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Scar watched the two red lights dance in his blurry vision as they moved in a slow and rythmatic manner. He smiled up at them, they were so pretty, and he felt so heavy. The darkness around his eyes crept closer until he couldn’t see any more. Distant muffled music closed to an end, and he breathed. He could see his breath, cold and unwavering, though fading back into the darkness. He blinked, and god, did he feel that blink. His eyes felt cold and dry. He looked around. Darkness, everywhere. But then, a looming light, overhead, holding that same crimson he saw as he passed out. He watched it with amazement, it didn’t scare him, it comforted him.
He smelled motor oil and pinecones and warmth. He smelled electricity and melted wax and happiness.
And he didn’t smell that familiar cold. He felt warm.
His eyes warmed up, and they weren’t dry anymore, they weren’t freezing. They felt nice, they felt normal.
He looked down and he was fully dressed. He looked beside himself and there were stars. Beautiful, blinking, stars. Were they eyes?
He moved his head to the side, and his face touched something soft. It smelled stronger of that wonderful smell than his surroundings, and so he buried his nose in it, and breathed. And his breath wasn’t to be seen.
—
„Is he smelling you?“ Impulse laughed and pointed at the man, face shoved deep in the neck of his fellow hermit Mumbo. The fellow hermit, in response, laughed nervously with Impulse, and said, „he must be dreaming of smelling pies- like in those old cartoons! You know when they float-„
Grian chuckled and agreed, setting his drink down on the stone floor of The Boatem Hole, „We should prank him,“ he smiled.
Pearl lightly punched his shoulder, „I was just about to get me markers and cream,“ Grian snickered mischievously. „Maybe a mustache, like our CEO‘s?“
They collectively agreed.
—
Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to get drunk in The Boatem Hole. A hole that went beneath Bedrock, falling in which would result in certain death in the void, earning that yucky staticy feeling. But the Boatem crew loved that hole, so they had all their meetings there. Including parties. It was really, really stupid. But it was fun.
Many deaths occured that night. Nothing the crew couldn’t handle, though.
The following morning, Scar would awaken in his own bed, it was warm and it was comfortable. It would be more comfortable if he hadn’t had that headache, he realized as a pang of pain shot through his head.
Scar sat up, and dragged his hand over his face, trying to wake himself up a bit.
He blinked slowly, something felt absent. What felt absent? He looked around. There was a glass of water and some pills on the side of his bed, huh. He usually wasn’t that prepared- someone must’ve put it there… maybe Jellie?
He washed a pill down with the water, and groggily got up. He was in his clothes from the day before, minus his Jacket, shoes and corset. Hey, when’d he take his vest off?
He blinked slowly, and noticed his missing clothes folded neatly on the ‚couch‘ in his room. The builder scratched his head. His mouth tasted disgusting, he should brush his teeth.
He sighed, and he sauntered to the bathroom.
It looked fairly normal, unchanged. He stepped infront of the mirror and reached for his toothbrush, putting paste on it, wetting it up, reaching it towards his mouth, looking up, and stopping-
He nearly dropped his toothbrush as he exhaled a quiet laugh. His face was scribbled all over! He started brushing his teeth, and observed his general appearance. He has a quite dashing mustache drawn on his upper lip, long and curled at the end. ‚Almost like Mumbos‘ he thought, but he knew, nothing could match the mustacheness of Mumbos mustache. A drawn monocle adorned his face, although that one looked less dashing, and more crude. Definitely Grian. He had whiskers drawn on his face in squiggly lines, Pearl, and a shaky heart on his jaw, Impulse. Now where did Cub draw? Was he even at the party? Scar wasnt even sure if Cub was a part of Boatem.
His hair was a disaster, to put it lightly. Hairstrands were sticking up and to the side in places they shouldn’t and those were. Quite a few knots. That’s going to be hell to comb. What happened last night?
His suspenders were down, hanging against the sides of his thighs. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, and his sleeves, well, one sleeve was rolled up, and one sleeve wasn’t. Both were unbuttoned.
He definitely had to shower.
He spit the toothpaste into the sink and washed his mouth and toothbrush respectively.
Scar stretched with a wince as he heard his neck and back pop.
After his well needed shower, and getting dressed, Scar grabbed some food and exited his wagon, wincing at the sunlight. Grumbling over the sun, and the fact that he was unable to scrub the marker off, he merely smudged it, he ate and searched for Grian, making a beeline towards the mans house.
He knocked on the mans door and waited barely two seconds before opening it, entering the pesky birds home. „I know what you did, Gri!“ he called into the home, and he heard a muffled noise coming from Grians bedroom.
He went up the stairs, and he knocked on Grians door, and he opened it, finding Grian still half asleep in his bed, wearing the same clothes as yesterday like Scar did when he woke up. His fellow builder emidded whiny noises, „shhhsjihs quietttt Scarrr“ he drew out, burying his face in his pillow and lifting the sides of it to cover his ears.
„What happened last night?“ Scar asked simply, he only remembers the smell of melted wax and warmth, among other things, but he couldn’t seem to remember anything else, only blurry images, none of which he could yet identify. How wasted did he get?
Grian responded with a snore, and Scar knew he was asleep, so he left the mans home. He’ll prank him for this later, he’ll prank all of them! He shook his fist at the angry sun, and he audibly whined at the bright beams of it.
Who’s next on his list.. he looked around, either Impulse or Pearl or Mumbo. Who would be awake at this time? Both Impulse and Mumbo were early risers, but Scar genuinely had no clue where Impulses living quarters were in that huge base of his. And so, he chose Mumbo.
He made his way towards Treesa, and he weakly climbed her vines, and he fell, and he groaned, and he climbed again.
Now inside the mustached mans base, he blinked his eyes a few times, and he smelled pinecone, and he smelled motor oil.
He inhaled the scent, and the light was just right in Treesa. He moved the vines to cover up the makeshift doorway, and he sauntered to search for Mumbo.
He found him fairly easily, he was still sleeping in bed, in his van, it seemed. What time was it? How come Scar awoke before Mumbo or seemingly Impulse? He shrugged, and he leaned down to get a better look at Mumbo, the only hermit he’s seen today covered by a blanket whilst sleeping. He looked peaceful, and the smell of electricity and warmth strengthened.
He kneeled, and he gently shook the mans shoulder, and Mumbo huffed, and Mumbo rolled over.
Scar couldn’t help but smile.
He leaned over and onto the bed partially, his torso hovering over it, and he shook the mans shoulder again. „Pssst, Mumbooo wakey wakey eggs and bakey, dude!“ he almost whispered.
He’s more gentle with Mumbo than with Grian, he knows why, but he won’t admit it to himself. He knows why he looks at him differently than the other Boatem members, he knows why he wants to learn every last detail of the man, he knows why every touch they share feels electric to him, he knows why he dreams of him, and he knows why-
Scar was pulled out of his thoughts by the noise of Mumbo groaning. The redstoner blinked his eyes open slowly, looking up and above at the builder looming over him.
His eyes were half lidded and glossy, his usually neat dark hair was messy and curled.
„Scar?“ Mumbo muttered out, muffled by the blanket covering the underside of his face. He tugged the blanket away from it slowly, going below his neck.
Suddenly, Scar forgot all about why he went to wake Mumbo up, he just looked down at him and felt that tug in his chest again.
He was so pretty.
Could a man be considered pretty? Could a man be considered beautiful? Scar grew up being taught those terms were rude to refer a man to, but those were also the only words Scar found himself being able to describe the man below him. He was pretty and he was beautiful and oh gods he was in love.
„Scar?“ Mumbo tilted his head, tired and confused, and Scar wanted to kiss him. He’d never.
The builder blinked a few times before his brain started working again. „Hm? Oh, right! Mumbo! Do you have any idea what happened last night? Because my brain completely blanked yesterday,“
Mumbo reached up to rub his own eyes, leaning up a bit on his elbows, which made Scar lean back a bit, they were so close.. „Well you fell asleep, and so we decided to draw on your face, I figure you’ve already made out that part?“ he said in a soft voice, it was almost faint, the man was still waking up. Scar wanted to hear his voice like that every morning.
Scar chuckled, „yes, yes. I’ve made out that much, but what else? I honestly barely remember anything!“ „well what do you remember?“ Mumbo sat up more, not having to lean on his elbows anymore, and Scar leaned back further, opting to instead get up and sit on the mans bed. „Mh..“ Scar looked at Mumbo in thought. „Well, I remember that at some point we played duck duck goose?“ „Oh that was before we even touched any alcohol, how quickly are you able to get black out drunk-„
Mumbo looked at the man with bewilderment in his eyes, but he still looked tired. „I’m a lightweight,“ he simply answered. „Hey, how about we talk about this when you’re more awake, hm?“ Scar put a hand on Mumbos shoulder and guided him to lay down again, Mumbo complied.
The tired redstoner made an agreeing noise, and slowly moved himself so he’s laying on his side, curled up and quickly slipping back into dreamland.
Scar watched, and Scar wanted to stay. Was he allowed to? The sight of his fellow hermit falling asleep so quickly and so easily made him tired all the same. He could lay with him, for a bit. He’d get up and leave before Mumbo does. He yawned, and he laid down gently beside the man, watching the back of his head. He rarely sees the mans hair ungeeled, it looked so soft. He wanted to touch it, he wanted to touch him, he didn’t.
He laid his hands folded underneath his head, and closed his eyes, smelling motor oil and pinecones and warmth, smelling electricity and melted wax and happiness.
And he fell asleep, and he was happy.