SaberStar

Grian ran as fast as he could. 

He never stopped. Never did he rest until he made it all the way back home. His legs began to ache, his lungs were on fire. Opening his front door he slammed it firmly behind him. Grian’s back rested against the door as he slowly slid down it, hugging his knees. He couldn’t help the small sob leaving him. How on earth did he manage to let it get this bad? How did he not see the signs? He should have stayed with Mumbo, he shouldn’t have avoided him for weeks on end. But isn’t that what he was doing now? He just left Mumbo alone to fend for himself, leaving him with more questions than answers. God, he just hoped Mumbo didn’t think he hated him. He wanted nothing more to help, but how could he? Grian lifted his hands, staring at his fingers. His clawed hands seemed to blur through the tears. Yet, for a moment, just for a moment, he could see his fingers fizzle into pixels. No matter what he did or didn’t do, it was only getting worse. He couldn’t stop it. He never could. He would answer for his transgressions. And the worst part is that he's come so far. If he were to run away now, all this work would have been for nothing. It could have been minutes, or maybe hours. Grian sat in silence, taking a moment to breathe. For now, he just needed to be alone. A soft familiar glow emanated in front of him. Grian whispered. “I… I want you gone. I don’t care what happens anymore, just… Just leave.” His home remains still, “If that's what you want, Grian.” 

and quiet.

Season 6, a week before the end of the season. 

Grian stumbled, his landing shaky. His wings were barely used, and the way he flew was practically like a baby bird. Grian knew it would have made it a lot easier to get around, but why would he use a gift the Watchers have given him? If anything, they were just a physical reminder of what he had done—the damage he caused. It made him feel better to use them as little as possible. Luckily for Grian, he felt a brief respite. This world sure had death, but the people inside were immortal. For a moment, just for a moment, Grian forgot what it was to lose someone permanently. This world allowed him to indulge in his creativity without punishment. Allowed him to build bonds without fear of breaking them. Reaching behind himself, Grian grabbed the tips of his wings. He slid them back between the slits of his sweater and made sure to keep them concealed as best as he could, then he kicked the dirt from his boots. Xisuma had cordially invited Grian to his base which was luckily right by his own; It was just a short fly over the ocean. It was a picture of perfect vibrant blue, and the air held a humid warmth. It was the middle of Summer, though Grian didn’t know if there were such things as time or calendars. They seemed to be just vague concepts here. When no one ages, why would you need to track time? “What even is ‘the end of a season’?” Grian mumbled to himself, tapping his heel onto the ground. “That's a good question, Grian! And a reasonable one.” “GAH!” Grian yelped. He almost falls over as a reaction. “Oh! My bad, wasn’t trying to scare you!” Xisuma let out a chuckle, “My base is pretty big so I wanted to lead you around. You ok?” He lifted his armored hand, holding it out. “Yeah! I'm fine!” A small chuckle left Grian, clasping his hand around the other and giving it a firm shake. The two began to make their way inside of the large pyramid structure. Strangely, despite its large design, it was able to keep itself floating on the water. Grian wondered what determined what made a block able to float in the air and which had to obey the rules of gravity. Though if he asked, he probably wouldn’t get a straight answer. It was game logic, wasn’t it? Xisuma's hands were placed behind his back, his footsteps sauntering. “So basically, us Hermits throw this big event called ‘the end of a season.’ With a world with infinite resources and unlimited creativity, it kind of gets cramped, yes?”

“Well, now that you mention it..” Grian hummed, recalling how restless the Hermits have been seeming lately. They created a whole golf course, they had a huge civic prank war, they even made a minigame district. He was inclined to agree that it felt like they were growing too big for their home. “This isn’t our first season you know, there have been many times we have outgrown our homes. Soon after, a portal appears. We all decide to leave our things behind and go see what's new for us.” 

The two stop for a moment, standing over one of the bridges that connected Xisuma's base together. The sun was held high in the sky, no clouds in sight. Xisuma continued, “You know Grian, I have the inkling you know this feeling.” What? Being cramped inside of a box so tight that you had to escape? Desperate to see what the world had to offer, to see if you had a higher purpose? To escape home and to start a new life where no one knew your name? No. No, Grian had no clue what Xisuma was going on about. A nervous chuckle escaped him. “You didn’t find Hermitcraft by accident, did you? Where were you before here?” A small curious hum escaped Xisuma, turning his head to look at Grian. Grian hesitated. “I… Before I came here, I was in an endless void. I wandered for hours until,” He trailed off, watching as the waves crashed into the bridge. “Until I ended up here.” It had been years at that point, so long that the void felt like a dream. Those moments were so blurry, he could barely recall them. All he could remember was how safe he felt once he entered the Server. “Well I think you were brought here for a reason, Grian.” Xisuma kept trekking on with Grian not too far behind. They were both led into a large main room, a large screen sat on one of the walls with redstone wiring hooked directly into it. Steam and hisses emitted from the large machine, struggling to maintain itself. This must have been some sort of makeshift computer, though it was a bit rudimentary. “Xisuma, uh, what would you call that?” “Hm?” “That, uhm... big device, up on the wall.” “What? Oh, this thing?” Xisuma shuffled around, placing his hands on his hips as he looked up. “That's my redstone input device. It's high tech! Don't you think?” “Oh, so it's like a computer?” Grian hummed. Xisuma returned a confused expression, making Grian mumble, “Erm, never mind! Don’t listen to me.” In the center of the room laid a large, white, circular table. Xisuma rolled out a large map on top of it. He spread it with his hands to fold out the corners. Using his index finger, Xisuma begins to point at parts of the map. “Here, at spawn, we should have a mycelium biome. Monsters can't spawn in there, so it would be a lot safer to start off with. That way we could build our shops without issue,” Grian watches with interest, his brows furrowed. Xisuma continued rambling about certain biomes in the distance. He explained that exactly every single one expanded into different islands in the ocean. It makes sense, but what is Xisuma exactly getting at? “You think you can do it?” Xisuma perks up, a smile on his face. “What? ME? Like—you want me to find something like this?” Grian takes a step back for a moment, his eyes back on the map. It's been so long he’s not even sure if he could get back to the void. “You found Hermitcraft, did you not?” Xisuma straightened his posture.

Grian opens his mouth to speak once again, but instead a sigh leaves him. He looks back down at the map. Xisuma was right, technically. “Fine.. I’ll see what I can do.” Grian affirms. Xisuma begins typing something in the communicator on his arm, the keys clicking and lighting up as he does, “Alright, I've got to check on one of my farms.. Think you will be ok here for now?” “Of course!” Grian’s lips pulled back, forcing a smile. Though it quickly dropped as soon as Xisuma made his exit. Reaching over to the map, Grian rolled it into itself. For a moment, he faltered. How on earth was he even supposed to get back to the void? It had been so long since he used any of his powers, he wasn’t even sure if he could. The void seemed so far away in memory and distance. Despite the seemingly impossible, its presence was clear in Grian’s mind. He closed his eyes as he tried to put the pieces of his fuzzy memories together. Stars, glittering and gleaming. The worlds inside of them are filled with hope and creativity. How heavy his feet dragged for miles as he searched for the perfect home.

He has to imagine the false feeling of a floor beneath his feet carrying him above the countless universes. Hold yourself high, Grian’s mind whispered, Be above all and see all that is meant to be. 

Opening them, Grian was met with a familiar dark emptiness. A sharp gasp escaped him, his eyes widening. The lack of light jarring. In the distance, flickering lights twinkled. It seemed that the thought alone brought him here… though, if he was being honest, he didn’t think that would work, either. Turning around showed a familiar crystal, much larger now than what was. Was this Hermitcraft? Hesitantly, Grian placed his palm onto the surface, and it gave a low buzz in response. The air around him felt like static. Pulling his hand away, sparks followed. Looking through the surface revealed Xisuma walking over to one of his farms. 

Grian’s index finger tapped against the crystal, swiping across it. The view now stopped on Mumbo, who was now looking at his base with confusion. It seems he was having trouble with the sudden appearance of a lot of chickens. Mumbo hunched over, desperately calling the chicks over and trying to grab them. A small giggle left Grian. After taking in the environment, Grian began to trudge himself through the thick air. The space now felt different—colder, lighter. Grian lifted his legs, making a mental note of how it felt. Last time he walked it felt as though it was through a sandy dune, but now it was like walking in a deep pool of water. Grian pulled open the map, straightening it out for reference. It would honestly take ages looking through each individual star, who knows when he would find another perfect world again. Walking through the waded air, Grian noticed that the stars began to shift. They all moved from their spots, until there was a definite line formed. Grian’s brows scrunched. He began his investigation, curiously inspecting each one of the stars. One in particular intrigued him, pulling it closer as he tilted his head. A few unfamiliar faces appeared and the world was dark. ‘Is it just me or is the moon big?’ Grian hummed. It reminded him of a game he played once long ago. What was it again? Frustration began to hit him as the name slipped his mind. He wondered if games like that were being made anymore. Honestly, he wished he knew. Continuing down the path, a star gleamed brightly, almost calling out to him. It looked to be exactly what they needed, biomes and all. Looking up, Grian gazed at the other stars that now laid far away. He wondered how many other worlds there must have been. Reaching out to the star it shrank in size small enough to hold in the palm of his hand. Peering into it, Grian watched himself and Scar talking. It seemed to be going well for a moment, before they ultimately shuffled awkwardly away. A small sigh left Grian. He knew it was going to be hard to reconnect with Scar after what happened, especially since he knew Scar wasn’t his own to begin with. Scar had different memories, different aspirations… yet there was still some need for connection. Grian desperately wanted to at least reconvene with him. Maybe one day he could tell him what happened. The gem in Grian’s hand began twinkling with a sudden brilliant glow. Slowly, that brightness enveloped him, leaving him back in the Hermitcraft server. Grian’s eyes squinted at the sudden adjustment, groaning as he wiped his face. Clatterings of armor echoed through the halls as Xisuma made his way back. “Did you figure it out?” His footsteps came to a halt, “Oh gosh, you alright?” “Yeah! Yeah, no. I’m fine.” Grian grumbled as he stood up, still wiping his eyes. He held up the gem for the other to see. It glittered in the sun, “Here, is this what you needed?” Xisuma leans in a bit, inspecting each facet for a moment before giving a pleased expression, “Yep! That's exactly what we were looking for.” “So… What do we do with it?” Grian raised a brow. “Oh, don’t you worry, me and Doc will figure that part out.”

Season 10, a week before the end of the season. Left at his door step, Mumbo couldn’t help but idle mindlessly. Everything was going so well, now it felt as though he let everything slip through his fingers. All of that trust, all of the effort he went through. Was it for nothing? No. No, Grian just needed a moment. There was no way he wouldn’t come back. He wouldn’t just leave Mumbo here again, Grian wouldn’t leave him to just figure it out all on his own. Right? This thoughtless idle made his legs begin to ache. Now that he had the time to think about it, his whole body was aching. He must have exerted all of his energy. Mumbo's brows pinch. When was the last time he slept? He honestly couldn’t remember. It must have been days ago. Sluggishly Mumbo’s legs began to move, it felt as though he was dragging through water. Lethargic, the word came to him. He felt lethargic. Stumbling through his home, he rested his hand against the wall for support. Mumbo attempted to comfort himself, ‘Sleep. I just need some rest.’ he repeated in his mind over and over as he trekked forward. He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to keep going like this. Tears welled in his eyes. He was supposed to be better now, yet he just felt as sick as before. Though this time it wasn’t from the illness, he was sure of it. He opened his bedroom door, left with the mess of papers on his ground–an empty spot where Grian was supposed to be. The room felt so cold without his warmth. Couldn’t Grian have at least stayed for a moment? Listened? Explained himself? Was it wrong that he was starting to become frustrated with this cycle? No matter how hard Mumbo tried, it felt as though he kept driving Grian to run away. Mumbo's anger quickly twisted back into guilt. Mumbo’s feet dragged across the floor, his eyelids drooping. Ever so slowly, he climbed onto the soft safety of his bed-sheets. His body felt like cement, he could barely move. A small sigh escaped him as he was able to finally rest. Rest… I just need some rest, Mumbo repeated to himself as he felt his eyelids flutter shut.

For a moment, he would rest his eyes. Then, when he wakes up he would figure out what to do from there. Even despite Grian running away, he knew they would be able to mend their relationship. Though he was sure Grian wouldn’t want him chasing him again, especially after everything he did. This cycle was starting to become tiring. Mumbo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, his head was starting to hurt now. Opening his eyes, he was left with nothing but darkness. Wait. Was he asleep? Using his elbows, he pried himself from the bed, looking out seeing nothing but a sea of emptiness. This felt familiar at least. His dreams had been left with nothing but dark for the past few days. Or was it weeks? Everything was starting to blend together. Peering over the edge of his bed, it seemed like you would fall for miles. A small whimper escaped Mumbo; one wrong move and he could slip into it. The only thing that broke him out of the thought was a small sniffle echoing through the darkness. Mumbo snapped up, his eyes fixated on a familiar figure. 

It was hunched over, sitting in the middle of the floor as he looked into the distance. Hugging its knees, its wings spread wide to hide itself. The angel lifts his hand and waves it into the air, a mirage forming out of the stars. It seemed to be reminiscing, a soft expression on its face. Mumbo looks up to see Grian sitting in some alien location. None of it seemed familiar. Bright white walls and luminescent lights held above. Grian was surrounded by a grey box and sitting in front of a box-like device… Wait. A computer! Mumbo remembered Grian talking to him about it once. Something about a job he used to do? Behind Grian, the angel stood overlooking his shoulder. He pointed at the computer screen as Grian typed. Perhaps it was giving him suggestions. The two smiled and spoke to each other before the angel waved his hand in the air, making the vision fade away. A small huff left him. 

Mumbo returned his gaze to the floor below, or rather the lack thereof. He swallowed the lump of anxiety in his throat, sliding his feet off the side of the bed. Hesitantly, he planted them onto the cold floor. The surface was wet and standing up made his legs shake. Looking down he noticed the floor dipped a bit, the surface tension reminding him of water. With wobbly legs and arms outstretched, Mumbo managed to balance his way to the lightened figure. His nose scrunched as he desperately tried to not look at the nothingness below. Eventually, he landed next to the angel. Mumbo bounced on the floor as he sat beside him. The angel snapped its view to Mumbo, its eyes opening wide in surprise. It didn’t expect to see him in this place so quickly, much less at all. Midas looked over at the bed with uncertainty before shaking it off. Inside the void they remained silent, but they sat comfortably. Mumbo shuffled around, adjusting his posture.

“I feel like… you may need to explain some things to me, Grian. You ran off in such a hurry and—I-I’m starting to think..” Mumbo trailed off, “I might have jumped to conclusions.” A small chuckle leaves the angel, soft and sweet. He looks out to the void, a small smile creeps across its lips. “You have so many questions. I’ve always liked that about you. So curious. You always want to understand everything from the inside out.” Mumbo hesitated for a moment, his voice spoke softly. “You… You’re not Grian, are you?” The angel perked up at the voice, turning his head to meet the others. His expression twists from a tender gaze into something melancholic. “I was… once.”  Placing his head on his hand he continued to look out into the vast night sky, “We used to be so close but now... Now, I'm pretty sure he hates me.” There was a bit of awkward silence, Mumbo fidgeting a bit as he struggled to find the right words. “He's a bit tricky, isn’t he?” A small smile tugged on his lips as he peeked over at the angel. A chuckle left him. “Sometimes I worry about the same thing.” . Mumbo leaned in a bit, curiously looking the creature over. Its hair fell over his nose, just a bit longer than Grian’s. Now that he had a better look, the differences began to stand out. They were like similar ideas yet disconnected. “My name.. is Midas,” The angel looks over, his hair drifting softly as if it wasn’t affected by gravity. His brows pinched, looking almost ashamed of the name. “at least, that’s what they call me… I’m Grian’s desires.” Mumbo whispers the name to himself, taking a mental note. He feels like the name is faintly familiar, but he can’t quite place it. Maybe he heard it in a story before? Wait. His desires?

Midas couldn’t meet Mumbo’s eyes, “I’m... I'm so sorry for not explaining earlier. There's so many things I know that I just don’t know how to say them…” His words trail off, “But you deserve an explanation.” Standing up, Midas outstretched his palm to Mumbo. Their fingers interlocked. Midas’s hand was that of static, a warmth emanating from him. Every aspect of him was comforting, maybe even familiar. Lifting Mumbo up, the two walked through the empty void. As Midas grabbed hold and held Mumbo’s hand, he guided him through the stars without pause. Looking down did Mumbo notice now that he was holding onto Midas, each step seemed to glow beneath them. The “floor” beneath their feet rippled with each step.

“Your world, in a way, could be described  as a story. When a story is written, it's to feed our emotions, helps us to feel something. Words can be added to a page, I can even write other stories, but this one has to play out… The story has to come to an end.” Midas voice became quiet, “You could even call it fate..” Mumbo was left wordless, his grip tightening on the other’s hand, squeezing it. There was a twinge of fear sitting deep within his chest. Mumbo’s nose scrunched as he started putting the pieces together. “You’re saying,” A shaky exhale left Mumbo, “Midas, am I meant to die?” Midas couldn’t answer. There was hesitation, silence crawling its way back. “Every action, every little thing has led you to this moment. And I know it may seem scary, but something extraordinary is about to take place.” Midas’s view is certain, unwavering. Knowing. The being turns around and fixes his hold on Mumbo. Mumbo falters as Midas places both of their hands together, now both hands interlock. “Everything I've given you. It's come true, right?” Mumbo gives a small nod. “Then, do you trust me…?” Mumbo’s brows furrowed, an uncertain look on his face before nodding again. Midas lets go of one of his hands and stands beside him. The two trek along the path of stars, glancing at each one. There were so many different stories being told, Mumbo watched each one with interest. His head cocked to the side as he saw worlds that never thought to be possible. He stopped at one in particular, gazing into it. Was he a huge computer in this one? 

The two end at a star that was much larger than the others. It towered over them, the light emanating from it overwhelmed them. Mumbo gazed into the crystal, looking as he saw a reflection of a much younger version of himself.

“This is when I first joined Hermitcraft! That was so long ago… It somehow it feels like I'm reliving it.” Mumbo's tail began to sway. He leaned closer and saw himself talking to Xisuma about spawn. Looks like they were discussing how to decorate. He placed his palms against the flat surface of the crystal.

“Every world is happening all at once. You’re experiencing it right now.” Midas peeked over Mumbo’s shoulder, watching curiously as the Hermits conversed. Looking out to the sea of stars, Mumbo couldn’t fathom seeing how vast it really is. It was a wonder as to how someone like Midas wouldn’t be lost in a vast void. Then again, with how easily it was able to guide him through to this star, he guesses that the being was familiar with this area as whole. “Does that mean that there's more? Other Hermitcrafts? One where I'm not sick? One where Grian and I..” The star glows on his fingertips. It becomes brighter, and brighter— Midas grabs hold of Mumbo’s shoulders, prying him away. It’s uncharacteristically frightened, soft hands that almost attempted to ground him. “I'd be careful if I were you! Those things are really tricky to work with. Only watchers can really control them, it barely worked when Grian tried to! I can’t imagine what would happen if a mortal were to mess with it.” Midas holds Mumbo close, from behind. “In all honesty, you shouldn’t even be in the void.” “Wh—hold on,” Mumbo lifted his arm, trying to get a good look at the angel, “Grian Isn’t a Watcher?” “Well, he was supposed to be! B-But… Uhm...” Midas's brows creased. “Something happened. I can't quite remember..” “Midas..” Mumbo's tone shifted to a more pleading one, “Please, I need you to be honest with me.” “I promise, I am! That was my whole purpose! I was supposed to make Grian into a watcher, but,” Midas’s grip got tighter, hugging Mumbo. “He doesn't even want to talk to me anymore. I’ve been trying to reason with him. It's like part of my memory has been locked away. I’ve tried asking what he remembers, but he doesn’t want to remember. He doesn't even want to,” Midas makes a vague gesture, “Want.” A small frustrated huff left Midas.He pulled away from Mumbo and looked into his golden eyes. “At least you listen to me... You actually enjoy the gifts I give you, even if they don’t go according to plan.” Midas’s expression turns sheepish, crossing his arms. It was a bit jarring to see Grian like this, so vulnerable and honest. Open yet shy. Midas was a walking contradiction. Mumbo couldn’t help but feel a bit flustered—or even a bit intrusive. It was like he was seeing a side of Grian that no one was allowed to see, not even himself. It was a private show, just for Mumbo. A small amused hum left him. “I won't lie, I didn’t expect to turn into a fruit bat. Weren’t you supposed to turn me into a vampire?” His tail began to sway side to side.

“Hey! It’s not my fault—It wasn’t supposed to happen like that!” Midas's nose scrunched as It playfully nudged Mumbo, making him chuckle. There was a time once where Grian was like this, happy and carefree. Knowing what Mumbo does now, it must have taken a long time for Grian to get there. He remembered how isolated Grian seemed when he first arrived, and how fast he warmed up. Midas’s warmth reminded him of what Grian could be, the dark void being a violent reminder of how cold Grian had become. Returning his view to the vast night sky, Mumbo couldn’t help but wonder. His feet shimmied slightly.  Mumbo's voice was soft. “Midas, you said that only Watchers could control these, yes? And there's a world out there where we're happy.” Mumbo extended his hand, their fingers interlocking. Midas’s hand seemed to phase into his own, “How does one become a watcher..?” Midas watched him for a moment, his eyes locked and unwavering. “It's… a bit hazy,” Midas’s brows furrowed as he began to recall, “When you make a deal, your soul becomes shattered like a piece of glass. You become broken and eventually need to recollect those pieces.” A chill ran up Mumbo’s spine, letting out a shaky exhale. Was he willing to risk that? “But you—you’re different. Somehow you’re here. Mortals shouldn’t even be able to traverse through the night sky. Mortals shouldn’t even be able to see me, much less talk to me.”Midas’s hand squeezed Mumbo’s as he began to think outloud. “Since our souls became one, maybe you wouldn’t need to shatter… Instead of Grian, maybe I could become part of you. You’ve already been using me this entire time..” Midas held Mumbo closer. “We made a deal.” Midas affirmed, “I've given you anything you wanted and more. You just have to tell me what you desire.” “What I desire..?” Mumbo repeated with a whisper. 

He wanted nothing more than for Grian to come back, to make amends. He wanted nothing more than to be free of this illness. If he understood Midas correctly, he would be able to kill two birds with one stone. Mumbo would be a Watcher instead of Grian. Grian would be free of his chains, and Mumbo would become immortal. If he wasn’t destined for anything greater than death, why wouldn’t he take the risk? Grian was all he could ever really want, more than life itself. And if death was inevitable, why not have a bit of fun? Why not aim higher? Instead of immortality, he would ascend godhood.

Mumbo leaned in closer, their noses almost brushing against each other. Every movement drew Midas closer, their hands faded into one. Mumbo’s lips twisted into a smile as he dipped Midas, almost in a dance.

“Make me a god.”

Grian had sat long enough. He wiped his face of dried tears as a shaky sigh left him. There was only so much time to sit and reminisce on things that once was, to mourn what peace he had. If he waited too long, he would lose everything completely. Grian’s fingers trailed up his face into his hair, holding his head in his palm. He needed to just take a moment to assess the situation: Mumbo was definitely not going to get better, but leaving him was out of the question. He was relying on him now. His blood was Mumbo's lifeline, and to avoid him would be the same as killing him. If Grian asked help from the others, would they too be brought into all of this? He gauged his options. Either he kept at this alone and Mumbo dies in the process, or Grian reached out to other Hermits and possibly end up hurting them as well. God, why did everything have to be so complicated? Grian’s tail began to whip back and forth in annoyance. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the note Gem made for him. She was good at this world's magic, wasn’t she? Maybe she would be able to figure out what to do from there. Grian’s wrist flicked instinctively to create a rift. He tossed the note into the open and watched  it flutter to the ground. Opening his palm, sparks of electricity glittered into the air with a fizzle. His brows pinched. Leaning down, Grian grabbed hold of the note, attempting once again to make a rift. Where on earth was his inventory? Why wasn’t it working? No, no, this can’t be happening right now! Grian stood up in a panic, thousands of questions ran through his mind. 

[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.