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Mumbo climbed up the stairs to the Sahara meeting room, stumbling over the steps. When was the last time he’d slept? Iskall had even mentioned it the other night when they were talking, saying how Mumbo’s voice sounded slurred and asking if he’d slept.
But redstone projects truly absorbed him, and he lost all sense of time when he was working on them.
So he’d replied with a no.
That evening, ten minutes before the current time, Iskall asked him to come up to the meeting room if he could— apparently some issue had risen, and he wanted Mumbo’s help.
“Iskall?” He stepped in, leaning on the doorframe. Iskall looked up, his cybernetic eye whirring softly in the otherwise quiet room as it focused.
“Hey, Mj.” He smiled, beckoning to Mumbo’s chair. Mumbo stifled a yawn as he walked over, dropping into it. Iskall immediately pulled out his notebook, flipping the pages until he reached the more recent ones and starting to explain the issue.
Mumbo wished he was that organized.
It was something about asking for too many of the same item, the hoppers would lock up somehow if that were to take place. But after a few seconds, Iskall’s words turned to nonsense despite Mumbo’s best efforts to listen. Sleep tugged at the back of his mind.
“...Mumbo?”
Iskall’s direct address snapped him out of his daze and his head shot up from
where he was focusing on the subtle pattern of the polished quartz table.
“Sorry, what was that?”
Iskall narrowed his eye, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Mumbo exhaled softly.
“You doing alright, dude? You look tired.”
Mumbo agreed drowsily with a nod of his head, and he felt Iskall’s hand leave his shoulder. He expected the conversation to continue, but after a short pause he felt his chair being pulled away and someone tucking their arms under his to lift him.
“Iskall—“ Mumbo wriggled a little, eyes widening despite his weariness, and the grip loosened. He still felt a soft tug on his sleeve anyway, and followed wherever Iskall was leading him.
He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Iskall cut him off.
“Mumbo, you can’t even listen to me talk, you’re exhausted.” Iskall said, his voice gentle as he led Mumbo up a staircase. The storage room had a few blankets and pillows tied together, ready to be used— none of the Architechs had the healthiest of sleeping patterns.
Mumbo leaned on Iskall’s side, not even bothering to argue. He could hear the quiet whir of machinery under Iskall’s skin, the sounds of gears and rhythmic clicking alongside other mystery sounds. He found it a little calming, a similar effect to listening to someone’s heartbeat
It was kind of strange, but he liked it.
A few moments passed, and he was sat down on a shulker box. His head felt heavy as he listened to Iskall search through chests and shulkers, disorganized after Grian had been there over the weekend.
Then Iskall addressed him again, and he opened his eyes. A dark blue blankey was on the ground, folded over to create a softer floor in the corner of the room. Iskall helped him take off his blazer.
“Thanks,” He mumbled, dropping down onto the material. He didn’t bother taking off his shoes as he crawled under the covers, drowsily watching as Iskall draped his blazer over a chest near the entrance.
And he started to leave.
Something in the back of Mumbo’s mind stirred, and he acted without even thinking about it.
“Hey, Iskall, could you, um—“ He froze. What in the world was he saying? Even in his sleep-deprived state, he knew better than to ask that. They were business partners and friends, the request would most certainly make things weird between them, and—
“Yeah?”
Mumbo blue-screened, searching for any excuse, but not finding anything in the recesses of his brain. So he coped out with quiet ‘Nothing,’
Iskall smiled nervously as he determined whether or not to leave it, glancing at the door then back at Mumbo. He decided not to.
“Seriously, what is it? Do you need anything?” Iskall took a step backwards, hesitating at the doorway. Mumbo murmured his initial request a little too quietly for Iskall to hear.
“Pardon?”
“I was going to ask if you’d stay, but it’s alright. Just, uh,” He paused, face burning. “It’s fine, forget I asked.” It was just a dumb question, Iskall probably thought it was a joke, nothing to get flustered over. He tried to comfort himself with that thought— he was the youngest hermit, he could be childish sometimes and get away with it. Nobody would mind.
But to his surprise, Iskall didn’t ridicule him and laugh it off, turning the light out with a joking remark.
At first, all he said was “Oh.” and he looked at the floor. But after a second, he blinked and looked up with a small smile. “Sure, man. I’ll stay.”
Mumbo was shocked, but not in an unpleasant way. Iskall dimmed the lights just enough so he didn’t trip on his way over but it was still dark enough to fall asleep to and lay down beside him. He snaked his organic arm under Mumbo’s back and his cybernetic one over his chest to intertwine his fingers, effectively pulling them closer together in an effort to stay under the covers.
“This alright?”
Mumbo’s throat felt dry, but he managed a nod. He was happy not to have robotic parts like Iskall and Doc, because he was sure that they’d be overheating right now for sure. A little voice in his head told him that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
It meant he liked it, right?
And that he did. He probably wouldn’t ever admit it, but the idea— no, feeling— of being curled up next to Iskall, sound asleep, made his heart flutter and race.
Iskall must’ve noticed, because he chuckled softly before burying his head into Mumbo’s shoulder. His mechanical arm made a quiet whirring noise once again as he moved it ever so slightly.
“Good night, Mumbo.” He said.
“Night,” Mumbo replied breathlessly, closing his eyes. He had no trouble falling asleep, completely safe and content.