The Pit

Glued

Mumbo pov:

I didn’t expect after the whole conversation with Xisuma, Xavier, and Pearl for Grian to suddenly be glued to my hip, like he didn’t want to be left alone for a second. It was almost as if he was regressing into a child—not fully, but close. He was always nearby, curious about everything I was doing, especially when I was working with redstone. At first, I didn’t notice it, the way his eyes would follow every move I made, but after a while, it became clear. He was interested, just in this very subtle, almost hidden way, like he was afraid to show it openly.

Another thing I noticed—and this was more alarming—was how hard it was to tell when he was hungry or thirsty. He wouldn’t get himself food or water, no matter how much I nudged him to. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it; it was more like he refused to, like he’d been punished for doing it himself before. Whoever did that to him... I want to have some strong words with them.

Before he got taken, Grian was already thin, and he struggled with eating. I knew about his eating disorder, how he’d go through periods where he just couldn’t force himself to eat. But now, it was worse. He wouldn’t eat at all unless someone sat him down and practically put the food in front of him. Even then, he’d just pick at it or leave it untouched. It was hard to watch him like this, knowing that his old problems had only grown more severe.

I tried everything—making meals he used to like, offering snacks when I’d catch him staring blankly at the wall, but nothing seemed to work. His refusal to eat wasn’t just about food; it was like he was afraid of something bigger, like he thought he didn’t deserve it.

Sometimes, I’d catch him watching me with that same look, the one that said he was curious but too scared to ask. I wondered if he even knew how to ask anymore. The Grian I knew would’ve already been all over my redstone contraptions, asking a million questions and giving me wild, impractical ideas for traps. Now... now he was quiet, hesitant, and it scared me.

I didn’t know how to help him, but I knew I couldn’t let him slip away like this. Not again.

As I tried to engage Grian in conversation, I spoke slowly, deliberately, making sure he could read my lips. “Hey, Grian. How are you feeling today?” I watched as he stared at my lips, his expression a mix of confusion and something else I couldn’t quite place. There was a flicker of recognition, but it quickly faded, leaving him lost in thought. His gaze dropped to the table, and I could almost see the wheels turning in his head, struggling to connect with words that wouldn’t come.

Eventually, he simply stared at my arm, his brow furrowing as if contemplating something monumental. I sensed the fear radiating off him. He wanted to reach out, to latch on and ground himself in the reality of the moment, but something held him back. Then, without warning, he got up from the table and began following me around, his footsteps soft against the floor, an unsteady rhythm that mirrored the uncertainty swirling within him.

There was one morning when I stepped out of my room, ready to start the day. As soon as the door creaked open, Grian was there, waiting. He latched onto my arm, his grip firm and desperate, as if he needed to anchor himself to me. The contact was both surprising and reassuring. I could feel the tension in his body as he pressed against me, eyes wide and searching. It felt like he was trying to reassure himself that he was still here, still alive, and still part of the world we had known.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked, hoping to coax him into sharing whatever was troubling him. But all I got in response was a slight tilt of his head, his feathers ruffling as he focused intently on my face, trying to decipher my words.

The moments felt painfully boring, stretching out like the endless quiet of an empty room. Each time I glanced at him, I saw a flicker of the old Grian beneath the surface, a reminder of the vibrant spirit that once filled our days with laughter and mischief. Yet, as the day wore on, he remained quiet and observant, his eyes darting around as if taking in every detail but never fully engaging.