Chapter Text
The bucket of water steamed from the other side of the room. Iskall had carried it inside, unlocking the door for a split second to allow himself entry, in one hand he clasped tightly onto the handle of the water and his other arm was wrapped tightly around a pile of folded clothes. Mumbo was pleased to see that Iskall’s usual companion, Xisuma, hadn’t come with him. The moustached man watched Iskall silently, his eyes followed his every move. The Swedish man placed the pale on the floor and flashed Mumbo a hesitant smile. He took the towel that had been slung over his shoulders and set it down beside the bucket, to the left of the towel, Iskall unloaded the clothes to the floor, ensuring they remained in a neat stack. They were almost identical to the clothes he was currently wearing, except these were clean.
Iskall turned to Mumbo and opened his mouth to speak when his eyes connected with the glare Mumbo had trained on him, he clamped his lips shut and wrung his hands nervously. Iskall knew his friend was upset but didn’t quite know how to comfort the man. He built up his courage and spoke. “Your storyteller wants you to ring the bell after you’ve washed.” Iskall pointed towards the golden bell that hung from the wall, near the door. “He also said that he would bring down a razor and foam to help you shave if you wanted?” Iskall added hopefully. When Mumbo remained silent, hands folded in his lap and not moving an inch towards the book. Iskall sighed, “Nod if you understand.”
Mumbo glared at the man as he spoke, eyes burning holes into Iskall’s face. He’d considered this man his friend, he’d trusted him along with his mystery man. Both had forgotten about him. How could he consider either of them friends if they abandoned him so effortlessly? Even though his storyteller had apologised, Mumbo couldn’t bring himself to fully forgive either of them. He was at their mercy, after all. He was forced to be under their care, and they had neglected that.
Iskall cleared his throat, watching Mumbo expectantly. The raven-haired man’s eyes widened at being caught in his thoughts, he gave a final searing glare to Iskall before nodding his head curtly. The Swedish man sighed in defeat but seemed to be satisfied with Mumbo’s response. He watched, as Iskall turned away silently, his head hung low. A part of Mumbo sympathised with Iskall, a part of him even wanted to leap to his side and hug him, comfort him, forgive him. But the more stubborn side of Mumbo’s mind halted those actions. He remained where he sat and watched as the door shut softly behind the other man.
Mumbo waited until he heard the wood begin to creak, he pushed himself up and stepped towards the bucket of water. The steam rolling off the surface seemed to warm and inviting, he wished it were a bath and that he could submerge his entire body in its cleansing heat.m Mumbo sighed wistfully at the thought before lowering himself to his knees. It felt so long ago since he’d washed. In fact, he couldn’t quite remember when that was. But he was sure that he had washed before.
Floating on the top of the water was a yellow sponge, it’s dimpled surface shimmered in the light of the sea lanterns. Mumbo watched it bob before he sank his hands deep in the water. The Redstone, that caked his fingers, hissed as it made contact with the water. After a second, it loosened its grip on his skin and when Mumbo pulled his hands away they felt so much lighter than before, so much cleaner. He hummed contentedly and reached for the soap, that was sat on the towel. He braced his weight on either side of the bucket and dunked his entire head in the water.
His ears filled and blocked out the silence of the room. He could hear his heart beating, like a war drum. He felt his lungs screaming for air and he pulled his head back out, lathering up the sponge as he did, he scrubbed his face and sighed in relief as he washed the grime out of his growing beard and still prominent moustache. He washed his hair and grinned as he worked out the knots and took out the blood and Redstone that matted it. He tugged at his shirt and unfastened the buttons. On the back of his shirt, Mumbo saw the holes that had been burned into his clothes from when he was kept in the cage. Memories of pain and fear flooded his mind. He could barely remember that first day in the Redstone world. He threw the dirty garment across the room and began scraping the soapy sponge across his pale skin. Mumbo moaned in pleasure as he felt the grime from the last few weeks wash away.
The sight of the dirt and gunk trickling off him was satisfying and he couldn’t wait to scrub again. He kept rubbing until his skin felt raw and sore. Grimacing slightly, he rinsed off his torso and repeated the process after he took his trousers and underwear off, scrubbing at his body and hastily cleaning his legs and feet.
When his pale skin was pink and humming from the rough sponge, Mumbo dropped it back into the water and reached for the towel. It was fluffy and warm, it felt like satin against his tender skin. Mumbo wiped away the last few droplets before dressing in his clean clothes.
At the bottom of the pile was a bright red silk tie. It sat on the floor innocently. He watched it, eyes wide as if it was about to pounce on him. Echoes of laughter and gentle kisses flashed through his mind. Dreams from a life he would never have. It was very strange, however, as it felt so real. His brow furrowed as he concentrated harder, trying to add a picture to the sounds in his mind. None came. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the same dark, small room that he’d been trapped in for so many weeks. His eyes reconnected with the tie and he reached for it, rubbing the soft material between his fingertips. A small smile painted his lips.
Muscle memory took over as he looped it around his neck and tied it in a neat triangle knot, at his shirt collar. Mumbo distantly wished he had a mirror to stare into, he sighed and glanced down at himself, running a hand over his shirt and tie, straightening his front. Mumbo glanced to the bell, he reached across and tugged on the chord that hung from it. The instrument gave a loud gong as it swayed back and forth. He pushed himself to his feet and carefully made his way back to his bed.
Within moments, he could hear the distant creaking of wood as someone made their way down the hole. Butterflies fluttered in Mumbo’s chest as he heard the man, outside the door, breath. A soft rap of knuckles tapped against the door and Mumbo’s heart jumped. It seemed to rattle against his ribs as anxiety flooded his mind. He placed a steadying hand on his chest and counted to ten, trying to quell his nerves. Taking one last stabilizing breath he glanced back to the door, calling for the man to come in. He knew all too well who was stood outside. It was his mystery man.
“I’m coming in.” Came the familiar voice as the door clicked and unlocked. It slowly swung open and revealed a short blond man. He donned a pair of dark jeans and an oversized red jumper. He was quite slender and if Mumbo was to stand beside him, the man’s head would barely meet his shoulder. His face was smooth and petite, his jaw was soft. A scar ran from the centre of his chin and across his face, the left side of his head was almost bald, only a few bunches of hair stood tall against his scalp. If the man hadn’t been injured, Mumbo would have recognised him as the person who’d been so gentle and kind at his stone hut.
“I know you.” Was all Mumbo could gasp out. The smaller man nodded, his mouth twisted into some form of emotion that Mumbo couldn’t read.
“I know you do. But probably not the same way that I know you.” He replied simply. Mumbo nodded, confusion creasing his face. The man’s blue eyes flicked towards the bed. “Can I sit next to you?” He asked.
Mumbo blushed slightly and glanced beside him to the empty side of the bed. He nodded silently. The man’s shoulders relaxed and he moved to sit beside Mumbo. The moustached man stiffened at the presence next to him, no one had been this close to him since that day, when he had been roughly manhandled and thrown into this small obsidian box. He opened his mouth to speak, but the blond beat him to it. “What do you remember?” Mumbo glanced at him before his eyes slipped closed, embracing the memory that flooded into his mind.
“You were there. You were nice to me.” He muttered. The blond smiled sadly, nodding in encouragement.
“I was. Do you remember anything else?” Mumbo dipped his head in confirmation.
“Your name begins with the letter G. Grain? Green?” Mumbo guessed. The blond chewed his lip, slight irritation met his eyes, before he sighed.
“My name is Grian.”
The raven-haired man nodded. “Yes, that’s what you said.” He agreed, but his brow furrowed with confusion. “But, if I didn’t know your name then, how did you know mine?” He asked quietly.
Grian’s face twisted as if he were in pain. He sighed and glanced down to the floor. “Remember that story I read to you?”
“About the people and the island?” Mumbo asked.
“Yes.” Grian smiled slightly. “We were the people. Us and our friends.”
“So, we’re friends?” Mumbo asked, his heart sinking slightly. He was sure there was something else. Something extra to this story, something he couldn’t quite name. Grian hummed, his voice quiet.
“Yes.” He answered.
Mumbo remained quiet for a very long time as he processed that information. His brow furrowed once more. “But… That doesn’t seem quite right.” He muttered. Grian glanced at him, eyes flicking between Mumbo’s.
“When you came to me in my world, I knew you. I don’t know how, but I did. I know your voice, I know your laugh.” Mumbo trailed off, voice quiet. “I know what your lips feel like against mine.” He whispered, almost inaudibly.
Grian must have heard every word because at that last sentence, his breath hitched and he glanced at Mumbo, eyes twinkling with hope. “You do?” He asked breathily. Mumbo felt his cheeks burn and he nodded, avoiding eye contact.
“Yeah. It’s hazy but it’s there.” He muttered. “Why do I remember all of that?” Mumbo asked.
At Mumbo’s question, Grian swallowed audibly, his face reddened and he sniffled, chin wobbling slightly. Mumbo’s eyes narrowed on the other man, his heart sank at the sight and he reached out a hand to Grian’s shoulder. “It’s okay.” He breathed. “Tell me.”
“We…” Grian trailed off and scrubbed a hand over his damp cheek. “We were together, Mumbo.”
“What do you mean?”
Grian glanced up to the man. He inched forward until Mumbo could feel his breath on his face. Mumbo’s eyes slipped closed as he felt the soft brush of lips against his own. Grian pulled away after a short moment and smiled softly at him. Mumbo’s eyes remained shut for a second longer until they flicked open and he stared dazedly at the other man. “We… we? I?” He stuttered, blush reaching his ears. He glanced down at his hands and nodded. “Oh.” He breathed.
“Yes,” Grian muttered.
“My dreams.” Mumbo gasped. “They’re real? In my…” He trailed off. “The world.” He corrected. “I remembered you. Even though I was shown horrible things by the voice in my head, I remembered you. I dream about you.” He fell silent, tears pricking his eyes as a lump formed in his throat. “I… I think I miss you.” He admitted.
Grian choked on a sob and nodded. “I miss you too.” He gasped. “So much.”
