Mumbo pov
In the dim light of the dorm room, the air was thick with the quiet hum of a nearby fan, barely cutting through the stale warmth lingering from the day before. The curtains were drawn, letting in only a sliver of moonlight that traced a thin line across the worn wooden floor. The scent of old books and faint antiseptic filled the space, a reminder of where we were-stuck in this temporary refuge, trying to find comfort where there was little to be had.
I slowly woke up, my head throbbing with a dull, insistent pain, and my stomach churned uneasily. The blanket was heavy on my body, more like a shroud than something comforting. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I looked up at Scar, who was sitting beside me, his back propped against the wall. Even in sleep, his face was drawn, worry lines deepening the usual smile he wore. His hands, still resting on both Grian's and my heads, trembled slightly, betraying the effort it took for him to maintain the facade of calm. He looked unwell, a pale cast to his skin, but he was trying to hide it, even in sleep.
Grian lay curled up on Scar's lap, his wings tightly bound down by makeshift straps, his face contorted in discomfort. Yet, somehow, there was a faint smile on his lips, a small, fragile thing that belied the tension in his body. His small fingers dug into Scar's leg, holding on as if for dear life. My heart ached at the sight, knowing the pain he was in but unable to do much to ease it.
Carefully, I slipped my hand out from under the blanket, the cool air biting at my skin, and gently ran my fingers through Grian's messy hair. The strands were soft, feather-light, and for a moment, he seemed to relax under my touch. But then his eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding his gaze as he woke up, still gripping Scar's leg. His smile faded, replaced by a furrowed brow as he looked up at me, trying to piece together where he was and what was happening. Unlike the future Grian, who would have slept soundly, the Grian of this time was perpetually on edge, his senses heightened as if he were always braced for something.
His eyes were puffy from crying the night before, and his expression was one of deep confusion. As he pulled away from us, pain flashed across his face, a stark reminder of the bound wings he had endured through the night. His movements were slow and deliberate, each action seeming to cause him discomfort. It was evident he wanted to cry again, but he managed to hold back his tears as he avoided looking at me, focusing instead on getting out of bed. Every shift and adjustment was a clear struggle, the pain unmistakable.
I watched Grian go to the bathroom, each movement a clear sign of his discomfort. Once the door closed behind him, I turned to Scar and gently shook him awake from his restless sleep. His eyes fluttered open, but they were heavy with exhaustion, mirroring the headache throbbing in my own skull. I could feel a dull, persistent ache behind my eyes and a queasiness settling in my stomach, making the effort to stay upright feel like a significant challenge.
"Scar, Grian's in pain," I said softly, my voice carrying the weight of our shared discomfort. "We can't just sit back anymore. He knows something about us being from the future. We need to do more than just be here; we need to help him be happy."
Scar's face contorted in a wince as he sat up, a hand pressing against his forehead as if trying to stave off the headache that seemed to grip him as tightly as mine did. He glanced at me, his usual playful demeanor replaced by an earnest, concerned expression. His own discomfort was evident; the lines of worry and fatigue etched deep into his face.
"You're right," Scar said, his voice strained with a mix of concern and his own rising nausea. "We need to figure out how to make things better for him, even if it's just small things for now."
The effort of speaking and moving seemed to amplify both our headaches. Scar's movements were slow and deliberate, his body seeming to protest every shift as he struggled to stand. He had to brace himself against the wall, his face pale and strained, showing just how weak and ill he felt. Seeing him like this made my own discomfort feel even sharper.
