#anyways! wow those traumatized gays sure can refuse to admit they're gay for each other

[sleepless-in-southlands]

Your Eyes are in the Sky (Mine are on You)

Ao3

Summary: In their line of work, the past was never truly the past, and neither Grian nor Mumbo were dumb enough to think otherwise. But typically moving a hundred towns over was enough to keep it at a fairly distant threat. That didn't mean it always felt like it. Content: AU- Mob Bosses, hurt/comfort; paranoia, codependency referenced/past blood/injury/violence, trust issues, protectiveness, homoromanticism, kissing, obligatory characters not CCs Ship: Ambiguous grumbo (which is to say they go ‘we’re just business partners’ and then act like they’re dating. idk man. they’re fruity as hell) Notes: Part three of Bloody Fruits au

~

    Grian knew he shouldn’t be here.

    Even in the right places, night in Heremita was never a time to be outside. The longer he remained out in the open, the higher the chance ran that someone- or someones- would appear out of the shadows and attack him.

    Not that he thought he would lose any fight that might present itself, especially at that moment, but still. He wasn’t necessarily looking for trouble.

    That was only part of his problem, however. The other half of it was that he was at Mumbo’s house rather than his own.

    He had tried to prevent it, he had. He had done his best to pretend like today was a normal day. He had urged Mumbo to leave the End Crystal early, get home in bright daylight rather than waning sunset or actual night. And then he had gone home too, telling himself it would be alright, that all he had to do was go to bed and meet Mumbo at work the next day like always.

    It didn’t work. Grian wished that was more surprising than it was.

    He hadn’t been able to go to bed, no amount of rationales able to calm the part of his mind that insisted Mumbo wasn’t safe, that his attempts to ignore the date were putting him in danger, that Mumbo was going to die this time and it would be all Grian’s fault.

    So here he was. Standing in front of Mumbo’s house, a well-kept secret location with a top-of-the-line security system Grian had worked on himself, a thousand miles away from their old town, trying to resist the need to go inside all while knowing that doing so eventually was unavoidable.

    A poorly placed trash can lid hit the ground with a clatter as a light breeze blew through, Grian nearly shooting it as it did. While he knew he didn’t show it, his pulse was jumping and his nerves were on a hair trigger. Staying outside any longer wasn’t an option. Even if he did think he could get to bed at this point, there was no way he’d be as lucky on the way back home as he had been coming here. He was out of time to delay the inevitable.

    Grian secured the perimeter of the house before entering, checking every dark corner and deceptive edge for anything or anyone out of place. Only after walking it twice did he go to the back door, aware that its hinges were better oiled than the front’s. He turned his key in the deadbolt as quietly as possible, and only opened the door as wide as absolutely necessary to slip inside.

    He disarmed and reset the security system before doing anything else, always up-to-date on its combo even as it changed daily. The control screen flashed green in confirmation before dimming, leaving Grian free to clear the house.

    Mumbo’s house wasn’t very large, luckily. The ground floor had an open floor plan between the kitchen, dining room, and living room, with the only separate rooms being an office space and bathroom. The upstairs was a short hallway leading into two bedrooms, another bathroom, and a spare room Mumbo mainly used for storage.

    Grian went through the office and bathroom first, the rooms small and sparse enough there wasn’t much place for anything to hide. He did his best to remain as quiet as possible as he shuffled through the papers on Mumbo’s home desk, looking for any sign of listening bugs or threats, but all he found were fake business forms, made as just-in-cases for snoopy neighbors or cops.

    When he returned to the main space, he started his check by ensuring he was the only person in the room, looking at and poking through every space that could possibly conceal an assailant. In the larger and more furnished area, there were more shadows cast across the floor, only just barely distinguished from the rest of the room’s darkness by the bit of moonlight that managed to slip in underneath Mumbo’s curtains. Their edges seemed to move even when Grian knew they couldn’t be, giving the impression that there was someone moving behind him. No matter how many times he turned around and found no one there, the shadows continued to move in his sight, as if taunting him and his search.

    Grian nearly flipped on a light after his fourth unnecessary back-check. He knew it wouldn’t help unless he could turn on every other light in the building as well, and even just one would likely attract unwanted attention to Mumbo’s house. But just like he knew there was no one behind him, just like he knew there was no one else in the house with him but its owner, the logic of not turning on the lights did little to reassure him.

    He forced himself to finish his person search, having already repeated it twice due to the shadows’ mockery. He kept his time in the kitchen area to a minimum, not touching anything as he did a visual scan before moving on.

    Part of him wanted to do more, to check every pantry and box and bag, to inspect every morsel of food or spec of seasoning on the microscopic level. Most of him did, to be accurate.

    But if so much as a grain of salt was misplaced, Grian knew Mumbo would notice, and he couldn’t do that to Mumbo. He trusted that if anything was wrong with the food, Mumbo would realize it even faster than Grian could. That if there was any part of Mumbo’s house Grian could do a lax check of, it would be the kitchen.

    So he moved onto the mix of dining and living room, checking every spot he could think of for a bug, a camera, a warning note- any sign of an unfriendly presence. The shadows still seemed to sway about him as he worked, but he ignored them, muttering under his breath how he knew there was no one there instead as if he could convince himself on the matter.

    Grian was still muttering to himself when he heard something- the slightest creak of the house, the way a noisy floorboard sounds when weight is applied to it, a sound that couldn’t have come from him as he stood stationary at Mumbo’s dinner table. He froze, silencing himself as he listened for another creak, for proof the first wasn’t just a product of his imagination running a hundred miles an hour.

    For a long minute, there was nothing. Long enough that Grian was about to go back to his searching and write it off as nothing. But then there came a second squeak, this one the tiniest bit louder. Closer.

    Grian spun on his heel, raising his gun in the same motion. He aimed for the approximate location of the unknown person based on what he had heard, finger at ready on the trigger.

    Only to nearly drop the gun when he realized he had it pointed directly at Mumbo.

    In later hindsight, it would be obvious to Grian that it had been Mumbo he had heard approaching. Who else would know the house well enough to make it to the stairs without stepping on more than two loud spots? Who else would have been upstairs when there was no sign of forced entry on the ground level? Who was simply the most likely person to be in the house?

    But in the moment, searching for enemies and traps in the dark, Mumbo was the last person Grian would have thought was approaching him.

    Realizing his intruder was Grian, Mumbo lowered his gun as well, relaxing slightly. Even though Grian had seen him in outfits outside of his work suit plenty, there was always something slightly off about it. Even with his weapon still held tight in hand, in a loose shirt and sweats, Mumbo didn’t look like a criminal, much less one of the most powerful mob bosses in town. He just looked like a civilian. He just looked tired.

    “Guess I should’ve known it’d be you.” Mumbo said lightly, teasingly, as he came the rest of the way down the stairs. His steps were still near silent as he went, muscle memory walking the quietest path for him.

    “Mu-” Grian started to respond, cutting himself off before he could even finish Mumbo’s name. Nothing had changed in the area around him aside from Mumbo joining him, nothing to suggest there was suddenly a danger right nearby, but an alarm bell still went off in his head at the name.

    What if there’s someone listening? What if there’s someone who doesn’t know it’s Mumbo here? What if you say his name and give it away?

    It was irrational, Grian knew that. He had no proof anyone was listening. And even if someone was, they would surely already know who they were listening to. No one decides to eavesdrop on a random house for no reason. They wouldn’t even get Mumbo’s full name, or anything incriminating. Nothing would happen. It would be fine.

    But the logic didn’t click, the alarm bell still ringing, the word caught in his throat as he gave up on trying to say it. Instead, he fell back on what even his mind could accept as a ‘safe’ response.

    “My Keeper,” Grian began successfully, Mumbo’s expression changing to one of concern at the codename, “I apologize, I- I didn’t mean to come.”

    To anyone else, the sentence wouldn’t have made any sense. But Mumbo understood. He always did.

    “You never have to apologize for this, my Watcher.” Mumbo replied, giving the room a quick glance-around. “I assume you want to finish searching the premises?”

    “...Yes.”

    Mumbo reached forward slowly, giving Grian a chance to step back. Grian didn’t, and Mumbo’s hand cupped Grian’s cheek. It was warm. Not clammy, not pale, not sticky with barely dried blood. Just warm.

    Grian raised a hand to rest over Mumbo’s and allowed himself a single moment to pause and relish the warmth.

    “Alright.” Mumbo said softly in a way that had nothing to do with the fact he was whispering. “I’m going to get some water.”

    And then Mumbo stepped away, going to open one of his cabinets, because when he said I’m going to get some water he meant I’ll go check the food, because I know, for my sake, you won’t, even though you think you have to, and I want you to sleep tonight, and these little things I can always do for you, and Grian knew that today being a special day didn’t make this particular dance any less familiar for the two of them.

    So he left Mumbo to the kitchen as he finished going through the dining and living area and moved on to the upstairs, checking each step for tripwires as he climbed. He searched each room the same as he had the ground floor ones, but there was nothing out of place to be found in any of them, save the unmade bed in Mumbo’s room and the open drawer he kept his gun in.

    By the time he had come back downstairs, Mumbo had finished up in the kitchen and was sitting on his couch. His gun was set in front of him on the coffee table as he pointlessly combed his fingers through his bedhead. Once again Grian was struck by how nearly-normal it all looked, as if Mumbo was only two steps away from truly being some boring, law-abiding citizen who paid taxes and ate his food without double-checking every ingredient.

    Grian, caught up in his own thoughts, ended up lingering on the stairs too long, only realizing it when Mumbo looked towards him with a frown. “Is something wrong, my Watcher?”

    “No,” Grian replied, stepping down the last few stairs before walking over to Mumbo, “it’s just us here.”

    “Good.” Mumbo tilted his head up to keep his eyes on Grian’s face, frown lessening but still present. “What do you want to do now?”

    “I…” Grian hesitated, holding Mumbo’s gaze for a few seconds too long before he glanced away, “I should go home.”

    Grian flinched when Mumbo took hold of one of his hands, the near imperceptible reaction the result of shock. Mumbo still waited a beat to give Grian a chance to pull his hand away before he linked their fingers together. Always double checking. Just in case.

    “I didn’t ask what you should do.” Mumbo murmured, lightly squeezing Grian’s hand. “I asked you what you wanted.”

    Grian squeezed back. “You’re… safe.”

    “I am.” Mumbo confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean you have to go.”

    When another minute passed with Grian still standing, looking away, seemingly tethered to his spot only by his fingers intertwined with Mumbo’s, Mumbo gently tugged Grian to face him. Once more face-to-face, Mumbo again reached out to cup Grian’s cheek, touch light yet still so present to Grian.

    “My Watcher,” Mumbo started, and even if there were a dozen listening bugs in the room Grian couldn’t imagine anyone other than him being able to hear his words in that exact moment, “what do you want?”

    “To stay. To make sure you’re safe, my Keeper.” In any other circumstance, with any other person, Grian might have been ashamed at how fast he gave in to admitting that particular truth, in the way he had let it show there was anything wrong at all. Weakness was dangerous, after all. You didn’t need a past like Grian’s to have that one figured out.

    But this was Mumbo. Mumbo, the most dangerous person Grian knew. Mumbo, the only person who had never been and never would be a threat to him.

    Mumbo who he allowed to lightly tug him down onto the couch with him, still cupping his cheek even as Grian let himself slump forward, his forehead coming to rest against Mumbo’s.

    “Then you’ll stay.” Mumbo told him, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

    And right then, in the dark living room of a house originally built for normal people with normal lives and normal fears, Grian huddled close enough to Mumbo he could feel his breath as it tickled his chin, somehow, it was.

~

    All things considered, Grian wasn’t too surprised he had slept in.

    Normally, he was an early riser, with or without an alarm clock on hand. The more hours of the day he spent being at the ready for something to go wrong meant more hours of the day that had a better chance of everything going right.

    But the night before had been… taxing, to say the least. The whole day had been. Even if he had managed to fall asleep at home, he likely would’ve slept in at least a little bit.

    Judging by how much sunlight was streaming in through the gaps of Mumbo’s curtains, Grian was guessing he had gone somewhat past ‘a little bit’ of sleeping in. Falling asleep with Mumbo tended to have that effect on him.

    Taking a lazy account of his surroundings, Grian realized he was no longer the one resting on the edge of the couch. Instead, Mumbo had taken over that position, leaving his own back vulnerable while Grian was more safely tucked between him and the couch.

    There wasn’t enough space on the couch for that to have occurred naturally, Grian knew. At some point in the night or early morning Mumbo must have woken up and shifted them around himself, as if he was the right-hand, as if he was the one who had broken into Grian’s house unable to sleep without knowing for a fact that the other was safe and alive.

    Also not very surprising.

    Regardless of his being up earlier, Mumbo was asleep now, one arm draped loosely over Grian’s side and their faces still close. His bedhead had only gotten worse, and Grian found himself still too tired to not run his fingers through it, as if that would fix it at all.

    Although, Grian reflected as Mumbo leaned into the action, sleepily smiling even before he blinked his eyes open, he didn’t think he’d done it because he was tired. He didn’t feel particularly tired. No, no this was something softer. Safer.

    “Good morning.” Mumbo said quietly, the edges of his words slurred with the remnants of sleep. “How are you feeling?”

    “Better.” Grian answered truthfully. In the light of day, with everything where it had been left the night before, and Mumbo healthy and breathing against him, it was much easier to believe the idea that no one was stalking them or waiting to spring from the shadows. “I’m sorry for last night. Thought I’d be fine.”

    “I already told you you don’t have to apologize.” Mumbo reminded him, idly brushing his hand up and down Grian’s back. “If anything, I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I knew what yesterday was for you, I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

    “‘For me’? Mumbo, you’re the one who nearly died then, it’s hardly-” Grian realized his error a second too late, chest tightening at his own blunt statement of the facts. His hand in Mumbo’s hair went still as he focused instead on trying to get another full breath in, pressing his eyes shut as he desperately tried to block out the memories of Mumbo, injured, bloody, dying on his doorstep.

    Mumbo’s hand on his back pulled away, gone for barely a second before Grian felt it coming to take his own. Mumbo guided Grian’s hand out of his hair, pulling it up under the hem of his shirt instead so that he could rest Grian’s hand directly over Mumbo’s heart.

    Grian immediately pressed his hand against the spot, likely a bit harder than he should have. The difference in the feel of the scarred skin from the rest had become less distinct as time went on, but Grian would always be able to feel it, could trace out the shape by memory alone. At times, there was no comfort to be found for Grian in the scars, the rough skin only a cruel reminder of his failure to keep Mumbo safe when he was most needed.

    But right then, there was only relief to be found in the feeling of healed skin, dry and warm, the beat of the heart right beneath strong and stable and alive.

    “It wasn’t a good day for either of us,” Mumbo said in what might have been the largest understatement of all time, “but we got through it. I’m alive. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

    “We’re okay.” Grian echoed, eyes still closed as he gave himself a few minutes to just breathe. Mumbo didn’t try to rush him, leaving his hand layered over Grian’s as he began to lightly press kisses against the top of Grian’s head, each motion a soft reminder that he was here, that he was okay, that Grian hadn’t failed him.

    By the time Grian opened his eyes, his head had become somewhat tucked beneath Mumbo’s, chin against his shoulder. It was the perfect position in which to return Mumbo’s affections, trailing a few kisses down his neck for no good reason other than the fact that he could.

    “Good now?” Mumbo asked, sounding amused, likely already knowing the answer to his own question.

    “Yeah.” Grian replied anyway, reluctantly pulling back so that he could see Mumbo’s face once more.

    “Good.” Mumbo leaned in as if to kiss Grian’s cheek. Before he could, Grian tilted his head, catching Mumbo’s lips with his own and returning the kiss instead.

    “Doing even better than good, it seems.” Mumbo teased when he pulled away a minute later, laughing when Grian’s only response was to try and kiss him again. “You know we have things to get to eventually?”

    “I doubt they’re that important.”

    “Oh, no, they’re just silly things like eating, going to work.”

    Grian frowned. “Well they’re not nearly as fun.”

    “No, I suppose not.” Mumbo attempted to sit up, huffing another laugh when Grian tugged him back down. “Listen, if it means you’ll actually let me get up, you can make lunch whatever you want. And I’m sure we can find something to do at the Crystal. It’s not exactly a boring office job, after all. But we do have to get up.”

    Grian sat up then, Mumbo rolling his eyes at what he likely saw as some sort of unfair double standard on who was allowed to sit up. “You want me to make lunch?”

    “Yes.”

    “But yesterday-”

    “-was a long time ago.” Mumbo finished for him, using Grian’s momentary distraction to both sit up and successfully kiss his cheek. “I trust you, Grian, with everything. No matter what day of the year it is.”

    “...You really are a sap.” Grian said after a pause a bit too long to make his words entirely believable. “But alright, I’ll make lunch. Even though your kitchen is a special type of crime scene. And I still don’t want to go in to work.”

    “Good thing you have experience with that sort of thing, then.” Mumbo joked, looking up while he stretched his arms over his head. “Regarding work, we could always see if Scar would want to come over.”

    Grian raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do I get out of your boyfriend coming over?”

    “I know how you two like to banter.” Mumbo stated. “Besides, it might help having someone to chat with who doesn’t know about yesterday, don’t you think?”

    “I suppose so.” Grian conceded before sighing. “But you know how he is about… us. If I’m standing so much as an inch closer to you he’ll have something witty to say about it.”

    Mumbo glanced over at Grian with a smirk. “Well then, we’ll just have to get it all out during lunch, won’t we?”

    Grian returned his sly smile. “Oh, we must.”

    Mumbo’s smile widened at the reply, letting his arms drop back down so that he could rest his hands on Grian’s hips, turning to better face him as Grian cupped Mumbo’s cheek and pulled him closer.

    And for a brief moment, it was almost like they were normal, boring, taxes-paying people.

    Safe people.

    Happy people.