”

“Bah, as if that’s a problem for ‘ya. It’s just you, isn’t it? Sad, all alone Grian,” Joel pretended to sigh, “Do you have a picture of the cat?” He grinned, drumming his fingers on the counter, earning a glare from Grian as he clocked Skizz in for the night.

“What do you want, Joel? I told you- you have to fill out the proper forms if you want to sell-” Grian put up air quotes, rolling his eyes, “‘All things that glow’. We have no clue what that means.”

“Oh, this is a separate issue. I need duplicates of these certificates,” Joel pushed a few of the papers closer to Grian, “And authentication for these ones. The forms you gave me last time are still being worked on, don’t worry.”

Grian’s ears perked up.

“You need… something from the Permit Office?”

Joel straightened.

“Now hold on, last time, you said you had forms for these two issues. I just need you to give me those, don’t-”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Grian sighed, shaking his head, pretending to look at the shelves behind the front desk, “It looks like we’ve run out of those forms for the time being. We apologize for the inconvenience. We’re gonna have to put you on hold for a second.”

Grian pressed a button on the radio, stood and walked to the back, listening to the sweet sounds of Joel’s agony as he took his phone out and pulled up ‘Fishing Simulator’, reveling in the sounds of the hold music echoing through the barren walls of the Permit Office.

-

“A new hero has appeared on the scene! Dressed to the nines… look at those flashy colors!” The news broadcaster spoke.

“I know, right! Experienced, too! He changed the tides of the battle quickly and efficiently, apprehending the villain within seconds! Who do you reckon this guy is, Jim?”

Grian rolled his eyes. A new hero only meant more wreckage to have to climb through in order to get from place to place.

“Well, I’ll tell you now, Martyn, he’s clearly got a presence, and figure, to him-”

The bell hanging over the door of the Permit Office dinged.

Grian looked up.

Shortly after Joel left, face red and spewing promises of vengeance, a new face walked into the Permit Office.

“Well, hello there! This is the Permit Office, right?”

Grian nodded, switching his phone off, “If the sign outside means anything, yes.”

The man beamed, as if the smile etched onto his face was all his facial muscles knew how to contort into.

“I just moved here, and I’m opening up an adoption center in the shopping district! You know the old office space down the street?”

“I’m familiar,” Grian hummed.

“I’m looking to get a permit for an animal shelter there. Maybe a small clinic too. Is that possible?” The man asked, shifting his hat to sit correctly on his head, “Like a miniature zoo.”

Grian looked at the man in full.

He was wearing a zookeeper uniform, hat, gloves and all, showing too much skin to be proper, let alone for the cold night it was outside. He had nice muscle definition, and stood tall, shifting his weight to the other one while he spoke. His skin was littered with scars.

The man was breathing heavily, as if he was up to something arduous prior to walking into the Permit Office. Still, the smile plastered onto his face was blinding.

For the late hour, the man was dressed a little too chipper for Grian’s taste.

He looked up to meet the man’s eyes.

Green.

He grinned something wicked.

“Well, I’m sure that’s something we could do for you. I remember seeing your request in our system,” Grian said, scrolling through the company request records, “Your name, please?”

“Scar. Scar Goodtimes.”

“Alright…” Grian typed in the name, “Well, since you called in early, we should have the form ready for you.”

He looked at Scar. Scar smiled back, cheeks full.

“-Please hold while I get that for you.”

If Grian wasn’t in uniform, he would’ve been cackling at the way the man’s jaw hit the floor as Grian punched the radio button.

“You- There’s holds in real life? I thought that was an ‘over the phone’ only thing!”

Grian looked down at his watch again.

“We close in 5 minutes.”

He walked away, preparing the forms to give to the man.

“Oh gosh- Hurry up! Hurry up!” Scar softly yelled at the radio, sliding down the side of the front desk in despair.

-

A few days had gone by, and without fail, the pudgy grey cat made her appearance at his window. He kept feeding her, against his better judgement, wracking his brain on what to do.

Besides that bit of turmoil, Grian had a new neighbor.

As he walked down his building's hallway, returning home from the grocery store, digging for his keys in his bag as he yawned, his eyes caught on a few boxes sitting on the floor down the hall from his apartment.

Curious, Grian walked over and leaned his head past the doorframe to see the door wide open, boxes littering every inch of the ground, clearly spilling out of the apartment as well.

He knew the apartment had been vacant for a while now, but no one had bought it, so it was surprising to see it so… full of life all of a sudden.

Along with the plethora of boxes everywhere, there was also a surplus of fauna. Little pine trees and potted plants sat on countertops and by the windows, while little train sets and… a wide variety of hats lay scattered all over the place. His eyes lingered on the zookeeper hat laying strewn on the orange couch.

They drifted down to the boxes left outside of the apartment, noticing the cans of cat food sitting in a few of the boxes.

“You! You’re the guy! At the office! The- The-!”

Grian jumped, head nearly hitting the ceiling and groceries threatening to fall as he whirled around to meet the origin of the sound.

Scar, the man from a few days ago, waved his hands around, trying to figure out what abomination of a word to call the guy that left him on hold in person, before giving Scar the most confusing form Grian himself ever had the displeasure of looking at.

Seeing the same man now though, he had a different air around him. More laid back… putting up less of a play. He just… looked like a guy. An upset and disheveled guy, not a tired actor straight off the stage.

Rather than the tacky zookeeper outfit, he was simply wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, hair tousled and tied into a pathetic ponytail at the back of his head. Not too different from Grian’s own lazy outfit of a red jumper, brown pants with the suspenders hanging loose to the sides, and a black beanie to hide his horrendous bed hair, having woken up late into the afternoon.

Grian straightened himself, coughing to hide his smile.

“I’m the guy.”

“I’ll have you know, sir, that the form you gave me is just- it’s simply-... blas-famous!”

Grian blinked at him.

“Blasphemous?”

“That’s what I said,” Scar sneered, still smiling.

“I’m just doing my job. Blame my boss, not me,” Grian shrugged, then nodded inside Scar’s apartment with his head, “Need any help in there? It looks…” He glanced inside again, eyes skimming over the vomit of cardboard all over the place, “Are you just moving all your things in?”

“Ah-” Scar motioned inside, “I call it a ‘box monster’. I’ve been here for a few days actually.”

Grian hummed, “Y’know, I like that name. Seeing the state of my pantry, maybe I should call it a ‘pantry monster’.”

Scar laughed, a squeaky sound, like a water sprayer. His face crinkled, different from his smiles and grins at the Permit Office, where his green eyes were trained on Grian’s own. This time, his eyes were closed, hand brought up to his mouth to hide his teeth as he giggled. Like he was hiding.

Grian, transfixed on the other’s face, sheepishly laughed too.

“Y’know, if you just moved here, there’s this nice diner down the street.” Grian rummaged through this grocery bag, fishing out a cat food can, “Dinner for your cat, and dinner for you. How’s next Saturday sound?”

Curiosity was definitely going to be the death of this cat.

Chapter Text

Grian took the cat in.

It was against everything he stood for, but the thing was simply uncatchable! He’d have more luck getting her into a carrier if she was inside, where access to the roof wasn’t available.

In order to make this as easy as possible, and reduce the amount of work Grian himself would have to do, he enlisted the help of three of his close friends.

Well. One of them came over to help (against his will). The other two just wanted to play Fasmophobia.

Mumbo, Gem and Impulse were Grian’s neighbors, living in apartments on the same floor as him. They were the first people he called to help him get the cat inside, promising a break from his fishing addiction should they help.

Originally, Mumbo was very against the idea, terrified to even go near the cat because of ‘rabies’ and ‘heaven knows what kind of diseases’, so he was assigned to simply hold the carrier while Grian wrestled her inside.

Gem simply thought the whole thing was stupid. She came over to just watch. Impulse wanted to help… and play Fasmophobia.

“This is overkill, you guys.” Gem guffawed at Mumbo’s tense state, hunched over behind the patio door with a death grip on the handle of the carrier, knuckles white.

She threw a potato chip at him from where she sat on the couch, next to Impulse, who turned the TV on before switching from cable to HDMI.

“Oh- wait!” Gem said, “They’re covering the fight on MiniGame Street!”

“The one by Potshot?”

Gem nodded, “And the diner,” as Impulse passed the remote over, switching back to the cable screen. “I think Pearl said she’s been brought on to report on the new hero.” She turned the volume up.

“Grian!” Mumbo yelled through the glass of the patio door.

A muffled, “What?” came from the other side, where Grian looked over at Mumbo.

He was draped over the patio railing, waiting for the cat of the hour to show her face.

“Is she here yet? No, right?” Mumbo shouted.

Grian ignored him.

“Oh- oh! Look, she’s coming! Get ready!” He whisper-shouted at Mumbo.

“I jinxed it, of course I jinxed it,” Mumbo muttered as he opened the door and used it as a shield, standing behind it and readying the cat treats.

Grian got into position, crouching down, making baby noises as he motioned for her to come to him.

Much to both men’s surprise, she ignored both of them, and simply walked in through the door.

Gem cackled.

Grian rubbed the back of his neck, walking in through the door as well, patting Mumbo on the back, causing the man to nearly fall forward.

“Ha! Look at that Mumbo!”

Mumbo scowled at him.

“You’re both idiots.” Gem said, picking the cat up and side-stepping Mumbo to set her in the carrier. Within seconds, the cat jumped out of Gem’s arms and began wandering the apartment, meowing the kitchen door once, causing Pearl and Maui to meow back, confused, then continued to sniff through the apartment.

“Well.” Gem laughed, leaning her weight to one leg, hand on the other hip.

Grian groaned, throwing his head back and dragging his hands down his face.

Mumbo snickered, closing the patio door. “You’re way in over your head.”

Grian looked over to the side, watching the cat as she sauntered over to the TV, then pawed at it as a hero, clad in blue and orange, spoke into a microphone.

“-go by Hawkeye!”

The hero moved away from the microphone for a second to flex his muscles.

The reporter glanced between the cameraman and the hero.

“...Hot Guy?”

The hero grinned, unable to properly hear with all the commotion around him.

“Yup!”

–

Cleo was an expert at all things cats.

Owning a cat cafe, they were a small business owner and a cat vet all in one. Otherwise known as Grian’s saving grace. Cleo agreed to help, with the promise of being able to see Maui and Pearl.

“She seems to be all good. Healthy and able,” Cleo stated, watching as the cat walked into the kitchen and meowed at Grian.

“What about chipped?” Grian asked, arms crossed, ignoring the meowing and looking at Cleo instead.

Pearl and Maui were with Mumbo for the day– Wednesday, Mumbo’s off-day– while Cleo came over to check on the new cat, much to Mumbo’s happiness. Sometimes, Grian thought that Mumbo liked his cats more than him.

He was probably right.

“There’s no good way to check for that here. I felt around her shoulders to see if I could feel one… but she’s got too much fluff for that to be a reliable method.” Cleo walked up to her and crouched, petting her as she purred against their shins.

“Hm… can I get your opinion then? Should I try bringing her to a vet or something?”

Cleo shrugged, fully sitting down on the yellowing tile of Grian’s kitchen and letting the cat sit on her lap, “Whatever you think. If you can get her to a vet, all praise to you. If not… see how she does with Maui and Pearl I suppose.”

Grian bit his lip, but nodded nonetheless. It seemed like a sound plan.

“Now, give her a proper name! I can’t keep calling her ‘the cat’,” Cleo bemused.

Grian looked at the cat.

“How about… Jello? She’s kind of…” Grian crouched by Cleo, nudging their shoulder as he sat down, “Jello like.”

Grian patted the cat’s belly, and watched as she purred, her tummy bouncing with each pat.

Cleo laughed.

“Jello it is.”

–

“Hungry Hermits, huh?”

Scar got out of the taxi first, looking up at the sign as Grian tipped the driver.

“You guys are real creative with your names in Hermitcraft,” Scar laughed, eyes trained on Grian as he walked over.

Grian smiled at him.

Finally deciding to shave the stupid mustache and beard off, he felt like a fresh man. Clad in his red jumper and black dress pants… he still felt underdressed compared to Scar.

He was wearing a white shirt with a dark brown tie felt undone around his neck, under a sleek brown jacket, brown fingerless gloves and brown slacks. And green eyes.

“Hey, it’s the best diner in town. I know the owner personally, he’s very talented.”

“He’s a chef here?” Scar asked, following Grian as he held the door open.

“No, he’s a terrible cook. He built the place.”

“Wuh- Built? Like, alone?”

Grian nodded.

“A table for two, please.”

As they got seated, following the host, Grian took note of Scar’s body language and expressions. He was looking around, his eyes catching certain things around the place– like their moss-like tablecloths.

As they sat down, Scar noticed Grian’s eyes on him.

“What, do I have something on my face?”

He smiled, toothy, yet small. He picked his glass that the host set down along with the menus, looking at his reflection through it.

Grian hummed, watching him mess with the glass and grinning, “Ehhh… something like that.”

Scar took a sip.

“Can I get you guys something to drink while you look through the menus?”

“Hey Pearl, let me get-”

Grian startled as Scar started coughing, choking on his water, hitting his chest as he keeled over.

“Wh- Why are- You-” He continued to cough, looking up at Pearl.

Grian and Pearl glanced at each other. Pearl looked just as shocked as Grian.

“Uh- Scar, you okay?” Grian asked, handing a napkin over.

His coughing became slightly less erratic as he grabbed the napkin, coughing into his elbow.

“You- You’re a reporter aren’t you?” He settled on.

Pearl laughed, the tension easing out of her shoulders as she seemed to understand the situation.

“Ahh, you recognize me from TV! No wonder, I’ve never been recognized with such a reaction!” She winked, tapping her notepad with her pen, “I am a reporter! I work on commission though, so this is just a side gig to make ends meet.”

“Ah… I see-” Scar smiled at her, dabbing the napkin over his mouth.

Grian watched. He was hiding his smile; it looked strained. Not much, but there was definitely a difference from his expression earlier versus now.

Almost as if he had just got on stage, and needed to smile big enough to reach the audience in the far end of the theatre as well.

“A woman of many talents! Well then-” He coughed once more, “I’m new here, so… what do you think…-” Scar blinked at Grian.

Ah.

Grian never told Scar his name, did he?

“Hm… Hungry Hermit’s has some very nice bottled water. Can I get some ice along with it? That’s all.”

“I’ll get the same then.” Scar smiled up at Pearl again, same theatrical grin as before, handing her the drink menu, and his glass.

“Welcome to the town then, Scar! It'll be 1 minute!” She took the drink menu and both their glasses, walked into the back, out of view, shouting, “Etho, two bottled waters!”

A muffled shout came in response.

Grian looked back at Scar to find him staring at him.

“Is there something on my face now?” Grian laughed.

“Your name! You never told me what it is!” Scar jabbed a finger at him, smirking.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“What?” Scar guffawed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, “Why not?”

“When the time’s right, I’ll tell you,” Grian gestured at the restaurant, “These are not the perfect conditions to reveal something as important as my name. We are here to feast, not reveal identities.”

“I told you my name at the Permit Office!” Scar exclaimed.

“Well-” Grian thanked Pearl as she handed them their water, “You should’ve been more careful.”

—

Grian was never particularly fond of heroes.

That’s to say, he didn’t care for villains either.

It felt rather silly in his opinion, the whole idea of either. Rather than be a common thief or a robber to steal, they have to play it up and make a scene out of the whole thing, arguably the opposite of what a thief would do.

Then there were the heroes. Those that made it their personal missions to become the saviors of society, to be the yin to the yang that were villains.

This wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the inconvenience of it all. Having to avoid certain streets due to fights and brawls, buildings and roads torn apart in the aftermath of a battle, the stampedes of people clouding around an area in an attempt to simply get a glance at a super figure, be it hero or villain.

This new hero wasn’t making anything better.

While his success rate in apprehending villains was high, his damage rate was doing enough to completely offset any feats he was pulling off in favor of society.

Speaking of, there was a brawl right by the Permit Office yesterday, the day after Grian’s… outing… with Scar, the hero leaving the street looking like swiss cheese.

Grian grumbled as he weaved through police tape and fresh new potholes all over the place, shrugging his bag snug on his shoulder as he squinted at the ground, using his phone flashlight, the broken street lights poorly illuminating the ground below him. The smell of smog and smoke from lit trees hung in the air like a wet blanket left out to dry.

It was late at night on a Friday, and he had just closed up the Permit Office for the night, telling Joel off as he just barely missed their closing times. There was one last task to check on: making sure a man named Jevin hadn’t gone and rioted against the PO in his storefront again.

To Grian’s displeasure, his shop was right in front of the latest battle.

On a warm, autumn night like this, he would’ve been home already, in his lovely little apartment sat snug in the middle of 221G Baker Street, and he and Gem would’ve been playing Fishing Simulator till the sun came up, fueling each others’ addiction to the game.

Rather, he was not only forced to take the long route home, but also trek through the spilled guts of the shopping district.

“Citizen!”

“Gah!” Grian jumped, taking his bag off and throwing it at the sound.

Holding his phone in a death grip and jumping back, he didn’t notice a stray piece of rubble and tripped.

“Woah-”

Grian screwed his eyes shut, only opening them when he didn’t feel the back of his head spill red on the concrete below him.

He opened them, seeing a fuzzy blue and orange. His glasses had been knocked off, so he saw blobs of color shift in front of him. He prayed this wasn’t who he thought it was.

Hotguy was a man easily engraved into people’s minds. The black spandex laced with the iconic blue and orange along with the man’s figure made him perfect fangirl material. He wasn’t surprised that the “Hotguy holiday calendars” lasted in stores for about 2 minutes before they were all sold out.

Mumbo was the only reason he knew that fact, boasting about his “Hotguy holiday calendar” while doing so.

The man had grabbed his arm, leaned forward, preventing Grian from falling backward.

A second passed. It felt long.

He was set upright, and Grian watched as the man blew the dust off what he could only assume were his lost glasses. Once Grian caught his breath, his vision returned to him as the stranger set the glasses back on his face.

Inches away from his face, slightly bent down and grinning a smile worthy of being punched off a weaker man’s face, was the very man he was walking around loathing minutes prior.

“You- Hot Guy!” Grian yanked his arm out of his hold, fixing the glasses on his face. His phone fell out of his hold, clattering on the ground below.

The phone flashlight now useless, the dim, flickering, lighting made it hard to see anything properly. But Grian could swear that he saw the man in front of him shift a shade red as he took a few steps back. His smile flickered as well.

“Wh- Well, I know I’ve always been a hot guy, but-”

Grian kneeled to grab his phone, shining it into the man’s face, ignoring whatever he was babbling about.

“You scared the living daylights out of me! What kind of ‘hero’ does that?” Grian exclaimed, grabbing his bag where it landed near the hero’s foot.

The hero crouched down too, about to grab the bag, but when Grian looked up to scowl at him, the hero wasn’t looking at him anymore. Rather, he seemed to be looking down at his chest. Grian glanced down too.

His steel-plated name tag shined in the shoddy, flickering streetlight above them before it dangerously dimmed.

“Grian?”

He scoffed.

“You can read.”

The hero blinked at him. Grian stared back.

His eyes were covered by an ugly orange and blue visor..

The hero smiled, then laughed and Grian would swear that he didn’t feel himself getting red.

His smile was warm, small, yet toothy and childish. His laugh was quiet and squeaky. As if it was only meant for his eyes to see and ears to hear.

He knew what the man looked like on television, all smiles and pearly whites. Loud boisterous laughter that would make even the most frightened child look up and laugh along. The media was this hero’s stage, and he played the part of the main character with ease.

Right now? He looked like a sheepish guy who was found stealing cookies out of a cookie jar.

“Y’know, this is a first for me. Usually people love heroes,” The hero stood while Grian gawked at him, “Birds, huh?”

Hotguy ran his hand over the embroidered birds on Grian’s bag. Grian stood.

“Well, I’m not most people.” He stated, taking the bag back, and setting it on his shoulder. “And yes, birds.”

Hotguy coughed. Grian watched him.

“...like a hawk-” Hotguy muttered before slipping into his stupid hero charade, “Fear not, citizen! I am here to protect you! Feats of grandeur are what I excel at!”

Hotguy flexed his muscles, wiggling his eyebrows at Grian.

Grian looked around.

“From what?” He tilted his head innocently.

Hotguy deflated, posture shrimping, “I just came down here to tell you to be careful.” He sighed, pointing up to the roof of a building. Grian followed his finger to the top of the Permit Office down the street. He looked at Hotguy skeptically.

“This area hasn’t been cleared by the police yet.” Hotguy put both hands up, showing his palms as he grinned, full. The streetlight lit up bright for a second.

Grian scowled again. “I had to come this way for work. It’s pesky, hero, having to struggle through this maze of debris caused by you-” Grian jabbed a finger at him, “-Hotguy, in order to do my job.”

Hotguy paused again.

“...Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What, your name? As stupid as it is…” Grian muttered, “ It’s Hotguy, isn’t it?”

“It’s… it’s Hawkeye!” He exclaimed, hand hiding his face, the spotlight above them flickering again. “I mean- I mean you can call me whatever you’d like but-”

Grian smirked, before tapping on his phone, then walked closer to the hero, pointing to the article he pulled up on the hero ‘Hotguy’, with a massive poster of the man standing right next to him plastered as the main image of the article.

“Hotguy.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Grian watched the hero’s jaw snap shut.

“Oh.”

The bulb above them finally turned on completely.

Chapter Text

Scar had quickly become a familiar face Grian saw everywhere.

Often at the Permit Office, often at the grocery store, often at home.

At the apartment complex, at least.

Scar had settled in nicely by himself, but Grian tried his best to insert himself into Scar’s life wherever he could.

“Want to go on a grocery run with me?” He’d ask if he saw Scar ready for a restock run.

“Let’s bust some Permitless Hermits,” He’d joke when Scar scored a job at the PO after his ‘Scarfari’ animal shelter took off.

“Here’s an extra can of cat food for your cat, Scar,” He’d offer when he found himself with a can of food Pearl and Maui didn’t like.

He wasn’t really sure when the ‘crush’ began. Maybe it was that first time he saw Scar smile. Maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe it was Scar’s personality. Maybe it was the way he misspoke words sometimes. Maybe it was the way his hair would never properly lay flat down in the back because of the ponytail it was in. Maybe it was how he was prone to causing mischief and mayhem wherever he was, enough to rival Grian’s own abilities. Maybe it was his eyes.

Maybe it wasn’t.

But it was clear that Scar didn’t feel the same way back.

A duo grocery run would be sidestepped with a “Some other time, Birdie!”

A job well done would be met with, “Clock me out, Birdie, I gotta go!”

An extra cat can was the only thing met with gratitude, “Thank you, Birdie, she loves this flavor.”

Where Scar got that stupid nickname from, heaven only knew.

Grian knew Scar knew his name. He wore it on his nametag to work, he knew he’s heard Skizz or Mumbo, or Gem, or Joel, or Pearl, or anyone in Grian’s life at the moment. He chose that name one day and hasn’t dropped it since.

At some point, Grian stopped letting it bother him.

At the same point, he decided to just let his heart live with the little puppy crush and go on with his life. There was really nothing he could do anyways; he really enjoyed having Scar as a friend. He’d be an idiot to go and ruin that with something as stupid as this.

So he let himself indulge by letting Scar run loose with the stupid nickname.

—

“Maybe you’re just coming off as a creep.”

Mumbo said, licking the dough batter off of a whisk, caked with raw cookie dough batter.

“Maybe you are terrible at giving advice.” Grian said, shooting him a glare, the effect dampened due to the pink oven mitts and “The Grillfather” apron he had tied around his waist.

Mumbo laughed. “Never said I was any good at it, mate.”

Mumbo had become Grian’s emotional support pillow when it came to all things Scar. It had started with one phone call at work, Mumbo asking Grian if he needed him to pick up eggs on the way home, to which he got both an answer, yes please, and a long complaint about how Scar had blown him off for a trip together to the park.

Mumbo had listened, through his car ride to the store, in the store, and his car ride back home, before a total of 3 hours had elapsed, and Mumbo had to hang up to watch Hotguy live on the news fighting a villain.

Ever since, Mumbo was the first to know about any Scar-trouble, even if he was useless at giving advice.

“Listen, I think you need to be more direct with him. You said he’s a cat guy, right? Invite him over to your place. It’s like a cat haven in here.”

Mumbo bent down to pet Maui, who had been loyally sitting in the kitchen as company (otherwise known as surveying for any stray bits of dough that fell on the floor).

“You might put Cleo out of business at this rate.”

Grian groaned, sliding the cookies into the oven and fiddling with the oven settings.

“You don’t think I’ve tried? There’s always something that comes up for him, he’s just… a really busy guy.”

Mumbo hummed, leaning back to fully sitting on the floor, stretching to the side as Maui began to climb up him to try and sniff at the whisk. “Have you tried backing him into a corner? Like, give him something that would be outright rude to turn down. Like… like say it’s your birthday party and you have no friends so Scar has to come over.”

Grian sat on the ground next to him, blowing at his fringe and pulling the oven mitts off.

“I think that is a very stupid idea.”

“You are a very stupid man.” Mumbo pinched at Grian’s cheek. Grian swatted his hand away, laughing.

“For being friends with an idiot like you? Oh, Mumbo, I’ve known for a while.”

Grian screeched as a wad of cookie dough was flung at his face.

—

Saturday nights were arguably his favorite time to be alive.

Sat on his couch with chips and soda sat next to him, half of the cookies he and Mumbo made earlier in the night sitting out to cool, the other half in their tummies and at Mumbo’s apartment, he was ready for a long, long night.

The clock ticked further and further into an ungodly hour of the night, and Grian sat staring at entertainment better than what any club or bar would give him.

Fishing Simulator.

Unfortunately, Gem couldn’t join him tonight, saying she had to stay late at her lab for some reason or the other. So, it was a solo session.

…At least, partially.

Ever since he had fully accepted Jello his life a week prior, they both had a mutual agreement that she would be an indoor/outdoor cat.

Having been a stray prior to Grian, she was more than happy to be out and explore. She was friendly too, Maui and Pearl getting used to her much faster than the two did with one another.

Usually on late nights like this, Jello wouldn’t be home. She’d be out somewhere, but would be back by the time Grian woke up, ready to join the choir of hungry cats begging for food.

However, at the moment, she was at home, screaming at the door.

The front door.

She had only seen out the front door when Grian would leave for work, never really interested in what was happening in the yellow hallways of Grian’s apartment building. Tonight, however, there was only one thing in the universe she wanted, and that was to go outside into that hallway.

“Jello, please,” He groaned, shaking the treat bag that was sat on the coffee table for what seemed like the millionth time. Nothing was working, but trying was better than just letting her cry.

To help drown out her incessant meowing to be let into the hallway, he had his phone on listening to the news: apparently there was a late night break-in that Hotguy- Hawkeye, was intercepting.

He kind of felt bad for the guy, seeing as the clock had now officially hit 4 in the morning. The whole ordeal had taken place an hour prior, but the news stations were still talking about it even now.

Hotguy seemed to prefer daytime crime busting over late nights, as this was the first time he was seen out since his ‘debut’.

“Do you think he might turn to a life of late night crime fighting, Jim?”

“It’d make documenting his heroism a whole lot harder, that’s for sure Martyn! We know he enjoys the limelight; I’m guessing this was a one time ordeal.”

The broadcasters spoke back and forth. Grian quietly whooped as he caught a new sized fish. Jello scratched at the door.

“With more and more heroes retiring, I suppose there was no late night hero to fill in this time. Good thing we have our Hotguy, am I right?”

Grian rolled his eyes, remembering what the hero had meant his name to be. He was lucky he fit the name he ended up with anyway.

Grian frowned as Jello came and sat right in front of the TV.

She yowled at him, startling Pearl, who was sleeping next to Grian by his thigh.

Grian took his glasses and set them on the top of his head, rubbing his nose bridge. Pearl jumped away, angrily meowing as Jello stared at him.

A pair of black eyes stared at a pair of green eyes.

“Fine. 2 minutes, Jello, that’s it.” Grian scolded, getting up while pausing his game, nearly tripping over Jello as she practically teleported to the front door.

He grabbed Maui’s leash– the one he used to walk him around the apartment complex sometimes– and loosened it a little to wriggle on Jello. It took him a second, as Jello would not sit still, still yowling at the door.

After successfully wrestling it onto her, he opened the door.

She sat there.

Grian tugged on the leash a little.

Jello didn’t move.

“You’ve got to be kidding me-” Grian pulled the leash a little harder, crouching to give her his hand to smell, “Now what?”

Suddenly she perked up, ears visibly standing up straight, then promptly bolted out the door.

She ran down the hallway, dragging Grian behind her.

Grian yelped, door slamming shut on its own without Grian’s weight holding it open. He clutched the top of his head where his glasses still sat, before Jello stopped right at the end of the hallway, where the elevator dinged, indicating it was about to open and let someone out.

Grian slowed to a stop, softly panting as he looked up to see who was still using the elevator at this hour.

Hotguy stared at him. Grian stared at Hotguy.

“Wh- What are you doing here?” Grian whisper-shouted, pointing a finger at him.

Hotguy looked down, and his jaw dropped.

Grian looked down too, seeing Jello licking her paw, none the wiser.

“Hello?” Grian waved at him, watching the blob tear his head back to Grian.

“I- I am-” He stuttered, “Here on patrol! Yes!” He smacked his hand into his palm, as if he just came up with the idea.

“What-” Grian rolled his eyes, putting his glasses back onto his face. When Hotguy became clearer in his view, he did not look good.

Groomed, anyways. He was still as chipper as ever.

“What happened to you?” Grian opted to ask instead, looking him up and down.

A few open cuts had ripped open small bits of the spandex he was wearing, but no wounds that looked like they were anything more than an inconvenience. His hair was tousled, and there were scratches spanning the length of his silly visor. The funniest part, in Grian’s opinion, was the Hotguy letterman jacket he had on, hood and all.

Something about the man wearing his own merchandise made him feel a lot less like a powerful figure and more of an egotistic middle schooler.

The hero, Hotguy, was a lot more flimsy when he was caught outside of his usual spot on stage, the limelight gone and the actor’s excessive makeup much clearer in close proximity.

“... It’s been a long day,” Hotguy smirked, rubbing the back of his neck, “Is that… Whose cat is that?” He asked, pointing right back, down at Jello.

Hotguy walked over, and Jello immediately went over to him, purring. He crouched, petting her.

“Of course she likes you more than me,” Grian muttered, slightly peeved she likes Hotguy more than him, crouching by the elevator alongside Hotguy, “She’s my cat, duh. I wouldn’t be walking her otherwise.”

He looked up at Grian, smirk still in place.

“Oh, is she?”

Grian blinked at him. Smiling eyes watched back behind the blue and orange visor.

“Don’t believe me, Hotguy?” Grian sneered, smiling.

Hotguy hummed.

“Oh, of course I do. I suppose she just looks really similar to… my cat,” Hotguy settled.

Grian frowned. The name didn’t seem to make the man turn into a tomato anymore.

“I suppose all handsome men are cat owners then.”

Hotguy laughed, bringing his hand up to his face.

Grian watched. Maybe his sleep deprivation had taken the wheel, or all his advances with Scar had made him a much braver man.

He reached out, and gently pulled the man’s hand down.

“Honestly, do you think your smile is solid gold or something? It won’t blind me.” Grian glanced away, grinning.

The man flushed a shade of pink kind of similar to the color of Jello’s nose. Grian glanced between the two of them.

It was Hotguy’s turn to owlishly blink at Grian, and after a second, he wore a raw smile laced with confusion and asked, “...Was that an insult or a compliment?”

Grian scoffed.

“There it is,” Grian smiled at the man, “You’re a poor actor, Hot- Hawkeye. I think you’re much softer than you think you are.”

A beat passed between the two of them, but Hotguy keeled over, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he laughed.

It was the water sprayer one, squeaky and quiet.

“No- go back! Call me Hotguy! Come after my acting all you want, not my ego too!”

Grian smacked the man’s arm, grinning ear to ear.

–

Grian invited Hotguy into his apartment.

Now, he didn’t do it because he wanted to. He was more than content leaving the hero to do whatever he came here to do, but Jello was having none of it. Glued to the man’s leg, Grian had no choice but to ask Hotguy if he wanted to freshen up before he headed out again.

To his surprise, Hotguy was more than happy.

Hotguy shed off the torn parts of his spandex– AKA the top, and Grian was not going to let the man walk around shirtless, so he gave him an old long brown coat he had worn with a chicken costume some Halloweens ago and a ‘Mumbo for Mayor’ shirt Mumbo had left at his apartment from a stupid inside joke his friend group took a little too far.

The Hotguy letterman jacket was left discarded on Grian’s bathroom counter, the sides of the jacket noticeably too short to properly cover the man’s abs.

Figures.

Grian eyed him up and down once Hotguy left the bathroom for the second time, and bit back a laugh as he saw the man wearing Mumbo’s face on his chest.

Oh, how badly he wanted to take a picture to show Mumbo himself. It might just make the man faint on the spot.

Hotguy joined him on the couch, pulling at the shoulders of the clearly-too-small jacket, “What? What’s so funny?”

Grian responded by handing him a controller; a distraction for both of them from the absurd situation.

“What is the point of this?” Hotguy asked, taking the orange controller from Grian and turning it around to look at it under the blue light of the TV.

Grian scoffed. As if the man had never heard of the concept of video games.

“Fish.”

“Yeah… but… why?” Hotguy leaned back into the couch, smiling as Jello hopped up into his lap.

Grian watched them both, “Well… I want to fish.”

He shrugged, reaching into his, now stale, chip bowl and dropping the crumbs into his mouth, “But I started playing because there was this ultra rare item in the game that just… called to me,” He pulled up to the ‘catch!’ screen of the game, a showcase of all the fish and items he’s caught and hasn’t.

“It’s this book. It makes all your fishing rods and materials unbreakable. So you don’t have to make more.”

“It’s grey,” Hotguy said, connecting the controller, and messing with the joystick while watching his little character run around the world.

“I still don’t have it. Here-” Grian motioned for Hotguy to give him the controller, and he did easily, “You can use Gem’s- er… my friend’s materials for now. Just make sure you do not fish up that book. If someone else does, then I have to sit through eons more garbage before I can ever get a chance at fishing it up again.

Grian knew Hotguy had no clue what he was talking about. He nodded and smiled anyway, walking over to a pixel pond, “Aye aye, Captain!”

It took about 5 minutes of Hotguy running around the small pixel map, interacting with everything possible for him to ask Grian the question he prayed the man wouldn’t notice.

“Hey, Bir…” Grian saw from the corner of his eye as Hotguy glanced over, “Grian, this village guy sells that book you’re looking for!” Hotguy smiled, teeth showing, and looked over at him.

Grian, in turn, gave him the meanest glare he could muster up; mixed together with his eyebags, unruly hair and outfit of a red shirt stained with coffee dating back to when he was still in college and black sweatpants that rode up his shins a little too high, Hotguy’s smile wavered.

Grian moved his pixel character over to where Gem’s little character stood next to the villager.

“I know he sells it, Hotguy. I’ve been playing this game since it came out. It’s just-” Grian sighed, slouching into the couch cushions, making a show for Hotguy to squeaky laugh at, “I don’t know. It’s not satisfying to buy it from the villager, I need to fish it up. I’m too far in.”

With that Grian punched Gem’s character, then wadded back to the lake, Hotguy following with Gem’s character in tow.

“Well, how about that! You’ve got a goal. That’s why this is fun for you.”

Grian shrugged, casting the line out.

“Sure. I call it agony, you call it fun.”

Grian fished up a cooked cod. He quickly opened his inventory and threw it out.

Hotguy smiled, reeling out Gem’s character’s line, “Oh come on, the rates can’t be that-”

Both men fell silent. Hotguy had just fished out a book, as stated by Gem’s character holding up a comically large book over her head, a bubble popping up, reading “You’ve caught: Enchanted Book! ULTRA RARE!”

Hotguy slowly turned his head over to Grian, who’s jaw was hanging open in shock.

“No. No, you’re joking,” Grian muttered.

Hotguy swallowed, grin glued to his face as he let out a breathy laugh in shock, opening up the catch screen, and slowly moved the joystick over to the book, opening the ‘details’ box.

“You’ve caught: Enchanted Book! ULTRA RARE!

Details: Mending. Can be used to repair any materials. Exclusions apply. Talk to VILLAGER A for more information!”

Hotguy laughed, screeching with that laughter that Grian had loved to hear. At the moment, he wanted to strangle the man and really make him squeal.

He gawked at Hotguy in disbelief. An ill aimed controller smacked Hotguy’s head as he pulled up a throw pillow to just barely block it before it did any damage, Grian groaning and falling to his knees.

He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, yanking Hotguy off his couch.

“Get out, get out of my apartment! Book thieves are not welcome here!” Grian said, angrily smiling, shoving the man towards the door, much to the protest of Jello.

Hotguy was still laughing, and it must have started to hurt, because Grian was actually making progress ramming the much bulkier man out of his door.

He straightened for a second, a toothy grin scribbled on his face as he pulled out a cookie out of thin air.

“I’m a cookie thief, not a book thief, Grian! Please, have mercy!” He giggled. With one last shove, Hotguy was out the door. Jello had left out the slightly ajar window, likely deciding now was a good time to go out and do whatever she did at this hour.

Grian gawked at him, eyes flicking between both him and the cookie.

“You’re both.” Grian snatched the cookie out of Hotguy’s hand. Hotguy’s jaw dropped and a hand flew to his heart in mock surprise, gasping at the audacity.

Grian grinned something foul, also in mock anger, and shoved the cookie in his mouth.

“Goodnight Hotguy: resident book thief.”

Grian slammed the door shut on him.