Goobiest Goober

[Authors note: This chapter is horror-centric and is a little bit scary! keep this in mind ][Content Warning for: Obessessive behavior and physical altercation]

“Scar, do you mind if I take another look at that scan? Could you grab that for me?” Cub yawned. It was a bright and early morning. The sun just made its way over the horizon, and the birds were beginning to wake up. The baby animals outside were beginning to play and packs began to eat the meals prepared by Scar. Despite the noise, it was peaceful. Scar, of course, was wide awake, an early riser. He hummed as he made his way through the clinic, grabbing various files and a fresh hot brew of coffee for Cub. This was his favorite part of the day, preparing for whatever it wanted to throw at him. “I’ve already got it right here,” Scar placed the folder neatly onto the table alongside the mug of hot coffee. Cub was already flipping through the pages, grabbing the handle of the mug and taking a swig. A soft hum buzzed from him. 

“Everything seems in order. He rested his head in his palm. “From the looks of things he was in the process of a transformation, but it was halted. Later on, another transformation took place.” He raised a brow as he looked up to Scar, who was now leaning on the desk, “Like, everything he said adds up. Well, almost everything.” “I don’t know man, this just… feels fishy,” Scar shifted in place, peering over and looking at the desk, “I feel it in my gut. Something about all of this feels off. I mean, I have heard of faulty potions before, but it was a completely different transformation!” Scar’s brows furrowed as he placed his hand on his hip. There was a certain assurance plastered on Scar's face. Scar may not have been as experienced with magic as he was, but he really had a knack at it. If something was wrong, Scar was usually able to discern it. It was like he had a sixth sense. A small smile slipped on Cub’s lips. “What are you thinking?” “It definitely has to do with some sort of outside force. If the potion was faulty and no magic was in it,” Scar shot a look at the other, his brows furrowing. “Something else has to be inflicting magic onto him… right?” Cub’s expression shifted as he took this into consideration. His eyebrows furrowed as he once again looked at a picture of Mumbo’s eye. He thought about Mumbo's features once more: Bat ears; claws; his teeth were normal… although the most that stood out to him were his tail and eyes. Could that be a clue? Cub lowered his voice. “If that's the case, he would have to be cursed in some way, or, best case scenario, made a deal with something.” He tsked his tongue as he grabbed the polaroid from the stack of papers. Swiveling his chair, he slid across the room, scooting to a projector. “Mind turning off that light?” They would have to get a good long look at these photographs again.

Stacks of papers, polaroids, and sticky notes lined across Mumbo's ivory bedroom walls. The pages worn and yellow from years of use; Pictures taken with various hermits, rewarding a job well done after a build or a machine was finished; Post it notes of simple reminders: Grab cobblestone, stop by Ron’s, finish super smelter. The more Grian saw, the less it made sense. Some of the notes were just complete nonsense ramblings. Scribbles and vague concepts that Grian couldn't wrap his head around. Blueprints to machines with no purpose and schematics to build them. Beside the blueprints, there were many with the same prolific ramblings. Mumbo’s handwriting was a mess, slanted and a bit loose as if he were dragging his hand across the page. It warped and transformed onto the paper. Could he have been falling asleep when he was writing this? Grian’s throat felt dry as he began to read one of the notes to himself. “What is the moon without the sun? With its golden hue shifting over the horizon, I lift my arms and accept what will become. No longer will I have to question, no longer will I have to fear. The sun is the answer.” A familiar feeling of unease and despair washed over Grian. He knew this was a bad idea, all of it, from the very beginning. The book. The potion. Letting Mumbo bite him. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how far he ran,  it seemed as though the watchers were right on his tail. No amount of avoidance was going to stop this from happening. Grian finally managed to swallow the lump in his throat, a shaky sigh leaving his lips. He would take one last moment to assess the situation he was in. There was no way that these papers were here the last time he was here, right? Were they? No, there was no way. He would have to have seen the disjointed ramblings on the wall clear as day. Grian was sure that it was only posters and polaroids. His eyes locked onto a few that were definitely not in Mumbo's handwriting. Notes reminding someone about meetings, or other builds they wanted to finish. Those were definitely his own. There was no doubt in his mind, but there were a few that didn’t seem to fit in. Reaching his hand over, Grian tears a sticky note from the wall, and holds one of the papers with his forefinger and thumb. His brows twitched, pinching together as he tried to place together why the calligraphy looked so familiar. 6PM Grian, Dont be late!! It was a simple note, short and sweet. The paper was thick, handmade felt, with a rose hue dyed into it. Why on earth would Mumbo need something like this? Did he just stumble across it and decide to keep it? Grian’s shoulders tensed, the paper crinkling in his hands as he realized its familiarity. No. This was Gem’s handwriting. A gentle reminder to a meeting he now most likely missed. His hand drifted to the wall and lifted up a few posters.

Another note from Gem, then another from Pearl telling him that he needs to finish fixing his mailbox. Mumbo was deliberately keeping these from him.

With each footstep against the cobblestone pavement, Mumbo felt lighter than air. A soft hum left him, lifting his head high. To him, everything felt brighter, more colorful. Mumbo’s eyes gently held shut, deeply inhaling and feeling the air enter his lungs. Every sensation he had was heightened. Every emotion he felt flooded him. A sigh escaped him and his shoulders relaxed. How freeing it felt to know that he now was himself again. Despite the change of his appearance, he felt a sense of euphoria knowing that Grian was the one to change him–to make him whole. Mumbo wondered if he ever felt this way before. For a moment Mumbo was able to forget the months of ache and worry he carried. It was all washed away by the warm tides of the sun. The market in main-street always had a bustling energy. Although it was a small town, everyone knew each other by name. And any time of day you would be able to hear people happily cheering ‘Good morning!’ from across the street. But most of all, word got around fast. Mumbo wasn’t necessarily the type to be extroverted, but he always made an attempt to make conversation to who was willing to listen. He was an active member in the community and had a pretty strict routine he abided to. So it would come as a shock when one day Mumbo stopped showing up. It wasn’t long before rumors got around that Mumbo had practically disappeared. No one had heard from him in weeks. In the market, popup shops had sprung out. Their wares were on display for all to see. Some vendors held fabrics and dyes while others held food or jewelry. All types of artisans sold products made with love and care, but what Mumbo was most focused on was the farmers. Walking to one of the stalls, Mumbo glanced over the various shimmering vegetables and fruits. They were freshly cleaned, dew still dripping from one of the cabbages leaves. A small hum left him. Curiously, he grabbed one of the apples in the stand, giving it a small sniff. 

“You touch it, you buy it.”

Mumbo’s head snaps up to the comment, noticing a stout shop clerk staring him down with their brow raised. A small nervous chuckle leaves him, his cheeks tugging to force a smile, “Oh! Of course,” His hand swiftly reaches into a small leather satchel, rummaging as he grabs a small coin pouch. Humming softly, Mumbo takes in consideration of the other produce.

“What type of vegetable do you think would be good for blood loss?” He asked, leaning in a bit closer to one of the baskets. It had been so long since he had a proper meal, he almost forgot what a balanced one looked like. “What?”

Mumbo’s eyes quickly darted back up to the cashier, whose face was shrouded in deep confusion. The side of their lip was tugged down, leaving them baffled at his question.

“I’m sorry—blood loss? Did I hear that correctly, sir?” They interrogated him. Mumbo’s neck and face flushed red at the question. Their eyes then give him an up and down, making his ears droop down.

How long has it been since Mumbo talked to another person in the village? ‘Were they always this intrusive towards people? Was it me? Is it how I look?’ Thousands of thoughts cross Mumbo's mind as a lump makes its way into his throat.

“Uh, actually, nevermind! Heh heh… Forget I said anything.” Mumbo’s hand hastily shoved a pile of coins onto the table—way too many for a single apple—then gave one last quiet apology. With his tail between his legs, he quickly scampered off to the next on his to-do list. An awkward encounter would never deter how happy he was! Mumbo would just have to stop by somewhere else to get a meal. Until then, Mumbo’s feet guided him to a familiar building with worn and faded bricks, snug betwixt two other buildings of the same material. Reaching out, his hand grabbed hold of the rusted handle, jostling it, and pushing the worn, white door despite the bit of resistance. A small ring of a bell echoed through the shop, then rang again as Mumbo closed the door behind him. “Well, do my eyes deceive me?” A hearty voice cheered across the store. A loud thump echoed through the room as a cardboard box was hoisted onto the counter. An old man with curly white hair and small circular glasses on the bridge of his nose, a similarly colored beard and mustache that nearly covered his upper lip. His white skin allowed the faint view of blue veins in his hands, slowly fading out the moment they relaxed from the box he was carrying.

“Mumbo Jumbo, is that you?” Ron asked, swiping the dust from his palms with his apron. A coy smile slipped across Mumbo's lips, a sheepish chuckle escaping him. “Bringing out the full name, are we?” Walking over to one of the tables in the middle of the room, he began to scavenge through the boxes, thumbing through the vinyls. “It’s nice to see you too, Ron.” “I haven't seen you in quite a while! Why, you look...” Ron began to trail off, adjusting his glasses. He squinted. “Are my eyes playing tricks on me or do you look, erm, different?” Ron hesitated, grabbing a few items from the box and assorting them on a shelf. A few glass figurines clinked together as he carefully placed them. “Ha! Oh, I know, isn’t it wonderful?” Mumbo boasted, making his ears perk up. One of his hands fluffed up his hair a bit, reveling in his new form. “I’ve never felt better!” Studying Mumbo for a moment, Ron gave out a soft sigh. “Well, at least you feel well enough to go out again! Last time I saw you, you didn’t seem like yourself…” “Y-Yes, well…ha..” Mumbo’s brows twinged, a small ping of panic fluttered in his chest as he remembered the weeks that passed. His hand pinched a corner of one of the albums, pulling it out of the box to examine it closer.

"I've never felt more like myself.” The words leave him softly, almost reassuring himself. Returning his attention to the box in front of him, Mumbo’s tail now flicked a bit impatiently. Grabbing another vinyl, he studied it for a moment before walking over to the front counter. “Erm, do you have anything more.. Relaxing?” He places a pair of albums onto the glass and pushes them forward, leaving Ron to palm them. “Hm? None of your other waltz vinyls relaxing enough?” He questions. 

Again, with the questions? “No, that's not it—I’ve got someone important over! So this vinyl needs to be extra special.” Mumbo's finger tapped the counter to emphasize his point. “Ah, something special for an extra special someone, hm?” Ron gave a knowing look. He does a single clap with his hands and walks over to another counter, “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.” Another nervous chuckle escaped Mumbo. He stands by the front counter and allows his feet to shuffle in place. Mumbo wouldn’t necessarily consider himself a perfectionist, no, rather more so the opposite. As long as his machine worked, he didn’t care. Yet with Grian… When it came to Grian, he couldn’t risk just ‘acceptable’. No, he needed to go beyond. Mumbo needed to be impressive, he needed to be big, he just needed to be more. He needed to prove he could do more. With the two of them, there was a friendly sense of rivalry with their creations. Grian would build a tall home, Mumbo would have to build something bigger—something better. This was different. Mumbo wasn’t trying to be better than Grian. There was something to prove, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Ron placed his hand on the vinyl. Mumbo nearly jumped in place. When did he come back so quickly? 

"What's wrong with these?” Ron asked. “Huh? Well,” Mumbo hummed as he snapped out of thought. “They just need to be more..” His words trailed off, before making a vague gesture, “relaxing.” Looking over the vinyls again, a short chuckle left Ron. “ Well, both of them are good in their own right. I don't think you can get more relaxing than these.” He lifted one of the albums that was labeled ‘Piano With Nature Sounds’. “You said this was for someone special, right?” “Yes?” “Well, I believe they would trust you to pick what you think is best. You trust their word, right?” Ron then placed the album back onto the counter, pushing it towards Mumbo. The two albums now laid in front of Mumbo. A beat of silence passed between them as Mumbo took another look. There was some truth to Ron’s words, though Mumbo wasn’t too sure how he felt about it. Maybe it was silly of him to think that something as simple as getting music could be done wrong. At the end of the day, he just wanted everything to go right. Why couldn’t he trust himself to make a simple decision? Mumbo’s gloved fingers tapped against the counters. “When I was about your age, I knew the feeling all too well, especially when it came to a special someone,” Ron crossed his arms, a smile plastered on his face. “My wife, only the stars know what I'd do without her. She's the light of my life.” 

He began to trail off as he reminisced. “When we were young, she wanted this big, beautiful garden. Big. She wanted nothing more to spend the rest of her days tending to the beds of her sunflowers… and me? Well, all I wanted was to spend the rest of my life with her. To do anything to let her shine. It had gotten to a point where I, too, thought nothing but her garden!”  Ron reached his hand over, grabbing onto both of the vinyls Mumbo had picked out. “I thought nothing more than the vines that creeped on our fences, and the weeds that crowded our lilies. The only thing that stopped me from worrying was her telling me she wanted to see me shine, too. I had been so passionate about her, I didn’t stop twice to be passionate about anything else. I didn't even really know what I wanted out of myself. Heh... After that, I had to take some time to think about things, and that's when I decided to get this shop.” Ron placed the albums back down, “Sometimes, even with the small things, you have to let yourself shine through.” Mumbo gave a few small blinks. “That was… very insightful, actually. I.. I think I understand what you’re getting at.” A sigh escaped Mumbo, him grabbing one of the albums definitively. He peered over the vinyl. “Thanks.” “Ah, no need to thank me, lad! One of my reasons for opening my shop was for talking to people like you. Spreading a bit of wisdom is just a perk of working.” A smile spread across Ron’s face, which made his eyes squint. “Now, how much do I owe you?” Sliding his satchel down his arm, Mumbo reached into his pocket for his coin pouch. Ron held out his hands in protest. “Naw, please, take it!” “What? No!” Mumbo quickly began to rummage through his coinage, placing a few on the counter, “I-I couldn’t possibly—” Ron’s hand gently placed itself on top of Mumbo’s. “Think of it as a gift.” He then patted Mumbo's hand firmly, holding it. Mumbo opened his mouth, then he sighed. A soft, genuine smile spread across his face. He places the vinyl into his satchel. “Thank you.” With a wave, Mumbo guided his feet to the exit. The street had a quiet hum, people bustling as they walked to their destination. The warmth of the sun bounced off the stone paths, and Mumbo swears he can feel the soothing warmth seep through his shoes. There was one last thing to do on Mumbo’s list: Food. Although, the question remained what kind. Shuffling a bit, Mumbo came to a decision on his next destination. Maybe a stop at the butcher shop was in order. Mumbo had the perfect meal in mind.

No more secrets, Grian decided. The two would put an end to this endless loop of keeping things from each other, even if Grian had to do it by force. He was determined not to let this get to him, to not run away, and it was apparent Mumbo needed him more than ever before. But what was he supposed to do? The more he avoided hurting Mumbo, the worse the situation became. The more he leaned into it, the worse Mumbo became. Grian once again looked over the wall covered with papers and letters. There's no way a love potion did all of this, right? 

A simple love spell couldn’t make Mumbo simply teeter on obsession. At least, he hoped not. Could it have been a side effect of changing one of the ingredients? Just another stupid mistake. Grian winced. Grian squatted down and began his investigation through Mumbo’s dresser. Pulling a drawer open, he shuffled through its contents. Maybe the book Mumbo brought home would have something in it. Sure, it wouldn’t simply have the remedy inside, but it should at least give Grian a better understanding of what he was working with. Maybe, just maybe, it would give him a clue to how to fix Mumbo. Then, a speck. A flash of gold flickered. Grian’s hands grasped onto the familiar book, pulling it out of the dresser into the light. Hands trembling, he placed his thumbs on the fore-edge of the paper. There was no time for hesitation. What page was it on again? Grian opened the book. Empty. Empty? No. No, that couldn’t be right. Grian’s hands fumbled through the pages, looking for an answer that simply wasn’t there, then slammed the book shut. There were words on these pages before, right? Strangely enough, multiple pages were torn from the spine. Was this the same book? He examined the front cover. Plastered in gold, it was written in Galactic. The title of the book read: Midas. Grian’s nose scrunched. A moment ago, the title was completely different. He was absolutely sure he grabbed the Vampiric book—he remembered it clear as day. The words on the pages and the title practically disappeared all together. It vaguely reminded him of the woman who sold the book. She, too, disappeared. Grian slowly pried the book open again, separating the pages. The book was now filled with words, its dark ink stained on the ivory paper. Oh, there was no doubt about it: King Midas really had the Golden Touch! He thought it too good to be true. After this he touched the lilies that bordered the walk. They turned from pure white to bright yellow, but bent their heads lower than ever, as if they were ashamed of the change that the touch of King Midas had given them. His daughter walked towards him, then started running, with arms out to give him a hug. But just as her hand reached him, she, too, had become a golden statue. Suddenly all his bright treasures began to look ugly to him, and his heart grew as heavy as if that, too, were turning to gold. A small stifle emerged from the back of Grian’s throat. His grip on the book only grew tighter. This was all just another sick joke, wasn’t it? This book was just another tool of theirs. They were watching him. They were watching the entire time. Their eyes felt like pins on his back, making his hair stand on its end. The room around him began to dim, the shadows slowly growing in size. Grian sat still as he felt himself sinking deeper. Deeper. Until nothing but void surrounded him. His eyelids sank shut, his brows furrowing. “Grian, I—” “Just… leave me alone. Why won't you just leave me alone.” Grian opened his eyes, looking at the familiar golden glow. Midas stood before him. “I know you’re angry, but I can only suppress their eyes for so long. You know we can’t keep this up—” Grian uses all of his strength, slinging the hardback book across the room, straight through Midas. It bounces off the wall and lands on the ground with a heavy slam.

“YOU don’t know anything! I-I can keep this going for as long as possible! I’m not giving into their stupid fantasy! YOUR stupid fantasy!” His teeth bared. “I’m never letting anyone get hurt by you again!” “God, you can’t even listen?! You have no idea what you’ve done! You have no idea what you’re doing! If you would just listen—” “The last time I listened to you, you forced me to kill my best friend! I'm done listening. I'm done letting you shove me around.” Grian grew quiet, swallowing as he felt his throat became dry. “I just want you to leave me alone...” A beat of silence passed between the two. Midas shifted its weight uncomfortably, crossing his arms. “Fine.” Grian’s brows pinched, his lead lifting to meet the others' gaze. ‘Fine’? “Do you think I want to stay tethered to you..?” Midas’ voice echoes. “Having to wait for your every want and whim? Have you ever thought that I might want something, too? Want something more than to hide?” Midas turned away, holding himself tighter. Its head hung low, his view firmly planted onto the ground, “To be something more than a coward.” He spat. Grian swallowed the lump in his throat. A breath left him as he felt his face get cold. Slowly, he dragged himself from the ground. Grian’s mouth opened, wanting desperately to say something, anything, but nothing left him. He couldn’t defend himself. He was a coward. “So if you hate me, why don’t you just… get rid of me?” Midas suggested. A beat of silence passes between them. Grian hesitates, voice softening to question, “What… What would happen?” Midas’s head lifted. “What would happen if you disappeared?” Grian repeated. Midas’s eyes finally met Grian's, his brows furrowed. There was an uncertain sadness in his eyes. “I…” It hesitated, almost as if he, too, didn’t know the answer. Click. A familiar sound echoed through the home, violently ripping Grian back to reality. The sunlight that beamed from Mumbo’s bedroom window practically blinded him, forcing him to shield his eyes with his arm.. A small groan left him. Then, another familiar sound echoed. A long creak emitted from the hinges of the front door. Mumbo was home.

“Grian!” Mumbo’s voice rang through the empty halls of his humble home. Only silence answered him back. Mumbo’s brows pinched, shuffling awkwardly by the doorway. Grian must be sleeping. Slowly, he took a deep breath and exhaled. Hopefully he didn’t keep Grian waiting for too long. Maybe he just rested while Mumbo was out running errands. Walking to his kitchen, Mumbo placed his satchel on the counter with a light thump. His home was dark, it seemed the redstone wiring wasn’t working, but it wasn’t the top of his priority. So long as some of the lights worked, he would be fine. He would have to fix them when he had more time. He just simply didn’t have enough of it. Not now at least.

As he was about to make his way to the bedroom, a small glimpse of his clock wall collection caught his eye. Mumbo was so used to their sounds, it was background noise to him. They all ticked with a rhythm of disarray—all of them were off-time. He must have been so caught up with everything he didn’t notice the redstone caused a short circuit. Had he really let it get this bad? Mumbo’s head gently shook the thought away. He will fix them later. He would fix everything. Opening his bedroom door, he was left face to face with Grian. In front of him was the book, and all of his letters Mumbo stole. Mumbo's expression fell flat, his lips forming a small thin line. “Mumbo... we need to talk.” A nervous chuckle escaped Mumbo as he stood in the door frame. “Ha… uh. Seems that you’ve found my, uhm..” He wringed his hands together. “Your collection?” “WHAT? No! No, that’s.. Oh, goodness, is that what you think?!” “What else could I possibly think Mumbo? Y-You went through my belongings! You went through my mail! You went through my TRASH!” Grian promptly stood up. His tail whipped back and forth, the force pushing some of the letters towards Mumbo's feet.Mumbo put his hands up in protest.

“Gosh, Grian, please listen! I…” He pauses. “I got these things because.. I was just—I was hoping you would come looking for them. I just wanted to talk—” “Well, now we're talking.” “...Right.” Mumbo swallowed. A peering silence passed between them. Mumbo’s shoulders tensed as he straightened, his tail coiled around his leg tightly. Grian took a deep breath, shakily letting it escape him. “Look, I... It doesn't matter. What I'm worried about is this.” Grian reaches up onto the wall, grabbing a note and pulling it down, “This is your hand writing, isn’t it? What does it mean? ‘The sun is the answer’?” Mumbo’s brows twinged, an expression of confusion plastered on his face. He looked Grian up and down for a moment. Then, his lips slowly twisted into a smile. “Oh, is this supposed to be some sort of, like, pop quiz?” Grian froze, his grip tightening on the paper. “My love, of course I don’t know what it means, you made me write it.” Mumbo reminded him. Grian hesitated. “I made you write it. Me?”  Mumbo slowly walked over, grabbing hold of Grian’s hand. He slowly drifted Grian to a small desk in the corner of his room. “One late night, you found me asleep here at my desk. You took my hand, and the words drifted from your pen.” His hand clasped around Grian’s, his grip tightening, “You were as beautiful as ever.” He whispered. Grian violently ripped himself away, the paper falling from his hand. “I-I haven’t! We haven't seen each other since yesterday, Mumbo. I haven’t seen you in weeks!” His breath hitched. The paper fluttered to the ground. Mumbo faltered, taking a step back. He tries to keep a smile on his face. “You have been visiting me in my dreams.” He said with certainty, rubbing his thumb across his palm. 

Mumbo didn’t care how crazy he sounded, he knew what kind of power Grian held. There was no way that it wasn’t Grian. There was no way those dreams weren't real. All of those feelings, all of the talks, the promises he made. Grian can't just say they didn’t happen. Every time Mumbo woke up, he would find evidence of Grian being there. Items being moved and shoved around. Notes being left behind. Was Grian expecting him to ignore everything he saw? Everything he experienced? Grian shuffled, his feet instinctively dragging him back. His eyes were now wide with fear. Mumbo inched closer, his voice was soft.“You told me you wanted to be together forever. You said I love you.” His voice was tethering to a tremble, hands clenching open air. “Grian, please, don’t tell me that meant nothing.” Only silence answered his question. Grian stood by the desk like a deer in headlights, his eyes met Mumbo's golden ones. They were unfaltering, staring right through him and his charade without a shroud of doubt. They’re too much; pinpointed to his eyes with every bit of movement.

“I didn’t say anything like that.” Grian swallowed. He never wanted anything more than to scream it through the roof tops, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t risk putting Mumbo through loving him and its consequences. It was abundantly apparent that any sort of slip up would be catastrophic. It's already gotten so bad. The corners of Mumbo’s eyes welled with tears, his nose scrunching. “I don't believe you. I heard you, I saw you! I–” His hands scrunched with frustration, Mumbo’s eyes squeezed shut. “We made a deal.” A resiled silence—just for a moment. Slowly, Mumbo pried his eyes open, only for Grian to grab a hold of his shirt collar, slamming him onto the desk. Pens and pencils clattered onto the ground. Mumbo grunts, his lower back hitting the wood, the wind knocked out of him.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” “Grian?! I—” “WHO?! WHO DID YOU MAKE A DEAL WITH?!” Grian pleaded with bared teeth, pressing Mumbo farther onto the desk. Mumbo's eyes opened wide, stammering, “YOU! I-I made a deal with you!!” “I HAVEN'T SPOKEN TO YOU UNTIL YESTERDAY!” Grian shook Mumbo, “SO WHO DID YOU—?!”  Grian trailed off, his brows furrowing as he looked away. “So… who did you…” Mumbo breathed heavily. “It... It looked like me?” Grian asked tentatively. “It-It was you! Your voice, your hair, your eyes. You looked angelic.” Mumbo couldn’t help but stare at Grian’s features once again, his nose scrunching. A sad look was painted on him. Grian’s hands slowly drifted away from Mumbo’s shirt collar, swinging to his side. His stomach sank into a deep dark pit inside of him, twisting and turning as he started to put the pieces together.

No.

It couldn’t be Midas, could it? Only he was able to see him. Only he was able to talk to him, so… How could he? Grian’s voice trembled.  “I need to go.” He began to hasten out the room. “Grian, ” Mumbo pleaded. He lifts himself from the desk, his footsteps followed suit, “Grian, please, you’re weak.” Grian began to walk faster. God what was he going to do? He couldn’t actually leave Mumbo here could he? “Grian, you—you can stay for a moment. Just for a moment.” Mumbo's voice wavered. “I could cook you something.” Is he really going to run away again? Is he really going to hide? Grian’s thoughts warp inside his mind. “Mumbo, please…” “I bought you some music! I... I had dinner planned out,” Mumbo continued, “You could stay the night, Like..” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Just like we used to. Just like that one night.” Grian stopped in his tracks. He was holding it all together so well before, but this was just becoming too much. The thought of losing Mumbo became overwhelming, it practically consumed him. Grian took a deep breath, desperately trying to hold his emotions back. “If we keep doing this, I’m going to kill you,” Grian slowly turned his head. He doesn’t try to look at Mumbo. “I don’t know what I'd do with myself if that happened.” “Grian, if you leave me, I'll die without you!”  Mumbo stifled back a sob. To him, it was a fate worse than death. He couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Grian again. Would he die alone?

He can’t do this, Mumbo’s mind cried. We were doing so well! What went wrong!? Tick. Tick Tick. Tick. In the room next door, clocks ticked with disarray. With each second, an off-time, unharmonic tick ghosted the men’s ears. Grian’s eyes drifted to the living room wall, then back to Mumbo. Grian’s hand then grabbed hold of the door knob. Tick Tick. Tick. Tick. “Please.” Mumbo reached his hand out, “Please, we can fix this—” Grian pulled open the front door. “I’m sorry. I really am.” Without another word, he stepped outside and closed the door. Grian was a coward. 

He always had been. Tick. Tick. ..Tick. 

…Tick.

also the upper sketch separately because i like it