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There is a strange noise coming from the inside of his vault.
Mumbo has been working on the outside for a few hours now, tweaking the screeching crevice to fit around the new redstone door he’s planning on installing, and he’s only now gotten close enough to the entryway to make out some kind of… shuffling inside.
Now, strange, unexplainable sounds tend to be concerning on a normal server, but on a place like Hermitcraft, well… Mumbo can feel his palms immediately begin to sweat. It could mean any number of things: perhaps it’s simply a stray animal that somehow managed to work its way into the vault, or a mob spawning in some unseen shadow. Or perhaps it’s a Hermit setting up a dastardly prank, something funny to get back at him for leaving for such a long time. Or maybe, just maybe, someone is trying to steal his riches!
Goodness, Mumbo may not have been back for very long, and his gear might not be up to scratch, but he’s only just managed to legitimately achieve the title of richest Hermit, and he’s not about to sit back and let it get snatched away from him!
It’s with this mindset that he pulls his pickaxe out from his inventory, sneaking towards the wall of the vault and plastering himself against it, desperately listening out for any indication of what might be behind the door. The noises are strange, a muffled chorus of footsteps, blocks breaking and what sounds like dripstone?
It’s baffling, to say the least, but at least it doesn’t seem as though the person (it must be a person, really) inside has realised that he’s onto them. That’s good, that gives him some advantage at least - he has the element of surprise!
Mumbo takes a deep, intentional breath, and lifts his pickaxe to the wall, taking out two blocks as quickly as possible before rushing in through the gap, prepared to catch this person in the act.
Peering nervously inside, he doesn’t see anyone at first.
In fact, he doesn’t see much at all, to begin with.
The inside of the vault has become… overgrown, and Mumbo is certain that he hasn’t been working on this door for long enough for growth like this to take root. There are primly trimmed bushes and rows of gorgeously tended flowers filling the main room, spread out in an ornate, intentional arrangement around… something?
He pushes forward, confused at the jungle that has popped up seemingly in the last couple of hours, and brushes a particularly invasive lilac out of the way to reveal a carved oak table in the centre of the vault.
His pickaxe slips from his grip as he stares out over the feast spread atop it, platters of meats and pastries and pies, all steaming hot and delectable. There are a twin pair of empty plates laid out, facing each other, and Mumbo stares at them blankly for just a moment, before he hears the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.
His eyes are magnetised upwards in an instant, snapping to the chair tucked by the plate, and then further to the figure standing behind it. It’s–
“Grian!” Mumbo almost shrieks, his voice a pitch that he will forever deny he’s capable of reaching. “You– I… what?”
Grian doesn’t say anything for a long moment, still as a statue, his chest barely rising with each short breath. Mumbo opens his mouth again to ask if he’s alright, before Grian is barrelling forwards, falling into Mumbo’s arms with an elated cry.
“Mumbo!” He screeches, loud and brash and overjoyed, tugging on Mumbo’s lapels with a desperate grip, “You’re here! You’re really here!”
Mumbo responds with a breathless laugh, arms wrapping around Grian’s shoulders in a crushing embrace, pulling him as close as they can possibly get, “I’m here! And you’re here as well!”
He can feel Grian beaming where his face is pressed into Mumbo’s chest, voice muffled but happy as he declares, “We're here! You’re home!” He nuzzles his cheek into the silken fabric of Mumbo’s shirt, pressing a short kiss to the centre of his chest as he whispers, “Gods, I missed you so much, Mumbo.”
It’s as though Grian has lit a fire under his feet, his cheeks flushing hot and heart pounding happily in his chest, and Mumbo finds himself considering glancing towards the avian’s hands to search for a flint and steel. He doesn’t, but it’s the thought that counts.
“O-oh yeah?” He manages to stutter, after a long moment of basking in the butterflies in his swooping stomach.
“Don’t you try to play it cool, you silly man,” Grian giggles, and Mumbo’s head spins as he falls in love all over again. “I know you missed me too,” he adds, as though he can hear the redstoner’s every thought. Or maybe Mumbo is just incredibly obvious in his feelings… that seems considerably more likely.
Mumbo chuckles again, squeezing Grian tightly, “You’re right, of– of course. I missed you too, so much.” The words are quieter than he meant them to be, something weak and fragile exposed in them. “I missed you more than anything, I’m so, so glad that I’m home with you again.”
Grian pulls back minutely, just enough for them to stare into each other's eyes. His gaze is slightly watery, eyes a little red as his bottom lip trembles against the smile pulling on his cheeks. “You’re home,” he sighs, gently, “Gods, I’m so glad you’re here.”
Mumbo, flustered and emotional, simply brings a hand up to thread through Grian’s hair, tucking the shorter man’s head beneath his chin with a sappy grin plastered on his face.
They stand there for a long while, wrapped in an embrace of tangled limbs and steadfast grips, neither certain where their own body ends and the other’s begins. Perhaps they’re like that for a few minutes, or perhaps the hug lasts for hours. It hardly matters as they recharge together, greedily taking in as much of each other as possible, melting so closely that they may as well be one.
It can’t last forever though, a fact which Mumbo finds unfortunate, and eventually (too soon), Grian is untangling himself from Mumbo’s arms, and taking one of his hands.
“The food is getting cold,” he says matter-of-factly, tugging them towards the table on shaky legs that Mumbo oh so graciously doesn’t comment on. He continues after sitting Mumbo down and pushing his chair in, “I didn’t put all of this together just for us to not eat it.”
Grian presses a chaste kiss to his hand, before taking his own seat at the other side of the table, beginning to pile his own plate with a variety of the options before them.
Mumbo follows suit after a moment of observing his features, relaxing in the bridge of his nose and the pattern of his freckles. The first bite is of one of the pies, the buttery crust and tender meat are delicious, a perfect mixture of spices with the most wonderful texture, and the redstoner finds himself commentating between bites. “This is wonderful, Gri. Did you make all of this?”
Grian’s cheeks flush a glorious pink for just a moment, his feathers puffing up under the sudden compliment, “Oh, uhm–” he stumbles, “I– yes. Yes, I’ve been feeding Scar whenever he gets too caught up by his park, so, uh– I’ve been getting some good practice.”
He laughs awkwardly, and Mumbo decides that the only correct course of action here is to lay it on thick, try to get him squawking his embarrassment in that adorable way that he’s so familiar with.
“Well,” he begins, mind whirring with all the most flustering possibilities, “It’s delicious. In fact, this might just be the best thing I’ve ever eaten, Gri, you’re incredible.”
“You– you’re just saying that,” he coos, a wonderful ruddy tinge beginning to travel down his neck.
“I’m not!” Mumbo defends, “I would eat your cooking every day if you let me, this is professional-grade! I imagine you would be able to make quite the shop out of this, you’d be beating Ren’s pies by a mile!”
He smirks as he watches Grian’s expression change, wings fluttering behind him as his shoulders rise, and he looks as though smoke is about to erupt from his ears as he finally buries his face in his hands.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, the words muffled and followed by a series of short chirps. “Uh… yeah,” he concludes, astutely.
They eat quietly for a moment, Grian slowly recovering from the unexpected onslaught of praise and Mumbo preening under his embarrassment, especially knowing that this reaction is reversed more often than not. Eventually, Grian seems to have gathered himself, beginning to eat once again, and Mumbo deems him able to hold a conversation.
He clears his throat, then casually says, “I’ve been hearing all about you missing me from Scar. Uh– something about a shrine? A ritual?”
Grian pales ever so slightly, a stark contrast to the heat in his cheeks just a few minutes before, and a poorly stifled snort passes Mumbo’s lips at the cocktailed expression of horror, amusement and exasperation on his face.
Grian finishes his mouthful purposefully slowly, giving a short, shamed cough and gritting out, “I… have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Mumbo raises an eyebrow at him, and Grian continues, “You shouldn’t believe a word that Scar says, he just wants to ruin my spotless reputation.”
“Oh, is that right? From what I’ve heard, you’ve been a right menace while I’ve been away.”
Grian sputters for a moment, phrases that sound somewhat like half-formed denials spilling from his lips, “What– what have you heard?”
“Well, I’ve been… somewhat caught up by the others,” Mumbo hums, pondering for a moment as he tries to recall the whistle-stop tour of events that he had been given. “Something about a king, and some temporary Hermits? And I believe that Ren mentioned something about you and a non-resistance, uhh– some theft, fraud, and so on. The usual, really.”
Grian looks incredibly proud of himself at the words, taking an enthusiastic bite of his pie, “Ren deserved it, really! You should have seen what he was doing as king. Get this: he tried to ban AFKing, and then–”
They talk about anything and everything for a long while after that, simply catching up as best they can. Throughout it all, Mumbo sneaks glances at the other like they’re teenagers on a first date, looking away with a pleased shudder everytime that their eyes meet.
Eventually though, when Grian catches Mumbo’s longing gaze for the sixth time, he simply sighs good-naturedly and says, “C’mere, pull your chair up.”
Mumbo is standing without a moment of consideration, dragging the heavy wood chair to sit next to his lover, and cringing slightly at the skid marks it leaves in the grass below them. He sits down beside Grian with a relaxed sigh, leaning into his side and basking in the warmth. Their fingers intertwine before long, hands clasped together as they eat, occasionally feeding each other small bites of food.
It’s pleasant, it’s soft. Mumbo can’t help but think that it’s home .
Once the food is all finished, Mumbo sits back with a satisfied sigh, finally taking a moment to properly observe the room around them. It’s certainly his vault, the walls haven’t been changed or covered up, but there’s gorgeous foliage everywhere, hanging from the ceiling and erupting from the ground to create the most perfect ambience.
What doesn’t escape Mumbo’s notice this time, however, is the Grian-heads on spikes , planted sequentially around the room.
“Uh,” he says, dumbly. “What– what’s with the decapitated… yous… as decoration?”
Grian simply peers at him from where he’s been stacking the plates on the table, “Hm? Oh, that! Yeah, it’s charming, right?”
He smiles, and Mumbo stares at him blankly for a long beat. “Uhm, no. Not particularly,” he utters.
Grian looks shocked, setting the plates down and pouting, “It was a romantic gesture, Mumbo. I, for one, think that it’s delightful.”
Mumbo blanches. “It’s… something, alright.”
Grian just rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh, and reaches a hand towards Mumbo to pull him up from his seat, “Well, if you’re so disturbed by my love, how about we go and look at the progress I’ve made on my base,” he coughs into his fist, “Just to get away from it, of course.”
“Ah, not for any ulterior motives, I see,” Mumbo chuckles.
“Mhm.”
“Like the fact that you really want me to see your base.”
“Gosh, no. Never.”
“Right,” Mumbo shakes his head, a grin on his lips. “Let's head out, then?”
They break through the front of the vault hand in hand, Grian teasing all the while about the build’s lack of a door, and Mumbo defending the fact that, “I’m literally working on the door, you interrupted me with your date! You don’t get to complain about it!”
Grian’s laugh is the soundtrack that accompanies them as they leave, shuffling through the awkward hole in the wall and making their way across the screeching crevice.
As they reach the bridge connecting their bases, Mumbo asks, “Uhm– I don’t suppose that… uh, you’ve been missing anything else?”
“What?” Grian turns his head to glance at him, confused.
Mumbo suddenly feels a little flushed, tugging at the collar of his shirt as he continues, “I don’t know, just– with us, boyfriends, reunited and all, I feel as though we should– uhm.”
Grian stops them in the middle of the bridge, silent for a second before hesitantly inquiring, “Are you… propositioning me?”
If Mumbo thought he was a little hot before, it’s now as though he’s been dunked straight into a bucket of lava, “Oh– oh, gosh!” He exclaims, waving his hands around wildly, “Goodness, no! Sorry, uh. No, not right now… Just– can I kiss you?”
Grian doesn’t jump on him immediately, like Mumbo thought that he perhaps might. Instead, he blinks at him silently, before doubling over into cackling laughter.
“Why– why are you laughing! Dude!” Mumbo chuckles along with him, appreciating the way that Grian’s entire frame shakes with the force of his joy, his wings fluttering helplessly as his arms wrap tightly around his midsection and he sways under the force of it all.
The redstoner tries to sigh in response, but the noise is broken up by his giggles, and soon Grian is clinging to his sleeves and pulling him down to the floor with him. Grian lies on his back, chortling every few seconds, and Mumbo sits beside him, simply watching.
His joy is always enchanting, Mumbo finds, time and time again. Everything about the way that the avian smiles, the way that he laughs, the jaw-tensing, nose-wrinkling, cheek-plumping elation that always comes with it is intoxicating . He stares down at Grian, at the stars lighting up his dark eyes, the galaxies of freckles painted on his skin, and he cannot stop himself from leaning down, pressing their lips together fiercely.
It’s warm, and just as wonderful as it has always been. Mumbo feels Grian gasp into his mouth, and he goes to pull away, but then the avian’s hands are climbing into Mumbo’s hair, pulling him down further, and the idea is gone as soon as it came.
The kiss feels almost desperate, slow and tender with a single bite of hysteria, and Mumbo can’t help wanting Grian’s lips to always remember the shape of his own.
And, well, he surges forward because he has to. Because, how could he ever do anything else?
Slowly, with clumsy limbs and preoccupied minds, they manage to right themselves – Grian no longer lying on the rocky ground of the bridge, and Mumbo no longer bent over him just to reach. They pull each other close, Grian’s hand staying still in Mumbo’s hair as the other pulls at his neck, while Mumbo’s fall easily to his waist.
Mumbo thinks that Grian kisses as though it’s the only thing that he’s been thinking about for these last ten months; as if he’s been starving every moment that he’s been without it. He holds onto him tighter, pulls him closer, and tries to show that he feels the same.
Grian is the one to pull away, in the end. He breaks the kiss, audibly panting, and mutters “Gods, I love you,” before pulling Mumbo in once again.
This time, he only gifts him a peck, something short and sweet and promising more, before he hugs Mumbo as tightly as he can, and whispers, “Welcome home.”