Kiss of Fate

4 months

Grian pov:

The city skyline was sprawling in front of me, its lights flickering like stars against the deep navy of the night. A few clouds drifted lazily across the sky, but for the most part, it was clear, and the stars above looked brighter than usual. The cold breeze cut through the air, biting against my skin but keeping me anchored somehow, a reminder that I was here, alive, and standing on this rooftop.

It had been months of rebuilding myself, one day at a time. Therapy sessions where I could barely speak some days and others where words wouldn’t stop tumbling out. Days where I found solace hiding in the shadows, away from the noise and chaos, just letting myself blend in and disappear. And then, when I’d finally gotten a bit of footing, I threw myself back into the work, back into the routine of it all. Patrols, late nights, brawling with bad guys in dark alleys, and then nights like these—quiet, almost peaceful.

I hugged myself against the chill, feeling my breath cloud in the air. It grounded me. The city lights twinkled below, and I almost felt... at peace, even if my mind still had a habit of wandering back to things I’d rather forget. It was the silence that got to me sometimes, the quiet of these calm nights. Memories would slip through, small fragments of things I’d been trying so hard to keep buried.

But then, just as the cold started to seep a little too far into my bones, I heard it—a faint whir of metal, and then the familiar sound of a grappling hook snapping into place. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. There was the slightest scuff of boots against the gravel rooftop, and then Scar—or Hot Guy, as he was tonight—landed beside me. His presence was both familiar and comforting, a little burst of warmth in the otherwise chilly night.

“Guess I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought,” he murmured, giving me a soft smile as he adjusted his sunglasses and pulled his coat tighter around him. The cold seemed to have gotten to him too, but he hid it under that confident exterior. Still, I could see the slight tremor in his fingers as he brushed back his hair. The wind tousled it as if it were trying to sweep away his composed facade.

"Out here all alone?” he asked, his voice low, as if he were trying not to disturb the peace of the night. He was wearing his unofficial "Hot Guy" bomber jacket, gifted to him by the Heroes Association when he returned. The jacket had a sleek black body, with each sleeve strikingly different—one a bold, fiery orange, and the other a rich, deep blue. It gave him an almost elemental look, like fire and water somehow combined, hinting at both his warmth and the calm that came with his presence. He had it zipped up against the crisp, fall air, the cold breeze tugging at the edges of the jacket.

I was wrapped in my own jacket, which the Association had gifted me as well. It was puffy and bright pink with a fur-lined interior that made it ridiculously cozy. Heart-shaped decals dotted the surface, whimsical and warm, matching my personality. The inside was lined with thick, plush fur that trapped the warmth close to my skin, though I could still feel the chill against my face and fingertips. Tonight, I hadn’t bothered to bring out my wings, so I’d settled into my jacket, pulling it closer for warmth.

My breath fogged the air as I exhaled, rising into the chilly night while I gazed up at the stars. I had my signature fingerless gloves on, with heart-shaped cutouts at the back of each hand. They did little to actually keep my hands warm, but the style was unbeatable. And, of course, my shades sat on my nose, slightly tilted to rest just right against the puffy collar of my jacket.

Scar’s hair ruffled in the breeze, the colors of his jacket’s sleeves almost glowing under the streetlights below. The crispness of the night seemed to bring everything into sharper focus—the stars above, the distant city sounds, and the quiet between us that felt filled with unspoken words.