The Rise Of CuteGuy

Hang Over

Mumbo pov

I couldn’t believe Scar. He just handed off a very drunk and ridiculously affectionate Cute Guy like it was no big deal and then waltzed out without a care in the world. I let out a huge huff, adjusting my grip on him as he leaned heavily against me, his wings twitching slightly under their magical disguise.

“Muuumbooo,” he sang again, his voice soft but entirely too cheerful for someone in his state.

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” I replied, trying to sound patient. It wasn’t easy when he kept stumbling and clinging to me like I was the only thing keeping him upright.

“You’re so… stable,” he muttered, his head tipping against my shoulder.

“That’s… nice to hear,” I said dryly, doing my best to guide him toward the elevator. “Come on, let’s get you home before you decide to serenade the whole building.”

He giggled—actually giggled—like I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Mumbo, you’re so serious all the time. Lighten up! Have fun!” He threw his arms out dramatically, nearly losing his balance in the process.

I caught him, of course, and let out another sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me,” I muttered.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said earnestly, looking up at me with big, bleary eyes. “You’re my best friend!”

“Okay, sure, best friend,” I said, steering him into the elevator. He slumped against the wall, humming softly as I pressed the button for his floor.

The ride up was mercifully quick, though he kept looking at me like he was about to say something profound. “Mumbo,” he finally said, his tone serious enough to make me nervous.

“Yes?”

“You have… the best mustache. Like, ever.”

I stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “Thanks. I’ll add that to my list of accomplishments.”

“You should!” he said, poking my arm.

By the time we finally reached our place, I was nearly as exhausted as he was. Cute Guy—or Grian, as I knew him—was still being… well, Cute Guy, a little more dramatic than usual.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” I said, trying to keep him steady as we stumbled through the small studio apartment. I figured if I could just get him into bed and leave for a minute to grab some water and painkillers, he'd sleep it off.

But the moment I started to lay him down, a sudden shift occurred. His eyes, half-lidded, widened in alarm. “Wait… No, no! Don’t leave me!” His voice was shaky, and he clung to my arm like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Grian,” I sighed, my heart tugging at the sight of him so vulnerable. “I’m not leaving you, I just need to grab some water and painkillers for you.”

But his grip tightened around my arm, and the panic in his eyes was hard to ignore. “I don’t want to be alone!” he whimpered, his voice cracking slightly as if the thought of solitude terrified him.

I could feel my heart ache as I sat beside him on the bed, trying to comfort him. "You're not alone, Grian. I'm right here," I said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

He looked at me with those wide, glassy eyes, and his lower lip trembled. “You’re gonna leave me, I know it. Please… don’t leave me,” he whispered, now on the verge of tears.

“Hey, hey, I’m not going anywhere,” I reassured him gently, trying to pull him into a hug. He let me, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around me. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for making him feel this way.