Chapter Text
“We're gonna be late, we're gonna be so late. Oh my god. This was such a bad idea. We should have left earlier.”
Grian grimaced. He felt kinda bad, he had been slightly stalling. On the plus side, now it meant their nachos were still hot! “Mumbo, relax,” Grian interrupted, shifting so that the hot tupperware box rested more comfortably in his lap. “We're gonna be on time! They always make you come like three hours before time and then you have to wait for two hours anywa— left turn here!”
Mumbo turned on his signal and checked in the mirrors before firmly turning left. His brows were furrowed, Grian could see. He slumped back in his chair from where he had been leaning forward. The chair next to Mumbo was empty, decided by the driving man as he cut short Grian and Scar’s fight over who got to sit shotgun. This turned out to be a bit inconvenient, with Grian having to lean forwards to give Mumbo the directions, but it was too late to change it now.
Scar jolted awake when they bobbed over a threshold. How the man had managed to fall asleep when they were twenty minutes in of a one hour car ride, in the afternoon, nobody knew. Falling asleep randomly was one of Scar's special abilities though. Mumbo was, he had to admit, a bit jealous. To be able to fall asleep instantly instead of lying awake for hours at night… No use musing about it though. He sighed.
“...Mumbo?” a sleepy voice carefully called from the backseat. Oh no.
“...yes Scar?”
“Where did you put the boarding passes?” Scar asked. Mumbo could see him frowning when he glanced in the rear mirror.
“Should be in our group chat,” he responded, making a sharp right. The mustache keychain hanging from the rear view mirror jiggled with the sudden movement. “You haven’t downloaded it already?”
“I forgot,” Scar replied distractedly as he prodded at his phone.
“My parents are gonna kill me if we miss this,” Mumbo muttered.
Grian’s brows furrowed. He looked down in contemplation before producing a piece of paper. “I printed mine,” Grian proudly said, wiggling the bit of paper with the QR-code.
“Show-off,” Mumbo chuckled.
Grian relaxed back in his chair. He leant against Scar, who jumped at the sudden contact. But after a few moments he relaxed as well and continued poking his phone. Grian chucked some nachos in his mouth and brushed some crumbs off his signature red sweater. Scar carefully glanced at him when he wasn’t looking, before smiling softly.
Mumbo glanced at them being all relaxed and felt a bit guilty for being so anxious. He didn’t want to bring the mood down, but he just… his mind couldn’t zoom out sometimes, and he would only be able to focus on the things going wrong, and then… At least his friends didn’t seem to have been bothered all too much by his stressing; Scar was (somehow) dozing again on Grian’s shoulder and Grian himself was giggling at some cat memes.
It was always busy at an airport, Mumbo supposed. He was glad they decided to go before the summer vacation, between their final exam and the graduation ceremony. Now the shorter lines meant they could probably still make it on time… hopefully.
They each had their backpacks slung over one shoulder and were dragging the suitcases behind them with their other hand as they speed-walked through the groups of people. Normally, Mumbo’s backpack felt like it was filled with lead (each language book weighed a ton, because school liked to make their students suffer, apparently), so now it felt weirdly light, filled with clothes and toiletries and yarn instead of the usual dozen textbooks plus a dictionary or two.
The lighter load made it easier for them to rush through the airport hall. The hurried sounds of their shoes on the shiny marble floor got lost in the cacophony of chattering people and similar echoing footsteps around them. The trio went through security and the passport control with few problems, except for when Grian still had a whole bottle of water in his backpack so he had to chug it so the vaguely-amused-looking security employee could let him through.
“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’—”
“Then don’t.”
“But, I told you so.”
Mumbo glared at Grian, but a grin broke through his stare. He snorted and yoinked a now-lukewarm nacho from the tupperware box. Grian and Scar made some killer nachos, he had to admit.
“I mean, we’ve arrived with an hour to spare, and now the plane is even delayed by—” Grian glanced at the board announcing departure and arrival times, “forty minutes.”
Mumbo grimaced. Scar absentmindedly nodded along from where he was doodling in his sketchbook. He had brought it out not soon after they sat down, drawing random objects, environments and people around him. He was now sketching Grian’s headphones, which lay on the table between them, just besides the tupperware box of nachos. The stretched padding around the edges was especially hard to get right.
Mumbo admitted defeat and rolled up the sleeves of his kaki blouse, laying both of his bare arms flat on the table. Between the hot weather and the nachos he’d been eating, he was in need of a little coolness. At least the airport wasn’t as bad as it was outside.
How Grian was wearing a sweater in this weather, he couldn’t begin to understand. His cheeks were flushed, matching the shade of his sweater causing his overheating in the first place, yet he didn’t roll up his sleeves. Mumbo pushed the insanely overpriced Pepsi he’d bought over to Grian and stared at him until he took a few sips.
Scar flipped to the next page in his sketchbook and turned to the side to face Grian. Said man looked back at his friend. “Are you drawing me?” he asked with a grin.
“Perhaps. Go back to drinking your Pepsi,” Scar replied with a smirk, switching his gaze from Grian to his sketchbook every few seconds, his pencil making quick strokes as he defined the shape of his neck and jaw. Mumbo leaned forward a bit to peek at his friend’s sketching—he'd always been fascinated by the creativity of his friends— but caught sight of Scar’s watch. It was almost seven in the evening. “Shouldn’t they have announced the gate by now?” he murmured. A few minutes ago, he’d checked on the board, and the gate still hadn’t been announced. Grian hummed from behind the now-empty Pepsi can. Scar shrugged.
Mumbo looked to his right, where the flight board hang, a few feet away. It did say something next to their flight! He squinted, but the letters were way too small for him to read at this distance. He stood up to check, Scar and Grian glancing up to see where he was going.
Mumbo returned to their table, a frown on his face.
“Our flight has been cancelled.”
“Well, fuck,” Scar said.