.wtfgreyson:
Truthfully, Greyson couldn’t actually be mad at Hero for nearly landing him in shit, no matter how much he was inclined to snarl at her like he would with anyone else. He didn’t believe in pet peeves, but he did believe in his hackles rising when someone called him out for something he believed to be false. When those who thought they knew him declared that he was a ‘soft touch’ for those close to him, he wanted to yell or growl or just adamantly state that he was the furthest thing from soft. But under duress, he’d have to admit to being a soft touch for Carrots.
As soon as he saw the big tears well up in her sad eyes, Greyson let out a sigh and wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders before pressing a kiss to the hair which gave her the nickname he’d chosen.
“Buck the fuck up, Carrots,” he teased her, not unkindly. There was that stupid fucking ‘soft touch’ streak of his again.
His grip on her tightened when she attempted a shrug and claimed she was alright, but he knew better. He’d been acquainted with Hero for long enough to know that saying she had a nervous disposition was an understatement and while he laughed loudly and raucously at every accidental ‘shit’, ‘wank’ and ‘fuck’ that accidentally slipped off her tongue, he knew that the woman could be a wreck. An ordeal like the one she’d just been through wouldn’t help matters, so he immediately let out a disgusted scoff at her words.
“Don’t tell me y’believe that,” he scolded her. ‘Boys will be boys’ is what Old Mrs Coffrey next door would say when she chuckled at the helpless look on Greyson’s mom’s face when she caught sight of the state he was in after three hours of rolling around in the dirt. Mrs Coffrey wasn’t to know that eight-year-old Greyson was more vindictive than a ‘cheeky little tyke’ as she had called him, but he supposed the phrase had still applied to him. Its meaning didn’t stretch as far as sleazy guys trying to lay their hands on reluctant women though, and he was sure if Adelaide were here, his sister would be chanting her feminist propaganda more coherently than he ever could. So, instead of trying, he just squeezed Hero’s shoulder.
He listened to her and twisted his mouth in what was Greyson Davies’ way of being sympathetic. Still, he couldn’t help but let out a snort at her words.
“Maybe it’s ‘cause m’gay as fuck, but I don’t see it,” he chided her playfully, giving her a once over and immediately wrinkling his nose up, pretending to be disinterested in what he saw.
“Who do y’have your eye on though?” he asked her, then, as gently as he was capable of, steered her through an opening in the crowd. “Y’need to be less sober if y’want to help me survive this fuckin’ thing, by the way.”
When Greyson wrapped his arms around her, Hero sniffed as she choked a watery laugh at his words. Greyson hugging and kissing her on the head was, in all honesty, about as soft as he got, and Hero often found herself quietly – though not always quietly, Greyson, Hunter, and Bennett's influence on her life meaning she'd gotten a little braver of later – revelling in the fact that Greyson seemed to have a far gentler touch when in her company.
Naturally, however, he couldn't not follow up his actions with words that some might have found harsh, maybe even cruel. Had it been a year ago, or maybe even a few months ago, and Hero might have been offended, or even hurt. She had grown so used to people belittling her and putting her down, even the likes of Ophelia – though her intentions were never truly bad – had a tendency to put her down and invalidate the hardships she was going through. Where some might have grown a thick shell from the teasing, bullying, and sometimes downright nasty words that were flung their way, Hero merely let it eat at her, and would shy away from any form of confrontation and just simply take it.
She liked to believe that she knew Greyson well enough, though, and she had no doubt that his words were supposed to encourage her, merely his way of keeping up his 'tough guy' act while still comforting his friend.
Resting her head against his shoulder, an arm around his waist, Hero let out a long and shaky breath as she attempted to take heed of Greyson's words and buck the fuck up. Glancing up at the loud scoff that tore from his throat, Hero allowed a wry smile to make its way onto her lips at his words. She never exactly thought of Greyson to be one of those, what was it her students would say, 'fuckboy' types, but it was hardly as though the pair of them sat around knitting and discussing feminism and the detrimental impact that the patriarchy had on both women and men. So it was certainly a comfort to hear the man protest at the words she'd uttered aloud, though she certainly hadn't believed what she'd been saying.
“Not really,” she admitted, with a gentle shrug.
Breathing out a resigned sigh she brought her hand up to her face, using the heel of her palm to wipe away any trace of tears that might have still lingered. She felt like a total fool, standing there in the middle of somebody's party, on New Year's bloody Eve, crying against Greyson Davies' shoulder like some absolute pillock. And she wasn't even drunk!
Luckily for Hero, however, she did have Greyson by her side, who was far stronger than herself, and she found herself giggling at the expression that he adorned, his teasing words making her blush frightfully. She hadn't intended on sounding narcissistic or vain by any means, but the fact that she'd found herself on the first date of her life, as well as gaining unwanted attention from sleazy men at parties, it was a far cry from the quiet, reserved life she'd lead back home.
“Oh, piss off!” she retorted, rolling her eyes in return.
While she hadn't been lucky enough to become too acquainted with Greyson's other half, she had met Rhodes on a few brief occasions, and she thought they made quite the lovely couple. Even if Greyson wasn't gay, Hero was fairly certain she couldn't imagine him away from his relationship. In all honesty, though Greyson portrayed himself with his tough exterior, his words often slurred, his tone gritty at times, she always found herself far too amused by how the man kept himself in such gentle company – if the likes of Rhodes and Harper were anything to go by. The picture perfect image of Greyson, Rhodes, and their girls was so ingrained into her mind, that it felt like an impossibility to imagine him leading a life before them.
At his next question, she found herself blushing and averted her eyes as though by looking away she might be able to diver the topic onto someone, or something else. Instead, she found herself pondering the topic, her mind wandering briefly to Bennett before she could stop herself. She didn't have her eye on Bennett, so to speak, but she hadn't been able to shake the attraction she had felt towards the man on their first meeting. Though, she was certain it was a one-way street, given his hot and cold temperament whenever the two interacted, and she supposed she should at least focus her attentions on the man she'd actually been on a date with.
“Oh, me? No, no... Nobody, nope. Not a soul,” she stuttered, staring around her at all of the beautiful men and women that filled the room. “I mean there was one guy that I... but no. Nobody, nothing to talk about there.”
There were certainly a large variety of people that populated the party tonight that she thought she might find herself attracted to, should she get to know them a little better, but there was no hope any of them would want to be seen with her.
As the latter end of his sentence caught up to her, she whirled on the spot and stared back at Greyson, shaking her head with a wide-eyed expression engulfing her features.
“No! Nope, not bloody likely!” she exclaimed, before letting out a pitiful groan. “I'm not a good drunk. I'm an embarrassing drunk. I'm a 'gets up on tables and dances, before falling on her arse and bawling her eyes out' sort of drunk. That's not what we need tonight, Grey.”
