141- I believe in honesty, so let me be honest. You're the most attractive man I've ever seen.
ALI
Sunlight warms my face before I’m ready to be awake. I blink, squinting up at the ceiling in that disoriented haze of someone who absolutely did not sleep in a bed. My neck aches. My spine protests. A second blanket has been draped over me, and I’m pretty sure I’m drooling on a cushion. I sit up slowly, rubbing at my eyes, expecting quiet. Instead, I hear the unmistakable sound of claws on tile. The griffin is toddling after Julian like a fluffy, taloned duckling, chirping indignantly every time he moves more than a few feet away. Its tiny wings flap for balance as it hobbles along, its bandaged one held gingerly out to the side like a dramatic prop. Julian, still barefoot and rumpled from sleep, is in the kitchen cracking eggs into a bowl one handed, the other currently being used to fend off a determined baby predator who refuses to let go of his sleeve.
“Buddy, you can’t stand on me while I cook.” He says gently, trying to nudge it back with his foot. The griffin chirps louder, sits on his foot, and dares him to try and move. Julian sighs, resigned, and shuffles awkwardly toward the stove with the creature still attached. I watch in stunned, affectionate silence as he flips a pancake one handed and then sets the spatula down with a flourish.
“You’re very needy for someone who screamed at me four times last night” He mutters to it.
“I hope you know that.” He grumbles. The griffin chirps again. Completely unbothered. I bite my lip to keep from laughing too loudly. My heart is doing that fluttering, embarrassing thing again.
He glances over and sees me watching. Offers a small, sheepish smile.
“Morning, I didn’t want to wake you. Thought I’d make something simple. Scrambled eggs, toast and pancakes. Griffin seems to prefer grapes, though.” He explains. The griffin proudly drops a spoon on the floor in front of him with a clatter. A gift. Julian stares down at it.
“We need to talk about boundaries.” He comments mildly, bending down to pick it up. This is what I wake up to, I will never recover.
By the time I properly drag myself off the couch and make it to the kitchen table, breakfast is on the table, slightly uneven pancakes, toast, scrambled eggs, fruit, and tea. Julian is somehow managing to eat while also being aggressively wooed by a baby griffin who has the emotional subtlety of a windstorm. It begins with a thump and a very small, very dead mouse is deposited next to Julian’s plate. Where did it even get that mouse? He blinks down at it, then slowly looks at the griffin.
“Thank you, yes. This is exactly what I wanted to go with my pancakes.” Julian says, voice full of confused diplomacy. I snort into my tea. The griffin wanders off again and two minutes later, it waddles back and places what looks like an egg shaped rock onto his lap. Julian stares down at it again, as though unsure whether it’s a cursed object or just another rock. He accepts it anyway, thanking the griffin politely.
“I think you have a tiny feathered stalker.” I comment, watching the griffin puff up with pride at his thanks. Julian sighs.
“He made eye contact while peeing on my boot last night. That felt personal. Now this? It’s a full campaign.” He grumbles. The griffin returns a final time, dragging another spoon it definitely stole, presenting it with a proud chirp like it just hunted down a wild beast. It then hops up onto a chair beside Julian and eyes his plate.
“Don’t even think about it.” Julian warns. The griffin ignores him entirely and lunges for his toast. Julian catches it mid lunge with one hand and pulls his plate away with the other.
“That’s not your bread. That’s MY bread. You don’t even have teeth!” He insists. The griffin glares, then lets out the world's most offended wheeze and flops onto the floor giving Julian a look like it has been completely betrayed and abandoned. Julian doesn’t relent. Undeterred, the griffin rolls over and begins chasing its own tail in frustrated spirals. Julian watches, still chewing his toast.
“So this is what peak predator instincts look like.” He comments. I rest my chin on my hand and just watch them both, heart aching in the best possible way. This was meant to be a romantic, candlelit dinner. Somehow it’s turned into a sleepover with medical interventions and babysitting while Julian is being courted by a mythological menace with the social skills of a toddler and the dramatic flair of a theatre major. And somehow, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Eventually, it’s time for Julian to head home. He’s sleep rumpled, barefoot, and quietly resigned to the fact that he’s going home without shoes or a coat. His boots, one of which was ceremonially peed on, dangle from his fingers.
“I really do have to leave.” He tells the griffin gently, crouching beside the fireplace where it’s pretending to nap again.
“You’re healing well. You’ve got Ali. Plants. Snacks. A candle you haven’t finished threatening. You’ll be fine.” He promises. The griffin opens one eye and lets out a soft, judging chirp. Julian stands slowly, muttering under his breath.
“Don’t look at me like that. You don’t even LIKE me. You BIT me. Twice.” He grumbles. Then he heads for the door and I trail after him, watching fondly. He kisses me gently on the cheek as I walk him out to his car. The griffin stays where it is. Until he opens the car door… In a blur of fur, feathers, and pointy little talons, the griffin launches across the room, faster than I realised it would be capable of and bolts between Julian’s legs. Then it hurls itself into the passenger seat before we can so much as blink. Julian freezes mid step. I try not to laugh. I fail. He turns to stare at me, betrayed.
“He was faking.” he complains.
“Oh definitely, he’s got a flair for the dramatic.” I agree. The griffin chirps proudly and starts kneading the passenger seat like it’s about to settle in for a nap.
“This is absurd, he can’t come home with me. He shrieked at the kettle. He tried to eat your candle. He… He peed on my boot, Ali.” Julian points out.
“I remember.” I say fondly.
“He’s a menace.” He groans.
“He picked your car.” I point out unhelpfully. Julian pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I never had a familiar. My mum didn’t approve. Said they were distracting. And loud. And impractical.” He stares at the griffin who flaps its bandaged wing and glares at him with unwavering devotion.
“He’s extremely impractical, this is a terrible idea.” He complains. Still, Julian doesn’t move to remove the griffin. He just watches, defeated, as the griffin curls up in the seat, lets out a sleepy, triumphant huff, and tucks its face under one wing.
“You could still leave him here, I won’t mind.” I offer gently. Julian hesitates. Then, after a long pause, he sighs and mumbles,
“He’ll just escape again. I’ll take him.” He decides.
Julian spends a few minutes trying to decide if he should strap the griffin in with a seatbelt, and how. In the end he decides against it, worried he might hurt it’s wing further.
“I’ll drive super carefully. Like I’m transporting fragile glass.” He mutters. This entire situation is hilarious. Also, I am pretty sure that Julian has no idea how big griffins get. Or how loud and stubborn they can be. How completely unmanageable they are in small living spaces. But he’s already talking to it like a tiny, feathered roommate with strong opinions and. On the bright side, griffins are notoriously loyal and intelligent. If he can find a way to make it work, he’s going to have a powerful familiar. Even if it is dramatic and bossy. Yeah… He’s doomed. Honestly? So am I. Julian hasn’t even left yet and I miss him. I want to make him breakfast and press flowers into books he hasn’t read yet. I want to tell him every single day that he’s good, not just kind or clever, but deeply, quietly good, and that he’s mine. The car pulls away slowly, Julian driving with exaggerated caution, one hand steady on the wheel, the other occasionally bracing the griffin like it might slide off the seat despite its determined perch. I stand barefoot in the doorway, wrapped in my cardigan, watching them go. There’s oat milk on the counter, feathers in my couch, and a stolen spoon still missing from the table. But I’ve never felt more certain that I want this. All of it. The mess, the magic, and more than anything, the man with the griffin in his passenger seat. Whatever happens next, I know one thing for sure, I am absolutely going to marry that man one day. I’ll make sure of it.