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Mumbo ran a hand through his hair as he stepped out of the engineering firm, the cold night air nipping his skin. Free hand shifting the heavy bag slung on his shoulder, exhaling slow, his breath fogging into the bright glow of the city. Typically he would catch a bus, but after a day so unrelentingly long sat at a desk with no time to stretch more than his back, he took the quiet walk to clear his head. Maybe it was an hour added, but his birds would be sure to forgive him.
He gave his phone a quick glance to double check his route. Right, that road was closed. Construction, or a broken traffic drone again, probably. He’d just need to reroute- left a little early, right a little later, simple enough. He tucked the phone into his pocket, drifting into rhythm with the cars and city sound around him with each step.
He took that early left, feet on autopilot as the street bled neon around him. Towering buildings hung screens that buzzed overhead with shifting ads- some too bright, some glitching. Every building glowed; storefronts pulsed in exaggerated hues, signs scrolled in a dozen dialects, cables draped like vines across cracked concrete. Even now, years after moving, he caught himself comparing it to his hearthhold. Back home, the night still meant dark, the kind you felt settle the life around you. Of course, there were lanternposts, but they were soft, amber flames, not an endless barrage of synthetic light. It was like a lack of night- just screens, signs, everything neon. The only escape he got was when he shut off every smartbulb in his apartment and sealed shut his blackout curtains.
He’d been overdramatic about it when he first moved for college- mocking the billboards, wincing at the flicker of light like it’d aimed to attack him personally. Even if he’d gone to highschool in the city, he’d always returned to his hearthhold before dark. Now he didn’t have the privilege. And he’d grown used to the artificial scenery. Some nights, when the rain slicked the roads and the glow danced like a neon dream, he’d reach for his camera to capture it. The beauty of a city that never slept, just looped.
He shook his head out of his thoughts when he found it growing a little darker, the spotlights of neon around his feet growing fewer and further between. He lifted his gaze and found less screens, more of the ones present broken. The colour around him more came from graffiti sprawled on tall walls now, and a memory of some second grade assembly about bad neighborhoods tugged on the back of his mind- pushed aside just as fast, he wasn’t that far from the turn that would take him to a main road.
Then he heard the clatter- sharp, chaotic, loud, shattering the stillness of the backroad like something breaking loose. He could never guess why, but his first instinct was clear: someone was in trouble. A non-human maybe. A child, a woman, an animal, someone. Instead of processing that he was not the right person to interfere, he changed course to head toward the commotion, not yet registering the shouts, the thuds, the scent of copper for what they were.
Save for ragged, laboured breaths, it fell silent before he reached it. He rounded a corner and time seemed to stop. A body, limp on the ground. Red smeared across the walls and pooling underfoot. A shattered screen flickered and sparked, neon light bouncing off the blood like rainwater- familiar, but sickeningly wrong.
The scent hit harder once he saw it, overwhelming metallic smell flooding his senses. It clawed the back of his throat, forced bile up despite the fact he was a vampire, he was supposed to like this, but not like this.
His eyes snapped upward at the sound of movement. A figure just a couple meters from the body turning toward him. Flashing light sometimes bathing them in too-bright neon, then shrouding them in dark again as they grinned too wide. A weapon clutched so tight their hands shook from the strain. No dramatic line, no threat. No “run” or “you saw nothing.” Just a gun, raised in silence, hands going still with deadly aim.
The body on the ground hadn’t been shot- gods, Mumbo wasn’t that dumb, he would’ve heard it and bolted long ago. This was something else, so much worse- sliced open, torn apart, more lacerated than whole. He didn’t know who the villains were, but didn’t need to- he knew what he’d walked into, a territory fight. Petty, but brutal. Chaotic. Lethal, even to those unfortunate enough to stumble in on it, today that was Mumbo.
All at once, a gunshot and a burst of orange and gray. His ears rang violently, the sound alone disorienting enough to send the world tilting under him. His stomach lurched as his feet left the ground, and he gagged- convinced he’d been shot.
It took several long seconds and far too many meters for his brain to catch up. He checked himself instinctively. Still trembling like a dog, shoes soaked in blood, mind hazy with shock that made everything feel far away. The ringing slowly ebbed, replaced by the pounding of his heartbeat, the city noise bleeding back in, followed by pounding footsteps and a.. voice. Stern, and urgent, and worried- wait, what.
That numbness was beginning to crack and bleed into something deeper, fear and confusion. Who had saved him? Why? How?
One of those questions, he realised, he could answer. He looked up too fast, pulling a muscle in his neck just as the last of the ringing vanished, replaced by the sudden, overwhelming roar of the city. But that softened when his eyes landed on the man who held him tight, ran and leapt from one rooftop to another with ease, carrying Mumbo far from the alley, far from the blood, the gun, that grin.
Everything spun, but for two wildly different reasons. The man looked like an angel, his dark skin glowing under the city’s fractured lights, strong arms still holding Mumbo secure against his chest. But even that couldn’t stop the images flashing through his mind: body on the ground, torn open, barely held together. The contrast made him feel like he might throw up and pass out all at once, and he sluggishly decided to try and focus on the far better option.
The man was still talking, voice low and full of concern, but Mumbo didn’t really catch any of it. The man was gorgeous- completely and utterly breathtaking. It knocked the air from his lungs, this time for a far better reason. As neon lights finally washed over them, Mumbo’s gaze caught more and more details, each one worse for his composure, his cheeks flushing with every passing second.
He tried to tune in to what was being said, to ground himself in the voice. But then he realised the man wasn’t speaking anymore. They’d stopped moving. They were in a well-lit alley now, just a few steps from a main road. Safe, it seemed. He blinked slow, mind still fogged, and finally noticed he was being stared at.
Oh, he was supposed to respond to something.
“... I’m sorry, what?”
There was a long beat, like the man was ensuring Mumbo was present, seeing him in the moment. He felt more than heard the man give a slow breath, warm and steady beneath him. Grounding. Then, gently, he was lowered to his feet. His legs didn’t hold.
The moment his weight settled, his knees buckled. Without missing a beat, the man caught him, guiding him down carefully. He let Mumbo lean back against the cold alley wall and knelt infront of him, close enough to see the flicker of neon reflected in his eyes.
“My name is Resánima.”
Oh, if Mumbo’s stunned mind didn’t take that in like fresh water.
“I’m a vigilante. What were you doing there?”
His voice wasn’t deep, but it was rich. Melodic, grounding in it’s clarity, each word shimed with softness that eased Mumbo’s stress just slightly, but enough.
Oh, he’s still supposed to respond.
“I’m Mumbo- I’m just walking home, my usual route was shut down so I took a detour, I swear I wasn’t-”
“Yeah, no, I know.” Resánima cut in gently, almost amused. “You’re not in trouble, at all. I’m not a hero. But, well-”
Whatever he was about to say faded into static. Mumbo’s mind drifted again, caught on the glow of neon light bouncing off resin and wood on Resánima’s face, the way his expression was impossibly kind and his features otherworldly.
Then an audible sigh, just on the edge of exasperation. “Mumbo?”
“Yes! Sorry.”
“Do you need an escort home?”
The offer was so gentle, it took some of that squeezing stress off Mumbo’s chest- just a little.
He paused, genuinely considering it. Part of him wanted to stay close to this man a little longer, linger in his warmth. But another part was wary. He didn’t want to be a burden, nor invite a vigilante to know where he lived. He knew Resánima would follow him if he really wanted to know, but he could attempt to do one thing safely today.
“.. No- no, I-” Mumbo forced himself upright, legs shaking but more feeling in his entire body now. “I.. think I’m okay. Thank you, so much. Really. I’ll. Uh-”
Resánima just nodded, steady and calm, mouth lifting into the hint of a smile. Slightly endeared, slightly tired.
“Get home safe,” he said. “Stick to the main roads from now on, okay?”
Mumbo nodded back, lifted a shaky hand in farewell, and started walking. Slow, uncertain steps toward the bright noise of the street. One hand dragged down his face as he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d held.
Wow.