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A hopeless romantic, or an idiot? Mumbo wasn’t quite sure which of those categories he fit into. Perhaps both? He didn’t quite know.
It had started out slowly, but everyone had seen it coming. The lingering glances, flirting that could only just be passed off as jokes. The way Grian’s smile always brightened as Scar entered the room. The way Scar would lift Grian up into the air and spin him as though he was weightless. It had been a long time on the way.
Grian and Scar were dating. And, gods, it was, a lot. Mumbo was happy for them, he truly was, how couldn’t he be? Their happiness was his happiness, that was his duty as their best friend. Their best friend. The phrase was a bullet to the heart. The fact he could ever think that made him want to puke, but it was true. Being called their friend hurt, though not from the matter of him being in their life, of course. He’d never give that up for anything. No, it was from everything it implied, all that it lacked.
He tore a patch of grass out of the ground, beginning to fiddle with it. The heavy feeling in his bones made him want to sink into the grass and become nothingness. Surely, it would be a better fate than to tell them anything.
He was resigned to it now, there’d be nothing more for him to be. The title of best friend was the only that would belong to him. He’d never blame them, how could he? It wasn’t their fault, it would be such a horrible thing to do to make them feel bad for such things they had no control over, that he had no right to demand. And yet, that didn’t stop the devastating emptiness, the pure want .
He tore the grass into pieces, letting it scatter into the air.
The breeze was sending goosebumps across his spine, and he was regretting his last-minute decision for more casual wear. A sleeveless turtleneck, really, what was he thinking? Well, truth be told, he wasn’t. At least his pants were warm enough. He tried to ignore the shiver running through his body.
Even worse, the physical discomfort wasn’t enough to distract him from his self-loathing. It was, in fact, quite the opposite. He could have been at least comfortable while he moped. Instead, he felt as though he might rip off his own skin just to relieve some of the itch. Why had he decided to lay in the grass, again?
Oh right, because he was frankly, quite stupid. Anyone would have to be, to fall for two men already taken with each other in the way he had.
And, gosh, he was so selfish, wasn’t he? To want something so far out of reach? How would Grian and Scar feel if they knew? He would lose them, surely. Even if they weren’t mad (which neither would be, both far too kind for that), things would get awkward, and they’d surely stop talking to him eventually. The very thought of losing their friendship made his heart pound in his chest with anxiety.
He hadn’t realised how lost in his thoughts he was, until two people settled beside him, a coat landing on his shoulders. He jumped, heart rate spiking. How fitting. The very two who were plaguing his thoughts.
“How are you not freezing, sweet potato?” Scar’s voice was like honey on a fresh wound. At any other time, any other place, he’d be thankful for it, but it wasn’t right at this moment. No, now it seeped into his skin, a burning that would threaten to infect and ruin him if he gave it the time of day.
“What are you doing here?” Grian's arm wrapped around him, nestling the coat in place. If Mumbo didn’t know better, he might say that the two were concerned. But there was no reason for concern, was there? Their worries made no sense. He tried so desperately not to think about it.
Instead, he leaned back into Scar’s willing arms. Grian had a small smile on his lips, but it seemed restrained. As if something was wrong. It made that awful feeling well up in his stomach, that feeling of all-encompassing care, of a protectiveness he wasn’t entitled to have. He missed Grian’s happy smile.
For a few minutes, they stayed like that. Grian’s hands rubbed comforting circles into his shoulder, while Scar held him tight, as though he was the only thing tethering Mumbo to the earth. As though, if he were to let go, Mumbo might float away.
He felt as though he might. He could picture it in his head, the image of it all dissolving into void just out of his reach, his fingers stretching out to reach something that never existed to grab.
He tried to silence his thinking, preferring to sink into their touch, as if he was melting into their very essence. It was a horrible, self-indulgent thing to do, but for a moment, he imagined that he might have their hearts as well as their companionship.
“What’s got the two of you waking up so early?” Mumbo could hear the shake in his own voice, but elected to ignore that, and any questions on it. He looked awful, he already knew, his face painted a blotchy, watercolour red. The tears had long since dried up, but their tracks still remained, and that wasn’t to mention the dark circles under his eyes.
“You disappeared from the party last night, we were so worried about you. You didn’t even say goodbye,” Scar’s thumb had found Mumbo’s side, slipping under the fabric of his shirt to trace soothing patterns along his cold skin. “We went to look for you this morning to see if you went home, found you out here,”
Silence, for a moment. Not a sound except the wind.
Mumbo normally didn’t like it when his hair threatened to blow into his face like this, but at the moment wished it was longer, so that he didn’t have to see the pure love radiating off Grian and Scar’s faces. So that he might hide away from them, lest he get any ideas, such as, void forbid, kissing them.
Their feelings for him were platonic, he needed to remember that. Needed his stupid head to get a grip with reality. They would never love him back, how could they, when they were everything, and he was merely himself?
“No need to worry yourself over me, I was just tired,” Mumbo shrugged, and it was, at least partially, true. He was growing ever so tired of that brain of his, of all the feelings that plagued his every night, his every waking thought.
“You’ve been ‘just tired’ for so long, Mumbo. When will you let us know what’s really going on in that head of yours?” Grian said. He sounded heartbroken, and… Mumbo didn’t want to be the cause of that.
That feeling was welling up again. Uncomfortable, heavily weighing on him. A guilt, all encompassing. It seemed that no matter what he did, these feelings would get in the way. Even trying to hold back, to keep it away, backfired. Of course they would notice, they always did.
They always cared too much for his own good, a well-meaning but poisonous thing. If he wasn’t careful in his efforts to suffocate the butterflies in his ribcage, his breathing would falter, his heart would stop under the pressure.
He didn’t even notice the tears that had begun to fall again, until Grian’s hand brushed them away.
“I heard that if you make a wish on a dandelion, it’s bound to come true,” Grian’s voice sounded absent. At some point, he had picked a dandelion puff, and he was twirling it around in childlike motions.
Grian was still in his pyjamas, and so was Scar. Had they really been that worried that they’d just leave, not a thought towards keeping their beautiful silken nightwear clean? The thought made him feel all manner of soft things, the idea that they may care that much.
He didn’t want to delude himself into thinking he had a chance, but it was moments like this that made it hard. The gentle smiles when it seemed that they thought he wasn’t looking. All of Grian’s pranks, silly, yet endearing. The smile on his face whenever a particularly pesky prank succeeded. Scar’s gifts, his wit. The way he’d seek Mumbo out every once in a while, to check on him, and cheer him up if it was a bad day. And how could he forget the summoning circle the two seemed intent on not talking about? It all pointed towards… something, yet, what, he wasn’t quite sure.
Sometimes, he wondered if they might actually love him back.
He hadn’t noticed the morning dew on his clothes before, but he was beginning to. He found that he couldn’t bring himself to care, whoever, lost in his thoughts. Grian’s dandelion had blown away, the seeds scattering across the wind to new places of dirt. They’d try to take root, some would succeed, some wouldn’t. Some would thrive, others would wilt and die.
Mumbo wondered which he would be if he were a dandelion seed. Would he float down and reach the nutrient rich soil, and live? Would he land on a strand of grass, so close to salvation, and yet, so far.
Scar picked his own dandelion puff, looking at it with an intense expression that Mumbo might have even dared to say was adorable, if he had the courage. He pressed his lips to it in a featherlight kiss. It could barely even be called a peck, so careful to not ruin its fragile beauty. Oh, some part of Mumbo wished he could have been that dandelion, even for a moment.
But then Scar was moving, slowly, as if not to disturb the dandelion. It was a gentleness Mumbo had seen many a time from him before. But what he had not expected was how Grian grabbed Mumbo’s hand in his own, lightly urging him to take the flower.
Mumbo let Scar push it into his hands. Grian’s hand was warm as it guided his fingers to curl around the stem. The touch was electrifying, and the thought of what it may mean even more so.
“Make a wish, Mumbo,” Grian murmured, voice nearing silence.
There were so many things that he could wish for. In fact, he had all manner of selfish wants, things that his heart had so craved, that the logical part of his brain had always been aware he could never have.
No, he wouldn’t wish for such impossibilities such as returned feelings, or fleeting kisses under a pale moonlight. He wouldn’t long for confessions, of the rom-com scene where he gets the boy- well, boys.
He wouldn’t say that he wanted this moment to last forever, to stay set in stone like a photograph from aeons ago.
Instead, he wished for there to be more times like these. Soft little things that could nestle in his heart and give him that featherlight fluttering of hope.
He blew out the puff, watching the pieces float.
“What did you wish for?” Scar was looking at him, his face almost indecipherable. What did Scar want to know, truly? He was an enigma. Most often his intentions were crystal clear. You could tell whether he was acting in a spirit of maliciousness or genuine kindness. And yet, somehow, sometimes, his thought process was a complete mystery.
“Isn’t it bad luck to tell?”
He couldn’t bear the thought of what may happen should he tell. Rumour had it, if you told someone of the wishes you made, the wish would crumble to ash in your palm. And, additionally, surely, they would catch sight of his clandestine infatuation, and become disgusted with him for his self centered wants.
If he had to hide the truth to keep their friendship, he would do it. Even as the shame and guilt ate him like a radiation burning his skin, lying in wait for the necrosis to begin.
“You keep avoiding our questions,”
‘If that bothers you, then stop asking them,’ He thought to himself. It wasn’t a bitter thought, rather, a resigned one. He wasn’t ready to answer them, not yet. He wasn’t quite sure he ever would be. No, he wouldn’t respond. Instead, he gave a reluctant whisper.
“I know,”
What else could he say? There was nothing that wouldn’t incriminate him, that wouldn’t send their pity upon him as if he were some wounded animal.
But his answer didn’t satisfy them. In fact, their frowns only deepened. Grian’s hand squeezed his twice, a code the three of them had concocted for the days where it was all too much, where even forming words was difficult. You’re okay.
Mumbo didn’t quite mind the silence that followed. There was something comforting about it, an understanding between them that he didn’t have to explain. Sometimes it felt that they knew him much better than he had ever known himself.
He relished in the press of their bodies against his in embrace.
“You know we love you, don’t you?” Scar said, his voice quiet. Mumbo nodded. Of course they loved him, even though it wasn’t the way that he wished they did. Their care was obvious, warm.
Mumbo tried to give them a smile, but it was weak. Grian gave a sympathetic coo, a hand moving to comb through Mumbo’s hair. He stopped momentarily, a conflicted look coming upon his face. A silly part of Mumbo wished that he could kiss all those worries away.
Mumbo watched as he gave a fleeting, anxious glance at Scar, before taking a breath. What was it that he wanted to say that was making him act in this way?
“I don’t think you do, Mumbo. We care for you, so much. Probably not in the way you expect,” Grian paused, seeming to give his words some thought, “And… probably not in a way you’d be reciprocative of,”
Scar’s head seemed to perk up in notice, though still mostly unreadable, he seemed almost apprehensive, as Mumbo stilled. Grian’s thoughts seemed to catch up with him, his voice taking on a panicked undertone.
“This isn’t me saying you have to return that, at all. Please don’t think that. I just want you to know, we’re here for you, no matter what’s wrong,”
What was he saying? Mumbo felt his mouth drop agape, as he wondered what this meant for him. Surely, oh surely, he couldn’t mean they felt the same way? It was illogical, it was-
“I can hear you thinking from here, sweetheart. Penny for your thoughts?” The lilt in Scar’s voice was teasing, yet uncertain, as if he weren’t sure what to expect. Funny, Mumbo didn’t know what to expect either.
“What do you mean, you love me?”
Both of them had begun to look away, gazes affixed somewhere on the dandelion fields ahead of them.
“I thought we were being obvious.” Scar muttered, though it seemed mostly to himself more than anything. He looked up at Mumbo, a clear sincerity in his eyes. “Mumbo, we’ve been trying quite hard to court you. I suppose the subtle approach wasn’t working?”
A rush of relief hit him like a bucket of ice-cold water, with a small dash of disbelief stirred in. Scar would never lie to him, not about something this serious, yet why would he love him in this way?
He had long since accepted any affection would be platonic. And yet, in just a few hours, this perspective had been slowly tilting awry; now completely onto its own head. Perhaps he was dreaming, still snoring on his couch. He pinched himself, just to make sure, and winced at the pain in his arm.
He let a small smile enter his face, the first true one all day.
“You of all people should know I’m a spoon, you have to spell it out for me,” He tried to imbue his voice with a confident, flirty tone, but instead it just came out desperate. He leaned further back into Scar’s hold, while he held Grian’s hand in a vice-like grasp.
There was only one thing he could say to that, really. Especially when he felt the exact same way, perhaps even more so.
“I love you both as well, by the way.” He said, voice nearing a whisper, “In the way you mean, the romantic way,”
Grian had that look on his face, that look of uncertainty. Of doubt.
“Please, Mumbo. Don’t feel obligated to-”
“No- wait,” Mumbo interjected, squeezing Grian’s hand tightly. “Grian. Listen to me? I don’t feel obligated to do anything. I want you; I want Scar. Goodness, I have for so long now. The way you say my name makes me swoon. I see forever in your eyes, your smile makes me light up, makes everything okay. Please, trust me. I’ve yearned for this, for so long,”
The beam on both Grian and Scar’s faces at his words made his stomach churn, but it was a warm, happy thing this time. He could feel the shy heat in his face, a sure-fire sign that he was blushing, though he found that he didn’t quite mind.
“We should probably go get you inside and warmed up, then talk about what this means for us,” Scar said. He pressed his head against Mumbo’s shoulder, a gesture that made Mumbo’s heart set alight into a wonderful feeling of warmth. “But first, can I have a little kiss?”
Scar’s face had a shy smile, and Mumbo couldn’t help but to oblige, not when it was something he too had so desperately craved. It wasn’t much, just a small peck pressed to the corner of Scar’s mouth, but it was all Mumbo had the confidence for. In fact, he wanted to hide away already.
“Oh, can I have one too!” Grian’s giggle was infectious. He was looking at Mumbo almost expectantly, a bright light in his eyes that made Mumbo dizzy.
“Oh, alright. Come here, you,” However, rather than letting Mumbo take a kiss as Scar did, Grian cupped Mumbo’s cheeks with his hands, planting a rather firmer kiss right on his lips. There was an elation growing inside him that he could barely contain, his hands itching with an urge to move in his excitement.
“Well, let’s get you inside and resting now, love. Let us take care of you,” Scar said. He pushed himself to his feet, throwing an annoyed look to his knees braces as they shifted awkwardly, making Mumbo giggle.
Scar helped Grian up, planting a kiss on his hairline. Goodness, this was real, wasn’t it? The thought made him want to cry out of sheer glee. Before he could join the two in standing, Grian swept him up into a bridal style carry, grinning with a tenderness that Mumbo had never quite placed before now, but he knew what it meant in the present.
It meant love. And while that love had been there for a long time now, it was time for it to be placed into a new context. A new beginning for all three of them. And despite his anxious nature, there was something in his gut telling him that it’d all be okay. This was going to last, and he knew it’d be so, so wonderful.