“Mrs. Griande.”
Grian startled so hard he nearly fell out of his seat, a choked scream struggling out of his lungs. He whipped his head around, prepared to rip into anyone who thought it was a good idea to randomly ambush him while he was trying to get ready for a show.
That plan immediately went south when he saw it was Hotguy himself standing in the room, lips pressed together in a way that made Grian highly suspect Hotguy was laughing at him. “My apologies!” The superhero wheezed out before seeming to collect himself. “But I have very important business! I think you might be in danger.”
Grian scoffed, barely remembering to pitch his voice up in his bafflement. “Danger? From who, a deranged fan? I've delt with the kind before.” He turned back around and started picking up make-up stuff, hoping the superhero would take the hint.
“No, by villains. The worst of them.”
The seriousness in Hotguy's tone paved over any annoyance Grian had. Setting the brush he'd been flicking around down, he turned back to Hotguy. “Would this have anything to do with your ‘ceiling rascals’?”
The way Hotguy's demeanour flipped to sheepishness at being reminded of the incident was very gratifying. “Ah, I think so?” He scratched at the back of his head. “It's a bit complicated. There are ceiling rascals afoot, and I think they might be the villies I've been hunting for a while. So far they've been at three of your shows.”
“Three!?” Grian exclaimed, a sudden spike of fear at the idea straining his voice.
Hotguy nodded. “I know! One is weird, two is happenstance, three is a pattern! The one I, um,” he trailed off, “crashed, was the third one. And I almost got the rapscallions until they got into the ceiling. Ceilings aren't made to hold up big ol’ superheroes, apparently."
Grian stared into the distance as he tried to process that. “Why would they be targeting me?”
“I don't know!” Hotguy's hands flew up in exasperation. “I mean, I'm as much of a fan as anyone - love your songs by the way! Very good background music for fighting villains, at least when I'm allowed to listen to music, which isn't often - but! I don't know why these guys are doing this! Maybe they're fans, but I doubt it. They've been doing stuff for a while and it's always been very evil things. They stole a bunch of cats once even! I'll never forgive them.”
“Right.” Grian dragged the word. “So you think whatever reason they've been hanging around my concerts is evil.”
Hotguy nodded. “Very evil, probably.”
“Who are they?”
Hotguy laughed nervously. “I don't know. They're not really people though. They're robots, these little ones,” he put a hand at his hip level to demonstrate, “and they have weird goat horns. They're very fast, and very clever little guys.”
“Well, that's assuring.” Grian commented sarcastically with a sigh.
“You should be assured! Fear not miss, Hotguy is on the case! But he does need your help.”
Grian raised an eyebrow at the superhero. “How?”
“Let me follow you around for a few shows. It's hard to investigate after everything is already cleaned and packed up, and! This way if the little rascals try to attack you, you'll have Hotguy there to protect you!” It was so strange, the way the other man could go between a pointed seriousness before launching back into the airy persona. Unnerving, in a strange way.
“You think this will help?”
Hotguy nodded. “Absolutely.”
Grian mulled it over, considering the annoyance he knew would come with having a dramatic hero tailing him. On the other hand though, the idea that these villainous robots had been at two of his concerts without him having a single clue made his stomach feel like a pit. Admittedly, while Grian had never been particularly impressed with Hotguy, he knew he could do his job. Having the assurance of a superhero nearby when he knows he might be getting stalked would be nice.
Then another thought hit him and he sighed.
“What?” Hotguy asked, voice concerned. “I promise to be so out of the way. You won't see mice! I promise.”
Grian shook his head. “It's not that, it's-,” he hesitated, wondering if he should bring it up at all, before deciding Hotguy deserved a warning if anything, “it's just that this is going to feed into the shipping so much.”
“Oh!” Hotguy exclaimed, sounding pleased that he wasn't the problem, followed immediately by a much lower, “oh.” as the rest of Grian's observation registered. “Does, um, does that stuff bother you?”
Grian shrugged. “Not really. It's good for PR. It's mostly just frustrating because one of my best friends, who doesn't know I do,” he gestured to his outfit, “all this, is a huge shipper.”
Hotguy gasped. “Me too! I mean, one of my best friends is a shipper too! And he also doesn't know about my heroic night job, so it gets a little bit awkward.”
Grian snorted. “Tell me about it. And I just know if you start following me around, I'm not going to hear the end of it any time soon.”
“Yeah.” Hotguy trailed off with a wince. “But! It's worth your safety guarantee.”
Grian had to admit, there was something a little flattering at how genuinely the hero said that. “Alright, fine. You can follow me around. But! No snooping around for clues about me or my real identity.” Grian stated sternly.
Hotguy mimed zipping his lips shut and locking it, which, while not the correct gesture for the context, got his meaning across fine.
“And of course, I won't go prying into your life.” Grian stuck out a hand to shake. “So, if we have that settled, here's to a hopefully productive partnership, and to our future of listening to a friend interpret every single one of our moves wrong.”
Hotguy gave a large grin, crooked in a way that reminded Grian starkly of Scar, and took Grian's hand to shake. “Here's to friendship.”
