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“I paid you for a kill,” Martyn hisses. “I've not seen it yet.”
“I'm trying!” Mumbo defends. “I've tried to kill Pearl— a—and Scott!”
Martyn scoffs, like Mumbo's efforts mean absolutely nothing to him. “I didn't pay you to attack them, I paid you to attack Etho.”
Mumbo doesn't know to respond, and luckily Skizz does it for him. “We just needed a warm up, didn't we, buddy?” He pats Mumbo's shoulder.
“A warm up,” Martyn parrots, seeming unamused. “You two are barely making an effort.”
Skizz rushes to defend them both, “How dare you, Mumbo's trying his little heart out! Even though he shouldn't be, this deal's gonna kill us both!”
“That's not my problem,” Martyn answers, and it feels like a boot straight to Mumbo's chest.
If Skizz continues to fight for him, Mumbo barely hears it. Does Martyn really not care about him anymore? Is this really the same Martyn that promised he'd never even let him turn red?
“Do you still like me?” Mumbo asks quietly, and both men stop their arguing.
“What?” Martyn says, so loud in the sudden silence.
“Do you... still like me?” Mumbo repeats, even though he feels like he already knows the answer. Ever since turning red, Martyn's treated him like absolute shit. He's purposefully aggravated Mumbo, insulted him, threatened him, and acted like they were never even friends— nevermind married.
Martyn doesn't respond for several, very long seconds. He doesn't rush to assure Mumbo, and that's enough of an answer.
“You're red,” is what Martyn finally settles with saying, and Mumbo can't decide if he's about to choke on tears or carve Martyn's spine out with his teeth.
“I'm your husband!” Mumbo counteracts. “You told me being red wouldn't matter! That you'd still love me— so many times!”
“I do still love you—” Martyn tries.
“Do you?! The only time I feel like you want to hang out with me anymore is when you want me to hurt you! I'm sick to death of you just using me for that.”
Martyn looks... blurry, though the tears in Mumbo's eyes; but also like he's been caught. Mumbo takes in a deep breath to steady himself.
“And I asked if you still liked me, because I don't even want to think about the possibility that you don't love me anymore.”
“Do we have to have this conversation in front of Skizz?” Martyn deflects.
“Stop avoiding my question, Martyn! Did me getting murdered make you stop liking me?”
“I'm not allowed to like you! You're red, we can't be friends,” Martyn raises his voice.
“But you're mean to me! You don't care if I die! You said— you said you'd give me a life if I was red, and now you're saying you wouldn't care if I was gone forever!”
“I can't give you a life, I'm only on three.”
“I'm on one! You promised,” Mumbo hisses.
“... I can't do that, Mumbo,” Martyn answers.
Mumbo snickers, bitter. “Yeah, of course you can't. You can give one to Ren, but not to your own husband.”
Martyn doesn't defend himself, because he can't. Mumbo knows it.
“I'm done with... this. If I live any longer we can talk about this again, but for now, I'm done,” Mumbo says, turning and heading towards Team B.E.S.T's castle. “Let's go kill Etho, Skizz.”
Skizz follows behind him quickly, and when they're far enough from Martyn he places his hand on Mumbo's shoulder. “I'm sorry buddy, I didn't know what to say back there...”
Mumbo wipes his eyes, tears haven't begun to properly fall, but they still sting. “No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that in front of you.”
“Come here,” Skizz says, pulling Mumbo close until they're hugging. Mumbo would prefer to feel small. Have his face hidden in Martyn's Skizz's chest, have his hair pet, feel truly comforted in the way he hasn't been able to feel in what seems like so long.
Every night Martyn used to hold him— neither of them could sleep well— and it'd feel like, even when the world was scary, Martyn would always be safe.
Why did that have to be wrong?
Mumbo cries into Skizz's shoulder. He's never loved another man as much as he's loved Martyn.