The Rise Of CuteGuy

Waking Up

It took another week before Grian finally woke up. By then, I had managed to repair at least one plushie. It was a small victory, but it felt huge to me. I’d spent long hours stitching the broken seams, repairing the wings, and making sure the stuffing was just right. The plushie and its counterpart—Hot Guy and Cute Guy—sat together on his nightstand, side by side, waiting for him to wake up.

I wasn't there when it happened. I was outside the room when I heard from Mumbo about Grian’s reaction. He told me that when Grian finally stirred, his eyes were bleary, still clouded with sleep. But when his gaze shifted to the plushies, he just... stared.

I could imagine the look on Grian's face, a mixture of confusion and awe, before his hand shakily reached out toward them. He tried to grab them, like his fingers were still unsure of what to make of them, but it was clear he recognized them for what they were. And for a moment, I think he forgot the chaos, the danger, the injury. It was just the plushies—the tiny, simple pieces of something he used to care about before everything went sideways.

Mumbo had said Grian seemed emotional, but didn’t quite know how to process it. "He wasn’t saying anything at first," Mumbo had explained when he came to find me. "He just kept staring at the plushies, almost like he couldn’t believe they were there. But then, after a while, he smiled. A little one, but it was there."

I had to walk away then, my throat tightening at the thought. Grian smiling... over something as simple as a plushie. Maybe it was silly, but it meant more to me than I could put into words.

I had fixed them, put them back together, and now they were there—waiting for him when he finally came around. He wasn’t alone, even if he still felt like it sometimes.

"I'll take it from here," Mumbo had added, giving me a reassuring pat on the back. "You should go check on him."

I didn’t need to be told twice. I headed toward Grian's room, heart thudding in my chest, the image of his hand reaching for those plushies clear in my mind.

When I crept into his room, the dim lighting softened the harshness of the hospital walls, casting long shadows across the floor. Grian was asleep, but there was something different about him this time. He was curled up into a tight ball, his arms wrapped protectively around the two plushies—Hot Guy and Cute Guy—clutched firmly to his chest. The sight made something in my chest tighten, but I stayed still, watching him for a moment before moving closer.

His wings, once hidden away and barely functioning, were now resting at his back, slightly fluttering as though they were adjusting to being out again. They didn’t seem as damaged as before, at least not as badly as I remembered them being. The feathers were ruffled and disheveled, but there was a softness to them, a life that hadn't been there for the past two weeks. For a moment, I thought I saw a slight shimmer as the light caught the edges of his wings, almost as if they were waking up with him, stretching and coming back to full awareness.

And then, just barely above the sound of the soft hum of machines and the faint rustling of the room, I thought I heard him sniffle. It was small, a quiet sound that almost seemed to come from deep within, as though he was trying to hold back something. His face, hidden behind a few stray locks of hair, was scrunched slightly, and even in sleep, there was a vulnerability about him that made my heart ache.

Grian, the one who had saved me more times than I could count, was here, looking so fragile, like a small bird trying to heal from a storm that had torn through everything it knew. I couldn’t help but take a few steps closer, my breath catching in my throat as I carefully reached out to touch the edge of his blanket.

"Hey," I whispered, my voice almost a breath against the stillness of the room. "You alright?"

He stirred a little, his wings twitching as if in response, and I froze, unsure if I should disturb him. But then he shifted again, just enough to open his eyes, blurry with sleep, but still focused. He blinked a few times, processing the quiet room, his hand instinctively tightening around the plushies.

For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared at me as if I were a distant memory he was struggling to recall. His gaze was searching, as though he was trying to piece together how I ended up here, standing at the foot of his bed. The plushies were still cradled tightly in his arms, their stitched-together hands just barely visible under the blanket. And then, almost sheepishly, he gave a small nod, his face breaking into a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I noticed then that his eyes were red-rimmed, a clear sign he’d been crying, and it hit me harder than I wanted to admit. Grian, who always managed to look composed even in the worst of situations, had broken down enough to let his emotions show. The thought of him being so vulnerable, so overwhelmed while I wasn’t there to comfort him, was like a dull ache in my chest. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice before I spoke.

“You’ve been crying,” I murmured quietly, stepping closer. It wasn’t a question—it was an observation, and he didn’t deny it. Instead, he glanced down at the plushies, his fingers brushing against the newly stitched hands as if he’d only just noticed them.

“You fixed them,” he said, his voice raspy from disuse but carrying a weight of emotion that made it tremble slightly. His eyes flickered back to mine, glistening with unshed tears, as if he didn’t know what to say beyond those three words.

“Of course I did,” I replied softly, sinking into the chair beside his bed. “They weren’t supposed to be apart, were they? It didn’t feel right leaving them that way.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his fingers tracing the embroidered hearts on the plushies. His wings gave another small flutter, shifting slightly as he seemed to curl up tighter, like he was trying to protect something fragile within himself.

“It means a lot,” he finally whispered, his voice barely audible over the faint hum of the machines around him. “More than you know.”

I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees as I kept my gaze on him. “You’ve done so much for me, Grian. This...this was the least I could do. You saved my life—twice. Fixing some plushies doesn’t even come close to paying that back.”

His tired smile wavered, and for a moment, I thought he might cry again, but he blinked rapidly, trying to push the tears away. “It’s not about paying me back,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “You didn’t have to...but you did. That’s what matters.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant without needing him to explain further. The silence between us was heavy but comforting in its own way. I watched as he shifted the plushies in his arms, his wings fluttering again, almost like they were responding to the emotions he was too tired to fully express.

“They’re perfect,” he murmured, his eyes beginning to close again as exhaustion crept back in. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said quietly, watching as his breathing slowed, the plushies held firmly against his chest. His wings fluttered faintly one last time before settling softly behind him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest a clear sign of his exhaustion.

I noticed his eyes briefly flicker to the heart-embroidered blanket and pillow. Though he didn’t say anything, the tiniest twitch of his lips hinted that he appreciated the gesture. He shifted slightly, gathering the blanket and wrapping it snugly around the plushies, almost like he was swaddling them. Once satisfied, he snuggled closer, burying his face against the soft fabric with a sigh of contentment.

The sight made me chuckle quietly, a warm smile spreading across my face. “You’re really going all in on the hearts motif, aren’t you?” I teased gently, though I wasn’t expecting a response.

He didn’t answer, of course, too tired to do anything but relax further into the pile of comfort he’d created for himself. Still, the scene before me was enough to ease some of the tension I’d been carrying. Seeing him like this—safe, cared for, and starting to heal—felt like a small victory in a battle that had been weighing on us both.

I leaned back in the chair, letting myself enjoy the quiet moment. “You deserve it, Grian,” I murmured softly, not sure if he could hear me but feeling the need to say it anyway. “All of it.”

His wings gave a small flutter, almost like they were agreeing with me, before settling again. With that, I let the silence stretch out, content to sit and watch over him as he finally found some much-needed rest.