Kiss of Fate

Convexed

Scar’s POV:

Cute Guy was absolutely terrifying when he was pissed off. The way that purple smoke drifted around him, curling from his eyes like some kind of dark magic… I had no idea what it even was. But it was enough to send a chill down my spine, to make every instinct scream at me to back away.

And still, for some reason I couldn’t stop myself from antagonizing him. It was like some force took hold of me, compelling me to push his buttons, to test just how far I could go. But looking into those eyes—those deep, furious, purple eyes—I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: raw, unfiltered fear. Cute Guy had this way of hiding his power most of the time, keeping it restrained beneath that collected facade. But tonight, it was all laid bare, and it was so far from cute.

It made me wonder what had set him off so badly, what had broken through that calm mask and drawn out something so dark. Did I do something? As far as I knew, I hadn’t done anything to him… but the way he was looking at me, with that furious, misty energy seething off him, I almost wondered if he knew more than he let on.

I tried to laugh it off, tried to keep my cool, but even now, as I walked toward Grian’s café, the fear lingered, a shadow refusing to lift. My heart was racing, and my palms were clammy. Cute Guy’s fury had cut deeper than I wanted to admit, and his gaze had held a power that unsettled me, striking at something in me I didn’t quite understand. As Hot Guy, I’d faced countless villains, stared down the worst the city could throw at me. But in that moment, the thought of him—of Cute Guy, of all people—glaring at me with such fury? I wouldn’t have dared to test him.

Stepping into the café, I was disappointed to see that Grian wasn’t working the front today. Maybe he was in the back or on break, so I ordered my usual with an extra breakfast sandwich—Grian made the best ones. As I waited, I let my eyes drift over the news screen nearby. And there he was: Cute Guy, enveloped in that haunting purple mist from last night’s fight, his expression blurred by angry tear stains the camera had barely caught. The moonlight shone down on him, illuminating him like some otherworldly figure, fierce and untouchable.

Seeing him like that, beautiful and terrifying all at once… it was hard to put into words. The way he’d flown up, surrounded by that mist, almost like he was trying to center himself, to quiet that storm within—it was mesmerizing. I couldn’t help but admire the strength, the raw power he was showing to the world. He was finally getting the recognition he deserved, and seeing it made me smile. But those tear stains stayed with me, haunting and real.

Beautiful, powerful… and in that rage, utterly, breathtakingly terrifying. And to me, he was just gorgeous.

The café was cozy, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingering as I took a long sip and bit into the sandwich, though it didn’t shake the sense of disappointment that Grian wasn’t around. I’d half-hoped to chat with him, maybe shake off the uneasy memories from last night. But, duty called. Once I finished, I tossed my napkin, paid, and walked out, back into the bustling morning.

Making my way through the city, I headed toward the looming building that, to anyone else, was just another medical facility. But I knew better. This place wasn’t about healing. The towering glass facade hid something far darker beneath—Convex’s real headquarters.

I entered, moving through the motions like clockwork, blending in among doctors and office staff with careful detachment. Past the nondescript corridors, the same sterile walls, I punched in my passcode. The security system beeped, a familiar green flash indicating clearance, and I stepped into the elevator, pressing the hidden button. The descent was a slow, almost eerie silence. As the elevator dropped lower and lower, I mentally prepared myself for the day ahead, setting aside last night’s fear, the rawness I’d felt staring into Cute Guy’s eyes.

The chill of the underground hit me as I stepped out, but I pushed it aside and made my way through the maze-like hallways. The reflective, metallic walls caught glimpses of me as I passed, amplifying the stark, impersonal atmosphere of Convex. I didn’t need to rely on any of my abilities here—if anything, using them felt too risky in a place like this, where secrets were currency, and every step was watched.

As I reached my office, the silence grew almost unnaturally thick. I knew the higher-ups preferred things this way, a place devoid of warmth or comfort, a constant reminder that Convex was different. This was no place for second thoughts. Each day here, I kept my expression in check, my steps calculated, moving with purpose as if nothing haunted me. Yet, despite my effort, flashes of last night—the fierce, unrestrained power in Cute Guy’s eyes, the mist swirling around him—lingered in my mind, refusing to fade.

I wasted no time, diving straight into my files and pulling up the footage. The grainy image crackled to life on the screen, showing the exact moment Cute Guy barreled down on us like a vengeful storm. I scrubbed back and forth through the video, zooming in on the split second his eyes turned that unsettling shade of purple, watching the way his expression shifted. It wasn’t just anger—it was something darker, something deeply personal. And somehow, it felt directed at me.

As the recording continued, I caught the moment he snarled, voice low, almost shaking with restrained fury. The impact of his landing had thrown both Jangle and me down with brutal force. Even now, I felt the soreness echo in my back, reminding me how unrelenting he was. It was like he knew something, something he was keeping hidden beneath that cold, furious exterior.

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a slow breath. Why was he so angry? What could have possibly set him off to that extent? And why was it all directed at me like what did I do?

I stared at the screen, my eyes fixated on the frozen image of Cute Guy—eyes blazing with that fierce, unearthly purple, veins alive with power that seemed to pulse right through the monitor. It almost felt like he was staring back at me, burning with that barely-contained fury. I didn’t just feel his anger; I could practically taste it, seething and raw, like he had been waiting for an excuse to let this hidden side of himself surface.

But why?

What could I have possibly done to provoke him this intensely? I didn’t know, and the lack of answers gnawed at me. Whatever that power was, it didn’t belong to the easygoing, sharp-witted guy he normally appeared to be. No, this was something darker—something he seemed determined to hide. But why did he repress it until he hit this breaking point?

Cub had warned me, hadn’t he? "He’s got layers you haven’t seen yet, Scar. Don’t assume you know him." It made me wonder how much I’d missed, distracted by the banter, the camaraderie… maybe I’d been too eager to overlook the things he kept hidden beneath the surface.

I clenched my fists, determined to get to the bottom of it. If he was holding something this powerful back, there had to be a reason.

My gaze lingered on the old uniform—Hot Guy, a name that once meant something entirely different. The orange and cyan lines ran over the black suit, a reminder of the days I stood firmly on the hero's side. I remembered what it felt like to be admired, to be the one people could count on. But those days felt... faded. Like an image left too long in the sun, its colors distorted, its purpose tangled in shadows.

Cute Guy was doing what I never could. He was out there, risking everything, and yet somehow he felt the need to hide—especially from me. That thought stung deeper than I wanted to admit. I’d been one of the few people who believed in him, trusted him. And he was out there carrying some hidden power, something so potent he only unleashed it under pure, unrestrained anger.

Disappearing had been the right call back then. Cub was right; I didn’t belong in that world anymore. But seeing Cute Guy rise in the way I’d always hoped for him... it was perfect. He deserved every ounce of recognition he was getting now, and I’d make sure nothing would pull him off that path. Whatever he was hiding, whatever secrets he kept, he was still the hero everyone needed him to be. And maybe, if I could figure out why he felt the need to keep that side of himself so carefully guarded, I could help him protect it.