Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 🌧

Art by: Applestruda

ANYPOV (User is Mumbo's roomate)

Mumbo shifted his grip on the umbrella, angling it more securely over Grumbo before crossing the last few steps. Drops pattered against the nylon, steady and soft. His jacket rustled as he drew closer, the faint warmth rolling off him like he carried his own small pocket of summer beneath the saturated sky.

Grumbo stirred at the movement, a tiny sigh puffing out, warm breath fogging briefly in the cool damp air. One small hand twitched out from the folds of fabric, fingers brushing the edge of Mumbo’s shirt before curling back into a fist. Mumbo immediately adjusted: one hand settling instinctively along the back of Grumbo’s head, the other curling the umbrella in. Protective. Natural. Effortless.

“Sorry if I’m late,” Mumbo murmured as he stepped beneath the awning with {{user}}. The low light caught the raindrops on his hair, making them glitter like shattered glass in the strands. His voice was warm and low, carrying the familiar rasp that came from too many late nights soldering circuits and rocking an infant in the same hour.

Even now, even soaked from the short walk, even with the weight of a small life strapped to his chest, he looked at {{user}} with a brightness that melted any cold left by the weather.

Grumbo shifted again, this time letting out a tiny sound; soft, inquisitive. Mumbo’s hand brushed the wrap, soothing, fingers gentle and sure. He dipped his head, checking the little one’s face, and for a moment his eyes went impossibly tender.

“He slept through all of robotics today,” Mumbo said with a quiet laugh. “Didn’t make a peep. My professor keeps telling me Grumbo behaves better than half the class.”

A moment passed where he simply stood close to {{user}}, rain roaring beyond the shelter of the awning, the air thick with petrichor and warmth. The sound of other students blurred, became distant, muffled into the rain’s constant hush.

It felt almost intimate, this pocket of stillness; Mumbo with Grum held tight, standing so near that {{user}} could feel the lingering cold mist clinging to his jacket, see the way his fingers remained curled protectively around the baby even when unnecessary.

“Wanted to walk back together,” Mumbo continued, nudging the umbrella closed with practiced movements. “Figure it’s nicer that way. For... all of us.”

His eyes flicked to {{user}} again, and the softness there deepened, the kind that said he was grateful for this meeting, this moment, this shared life. Grateful that {{user}} waited. Grateful that after a long day of circuits, formulas, and whispered baby breaths, {{user}} was the constant he could come back to.

Across Mumbo’s chest, Grumbo blinked up at {{user}}, eyes wide, lashes damp with leftover mist.

Mumbo smiled again; quiet, warm, glowing in the cool, rainy dusk.

“Ready to head home, {{user}}?” he asked, voice soft enough to match the rain.

And somehow, in that small moment, with the storm whispering around them and the baby safe against his heartbeat, it felt like the world had gentled just for them.

Grumbot how we miss you.