Work Text:
Mumbo has never loved before. Whatever that meant.
He hums, furrowing his eyebrows as he examines the sketch on the page before him. There’s something off about it that he can’t quite pinpoint.
Mumbo has never really seen himself in any relationship, though not in a hopeless sort of way. The thought of it all has just never crossed his mind; it had never been of his concern. So naturally, of course he was uncertain when Pearl had suggested he should tackle the idea of love for his final work.
”Goodness gracious. This is ridiculous…” Mumbo looks around, and catches his gaze on a familiar dirty blonde-haired figure sitting beside him; a comfortable two seats down.
How would one even visualise love? For a task where the only prompt is “conceptual analysis,” finding a starting point was something Mumbo found rather hard.
Maybe he should start with something simple? A warm up, in a way. How about a portrait?
Mumbo, with his pencil in hand, extends a closed hand towards the closest person around him, with his thumb upright and one eye open. He had already forgotten how to proportion side view portraits, let alone how to even begin one.
Mumbo narrows his eyes for a moment, then turns back to his drawing pad, flipping to a new page and starting the bones of a new sketch. That previous drawing could wait. Mumbo still couldn’t figure out what exactly was wrong with it.
He turns back to the other student, thumb back and arm outstretched before himself as he evaluates the muse once more… Until the other turns to face him.
Not exactly what Mumbo needed, but at least now he no longer has to revise side view portraits. That is, until the other returns the gesture with a near identical one of his own, coupled with a hesitant, confused smile. The gesture being a “thumbs up,” as they do say.
Mumbo immediately finds himself breathing a laugh, muttering an embarrassed apology before turning back to his sketch.
“Is that not what you meant with your thumbs up?”
Well, Mumbo can’t exactly hide from interaction now. He was trying to be subtle!
“Certainly not?” Despite being caught, Mumbo can’t hold back his smile. “I was– er– drawing you? To be frankly honest.”
“You know what? I should’ve known that.”
And, he turns back. Back to his own sketchbook. Was that consent to the portrait? Surely he knows, right? That Mumbo is drawing him? Gosh, was that creepy? Mumbo wonders if that’s creepy; drawing a stranger. Though in all honesty, Mumbo’s sure he’s had a few conversations with this classmate before, maybe a group task of sorts. Or, at least he thinks he’s had. It’s embarrassing to admit he doesn’t even remember his name, let alone know it from the start.
“You know,” comes the other’s voice once more, “You can always take a photo to make it last longer.”
Mumbo pauses, directing his gaze back to his classmate in a moment of thought. “No, uh,” he clears his throat, “this is fine. You’re worth experiencing.”
Mumbo notices his classmate grow a blush over the binding of his sketchbook, and in turn, finds that his own cheeks are starting to tingle with warmth.
“So,” Mumbo continues, awkwardly as he meets the other’s stunned gaze, “What’s your name? I mean, if– if I’m drawing you, I ought to know your name? To title the piece, of course.”
The other gives a sweet laugh. Mumbo isn’t sure what’s so amusing about what he’d just said.
“My name is Grian, Mumbo. We’ve met quite a few times, buddy. Just never really talked.” Grian smiles, and it sends another flurry of warmth through Mumbo’s cheeks, though it might also be because Grian already knows his name. “I like your moustache.”
He what?
“Oh.” Mumbo gives his own little laugh, finding an urge to turn back as he adjusts his grip on his sketchbook. “Thank– Thank you. I don’t even know what to say. No one’s really brought it up like that.”
“Well it sure is glorious, that’s for one.”
Goodness gracious. How was Mumbo supposed to draw now?
Mumbo clears his throat again, brushing his hair out of his face and turning back to his notebook. It earns a rather cheeky smile from Grian.
“Stay still,” Mumbo begins once more, though he finds it a little too blunt, and decides to add a little, “ please .”
“ Alright then.”
For the remainder of class, Mumbo sits facing Grian, and spends his time drawing him. Grian sits facing Mumbo, and spends his time watching him. He’s an odd one, really. But odd in an interesting way. A charming way. Grian wonders why he’d never bothered to engage properly with this guy.
For the time Mumbo is drawing, he really seems to be taking in all the details; all of Grian’s details. His golden hair; the way it gently flows and curls around his face, how his glasses frame so nicely his soft, dark eyes, how he has a warm blush to his cheeks, his nose, how he glances around when he’s bored, kicks his legs from the top of the seat and fiddles with his fingers. He’s an odd one, really. But odd in an interesting way. A charming way. Mumbo wonders why he’d never bothered to engage properly with this guy.
Though Grian is just as enraptured. So enraptured, that the two of them are the last to leave class.
Mumbo apologises for keeping Grian back, to which Grian waves Mumbo away and deems it not a problem. Sweet of him, really. Wonder if Mumbo would ever be able to draw him again.
“Catch you later?”
“Catch you next week ,” Grian corrects.
“Catch you later next week,” Mumbo corrects, and– dear, that didn’t quite make sense, did it?
Grian packs away his belongings and leaves, to which Mumbo is left alone in the classroom, entrusted by the teacher who’d left in a hurry to run errands. He looks down at his open sketchbook, over his drawing of Grian, and then flips back to the sketch on the previous page.
Something is clearly different between the two pieces, a difference that Mumbo now recognises.
One, has emotion.
Love .