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Scar reached into the depths of his shulker box, only for his hand to grasp around nothing.
He didn't look back into the box. In the dim light of his torch, it wouldn't do him much good either way, and the next stack of acacia should just be stuck in a corner. Probably. All he felt, though, was smooth walls and the gritty remains of a few leaves he had left to sit in the box too long.
With a sigh, he spun the box closed and leaned back against the trunk of his redwood. The packed dirt platform he was using as scaffolding was cold where it touched the exposed skin of his calves. He shivered, drawing his jacket closer around himself in the darkness.
The days had been getting shorter recently, the nights longer. He would know—he hadn't been sleeping well, and boy, was waiting for sunrise even less fun when it came two hours later!
He'd accepted that he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon hours ago. It's… he couldn't quite pinpoint what was wrong, even, but he knew the funk when it snuck up on him. A vague dissatisfaction with his plans for his base, a sense that he ought to be doing something. It tightened around his chest, making him anxious even in the safety of his own train car.
Talking to people didn't help. He'd tried it. The words came out wrong, his failure to voice what he was feeling merely amplifying that gnawing, sourceless knot of inadequacy. That left him to entertain himself through the night, but there were only so many times he could rewatch the same movies before even the menu of the disc grated on him.
So, today, he'd grabbed one of his half-filled shulkers of materials and set off for his redwoods.
Mobs lurked in the shadows beneath him, the white bones of a skeleton stark against the mossy greens of his soon-to-be-forest floor. Up in the canopy, though, he was safe. The only noises that reached him were the rustling of the leaves, newly built branches bending and swaying in the wind.
He might have overdone it tonight. Normally, he only worked out here long enough for his brain to quiet down, but he'd gotten into a groove. The inevitable cramping of his muscles that would follow hadn't seemed important. It'd been nice. It was reassuring to know that he could still lose himself in a build.
Now, though, he was stuck halfway up a tree with barely enough room to sit properly and only the flame of his torch for heat. Without the movement of his muscles to keep him warm, the chill would be chasing him back to his base any minute. Until then, he wanted to enjoy the night for as long as he could while he was in the mood for it.
"Argh, no no no no no, don't—" someone shouted from below, followed by the sound of an explosion.
Scar perked up. That was a series of noises worth investigating if he'd ever heard one.
He leaned over to glance at the base of his tree. He didn't expect to see anything, having not lit up his forest in the slightest. Instead, he was treated to the sight of a lantern bobbing somewhere near the ground.
Even if he hadn't heard him screaming, Scar would have known it was Mumbo. Nobody else on the server would still be in a suit at this time of night, the red of his tie brilliantly illuminated by the flame. He was too far away—and at too bad of an angle—to make out his expression, but that hardly mattered.
Scar didn't know what had brought Mumbo here, but he wasn't passing up an opportunity like this.
Silently, he shifted forward, grabbing his bow off his back and nocking an arrow. He grinned. Mumbo had graciously decided to stand still, giving Scar time to line his shot up. He drew in a breath, slow and steady, before letting the arrow fly.
Its flaming tip hit the ground right next to Mumbo's feet.
Mumbo shrieked. The lantern in his hand swung wildly, throwing light onto the foliage at odd angles. Scar couldn't help but laugh, letting his bow clatter onto the platform.
"Scar, I know that was you!" Mumbo called, casting his lantern about. He spun in a circle around himself, once, twice, three times, but never once thought to look up. "Stop giggling and come out."
Eventually, Scar had to take pity on him. "Above you!"
Mumbo managed to startle a second time. He shut off his lantern and peered up through the leaves. Scar waved a hand over the side of his platform. It seemed to be an effective enough signal, as Mumbo unfurled his elytra and sent himself flying into the air with a rocket.
Spotting the bow still lying in front of him, Scar grabbed it and flung it over his shoulder. He had just enough time to shift closer to the trunk of the tree before Mumbo was coming in to land.
As someone with a lot of experience flying into walls, Scar could tell that Mumbo was going to crash into him. Mumbo tried to bank upwards, but it was too late. The next second, he was tumbling onto the platform. The wings of his elytra retracted automatically, sparing Scar from getting one to the face as Mumbo flopped against his chest, limbs folded between their bodies uncomfortably.
Mumbo groaned, which meant he couldn't have gotten more than a scrape for his troubles. With all the chipperness he could muster this late, Scar said, "Well, hello there, Mumbo! I didn't see you."
"Don't act like you weren't taking potshots at me," Mumbo grumbled into his jacket. "Also, your base is a bit dark, if you haven't noticed. Makes flying at night dangerous."
"Y'know, people are always telling me that, but I just don't see it."
Mumbo rolled off of Scar, settling beside him with his back against the trunk. He looked over at Scar and raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's 'cause it's too dark to see, innit?"
There was a short pause, and then they were both cracking up. Mumbo was clearly tired, bags under his eyes brought out by the light of the torch, but oh, if his smile wasn't a sight for sore eyes. Scar let his head fall to rest on Mumbo's shoulder, lacing the fingers of one hand through Mumbo's and dragging it into his lap. He'd be a fool to let any of Mumbo's precious body heat go to waste, after all.
Mumbo relaxed beneath Scar, squeezing their connected hands once. "You're up late."
They'd done this enough for Scar to know this brand of inane comment was really an invitation to talk about what was bothering him. He didn't take it. With Mumbo tucked up against his side like this, he felt like he could fall asleep at any moment.
"So are you," Scar replied, eventually. "You're getting needy. Couldn't go a full night without seeing me?"
Mumbo snorted. "Oh, you wish. I'll have you know I'm only here because it makes for a nicer walk than skirting around Joel's half-floating city." His thumb traced the ridges of Scar's knuckles like it often did when they were sitting together, Scar gladly becoming his personal fidget toy.
"I'll take that as a compliment." Below them, a zombie groaned, reminding Scar of how late it actually was. Unusually late, for Mumbo. "And you were out on a walk because…?"
Mumbo stiffened, before his shoulders relaxed once more as he let out a sigh. "I couldn't sleep. It's a bit daft, really. I've got a lot of build ideas, but they just won't"—he held his free hand out and squeezed it into a fist—"come together, you know? They're all stuck up in my head, and it's driving me mad."
From the corner of his eye, Scar watched Mumbo's fist tighten in his lap. He couldn't help but chuckle. "Congratulations, Mumbo. You've become a real builder! Welcome to the club."
"This is absolutely horrendous," Mumbo said. "At least with redstone, there's a problem I can solve. Building's all just—vibes. I don't understand how you lot live like this."
"We have our coping mechanisms. Have you considered building more trees?" Scar patted the trunk of the tree behind him.
Mumbo didn't seem to pay him much mind, continuing to spout his thoughts out to the darkness of the night in front of them. "It's like I've got bees in my head. And they're all buzzing around and making a mess of everything, but I've got to corral them all somehow. Gosh, this metaphor makes no sense."
Scar hummed, considering it for a moment. "I think it's worse when you don't have any bees."
The thumb on his knuckles stopped. Mumbo must have sensed this was important, somehow, but he didn't prompt Scar to continue. He simply stayed still as Scar searched for the words that had been stuck in his throat for so long.
"Because—you're a beekeeper, right?" Scar turned his head to see Mumbo slightly better, bracing for a hint of laughter, an acknowledgment of how silly this must sound. It didn't come. "That's who you are. You're supposed to have bees. Sure, it's overwhelming when there's too many, but at least you can, I dunno, make wax, or whatever it is you do with your bees."
"Let's say you make honey," Mumbo said, a whisper that barely rumbled in his chest. There was fondness in his voice, his mouth curling into a smile. Scar felt his mouth twist into one in turn.
"Right, honey. But sometimes you wake up and all the bees are gone, and you keep thinking you're seeing a bee, but it's actually a wasp, or someone in a stripey sweater, and then you get disappointed. And you can't stop chasing them, in case this time it's really a bee! So you're doing all this mental work, running yourself ragged looking for bees, and you don't even have any honey to show for it."
"And you end up building trees in the middle of the night?" Mumbo asked.
"Yes!" Scar threw his hands out in front of him, forgetting one of them was still connected to Mumbo. For his part, Mumbo allowed his arm to be dragged along, merely leaning forward to follow it.
It felt like something had clicked inside of him. He finally had words for the sluggish cloud that had been hanging over him these past few weeks.
And of course he'd gone and blurted it out with Mumbo right next to him. He cleared his throat and tacked on, "Hypothetically speaking, of course."
"Oh, of course, of course," Mumbo said, nodding in agreement. It was always lovely when Mumbo was quick on the uptake. "And hypothetically speaking, would there be a way to, er, guide the bees back to their keeper? Maybe transfer some from another hive?"
"Nope. It's just a waiting game." Scar saw Mumbo's expression fall and sat up to look him properly in the eyes. "It's fine. I'm—you—it's a common problem. For beekeepers."
"For beekeepers," Mumbo echoed. He laughed, his head falling back against the trunk of the tree. "I'm gonna regret letting all these bees into my life, aren't I?"
"The honey is worth it."
Scar surprised himself with how firmly he spoke. He meant it, though—despite the frustration, he wasn't sure what he'd be doing with his life if he wasn't making something. He knew such people existed, but trying to wrap his head around what their lives must be like without build silhouettes and block palettes bouncing around their brain was about as difficult as understanding the inner emotions of a salmon.
Whatever Mumbo was thinking, he chose not to share with the class. The two of them sat in silence, or as close to silence as the world ever really got, leaves shifting in the breeze and crickets chirping and bones clinking together as two skeletons fired arrows at each other. Scar raised his eyes to the sky above, taking in the vast spread of stars. It was a new moon tonight, leaving nothing to intrude on their view of the cosmos besides the distant lights of Joel's base.
He raised his and Mumbo's intertwined hands, gesturing towards a curved line of three stars. "There's Orion."
Mumbo leaned into Scar's space. Their shoulders pressed together as Scar traced the outline of the constellation—the bottom of his tunic, his raised arm, the curve of his shield. Mumbo's breath was warm against his cheek when he spoke. "I didn't know you knew the constellations."
"Don't worry, that's the only one I can ever find," Scar said, flashing Mumbo a grin. "Unless you know any?" With his free hand, he snuffed out the torch, plunging them into darkness.
His eyes still yet to adjust, Scar couldn't actually see the way Mumbo's brow furrowed in concentration, but he knew he was doing it from the way he fell silent, fingers twitching against Scar's.
After a moment, Mumbo dragged their hands up to a different part of the sky.
"That's the Goose. Those three stars are the head, the trapezoid underneath is the body, and that one really bright star underneath is the leg." He drew the shapes across the sky as he spoke, connecting each part in turn. Scar had to tilt his head to get the right angle, but it did look like a goose. Kind of.
"I think that star at the bottom's actually a planet. It's too bright and solid."
"That's because, er, the goose is said to carry the world," Mumbo sputtered out. "In its feet. Sometimes."
Scar let their hands drop between them. He nudged Mumbo's shoulder. "Really? Where's it carrying us?"
"On its migration. Ancient people thought that was related to the seasons. Somehow." Mumbo laughed quietly, the sound more felt in the tremors that shook his body than heard. "Let's go with that."
"And this is a real constellation?"
"Oh, absolutely, one hundred percent. Here, I'll show you another one—"
They went back and forth, trading nonsense constellations: the Creeper Hole, the Broken Armor Stand, the City Lights. (That one was just a huge cluster of stars. Mumbo called him a cheater. Scar preferred to think of it as ingenuity.)
As they talked, they naturally began huddling closer together, legs tangling together in Scar's attempts to steal Mumbo's precious warmth. In his defense, Mumbo was at least as bad, shifting position to allow Scar to lie back against his chest and resting his chin on Scar's shoulder.
Scar was struggling to keep his eyes open as Mumbo pointed out his next constellation. "See that big field of stars out there? That's the Bees." Mumbo had let go of Scar's hand in favor of wrapping his arms around his waist. He shifted one just enough to point at the cluster—a spot of light so bright the individual stars seemed to all fade into each other.
"There's too many bees for that," Scar mumbled, stifling a yawn. "Let a cloud drift over it, then it'll be the Bees."
"I can't believe you're slandering my constellation," Mumbo said. "I'm in my right mind to sue for emotional damages, you know." He chuckled at his own joke, clearly not meaning a word of it.
Tilting his head back to meet Mumbo's eyes, Scar reached up for his cheeks. They seemed to burn against his cold hands, like the welcoming warmth of a fireplace after a day out in the snow. He had to crane his neck, the angle awkward, but he managed to slot their lips together in a kiss.
The honeymoon phase fireworks had long faded, but that wasn't a bad thing. Mumbo was a constant in the ever-changing servers they inhabited. Even if his neck hurt from twisting around so much, it was worth it for the feeling of being anchored, the moment of connection where no words were necessary.
Scar pulled away sooner than he would have liked to, his spine crying out in protest of the position. His hands fell away from Mumbo's cheeks to rest in his lap. "There. That make up for the damages?"
"I dunno. I might need a bit more to be sure." Mumbo's voice was light with amusement. His arms tightened around Scar's waist.
Scar felt utterly at peace. He started to turn around in Mumbo's arms to face him, but gave up halfway through, far more comfortable half-lying down and without the energy to do much more. Pins and needles ran down his legs, a sure sign he wouldn't be standing up on his own tomorrow. Sow stupid games, reap stupid prizes, or however it went. Ah, well. Not like he was planning on building anyway.
He snuggled up against Mumbo, his eyes drifting closed. Mumbo huffed out a laugh. "Scar, don't fall asleep on me. We've not got a bed."
"You're not getting me off this tree."
There was a short pause before Mumbo inevitably gave in. "Fine, let me see if I have anything in my ender chest." He let go of Scar for a second, muttering to himself as he tried to place the chest. Scar chose to tune it out. He'd slept alone in worse places before.
Mumbo jostled him slightly as he rifled through the contents of the ender chest. Tools clinked together, and Mumbo whispered a satisfied "yes". The lid of the chest slammed shut behind Scar. The warm weight of a blanket settled over his shoulders, and Mumbo unbuckled the straps of his elytra before easing the two of them down to lie fully on the dirt.
The stars still twinkling above them, he slipped into a dreamless sleep, his earlier insomnia nothing more than a memory.
He awoke to the sun shining in his eyes and the sound of Mumbo softly snoring near his ear. Bird song rang out through the forest, melodies bouncing back and forth between the trees. Pride curled within his sleep-fuzzy brain. It was one thing to be happy with his own landscapes; it was another thing entirely for the animals to approve of them.
Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he surveyed the platform around him. Mumbo's ender chest was still humming away, and their torch and lantern had ended up piled on the empty shulker box near Scar's feet. With the upper part of the trunk still bare of branches and leaves, there was nothing to shade them from the sun's rays, the blanket over them quickly growing suffocating. Scar shucked it off and let the excess drape over Mumbo's sleeping form beside him.
On a good day, he might sneak off to grab some breakfast for when Mumbo woke up. Today was not going to be a good day, though, his aches compounded from the crick in his neck at having slept on the hard dirt. He settled for gently prying Mumbo's hands off so he could sit back against the tree. The sun-heated bark was warm against his back, like a natural hot pad, and he did his best to relax into it.
The sun crept steadily higher in the sky. He found himself gazing out across the largely untouched land he'd marked out for his zoo when they first moved servers. The problem of where to start on it had been eating away at him for ages. Each mob needed to have a proper exhibit, not some half-hearted concrete enclosure, and it turned out there were a lot of mobs.
Although… zombies might like the concrete, now that he thought about it. Like the city of his unfairly derided constellation. Maybe with a gas station, an old abandoned movie theater.
The image came to him fully formed, like being struck by a bolt of lightning (or stung by a bee, as it were).
He needed paper. If he didn't get this down right now, he was scared it would slip out of his grasp. Tugging open the ender chest, he reached down and pulled out his sketchbook. It was further towards the bottom than it usually was, but that was no longer something to feel guilty about. He had ideas.
Mumbo groaned, shifting in his blanket cocoon. He blinked blearily up at Scar. His hair had gotten mussed in the night, stray strands falling in his face. "Good morning?"
"Good morning, Mumbo!" Scar shut the ender chest with a thunk, patting his pockets for his pencil. When he didn't find it, he reached into the inside pocket of Mumbo's suit and snatched one of the pens tucked in there. "I'll be borrowing this real quick, sorry."
"Okay," Mumbo murmured back. It wasn't until Scar flipped his sketchbook open to a blank page and began drawing that he seemed to process what had happened. "Wait, have you got something?"
"Oh, many things. Infinite things. A whole treasure trove worth of things!" Scar didn't look up from his sketchbook. He could add the details later, refine everything, but he wanted to get the vision down first, the cracked pavement and the city facade towering over the guests.
And so they sat, Mumbo peaking over his shoulder as he finally, finally, finally, sketched the first exhibit for the zoo, the heat of the day burning away the fog of his uncertainty. He could already feel the exhaustion that would gather behind his eyes over the coming months, but at least his sleepless nights building would be of his own choosing now.
The itch to get up and start work on leveling the ground was absolutely going to kill him today. He wouldn't have it any other way.