Chapter Text
Grian watched as Scar squinted at the dart board and lined up his next shot. He rolled his eyes, knowing that it was totally for show; he’d seen Scar make a dart dead on the bullseye while tipsy and a half minute from passing out. Across the room, Mumbo snorted, and a quick glance at each other meant that his other roommate was thinking the exact same thing.
“Oh, just throw it,” Mumbo finally said exasperatedly, and Scar giggled.
“No, no, I need to line it up!” he replied, grinning. “I wanna make sure I don’t miss.”
“Yeah, sure,” Grian scoffed, “Like you even need to aim.”
“Of course I do—”
Mumbo cut Scar off and exclaimed, “Just throw it!”
Scar huffed and tossed the dart casually at the board. Dead center, as usual. Grian groaned. “Jumbo, you’re on for second place.”
“As usual,” Mumbo snorted, giving Grian a quick glare for the nickname (Mumbo’s real last name was Jacobs, but Grian liked to call him Mumbo Jumbo, or Jumbo for short) and stepping up in front of the board as Scar leaned smugly against the wall. They were all grinning ear-to-ear, though, easy in their banter like stepping through a familiar song and dance. Darts weren’t necessarily Grian or Mumbo’s first choice of a party game, but it was clear that Scar liked showing off, and they liked watching him parade around his massively inflated ego.
Ten minutes later, the game of darts devolved into Mumbo and Grian fighting over one of the darts— “No, it’s my turn! You threw last!” “YOU’VE THROWN THREE TIMES IN A ROW!!” —while Scar leaned against the old, torn couch, doubled over with laughter.
They eventually got to bed, after the clock hit 11:30 and Scar shooed everyone into the bedroom. They couldn’t afford three mattresses, but they did have a queen-sized one and a pretty comfy cot, so they took turns at each spot. Scar complained that Grian would always end up cuddling him when they shared the mattress, but Grian teased him right back for how he’d snuggle in closer.
Mornings were often just as chaotic; Grian started his shift every day at around 9am while Mumbo needed to head out to his internship at 6, and Scar left anywhere between 4 and 11 for the various volunteering events that he signed up for. Sometimes Mumbo would get up first and trip over Scar’s cot, who would wake up bleary-eyed and yell at Mumbo, which woke Grian, who’d be sulky until evening. Sometimes, Scar would need help putting on his braces and would sheepishly poke Mumbo awake at ungodly hours of the morning. Despite all that, though, Grian knew that none of them would trade each other for anyone else, through any argument or disagreement.
This morning was, thankfully, peaceful. Mumbo got up without issue, and both Scar and Grian rose after he was gone. Grian blinked open his eyes, saw that the spot next to him on the mattress was empty, stretched, then rolled over to look at Scar teasingly. He plopped his chin in hands, kicked his feet in the air, and sang, “Good moooorning, sweetheart~”
“Ohh, don’t call me that,” Scar groaned, and shoved his head under the covers. Grian snickered and swung his legs down and around to perch on the edge of the bed.
“You gotta get up or you’re gonna be late for saving puppies, or whatever you’re doing today,” Grian said with a hint of sarcasm. He never really made fun of Scar for the volunteering he did, though; the work was too deeply meaningful to his friend’s life. Scar apparently didn’t catch the sarcasm because he perked up like he didn’t hear the teasing edge to Grian’s voice.
“No, no, not saving puppies today! I’m going to help a local food pantry distribute a big donation of non-perishables they got recently! There was an anonymous donor who—” Scar kept rambling excitedly as Grian hopped up out of bed and started rummaging around in his third of their dresser.
“—and they have enough for nearly two-thirds of— hey, are you listening??” Scar interrupted himself indignantly.
“Yeah, of course!” Grian said. “That sounds really cool, dude, but you’re gonna be late if you don’t get up soon.”
“Oh yeah, that’s true!” Scar threw off his blankets and nearly tumbled off of the little cot.
Grian, fortunately, was expecting that, and quickly stepped over to help catch him as his knees buckled. “Seven years of your condition and one would think you’d learn not to stand up so fast in the morning,” Grian chided gently.
Scar steadied himself against the bed and caught his breath. “Yeah, well,” he said resignedly. “Thanks for catchin’ me, G.”
“No problem,” Grian replied, and as soon as his roommate was breathing normally again, he helped him over to the end of the bed, where his leg braces were stored.
They were beautifully intricate, made of sleek silver metal, and once worn lay nearly flat to Scar’s skin. Mumbo had made them nearly two years ago when a school project inspired him to design a pair of supportive braces as a mobility aid for those with limited ability to walk. Using his power of matter manipulation, where he could shape tiny bits of material into detailed mechanisms, Mumbo created an extremely capable pair of leg exoskeletons for Scar so that he could walk normally. Scar tried to repay Mumbo in a million ways for giving him back his lost mobility, but Mumbo wouldn’t take anything and insisted that seeing Scar walk without pain was payment enough.
Scar took the braces out of the case and slipped them on with practiced ease. They secured with a genius set of latches and straps that were invisible through nearly any style of pants, although Scar stuck to loose cargo pants most of the time anyway.
Grian sat and watched, smiling, as Scar stood up and stretched his legs, bouncing on his toes like the weakness in his legs never existed in the first place. “Alright, man, let’s get some breakfast,” Grian said, struggling to keep the smile out of his voice.
Scar grinned back at him. “Will you cook some eggs for your poor, poor disabled roommate?” he asked, giving Grian the puppy eyes.
Grian laughed. “Yes, Scar, I will make my poor, poor roommate some eggs.” Scar pumped his fist and pranced out into the living room to start packing his bag. Grian followed him out and started making breakfast.
At some point, Scar started telling Grian about the food pantry again, and although he tried to pay attention, he got distracted making sure he didn’t burn the eggs, and Scar’s voice fell to a pleasant hum in the background. He filled a couple plates with scrambled eggs that were very fluffy, Grian was proud of that one, and turned around to join Scar at the bar.
“—they can give every homeless person in the city like one and a half cans now, which might not sound like a lot, but— oh, thank you very much!” Scar said as Grian set down the plates.
“You’re very welcome, honey,” Grian said, snickering as Scar started to complain again about how they were not dating and never would be.
They ate quickly, chatting amicably between bites, until Scar was hopping out the door while shoving the last few granola bars into his bag, and Grian was checking to make sure he wasn’t forgetting his wallet on the nightstand (again). He waved as Scar finally made it through the door, and after one final check, grabbed his keys and headed out to his shift at the bookstore.