Kiss of Fate

Cute Guy

Scar pov

I slipped my glasses back on, though they sat perched on my head rather than over my eyes. It was strange, really—just looking at him like this, seeing him like this, out of that whole "Cute Guy" persona. Grian, of all people. The famous, feathery, slightly unhinged bird I knew, was the same elusive Cute Guy I’d heard rumors about for years. I couldn’t help but let a grin tug at the corner of my mouth.

He was limp in my arms, but even in his unconscious state, I could still sense that fiery defiance clinging to him. Like a tiny ember refusing to go out, a stubborn spark. I half-expected him to come to any second, to twist around and jab me with some sharp comment, but for now, he was quiet—still.

“Grian, Grian, Grian,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “What’ve you gotten yourself into this time, angry bird?”

Cub came up beside me, his expression unreadable as he watched Grian’s slumped form. “He’ll be up soon enough,” he said, his voice low and calm, but I caught a glint of curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t sure what to make of it either, but that just made it all the more interesting.

I tightened my hold on Grian, shifting him slightly as I looked down at his face. There was something strange about seeing him so defenseless. The “Cute Guy” image peeled away, just Grian, and for a split second, I almost felt… sorry? No, not quite. Maybe a little empathy, a curiosity at least.

But he’d wake up soon, and the fiery spirit would be back, no doubt kicking and ready to fight. I let out a chuckle, brushing a feather off his shoulder with an almost casual flick. “Sleep well, Tweety,” I murmured. “When you wake up, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

The walk back through the woods was a mixture of quiet and tension, each step seeming to echo in the dense shadows. The forest was dim now, with only small patches of moonlight breaking through the canopy above, illuminating Grian's feathers here and there with a faint, silvery glow. The air was damp, thick with the scent of earth and leaves, and every rustle of a branch or snap of a twig seemed amplified, as if the whole forest was listening to our every move.

Grian’s weight was light but felt heavy with the strange knowledge we now held. Cub and I walked in silence for most of the way, the only sounds our quiet footsteps and the occasional sigh from Grian as he shifted in his half-conscious state. The forest was almost serene—if it weren’t for the circumstances, it could’ve been peaceful, even beautiful.

Finally, we reached the edge of the clearing, the cold steel of the lab ahead, cutting through the natural landscape like a jagged scar. The fluorescent lights just inside the entrance bathed us in an artificial glow as we stepped out of the tree line, the peaceful silence of the woods giving way to a harsh, sterile quiet.

Inside, we secured Grian to a chair, careful with the knots but making sure he couldn’t slip out easily. I tied the last knot with a practiced flick, watching his face for any sign of stirring. Cub was watching too, his gaze focused but distant, as though he were lost in thought.

I glanced at him. “He mentioned PTSD,” I said, keeping my voice low. “What do you think that’s about?”

Cub's eyes narrowed slightly as he adjusted his glasses, studying Grian with a mix of curiosity and caution. "Hard to say," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Could be anything... maybe something from before he decided to play hero. He’s always had that fire in him, that drive. Doesn’t take 'no' for an answer, even when he should."

I glanced at Grian, bound securely, his face softened in uneasy sleep, yet there was still a tension there, something unsettled, like even now he was on guard. Cub was right—Grian had always been relentless. I’d seen him go head-to-head with anyone who tried to get in his way. And this hybrid thing... it made him unique, powerful even. But it also made him a target for something darker, something he seemed hell-bent on keeping under wraps.