Archive of Our Own

Mumbo is probably a bit of a hypocrite, commenting on the bags under Grian’s eyes.

In his defence, he’s been busy. It’s not been an easy process, getting Grian off of this private server and onto the Hermitcraft world, he’s been met with so many twists and turns at every stage of the process, so rest hasn’t been at the top of his to-do list. He knows that Grian is in a similar position, as he logs onto the man’s private server with a letter clutched in his hands - he’s been too anxious about everything going on to do much more than build manically and never-endingly.

So, Mumbo knows he doesn’t look much better than Grian, even as he slumps down next to the newest build that the man has been working on with the words, “You look awful,” on his tongue in lieu of a greeting. But with the way that Grian looks like he’s trying to turn eyebags into an accessory, the comment feels necessary either way.

Grian simply hums, not even glancing his way as he begins frantically to place a row of oak logs along the build’s roofline. Mumbo sighs, trying to brush off the way that Grian’s silence stings a little bit like rejection, and lets his gaze slip down to the work that Grian has been doing here. It looks like he’s working on some sort of tavern, a three-story structure that’s built almost entirely from spruce and drenched in rustic charm. It’s appeared practically overnight, which is- worrying, given the size of the thing, but that’s just been the way that everything has been going recently.

Mumbo leans back against one of the support pillars of the build, looking over the village that surrounds them. All of it is still fairly new, from the houses to the fountains to the shops, and Mumbo knows it’s because neither of them are doing anything but work. All of the progress that Grian has made here has been done in such a short amount of time that it has begun to feel akin to watching a car crash, since he’s doing nothing more than passively observing as his best friend runs himself into the ground.

After the pair of them reunited a few weeks ago, Mumbo had suggested trying to get him a place on Hermitcraft. It should’ve been easy, but Grian was adamant about letting the Hermits know the apparent ‘risks’ of letting him join - sharing vague details about powerful enemies and necessary, high-end protections. It scared the Hermits, and Mumbo, to hear him talk about destruction and devastation as though it would certainly be the outcome of letting him stay, which definitely made some of the more nervous Hermits hesitant to commit.

It took a week or so, but they finally managed to clear that hurdle with Mumbo acting as the middle-man between communications on the Hermitcraft server and Grian’s private server, which he refuses to leave or let anyone other than Mumbo enter. Mumbo had breathed something of relief afterwards, something that felt like the first full breath he’d had time to take since the negotiations began, but- well, it couldn’t be that simple, could it?

Soon after that, they met the next problem: Grian’s messy, half-corrupted code.

Admittedly, Mumbo had been expecting that they’d have to peek at his code at some point, because Grian keeps rambling about powerful enemies and the changing of code. Also, because there’s now a huge pair of wings that lie folded against his back which certainly weren’t there the last time they saw each other. Grian seems to hate talking about them, and hasn’t uttered a single word of where they came from. And, while Mumbo doesn’t know any of the specifics of what Grian’s gone through in the years since they reunited, the panic attacks and nightmares that Mumbo has witnessed in those short few weeks are enough for him to assume that he didn’t get the wings willingly.

Still, after finally getting half-hearted permission (or at least, a promise to look the other way) from Grian to look at his code, Mumbo and Xisuma sat down for something that they had assumed would be a quick job. Instead, they’ve spent sleepless days and nights pouring over nonsensical commands, blacked out blocks of data, and half-finished lines of code in languages neither of them recognise. It was worse than anything Mumbo has ever seen before, and Xisuma had literally had to step out of the room for a few minutes to gather himself when they first opened the tab.

Grian’s code looked as though someone had spent a long while trying to change it, editing small sections dotted throughout all of the many miles of code that make up any Player, before they reach a point where it looks as though someone had spent a mere few minutes trying to delete it altogether.

The changes grew frantic as the pair skimmed through it all, trying to assess which edits would be needed to ensure Grian remained stable on the Hermitcraft server; a server so much larger and more complex than the one he’s currently staying on.

To say it was a big task is an understatement.

But still, after four or five days without more than a few hours of rest each, they felt that they had recovered the code into something that would fall apart over the course of a few months, rather than within seconds. Still not ideal, but it certainly gave them more than enough time to keep chipping away at it after Grian had officially integrated onto the server. That, and the Hermits were starting to get worried enough that both Xisuma and Mumbo decided they needed to stop where they were and make a few appearances, if only to stop the rumour mill.

In the end, Mumbo has managed to get here: leaning against Grian’s newest build with a letter in his grasp. The envelope is a sort of faded blue, with green detailing and a few specks of gold along the borders. It’s addressed to one ‘Grian. X’, with the official Hermitcraft seal pressed into the card in thick, black ink. He brushes his fingers along the corners, nerves fluttering in his stomach like butterflies, because this means that the decision is in. 

“Gri?” Mumbo says, more than a little nervous. “Uh- I’ve got it.”

His voice is shaking and so are his hands, as he turns the letter over again and again, waiting for Grian’s acknowledgement. The man is silent for a moment, stilling in his building but still not turning to face Mumbo where he sits. 

Mumbo watches with a careful, measured interest as he takes a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling dramatically, before Grian asks, “Did it… seem like good news? When you- uh, spoke to them.”

Mumbo huffs a breath through his nose at the man’s avoidance, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “It’s hard to know, really. I- I didn’t actually talk to anyone before I was on my way back,” he cringes a little at the fact. 

He had been far too anxious to get to Grian to be able to stop for a chat, and it’s not like there was anyone waiting to hand the thing over to him, so he’d just- taken it from the collection point at spawn, and headed straight back to the private server.

“Since you’re, y’know, you, I thought you’d want to find out straight away,” Mumbo defends, and tries his best to not make the words sound like a dig. 

It’s strange to have to think about those things now, to have to wonder whether Grian is ever upset or offended by him. To wonder if Grian would tell him if he was. It used to be so easy - they knew each other better than anyone, so there was never any question about the intentions of words. Mumbo hopes that they haven’t changed enough for that to be any different than it was. 

The idea that they might’ve is… terrifying.

Grian finally turns to him then, and he doesn’t- he doesn’t look upset? He’s got a familiar crease between his brows and a slight downturn to the corners of his lips, but that has been there near-permanently since Mumbo first saw him. 

There’s nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to clue him in on whatever is going on in the man’s mind. He certainly doesn’t look at peace, but doesn’t seem as anxious as Mumbo had suspected he would be. Or, he’s just hiding the fact. It would be understandable, and Mumbo opens his mouth to voice just that.

Before he manages to get a word out, Grian interrupts, “It’s okay if I don’t get in, Mumbo.”

His face morphs into a smile, though it doesn’t look happy. There’s something a little twisted in his lips, a little strained in his dimples, and the crease between his brows hasn’t disappeared. Still, he’s trying, and that in itself is enough to catch Mumbo off guard.

“What?” He says, clutching the envelope just a little bit tighter. “Grian, you’re going to get in.”

The man chuckles, flexing his wings unconsciously. “It’s just- it’d be okay if I didn’t. It wouldn’t be your fault.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Mumbo insists. “Because you’re going to get in-“

“-I’ll figure something else out if they don’t want me. I promise I’ll be okay,” Grian interrupts him to say, and it’s so baffling that Mumbo feels as though the entire world has suddenly flipped on its head. 

He watches closely as Grian tugs at his sweater sleeve, avoiding his eyes with a nervous smile, and tries not to stutter as he asks, “What on earth are you talking about? What’s brought this on?”

Grian’s expression grows tighter, and he waves one of his hands through the air flippantly. “Nothing, nothing. I just wanted to say it.” He clears his throat, looking down at the envelope Mumbo is holding in exchange for meeting his worried gaze, “Now- the letter, if you would?”

It’s such a sudden change in tune that it’s as though it gives Mumbo whiplash. “Hang on- Grian,” he pulls his arms closer to himself so the man can’t snatch the letter from him to avoid the conversation. “We’re not brushing past that! We’ve both worked so hard on this, we’ve spoken to everyone- they all want you there.”

“You mean, you’ve spoken to everyone,” Grian chuckles a little awkwardly as he crouches on the top of the tavern, wings spread behind him like a broad cloak. He looks down his nose at Mumbo. 

Something about his tone feels curdled, like soured milk or rotten food. It’s strange, it’s out of character and unnecessary, and Mumbo isn’t quite sure what’s brought all of this on. Why does Grian seem so unhappy with him? Why does it suddenly feel as though he doesn’t want to become a part of Hermitcraft?

“What-” He says, slowly, “-does that mean?”

“They, just- they don’t know me, Mumbo.” Grian says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “They’ve never met me.”

Mumbo’s head is spinning, bafflement coursing through him as he stares up at Grian, wide-eyed and concerned. Unsurprisingly, the man avoids his gaze by hopping off of the unfinished second storey of the building, flaring his wings so that he can glide comfortably to the floor. He stands before Mumbo a little awkwardly before the redstoner pats the ground next to him, making room for them to squish together. 

He mulls over Grian’s words confusedly. It’s like he’s speaking in code, like there’s a puzzle to be solved that Mumbo is missing a hint for. They’re quiet for a few moments as Mumbo thinks and Grian putters around him, folding his wings in comfortably before he can sit down. Eventually, Grian settles down beside him and goes still enough for Mumbo to know he’s waiting. 

He takes a breath, and says,“Okay? And?”

“And?” Grian echoes as if that wasn’t what he was expecting at all. As if he was expecting Mumbo to just accept whatever he’s been told like it’s fact. “And they have no reason to trust me whatsoever, Mumbo.”

“W-what? Grian, of course they trust you,” Mumbo replies, his brows knitting together as he fails to understand where the problem lies. “And- what does it matter, anyway?” He pushes, “They’ll get to know you once you’re on the server, and they’ll get to trusting you too- if they don’t already.”

Grian just scoffs, and rolls his eyes, shifting a little uncomfortably at their proximity. “As if,” he snarks. “Look, Mumbo, I really appreciate you trying, but my history isn’t one that I’d blame them for not wanting to get involved with. So, I just want you to know I’ll be okay.”

The way he speaks - as though he’s doing some favour that Mumbo didn’t even know he needs yet - it’s… confusing? Worrying? Perhaps even a little bit patronising?

Mumbo hardly knows what to say in response, gaping at Grian for a few long seconds before exclaiming, “Dude, I love you so much, but what the hell are you talking about?” He waves the envelope around like it’ll somehow snap Grian out of his weird, lamenting sentiments. “We haven’t even opened the letter yet! If you don’t want to be on Hermitcraft, that’s an entirely different matter!”

And it is! Grian not wanting to be there is something completely separate to his preconception that he’s already unwelcome- they’re entirely separate hurdles, ones that are blurring together strangely in Mumbo’s mind as he attempts to decipher what it is that the man wants.

Grian is no help in his mission, unsurprisingly, just batting his bangs out of his eyes and continuing, “I know they’re important to you, I know that you trust them and that your home is with them, but- it’s okay that they don’t want to offer that to me too.” There is a slight pause, one that is practically unnoticeable but still so scarily charged, before Grian announces, “I’m dangerous, Mumbo.”

That feels like a secret third thing that enters the arena as Mumbo is already losing his battle against Grian’s sudden mission to bamboozle him. It punches him in the gut without any warning, and leaves Mumbo gasping out, “Wh- no, you’re not! You- you’re-” He stares up at Grian, feeling so much colder than he did before. “-Exhausted. You’re exhausted.”

“Wh–”

“We both are, Grian!” Mumbo cuts him off, and tries to ignore the way that he feels his hands begin to shake at the confrontation. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Why are you arguing with me?” Grian demands. He sounds just as confused as Mumbo feels, and the fact that they aren’t seeing eye-to-eye for once makes the redstoner feel nauseous. “I just know that you’ve gotten your hopes up, I’m trying to make you feel better! I don’t want you to feel like it’s your fault that I don’t get in!” Grian defends, like that statement makes any sense whatsoever. 

Like Mumbo should be grateful for hearing him belittle himself so much.

With a frustrated noise, Mumbo counters, “But you don’t know that you haven’t gotten in—“

“—Mumbo!” The avian interrupts. “In what world would such high-profile Players let a fugitive like me onto their server? I’m trying to let you down gently here, bud.”

“That’s not- you’re going to get in!” Mumbo blinks furiously, ignoring the burning welling in his eyes.

Grian simply sighs, something dragging and frustrated, like a parent reprimanding a child. “Shall we just open it?” He says, one brow arched as he levels Mumbo with a stare that almost makes him want to say no, just so that he isn’t doing what Grian wants.

It’s surely their exhaustion getting to them, along with the stress of the situation. It’s surely just that, Mumbo doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if it wasn’t just that. The relationship hasn’t been strained since they reunited, per say, but it’s certainly been under pressure. They haven’t had time to get to know each other again, they haven’t had time to relearn each other’s quirks and preferences. 

Getting Grian somewhere safe was the first priority, which quickly shifted into getting him onto Hermitcraft- there hasn’t been time to do anything more than that, not yet. And it’s been a lot, but they’ve managed so far without any arguments. 

And they’ll continue to manage, if Mumbo has any say in the matter.

“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. The letter is going to determine the situation either way, so there’s no reason to put it off any longer.

He hands it over with a trembling grip, watching as Grian’s scarred hands wrap daintily around it, also shaking. There is a pause, one just long enough to suck in a single, deep breath, before Grian begins tearing at the thing like it has wronged him.

The envelope is gone in the blink of an eye, discarded with a carelessness that is incredibly uncharacteristic, yet unimportant in the face of the writing on the page. Grian unfolds it carefully, his eyes squeezed shut as Mumbo scans the words with a desperate fervour. He knows the other isn’t looking, he knows that he should wait until Grian has gathered himself enough, but he can’t stop searching for- for—

“Grian!” He exclaims, elated, jumping up from where he’s sat just for the sake of moving. “Grian! Look!!”

Grian’s eyes are open again as soon as he starts to speak, but he’s looking at Mumbo, not the letter. The instant he processes the excitement in Mumbo’s voice and grin on his lips, his eyes are snapping down to the blocky, black text.

Grian makes a disbelieving noise, a trembling breath escaping him as his gaze clearly catches on the line ‘Your application has been approved,’ with ‘Welcome to Hermitcraft’ written just below it. 

Mumbo wants to grab his hands, to spin them around and dance, he wants to celebrate because this is something worth celebrating! But- as he watches Grian’s realisation, something about it seems heavy. Something about it seems… sad.

“Grian, they said yes!”

“They said yes,” he repeats, and it sounds empty.

Mumbo furrows his brows in confusion, “What’s the matter?”

This was supposed to be the best possible scenario, wasn’t it? So why is Grian so despondent? Why does he look like he wants to run away and hide?

“Gri?” Mumbo prods again.

“I- this is cruel,” he says in a high, breathy whisper. 

He’s staring past Mumbo, past the village that he’s built, past the world that he has claimed is the only place he feels safe. He’s staring into something that Mumbo doesn’t know how to quantify, something haunting and terrible that lingers just outside of the firewalls of this world. He’s staring at something that makes him afraid. 

Mumbo sucks in a sharp breath as he observes the sort of quiet recklessness on Grian’s features; something which starts small, in the gentle twitching of his eyelids, then grows until it is outrage, smouldering like a forest fire.

He looks furious in almost a blink of an eye, and Mumbo has to stop in question if he’s ever seen him like this. He doesn’t think he has, he can’t recall ever seeing something like this in all of the years of them knowing each other- but only serves to make it all the more terrifying.

“… Grian?” He asks again, far more hesitantly.

The man’s eyes snap to meet his, brown and red clashing with uncomfortable force. “That’s not- why are they pulling such a- a cruel prank?”

“What?” The idea of such a thing from the Hermits is… preposterous, and suddenly Mumbo is wondering if he didn’t read far enough in the letter. “What are you talking about? It says that you’ve been rejected?”

“No!” Grian cries, and he is beginning to sound a little bit watery. “That’s the problem! They- why are they just trying to get my hopes up?!”

“It-“

“They’re not letting me in!” Grian shrieks, something distraught and full-bodied. Something so loud and unexpected that it makes Grian himself flinch backwards as though he’s been hit. 

Mumbo is silent, horror creeping through him like unwelcome hands, watching as Grian squeezes his eyes shut and lifts his face towards the sky. He bites his lip and clenches his jaw so tightly that the tendons of his neck stand out, bulging and strained under the force of his anguish. He looks tortured, like he’s trying to keep himself silent through some immeasurable pain, and Mumbo gapes as a few tears slip past his lashes.

Then, like time had been frozen and has suddenly come back into being, Grian lurches forward like the strings holding him up have been snapped, and he wails with all the loudness of before, “They’re not!”

It’s hysterical and abrupt, and so dissimilar to that impassive man who, just a few minutes before, told Mumbo not to worry. “No one would let me in, Mumbo! They’re lying- I know they’re lying! I’m not worth that risk!”

“Grian-” Mumbo starts, but his words dry up instantly and he finds himself speechless. He doesn’t know what to say, or how to combat this strange adamance that seems to blur Grian’s reasoning and convince him he could never be wanted.

“They’re awful,” he sobs as Mumbo searches fruitlessly for the right thing to say, balling his hands into fists and pressing them harshly into his eyes. “They’re taunting me, they’re- they’re terrible.”

He sounds so distraught, so unthinkingly defensive, but the words stab Mumbo like knives to his chest either way. How dare Grian say such a thing when he’s being offered such kindness? From such wonderful people as the Hermits? From those who have raised Mumbo into the man he is today, who have given him a home and a family?

“You-“ Mumbo begins, but cuts himself off. Exhaustion hangs heavy in his bones, weighing him down and slowing his tongue as he tries to think of something to say.

Grian doesn’t even look at him, folding and unfolding the letter along the line of acceptance in a way that cuts off everything before the word ‘approved’- it looks as though there might be a sneaky ‘not’ before it, each time that he bends the paper.

“I- I don’t want to be there anyway,” Grian murmurs, thumbing over the word, and it sounds resolutely like he’s lying.

He falls silent after that, dropping the letter, covering his eyes and pretending that there aren’t tears on his cheeks. Mumbo can only stew as his exhausted mind tries and fails to push down the hurt that the man’s words bring.

His mind goes back to his hopes earlier, to the hopes that Grian would never misconstrue his words. That he would understand Mumbo in the same way that he always has… He wishes that he could understand Grian like that now, as he sits beside him and listens to him insult the people who have taken care of Mumbo through every hardship.

Every second they spend in that quiet is uncomfortable, so eventually, through gritted teeth, Mumbo decides that he has to remind Grian of the fact he keeps getting caught on.

“They’re my family, Grian.” 

It’s not quite a snarl, but perhaps something closer than he meant it to be. He doesn’t worry about that fact making Grian misunderstand, though, in a way that makes him feel strangely alien to the person he was at the beginning of this conversation. Mumbo thinks that, if anything, he was the one who was misunderstanding just how angry he is about the insults. 

The words seem to fall flat, issuing no response as Grian’s fists fall and he turns away from Mumbo, leaving him with nothing but a view of the back of his head. Mumbo huffs, something akin to a dragon blowing smoke angrily from its nose, and considers getting up and leaving; walking away until they’ve both had some sleep and some time to calm down.

“Right,” he says, beginning to get his hands under himself to push himself from the floor.

But then, Grian mumbles, “... Sorry.”

It’s small, but it’s something. Grian sounds choked as he brushes the final few tears from his cheeks, then turns back to face Mumbo. His cheeks are a little warm, a little embarrassed, as he continues, “I- I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry- I don't want to make you angry.” Grian’s voice raises a pitch, “I don't want to hurt you."

“Gri…” Mumbo begins, like cold water has been doused over the protective fury blazing through him. He’s never been an angry man, and he doesn’t want to start now. No, what Mumbo wants is to understand. He wants to know why Grian would ever say such hurtful things, so badly that it feels like he would explode if they didn’t talk about it. 

So, with a deep breath, he nods and lets Grian continue.

"All I want is to not be alone anymore,” the man rushes to explain the instant that he’s been given permission, taking one of Mumbo’s hands carefully in his own. He’s slow and gentle as he laces their fingers together, like he’s expecting Mumbo to tear himself away from the touch.

With a sigh, Mumbo gathers all the shattered parts of himself together as best he can, and squeezes Grian’s fingers. “Tell me what’s going on?” He offers, stroking his thumb along the familiar trail of freckles on Grian’s hand.

“I- I-”

“Take your time,” Mumbo permits, even as he itches for Grian’s response.

It’s hard, to try and be considerate of both of them at the same time- it’s hard to know what to attribute to what, when he has such a fuzzy idea of what Grian’s been through. Mumbo wants to be kind to both of them, to offer both of them what they need as they grapple with something that- well, something that could change everything, really.

Because, what happens if Grian accepts the offer? He’s been too busy working himself to the bone to even think about it, really, so… what would that look like? He’d be living with his best friend again; they’d have so much time together, to make up for all of the time that they’ve lost. It’s something that Mumbo never thought he’d get, it just seems so… impossible.

He wants that, so, so badly. Even through the muddled confusion of his over-tired brain, even through the simmering annoyance at Grian and his careless words. He wants time to make up for everything that they’ve missed. He wants to tell Grian about all of the things he’s seen, all of the projects that he’s been working on.

He wants to be able to turn to his best friend, in that way that he used to do automatically when Grian first disappeared, and he wants to tell him all about the things that he wanted to then; mundane and insignificant as they are.

And- if Grian chose to reject the offer? If he never wanted this, and he only applied because Mumbo wouldn’t drop the subject? If he really, truly believes that the Hermits are being cruel- that there’s not a single place safe enough for him to exist, nor a single person willing to risk that for him?

Then, things would go back to normal, wouldn’t they? The sort of lonely, incomplete normal that Mumbo has grown used to.

God, he wants Grian to come home with him.

“I’ve been so lonely for so long,” Grian interrupts his thoughts with a whisper, contemplative and vulnerable. Somehow, even though that vulnerability is that point here, it’s more than Mumbo was expecting to be granted. “I promise I want to trust them- I want to be with them, and you,” Grian continues. “I don’t know why… Why do I keep sabotaging myself?"

“Hey, it’s–”

“I’m so scared they won’t like me. I- I wouldn’t be able to blame them if they didn’t; I wouldn’t be able to hold it against them if they decided that being kind to me wasn’t worth the reward.” Grian whimpers as he speaks, and it reminds Mumbo of an abused dog- cowering and snapping at every friendly hand because hurt is all that it can remember.

“The Hermits aren’t kind for any reward, G.” Mumbo says, and he begs in his mind for whoever is listening that he might understand that. “They’re kind for the sake of it.”

“I- I just don’t know how to believe that. And- either way, even if that was true…” Grian glances at him in that same insecure way that Mumbo knows he did earlier. He’s checking to make sure Mumbo doesn’t take the words as a dig. 

Mumbo simply smiles, and motions for him to continue.

“Even if that was true, that clearly means I’m a terrible fit, right? Because I can’t even comprehend something that ludicrous.”

Mumbo stops to think about it for a moment. He thinks of Grian’s hard work on his builds, of the apologies spilling from his lips the first moment that he was calm enough to think straight, and- even of his checking in on Mumbo just moments before, making sure that he wasn’t misinterpreted in a way that upset him. 

They’re all things that the Hermits value, they’re all acts that are thoughtful or passionate or considerate. They’re kind , and Mumbo kind of wants to cry at the implication that that’s unfamiliar to him. That he’s been shown so little kindness, in the time they’ve been apart, that he barely knows what it is anymore.

Instead, Mumbo leans closer to him, pulling their joined hands into his lap and cradling it with both of his own. He sets his head on Grian’s shoulder, and tells him softly, “You’re worth every risk, to me.”

“Oh,” Grian doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, shifting a little awkwardly under him. 

His hand is suddenly a little shaky where it lies between Mumbo’s grasp, and the redstoner worries that he’s lost for words because he’s gotten too close; broken some invisible boundary that he didn’t realise they had now. So, with a soft grunt of acknowledgement, Mumbo begins to pull himself back up.

Grian’s free hand snaps forward in an instant, catching tightly on Mumbo’s upper arm in a way that makes him freeze. There is conflict shining behind his eyes, but his grip holds firm. Slowly, Mumbo leans on him again, watching his expression with every inch.

“Can I stay like this?” He asks, as he settles back where he was, and Grian releases his grip on his arm in response. His hand tenses a little more intentionally this time, squeezing Mumbo’s in permission.

With that settled, Mumbo focuses on trying to think of their next course of action. He yawns, before looking up at Grian, their faces close enough to feel the man’s breath over his skin, and asking, “Can I call X?”

Something in Grian’s face falls at that, a little broken and a little resigned. “T-to ask about the prank?”

“Void, no!” Mumbo exclaims, bumping his forehead into the other’s chin. “To chat. So that you can get to know him a little better, and he can get to know you a little better.”

“As-”

“As friends, Grian,” he cuts him off before he can even begin to say something spoony. “Not as admin and server-member, or as any sort of… mandatory backstory warning, or whatever that last meeting was.”

Grian chuckles awkwardly at that, because the first and only meeting he’s had with X so far had turned out as more of a formal interview than a friendly talk, at the man’s insistence of getting straight to business. And maybe that’s somewhere Mumbo went wrong, in not encouraging Grian to get to know the people rather than the leaders; maybe that’s somewhere that the man’s spiral of anxiety began. It’s too late to dwell on it now though, so Mumbo tries his best to shake off the thought.

“It could be good for you,” he says. “Reassuring.”

“I- yeah… maybe,” Grian replies, and it’s not a no, which is all that matters.

Mumbo nudges him again, “I know these people better than I know redstone, I promise you they’re being genuine. It’s okay to be cautious of that, but I don’t think that you should just throw away the opportunity because of that caution.”

Grian nods, a little stronger this time. “Yeah…”

“You can let them get to know you first before making any commitments, so they know what they’re getting in for, and they can decide for themselves that you’re worth that risk,” Mumbo says with a smile and a slow, tired blink. “We can take this as slowly as you need.”

Grian wiggles his fingers until Mumbo drops his hand, then wraps his arm loosely around the redstoner’s shoulders. There’s a small smile on his lips, and he seems lighter than he did before.

Mumbo chuckles, something warm and cozy settling on his shoulders, “I think they’ll be good for you, Gri.”

“Okay,” the man accepts. “Okay.”

Then he yawns, and Mumbo laughs, before that’s interrupted by a yawn too.

“I- I think a nap might be in order first, though,” Mumbo adds embarrassedly.

Grian laughs at that, and tightens his grip around Mumbo, pulling him close to his chest without a word. The redstoner settles in, getting comfortable, and he only feels warmer as he hears the ruffling of feathers. 

Grian’s new, gorgeous wings wrap around them, and it feels like the beginning of something good.