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Mumbo wakes up in an empty bed, eyes still closed and instinctively his hand reaches over the mattress, but it’s just him, the weight of a blanket over his body, and his back against the wall. And somehow, he knows the bed is colder than it was when he fell asleep. And in that moment before really waking up, before really grasping or remembering much of anything, he feels some kind of soul crashing loneliness settle heavily onto his chest. Something is missing.
It shakes him awake enough to open his eyes, he is in fact alone in bed, his back against the wall as if to make room for another body on the narrow mattress. It’s not his bed, but it isn’t unfamiliar. Mumbo blinks, and finally he is awake enough for his brain to decide he can know things again. It’s Scar’s bed of course, they’ve been sleeping chest pressed to back on the tiny thing for days now.
Mumbo sighs and pressed his face into the pillow, it smells so much of Scar, that it makes Mumbo’s heart ache again. Less soul crashing this time, he knows Scar can’t be far. Firstly, because they are on the Flying Jelly, Scar’s spaceship, floating through the Void together, so there really isn’t anywhere Scar could go, and secondly because Mumbo simply knows Scar wouldn’t just leave. They’ve been there, and done that, and Scar promised Mumbo he wouldn’t, and Mumbo cherishes that promise even more than falling asleep with his chest against Scar’s back feeling it rise and fall with the steady rhythm of breath.
Mumbo sits up, even though he knows all of these things, there is a paranoid voice in the back of his mind nagging him to check on Scar. See if he is alright, just in case. Mumbo gets out of bed, a chill creeping up his spine once he is standing, he is only wearing sweatpants and some old t-shirt Scar borrowed him and the ship is not very well heated. Mumbo rifles through Scar’s closet until he finds a dark green carding that looks warm enough and slips into it.
Scar’s ship is pretty cramped even for just one person living there, the bedroom door leads right into the living room and kitchen area, that consist of an old and tattered sofa pressed against one wall and an oven and fridge pressed against the other. Mumbo doesn’t mind, it is nice, how every inch of Scar’s ship is so lived in because of it.
Scar himself is sitting with his back to Mumbo in front of the stove on the repurposed bar stool he uses for cooking, his cane just in reach leaned against the kitchen counter. He is humming something under his breath and doesn’t seem to have noticed Mumbo coming in yet. He is not wearing a shirt, because when is Scar ever wearing a shirt? And Mumbo will admit he takes a few seconds to appreciate the muscles on Scar’s back working when he is busying himself with whatever his is cooking, some kind of breakfast probably.
He closes the door loud enough for Scar to hear, who turns around on his stool quickly. Mumbo can see the paranoia spike in his eyes for the split of a second, before a smile spreads over Scar’s face, the kind of smile that melts itself right into Mumbo’s heart as if it is made of wax.
Mumbo walks the few steps from the door over to Scar, who is, spatula in hand, turning his attention back to the stove. Mumbo has not really been awake for much more than five minutes, so he manages to trick his brain into not thinking too long about his actions and rests his chin on Scar’s shoulder, wraps his arms around his waist. Scar draws in a startled breath, and for a second Mumbo fears to have interpreted the past week (months, years, whatever) wrong, maybe they are not at all doing what he thinks they are doing. But before his thoughts can spiral Scar breathes out and relaxes against Mumbo.
“Good morning to you too, handsome,” Scar says with a chuckle and Mumbo can feel the tremor of his voice through Scar’s torso against his chest, he feels his face heat up a little and buries it in the nape of Scar’s neck. Just because he wants to, it’s not like Scar can see the red on his cheeks either way.
“What are you making?” Mumbo asks after a few seconds, and peers over Scar’s shoulder.
“Pancakes,” Mumbo can hear the proud smile in Scar’s voice as he pours another batch of pancake dough into the pan, and Mumbo presses a featherlight kiss on Scar’s neck, because he can vaguely remember, somewhere between listening to Scar’s soothing voice and falling asleep, Scar pressing individual kisses on each of his knuckles last night.
“I’ll make some coffee,” he announces and Scar hums in appreciation, so Mumbo lets go of him, even though his whole body is mourning the loss, and opens the cabinet where Scar keeps his coffee.
Scar begins chattering about his so far futile efforts of keeping plants alive on the ship and Mumbo listens and he can’t help the fond smile sneaking onto his face.
Soon Scar is much more invested in his story of trying to grow potatoes, and how he bartered with Impulse for space potatoes (even though Mumbo doubts space potatoes actually exist), than in the pancake on his stove and Mumbo only realizes this when they can both smell something burning. Scar eyes widen almost comically as he realizes he completely forgot about his pancakes and hurriedly spins his chair back to the stove, reaching for his spatula, and the next thing Mumbo knows, Scar is cursing and waving his hand around frantically.
“Scar! Are you okay?” Mumbo steps closer to him, not really able to push down the worry sprouting in his chest.
“I’m alright, just touched the pan,” Scar looks down at his hand and the back up at Mumbo.
“Kiss it better?” he asks, and Mumbo is a little embarrassed about his startled sputters at the question, and how his cheeks feeling way too hot. But he gingerly reaches for Scar’s hand, huffing something along the lines of, “you’re unbelievable.”
He can feel Scar’s eyes on him when he examines Scar’s burnt finger, it doesn’t look too bad, it’s slightly red and Mumbo is pretty sure it hurts badly, but it won’t make Scar too much trouble for too long. Still, cooling it would definitely be the smart move right now, Mumbo looks at Scar who looks back expectantly and really what is he supposed to do?
He lifts Scar’s hand with his, and slowly presses his lips onto Scar’s finger, just a little below the burnt spot. He feels Scar’s skin warm against his lips, and presses another kiss onto Scar’s knuckles, and faintly wishes to spend all of his mornings kissing Scar’s knuckles from now on.
When he looks there is a faint blush on Scar’s cheeks, he looks almost awestruck at Mumbo, and Mumbo feels something nice and warm spreading in his chest.
“You should probably cool that,” he says and Scar blinks at him, “oh, you’re right, Mumbo, of course!”
“Wait let me,” Mumbo shuffles over to the sink, quickly runs some lukewarm water over a napkin and wraps it around Scar’s finger.
“There.” He pats Scar’s hand gently and when he looks up Scar smiles, and Void, Mumbo doesn’t know how to look anywhere else when Scar is smiling.
“Well, thank you, Mumbo!”
“It’s alright,” Mumbo clears his throat, “any other—uhm, injuries I should know about?”
“No, no,” Scar looks over to his pan where the pancake has taken on a rather concerning shade of brown, “nothing other than my broken heart, because that pancake is unsalvageable.”
Mumbo freezes, almost involuntary his eyes track down to Scar’s chest, and he curses him a little for not wearing a shirt. Mumbo knows for a fact that his face is turning tomato red, and when Scar’s eyes follow his and he mouths a silent oh, he feels embarrassed enough to wish for the ground to swallow him whole.
“But it’s—it’s alright,” Scar sputters, “I can just make another one! I’ll do it right now, just gonna make another pancake, yep, it’s that easy.” He turns on his stool to properly face the stive again, and Mumbo finally unfreezes, palms sweaty, and heart racing. Void.
“Oh, uhm, right—yeah, I think the coffee is done! I’m gonna go check on that!” Mumbo hurries over to Scar’s coffee pot, which does not bring any actual distance between them because of how tiny Scar’s kitchen is, but it busies his hands.
They’re silent for a little while, Scar seemingly laser focused on making his pancakes, while Mumbo gets two mugs and fills them with coffee. It’s not a bad silence, maybe a slightly embarrassed one but it’s not the first kind of this silence and Mumbo knows they’ll recover just fine.
“You know, Mumbo?” Scar suddenly says, “I was actually planning on waking you up with breakfast in bed, if you had slept a little longer,” he says it with a chuckle, like he doesn’t quite know what Mumbo would think of that. Mumbo’s heart misses a beat, and there it is again, that warmth spreading in his chest.
“The bed gets cold without you,” he says because if Scar is being honest, then so can he.
“Oh,” Scar sounds a little startled, but not in a bad way, and Mumbo picks up the mugs.
“Well,” he says, smiling at Scar, “does the sofa suffice, mister?”
“I’d say it does,” Scar grins back at him, “just give me a minute and then the pancakes are done!”
“Alright.” Mumbo carries to mugs over to the little table standing in front of the sofa, and then goes to get plates and cutlery from Scar’s cupboards. And once Scar is done with the pancakes, Mumbo takes the plate he piled them on and carries it over too.
It is nice—Mumbo thinks, as Scar comes over to the sofa sitting down next to him—having breakfast together, going to sleep and waking up in Scar’s strange little spaceship. As much as Mumbo knows this is not meant to last forever, he finds himself wishing it would. And for the first time he feels like Scar might actually share that sentiment.
It's really nice.