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Truly, Mumbo had never intended for this to become a habit.
It started as a one-off idea, a need to demolish his base giving a good excuse for a social experiment. To ask his fellow Hermits if they’d blow his base up without actually explaining why. He hadn’t expected it to become something recurring, but he also hadn’t expected just how into the whole thing Scar would be, either.
There was something about the fire dancing in Scar’s eyes as they placed the TNT, about the unrestrained cackles he let out as they watched Mumbo’s failed base addition turn to rubble, about the utterly disheveled and unhinged look he had once everything was said and done, that was absolutely intoxicating. Mumbo found himself wanting more, to see Scar like this as often as possible, even if it meant his whole base would become nothing but a crater large enough to rival Doc’s perimeter.
And, well, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed the thrill of destruction on its own. Scar’s enthusiasm just happened to be a catalyst, so to speak, as well as a very appreciated bonus.
After that he found himself building less-than-subpar builds every week or so. Nothing too big or time consuming, just enough to make it seem like he wasn’t intentionally making horrible structures. Then, he’d invite Scar over to help with demolition duty and pay him a few diamonds as compensation. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, Mumbo thinks. Scar gets diamonds to help fund the future of Scarland, and Mumbo gets to hear those sweet noises and see those crazed looks, and they both get the thrill of vandalism it seems they’re both desperately craving. It’s a win/win situation, really. Who cares if a few resources are wasted and a few holes are made in the process?
That’s how he finds himself today, staring up at a shabby tower he built a few hundred blocks away from spawn. It has the same color palette as the rest of his builds, with deepslate, blackstone, and copper being the main materials used, but they’re slapped in such an unappealing way even Mumbo has to admit it’s below even his most embarrassing works. Unbelievable that it has taken him all day to make this mess, but his ideas for making believably bad builds are wearing dangerously thin, so the bruise colored eye-sore will have to do for now. Just another reason to destroy it. Mumbo’s palms clam up and his heart races at the thought.
He pulls his com out and shoots a quick message to Scar.
<Mumbo> do you happen to be in the mood to blow something up
<Mumbo> i have a terrible attempt at a watchtower i need to get rid of
Mumbo doesn’t even have a chance to close the tab out before he hears the tell-tale sound of incoming messages.
<Goodtimewithscar> You had me at blow something up <3
<Goodtimewithscar> Send me the coords and I’ll be there in five
-
Scar whistles as he circles around the atrocious tower one last time. “Wow,” he says, not even trying to hide his amusement. “No offense, Mumbo, but this is an even bigger eye sore than Impulse’s build last season.”
“I know,” Mumbo groans, hiding his face in his hands. “It’s embarrassing, hence the need to get rid of it as soon as possible.”
Scar hums in agreement. “If you don’t mind me asking, why would you build a tower here in the first place? It’s nowhere near the rest of your base.”
Mumbo freezes, head still resting in his hands. In all his shoddy planning he’d done that morning, a reason for the build was not something he’d even remotely thought about. He quickly looks up, hoping the movement looked a lot calmer than it felt, and blurts out, “Well, you know, you can never have enough watchtowers!”
Scar gives him a knowing look that makes his heart jump into his throat, but doesn’t comment any further. Scar then turns to reach into a bright orange and blue duffle bag slung around the back of his wheelchair, pulling out a few shulker boxes. “You didn’t really say how big the tower was, so I may have brought more TNT than necessary.”
“Wait, are all those full?”
“Well, of course they are!” Scar replies with a proud grin. “With how often we’ve been demolishing your stuff, I decided to start bulking up my supply.”
Color rushes to Mumbo’s face, an uneasy laugh leaving him before he can even think about it. A mix of hope that maybe Scar enjoys this as much as he does and fear of being found out filling his stomach at the same time. He clears his throat, “Okay, um, might as well stop wasting time, then. Would you like to do the honors?”
“Obviously,” Scar says, already grabbing a stack of TNT. He uses a rocket to launch himself out of his chair and to the top of the tower, placing some explosives at the top and adding more as he circles his way back down. Mumbo watches in awe as he works, staring at Scar’s silhouette against the dimming sky, excitement slowly overtaking the other emotions jumbled in his gut.
It’s incredible how fast Scar works, getting more speed out of his wings than nearly everyone else on the server. He’s over halfway done loading the abomination with TNT before he drops back down to get another stack, Mumbo’s eyes not leaving him for a second. Scar doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, once his eyes meet Mumbo’s, there’s a noticeable shift in his demeanor. He does a corkscrew when he launches himself back up, making a show out of every block he places; like he’s showing off. Like he wants Mumbo to look. Like he’s caught onto the game Mumbo’s somehow dragged him into (maybe he’d caught on a long time ago, maybe he’d been in on it this whole time) and he’s milking it for every last drop.
Mumbo feels faint.
“Aaaand done!” Scar proclaims as he effortlessly lands back in his wheelchair. “I may have gone a little overboard.”
It’s only then that Mumbo thinks to actually look at the array of explosives Scar placed around the build. There’s probably a block of TNT for every four blocks of watchtower. Definitely more than enough, probably enough they’d have to fill a crater before their day was done, but that prospect just made his excitement grow. His heart pounds loud enough he can hear the blood rushing through his ears. “No, no, I think that’s the perfect amount,” he says finally.
“Amazing. You didn’t happen to bring a flint and steel, did you?” Scar asks, knowing look back once more.
“I did, actually,” Mumbo responds, choosing to ignore the expression on his friend’s face. “Do you want me to light it?”
“Yeah, but make sure you get down here before it goes off, alright?”
Mumbo blinks at Scar, a bit confused. “That kind of goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
Scar just hums and gestures for Mumbo to get the job done, so Mumbo launches himself up without another word. It’s a simple task, lighting the TNT, one that he’s done a million times before, but it feels just as gratifying everytime. He makes quick work of igniting the first few blocks at the top and quickly dives back down, landing as gracefully as possible next to Scar, who’s busy rummaging through his bag again. After a few seconds he pulls out a folding chair and sets it up right next to his.
“Front row seats,” he says, grinning. Mumbo huffs and rolls his eyes, but takes a seat anyway.
Mumbo had no sooner settled in than the first of the explosions started. His eyes are immediately drawn up, watching with satisfaction as the top bits of the build blast away, debris flying every which way. It’s beautiful, show-stopping, and yet he can’t help but notice the pointed lack of enthusiastic whooping from beside him. He turns to look, curious, only to find deep green eyes already staring back at him, transfixed. The expression on Scar’s face, dazed and determined all in one, makes something in Mumbo stir.
“Scar-” Mumbo goes to question, only to be cut off by said man pulling him in roughly by his tie, surprisingly soft lips smashing into his own.
Mumbo’s eyes widen, the sounds of both his own heart and the echoing blasts suddenly so loud it’s almost painful. He’s frozen in shock, unable to so much as move his fingers, for longer than what’s to be considered normal for a kiss. A kiss. Scar’s kissing him.
Scar’s kissing him and he’s doing the absolute worst job of kissing back.
The two frayed wires left in Mumbo’s brain rub together and he kicks himself back into gear. He lifts his hands to Scar’s face, closing his eyes as he pulls Scar even closer. A sigh escapes Scar’s nose as he does so, which only encourages Mumbo more, so he slides a hand along Scar’s cheek and tangles it in the back of his hair, effectively locking the two of them together.
Not where he thought this night was going. Definitely not where he thought this night was going. A totally, completely unexpected turn of events that answers his questions but leaves him with so, oh so many more. But he doesn’t care right now, not when the explosions fade into nothing but a dull, warm hum and his senses fill with nothing but Scar, Scar, Scar.
They don’t separate further than half a centimeter for what feels like forever, taking little breaths of fresh air before diving back in, like they’ve been starving in the wilderness for years and this is their first real meal. Mumbo feels like he’s starving; he had no idea just how hungry he could get until now, focused on doing nothing more than getting a taste of something he’d been missing out on for far too long.
The tower is reduced to nothing but a small hole in the ground by the time they pull away from each other, pressing their foreheads together, panting like they’ve run a marathon. At some point, dusk turned to night, the only light coming from the glow of nearby bases, the dying embers from the rubble, and the faint glow of each other’s eyes in the darkness. Mumbo is vaguely aware that this means they’re ultimately surrounded by mobs right now, but whatever part of his brain that’s in charge of logic appears to be on vacation for the time being.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing, Mumbo,” Scar says, breaking the comfortable silence between them and making the embarrassment from earlier slam back into Mumbo at full force.
“I-I kind of suspected you caught on,” Mumbo mumbles, not trusting his voice to speak at full volume. “... How long have you known?”
“Since about the third time you invited me over.”
“Wait, that long? Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Scar smirks, barely visible in the dim moonlight. “Once is an honest mistake, twice is an accident, but three times in the span of a few weeks? That’s on purpose.”
“And yet, you kept coming when I asked.” Mumbo sighs, still not sure any of this is real. “Why?”
“If that glorious make-out session wasn’t enough of an answer for you, let me put it in the plainest terms possible: I like you, Mumbo.”
Mumbo’s breath hitches. He knew the answer already, but hearing Scar say it outloud like that was something else entirely. “I like you too, if that wasn’t glaringly obvious.”
Scar grins, and it’s toothy and beautiful and just so sickeningly-sweet. “Plus,” he continues, winking, “do you really think I could turn down a chance to blow stuff up? You aren’t the only one that gets off on giant explosions.”
“Scar!” Mumbo laughs, shocked, pushing himself away from Scar. “Please don’t phrase it like that! My goodness.”
Scar laughs as well, hearty and full, and Mumbo finds himself smiling despite it all. This whole situation is ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous, and yet Mumbo truly couldn’t have imagined it playing out any other way. If there was one thing he and Scar had in common, it was convoluted plans for dumb ideas that always miraculously worked in the end. Truly, this had to be the most fitting “getting together” story Mumbo could think of.
“Hey,” Scar says suddenly, “wanna play rock paper scissors to see who has to fill in the hole?”
“Oh, you’re on.”