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Grian rushes through the air, wings beating frantically with urgency and excitement, hands gripping the wooden pole of the banner so firmly his knuckles would probably be even paler than the rest of him in this cold, were he visible. Yet despite the frigid bite getting worse--if changing at all--he feels the hair on the back of his neck rising instinctively at the burn of a ghast’s eyes trained on him. He hadn’t exactly been sneaking after grabbing the flag, but that gaze was one of the last he’d wanted to catch on his return flight.
Before he even hears any signs of danger, the demon takes on the most unpredictable flight pattern he can sustain, ducking and diving. As prepared for, a loud sizzling noise and smoky smell fill his senses as a huge ghast fireball whizzes right past his face, to then violently blast a flame-ridden hole in the structure ahead of him on impact. Adrenaline courses through him at the thrill, and he swerves for home base faster, shifting suddenly every few seconds to keep the ghastfire off his tail. He just manages to dodge the impending barrage of firey blasts before he reaches the huge, increasingly dented-up futuristic composition that is the G-Team headquarters.
He hears another fireball coming to meet his course as he’s set to glide over the building, and he tucks his wings in almost completely, sending him tumbling onto the flat roof of the headquarters with no grace whatsoever. He just manages a glimpse of the fire whizzing by where he would have been were it not for the evasion. He tumbles to a halt and lands face-down, wings splayed out awkwardly on either side of him but unharmed outside of what’ll probably become a few bruises. Holding the flag close to his chest underneath him, he feels an odd tingle over his body as his invisibility wears off. He takes a moment to check for shed feathers that may betray his disguise, and upon finding none he slumps back down on top of the flag, panting heavily from the exertion; when he picks up on the shuffling of someone approaching.
“Grian!” shouts Tango’s voice from over by the bubblevator. He must have heard Grian’s oh-so-graceful landing from the control room beneath them. “You okay, bud?”
“Never better,” Grian replies, panting. He curls his wings in and turns over, revealing the flag and holding it in the air victoriously.
“Oh, you got it!” he says excitedly. “Awesome. Great job, man.” He rushes back towards the bubblevator and lets himself be dragged down by the magma bubbles. The demon begins to bring himself to his feet, before hearing the hiss of a signal traveling down redstone dust. He looks for the source of the sound, but he quickly loses it as he vaguely registers it zipping away somewhere beneath him. Peeking over the edge of the base to find what’s going on, he only barely jumps out of the way in time as firework rockets go off just a few metres from his face. He scrambles back, ears ringing and everything stinging from the sudden explosion right after his crash, but nonetheless smiling wholeheartedly at the explosive, colorful signals of their victory; a victory brought on by him, no less. The thought makes him smile.
A splash sounds from behind him as Tango reemerges and beckons him over. “Come on man, let’s get you patched up. We’ll all be meeting in the middle of the battlefield soon, and the others seem pretty insistent on you having some hot cocoa before we go out there.”
The gracious feeling of being cared for resonates in his chest. Grian nods and pushes himself to his feet, his lack of sleep nipping at the edge of his mind as he follows Tango down into the base, graciously accepting his fate of being doted on by Stress for the next while.
The coziness is still wearing off from having Stress’s hot cocoa around Cleo’s oversized fire with the rest of the team as they all make their way towards the crater, sans Joe and Cleo who promised to meet them there.
Walking up to the meeting site, Team Star seems to have just arrived, many members chatting among one another while waiting for their adversaries to show up. He quickly looks over to Doc while False stretches her impressive wings nearby, getting her a jokingly annoyed look from Wels.
Just catching up with the rest of the team, walking towards the crater and chatting about some kind of redstone magic, are Impulse and the last member of Team Star. Mumbo looks up from the conversation and spots Grian, unintentionally drifting away from his conversation the moment he does so. Smiling amusedly, Impulse walks off to the other end of the lineup to leave Mumbo to his thoughts.
“Good game, good game.” starts Doc, casually spinning his sword in a manner Grian can only perceive as subtly menacing, even after peace had been reestablished. “Though I have to wonder, how did you guys manage to capture our last flag?”
Grian instantly tenses up as he finds himself in the spotlight, every hermits’ eyes on him in a matter of seconds. Shifting his wings under the uncomfortable attention, his voice comes out a mutter before he speaks up. “I used-- I used an invisibility potion and flew over.”
“Oh, that’s what the ghasts were all caught up about.” says Impulse. Doc gives a slow nod in realization, brows furrowed.
“Yeah,” Grian replies with a nervous chuckle, “Had a few close calls on the flight back. The flag wasn’t quite so invisible.”
“Nailed the landing, though.” jokes Tango with a playful jab at Grian’s side. Grian shoves him back with a crooked little smile, though secretly appreciating the break in attention.
“Should watch your back out here you know, G-Team.” says Doc suddenly, his voice shrouded in intimidating air as he stares right at Grian, who quickly finds himself having to force his breathing to remain steady; although his voice doesn’t so well hide his fear.
“W-what’s that supposed to mean?” he demands back shakily, trying to hide the shiver Doc’s threat sends through him as he firmly grips his useless powder sword to tame his nerves. To his surprise, Doc unceremoniously drops the intimidating act.
“Behind you.” the cyborg states bluntly, and the rest of his team turns around instantly. Grian hesitates a little to turn his back, but the startled noises of his teammates gets him to whip around, feign sword tight in hand. He almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of Joe, Cleo in his arms, sweeping in directly for him alarmingly fast. He scrambles back in response as Joe flutters to a stop and gently sets a now-cackling Cleo down right in front of where Grian had been standing and lands behind her himself.
“You-you should have seen your face when you saw us coming, Grian.” Cleo chokes out between giggles.
“What was all that holdup?” asks Jevin once they settle down.
“Cleo felt like she needed another hot cocoa.” Joe says with a smirk, getting him a defiant noise from Cleo that implies well enough that it was probably the other way around.
“Man, you guys got hot cocoa?” Impulse grumbles. Stress looks about ready to invite them over for some when a slosh signals the arrival of Cub and Scar.
“Well! That was all good fun, eh?” announces Scar, as if he were starting the conversation. “‘Least I hope so.” The group murmurs in affirmation as Cub beckons behind him. The scarred-up pillager returns and begins taking the dye swords from each of the hermits.
Scarface comes around his side first this time, taking the powdered sword from his hands. Though he knows it wouldn’t have been any good of a weapon to begin with, he feels uncomfortably vulnerable without it, something from his time in the Nether subconsciously rendering that he’s open while all the others around him are armed. He tries to shake the discomfort from his mind, but as much as he trusts most of these people he can’t help but want to reach into his pack for his beloved trident. He resists the urge until he sees the others getting out their own weapons, and hastily grabs his trident from his own.
Having his own trident back in his grasp is a relieving feeling, a physical reminder the Hermits want him here, and serving to grant reassurance to his fretting instincts. They fire up again, though, as he looks over to see the looming presence of Doc pulling his own trident out of his pack. He handles it like a fragile thing, taking a moment to inspect its sharp prongs and then spinning it slowly against his organic palm, the weapon dancing with haunting delicacy in his grasp. Looking back to Doc’s face, he’s met with an ominous knowing smile that sends a shiver down his spine. The moment holds for a few chilling seconds too long before being broken with the silence as Xisuma speaks up. “Wait a second, where’d ConCorp go?”
He and Doc look up from one another and around the area, and indeed Cub and Scar are nowhere to be found. “Perhaps there’s more dimensions to consider than the one you expect they be bound to.” He gives Joe a questioning look. “The minds of those unhindered would suspect the vertical axis first thing.” he replies, as if that answers anything. “Or second thing, or third, but one of the first few things, definitely.” After another couple seconds of confused silence, Cleo sighs and points to the sky. When Grian looks up, sure enough he sees a couple figures mounting onto an oddly structured mass of slime blocks and magic redstone bits. Just as he spots them, he hears distant piston movements, and the machine starts gradually inching across the sky. Both teams break into laughter as Cub and Scar slowly ride the thing off into the sunset, waving down at them and shouting unintelligibly.
“Cya, Cub!” calls back Cleo when he yells back to them, while Xisuma tries to get False not to take off after them.
“So, we all still friends?” says Iskall. The group erupts in “of course”’s, before laughter as Doc makes a silent evil little grin in response. “No more fighting--”
“Until next migration.” finishes Doc, and the teams chuckle in agreement.
“Until next migration!” seconds Xisuma with a nod, letting the laughter die out of the group before continuing. “Good fun. But, uh,” he gestures to the flaming mess that is what remains of the battlefield, “who’s going to clean up?”
Almost as if it were a practiced movement, he and all the other hermits instantly turn around and take off into a sprint in the other direction, or in a flurry of feathers in Joe’s and False’s case, erupting in “nope”’s “not it”’s as they all disappear from the battlefield in the blink of an eye.
That is, all but two.
He stands still, letting the whole of his and the others’ team members disappear from the scene at high speeds, leaving him alone with Mumbo, the two of them locked in place by one anothers’ gazes.
“Guess we’re the janitors of the battlefield then, eh?” Grian says after several long seconds. It seems to catch Mumbo off-guard, and he blinks into his surroundings as Grian walks over to meet him.
“Oh, well, I’m sure the fires are soon to burn out with the cold wind.” Mumbo comments, looking around at the smoking battlefield with dying flames lingering in some of the grass.
“Nature will take care of what we don’t.” Grian agrees. “And besides, leaving it as-is could make for a nice memoir. Preserved as history.” He nods to himself at the satisfying excuse to avoid cleaning, earning him a light chuckle from Mumbo. Finally feeling the tension slip away now that everyone’s gone, he takes the calm moment to stretch, spreading his wings to their full span before stopping with a sharp twinge of guilt upon realizing he was flaunting them in front of their rightful master. He looks up to see if Mumbo had noticed, and finds much to his worry that the angel is looking at him with a longing, sort of melancholy expression. He looks away shamefully. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, Grian, you have nothing to be sorry for.” he replies. Though his tone is genuine, there’s a somberness to it that doesn't quite match his words. It makes Grian’s heart ache, for just how much the angel has lost at his hands. But notably more potent is the sting from the fact that Mumbo’s treated the thief with nothing but kindness these past months; all out of an oblivion the demon consciously lets persist. Thorns pierce his heart, the grip of his guilt on his mind unrelenting. He deserves nothing more.
“I just… I miss it, you know? It was so casual when I had them, I took it for granted.” Mumbo sighs as he looks away slightly towards where his wings would rest in his vision were they still under his control, and Grian’s glad Mumbo isn’t looking to see them twitch involuntarily. “I didn’t realize how much I loved the feeling of wind in my feathers, or seeing the world drift far below… until…” he trails off with a sigh, leaving Grian’s mind sunken with the weight of his sins.
That’s when it comes to him; a way to compensate for what he’s done, miniscule as it may be. “I could try to take you flying.” he finds himself saying before he can think. Mumbo looks up at him in shock at the offer.
“Wh-no, Grian, you don’t have to do that. This isn’t your burden to bear.” It should be. “If the rest of the server can live without flight then so can I.” Guilt pangs in Grian’s chest, but this time it’s only fuel to the idea. There’s some sense of urgency at a chance to repay the angel with what little he can, and he finds his demeanor for the first time shifting surprisingly naturally to the kind of firm caring he’s been the recipient of since his visit to Xisuma’s base.
“Mumbo.” He seems to catch the grounded angel’s attention with his tone, earnest and distinct. “Do you want to fly with me?” He looks Mumbo in the eye, hoping his expression translates well enough that he’s looking for honesty. After several long seconds of looking back and forth between Grian’s eyes, the angel turns away and gives a gentle nod. He takes a breath to speak but is cut off as Grian reaches for his hand. “Then come fly.”
Mumbo hesitates for a moment, then holds onto Grian’s hand with his own. Grian gives him a soft smile and leads him over the dying flames of the battlefield to the G-Team base, inside and onto the roof.
It’s up there, then, that his nerves catch up to him; how could he have proposed this? Is he insane? This can’t possibly go well-- but his panicked thoughts are instantly pinned into stillness when he looks at Mumbo to see him brimming with excitement he must have been masking before. Where Grian feels it daily, it’d have been months since Mumbo had felt the whipping winds of the sky against his face that comes when you soar. He’d been the one to bring up the idea; and seeing Mumbo’s state of anticipation, he couldn’t bear to back out now. This was the least he could do after having put Mumbo in this position to begin with.
First he needs to test if he can actually pick him up, though. Grian tentatively wraps his arms around Mumbo’s waist and lifts him off the ground, stumbling back a little under the tall and confused Hermit’s weight but able to support him with more ease than he’d feared. Letting him back down onto his feet, Grian steps closer to the edge and looks over at him expectantly, to which Mumbo responds by trotting over to join him, a noticeable bounce in his step.
Grian struggles to figure out how to hold onto the angel, and ends up standing on his toes to cross his arms over the others’ chest from behind, which in turn Mumbo clutches to himself. Grian hops off the ground and wraps his legs around Mumbo’s, clinging onto the angel in probably the most awkward piggyback ride ever to grace this world. After a moment of regaining balance, Mumbo walks them over to the ledge and Grian flares open his wings. He can feel Mumbo taking a deep breath under his arms, before he gently steps off.
His frayed nerves almost instantly settle down as the breeze ripples through his feathers. All the heat from the flames of war have become the most warm, gentle updraft, allowing them to start rising again without Grian even needing to flap his wings. He carefully guides himself through the currents into a slow soar, rising high above the battlefield and looking out over the expanse of beautiful nature and masterfully hand-crafted builds alike, perfectly cast in an amber light by the setting sun. It’s been awhile since he’s taken it all in, and he finds himself in awe; he can only imagine how much more his passenger must be feeling.
As if to answer his wonder, he feels the body in his hold shiver, Mumbo’s chest beginning to shudder in a way that could have him think he was laughing. But he finds his heart flutters as he just barely notices a little glistening point falling for long beneath the angel that betrays it’s no laughter. Mumbo’s firm grip on the arms around him loosens to eventually come up and wipe his face dry, and Grian finds himself almost weakened by the sheer undeserved trust the action shows, the angel’s very life in his hands, that he couldn’t imagine having in anyone. Mumbo’s arms quickly find their way back around his own, but loosen once again when he hesitantly brings them out on either side of him. His tension quickly evaporates as he begins shaking once more in teary laughter.
Grian, on the other hand, is met with a strong clash of emotions, so opposing and tearing at his heart this way and that, that it has him at a loss for what to feel. Joy, for being able to bring the angel to tears with the beauty of what he’s missed for so long; combated by the sheer grief for the fact he took this from Mumbo forever, for his own gain, and hasn’t even had to decency to own up to doing so. It leaves him frozen, beginning to soar over the ocean, absentmindedly turning ever so slowly as they glide past their bases. Then, without warning, all the updraft drops from beneath them, Grian barely snapping out of his own thoughts to respond as they begin quickly sinking towards the shopping district.
It’s to his horror that his wings, for the first time in months, resist his command.
He tries repeatedly, desperately, to get them to swerve out of the way, or to whip open and break their fall; but they remain frozen in place, half-tucked and plummeting them both towards the collage of buildings with more speed than he knows how to handle. He tightens his grip on Mumbo, freeing one arm from around his chest to bring it over the angel’s head and shield him from the potential crash inbound, squeezing his own eyes shut in bracing as he tries more fiercely to open his wings to no avail.
Feeling the demon’s arm in his hair must have woken him to the danger he’s in, as Grian feels the body beneath him tense up with a gasp. His wings finally flutter the tiniest bit; and to his surprise, instead of bracing for the crash, the angel stares straight ahead, freeing Grian’s arm from his head and holding onto him tight. Grian’s wings twitch and shift, then finally snap open. Grian’s eyes flick open at the sting of pain from the sudden force of the air beating on his wings as they fail to break the momentum. He tries to shift them to swerve out of the way of the incoming vast cluster of buildings; yet his wings again refuse to move as he tells them to, stiffly spread and twitching of their own accord.
They plunge too close to take any route but through the district lest they crash. But his wings are just as stubborn as they were when he first got them, and he knew he wouldn’t have the skill to weave between the closely-knit shops even if he did have that control, so he just squeezes Mumbo tightly, mind too rushed with terror to think of something to save them if there even is anything that could.
He flinches as he sees a large building rushing towards them, bracing for the excruciating impact; when by no command of his own, his wings beat against him, flitting in and out of the space around them with more skill and fluidity than he could ever hope to pull off himself. They carry the two around and between the closely-knit buildings with the skill of years of experience, dipping under the ceiling of an open gray shop, swerving around a quartz and glass prism, dodging, weaving, and spinning them around in a swift feathery blur that somehow manages to stay airborne and never collide in the maze of solid walls. A couple swift beats sends them between the smokestacks of an imposing brick building after which they get the clearance to rise into the sky above the crowded collage of stores.
It’s just then, as the adrenaline coursing through his veins begins to dissipate, that he notices Mumbo squirming slightly in his hold; he had been for the whole dive; or no, just his shoulders and back, shifting and flexing--
oh. The realization sinks in like a lead weight.
His wings are moving perfectly in sync with their rightful master.
Panic frays his nerves all over again, and he desperately tries to keep his breathing somewhat steady, but he knows he’s failing. He finds himself gripping Mumbo even tighter to resist the sensation trying to make his limbs weak with terror. There’s no way he can’t know, not after that. The world seems to spin around him with his thoughts, enough to make him almost grateful he’s not piloting. His senses blur, only vaguely registering them rising high into the air, until he finds his wings fluttering slightly in the way they do when he has to land, and a sense of sturdiness comes as Mumbo’s feet gently meet the concrete making up the top of Grian’s base. As soon as he can tell the angel is steady he decouples, gracelessly letting onto the ground, tumbling onto his side with wings splayed around him as he struggles to bring himself to a steady state of mind.
He shoves himself up onto his hands and knees, forcing his finally responsive wings up over his body, but then slumps to a sit for stability as his swirling thoughts make the world around him sway. His limbs soak in the rest after holding the taller Hermit the whole flight.
He doesn’t want to, but he can’t resist the need to know, and he turns to look over at the angel before him. His heart prepares for the worst, but to his surprise he looks up to see Mumbo... smiling down at him. Offering a hand to help pull him to his feet. He can’t help but look up at him in confusion and despair; the grounded angel’s kindness is unwavering, even right after proof of Grian’s crimes had just been handed to him on a platter. There’s no way he can’t know by now, surely, yet he acts like nothing happened.
Stunned, he takes the outreached hand and comes to his feet; but Mumbo continues pulling and draws the demon into an embrace. Grian stumbles forward a little, trying to find his footing as arms envelop him and Mumbo’s breath cascades down his neck.
“Thank you, Grian,” he murmurs softly, “so much.” Grian sinks into the hold for a few seconds, soaking in the angel’s words and voice. He almost lifts his arms to return the hug, before his grappling mind catches up with what’s happening and he tears away forcefully.
“What are you playing at?” Grian demands, voice breaking with the sudden rush of painful emotion. Mumbo looks taken aback by the snap, hands up slightly, looking down at Grian with brows furrowed and worry in his eyes.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, tone laced heavily with guilt. He steps closer, freezing when Grian backs up slightly in response.
“You know exactly what.” Grian chokes out, eyes welling up with tears. “You know exactly who I am and what I’ve done to you--” he stammers, “why are you still playing dumb? Why are you being so nice to me? I don’t deserve it, I…” he trails off, squeezing his eyes shut and grabbing at his hair in frustration, feeling the press of his glamoured horns against his fingers as they curl among the messy locks. “I-I can’t take this anymore, what are you doing?! ”
He regrets the words and tone the moment they slip out, tensing up at the mistake and how much he may have just hurt Mumbo. But when he looks up fearfully to see his face it’s overlaid with only guilt and pity. Somehow it only hurts more. He dips his head. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve him.
“Oh, no, Grian…” Mumbo coos, stepping closer with the gentlest caution. “I thought you’d feel safer that way.” Grian looks up at him, head still, confusion and emotion fogging his thoughts before they can link together the meaning of the angel’s words themselves. “You always seemed so scared of someone knowing, I…” he looks away shyly, “I didn’t want to ruin this.” he finishes, gesturing vaguely at the both of them. Mumbo dips his head regretfully. “It was stupid of me, I’m sorry.”
They sit in silence for a few moments as Grian processes what had just been said. “W-wait, you’re kidding,” he says, and he sees Mumbo look up confusedly in the edge of his vision. He turns to meet the gaze. “You knew all this time, and you’re apologizing?
“Well, I mean, I had an idea? I-I guess?” Mumbo stammers.
“A demon stole your wings, and snuck in here, a-and lied to you, to everyone, how--why haven’t I been banished?!” Grian sputters. “Or locked up, or--t-turned over to… to them…? ” Mumbo looks right into Grian’s eyes, expression carrying grief deeper than he’s ever seen in him or anyone. As he speaks, his tone holds the same weight, with clarity and emotion in his voice Grian can tell he has to force to remain steady through shaky breaths.
“I meant every word I said in that cave.”
As Grian’s mind sifts through such huge lobs of information and emotion, he can only stand there, stunned, as his mind slips and he’s falling, falling faster and further than he can wrap his head around. Somehow his thoughts are spinning, thrashing, and keeping eerily still at the same time, but most of all they’re slipping. Everything is slipping, falling away. Terror rises up not for the fall, but the crash, yet it feels like an endless drop. Tears begin to well up in his eyes and he lets onto his knees, turning up to face the light, not hiding a single tear; and, in a wave of mystic relief, hiding neither a single horn nor black feather. He sees Mumbo’s expression shift as his glamour falls, but to what he can’t be sure, the angel’s face blurred in his vision by tears as they stream from his face with newfound vigor. His mind and heart are raw and exposed, everything he’s tried to cover up all this time right on display, the relief of the long awaited vulnerability clashing and knitting together with the sheer terror of everything he’s hidden behind falling away before his very eyes.
He crumples. It’s all too much, he’s lost everything, yet his angel never runs, or strikes, or even speaks against him. Nothing can be heard over his own thoughts, over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He leans into himself, tucking his wings tightly around his body and burying his head in his hands, shaking.
He takes a stuttered gasp as he feels a hand rest on his shoulder, and without even looking up he can’t resist the urge to come forward and lean into the angel’s chest. Arms wrap around his, carefully avoiding his wings, one risen to run fingers through his unkempt hair as Mumbo’s chin rests on his head. He can feel his voice, murmuring calming somethings to the trembling little demon curled onto him. Grian slowly unfurls his wings and wraps them around both of them, huddling in the angel’s warmth, his trembling beginning to calm, his breathing beginning to steady.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “I’m so, so sorry.” Mumbo’s hand finds its way from Grian’s hair, along the side of his neck and to his chin to gently lift the demon’s head and meet his teary gaze in the dim amber light peeking through the wings.
“Hey, don’t be.” Mumbo says quietly, “If losing my wings was what it took to meet you, I far underpaid.” Grian’s heart skips a beat at his words. Breaking a smile as tears well up anew, he flings his arms around the angel, shakily squeezing him with arms and wings, and Mumbo returns the tight embrace. They hold each other for a long few seconds.
“I don’t want to let go.” Grian whispers as he calms into a steady mind.
“You don’t have to.” he replies softly.
Grian moves his head to bury his face into Mumbo’s shoulder, bringing his wings back and snuggling into the angel, who lets out a quiet little squeak, much to Grian’s amusement. He smiles against the suit jacket, and in the warmth he can feel his lack of sleep catching up to him all at once. With a little sigh, he tucks his wings tightly around his curled up body and quickly finds himself drifting off. Except this time, he doesn’t so much object.
His delirium leaves him barely conscious as he registers his weight being lifted into the tall hermit’s sturdy arms, cradled gently as the bubblevator drags them down and back up, then is gently carried along beneath the waves, dry and breathing all the way per the conduit’s magic. He smiles a little as he picks up the earthy scents of his shipwreck in a bottle, and after a few sounds of footsteps on wood he has the familiar feeling of his bed beneath him, followed by blankets enveloping him in warmth.
He flicks an eye open after a few seconds, seeing Mumbo standing next to the bed and smiling softly. With a little mischievous grin, he fake stretches his wings out towards Mumbo, before sweeping him up in one wing, earning him a startled yelp, and pulling him onto the bed. “You get over here too, ya big buffoon.” he teases, ruffling the bewildered angel’s hair as he wraps him up in his wings. It’s too dark to see it, but he can feel the rush of heat in Mumbo’s face against his wing, making for a matching one in his own, and Mumbo seems happy to settle right there as they both begin to doze off.
He startles awake slightly, though, when a little rumble escapes his throat, making Mumbo shuffle next to him. They lay there a few moments in the sound, equally bewildered.
“You can--you can purr?” Mumbo mumbles. Trying to voice his own confusion only leads his voice to blend with the buzzing, creating a confused little murmur, to which Mumbo lets slip a tiny “awh”, much to Grian’s amusement. “I--I’m just--” he cuts off when his voice comes out much higher-pitched than usual, “I’m sorry, that’s just the most adorable thing I’ve ever witnessed, oh my word.”
Grian giggles amusedly, translating into a little trill that gets Mumbo to squeak. He finds himself quickly growing fond of the sound--no doubt in part due to how it makes Mumbo absolutely melt--and it begins to sway him back into drowsiness. Mumbo’s hand finds its way to Grian’s head, fingers running through his hair and gently thumbing his horn, before eventually slowing to stillness with the rest of the angel as the steady rumbling lulls him to sleep; Grian himself following suit.
The last thing he hears before slipping into darkness is his own purr, last thing he feels is the angel’s warmth through the covers.
He could die like this, honestly.
He wouldn’t have a complaint in the world.