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Chapter Text

The first day of junior year was supposed to be just another normal day. Ren had no reason to think it would be any different—he’d walk into school, meet up with Martyn like always, and they’d immediately start wreaking havoc on whatever unsuspecting teachers were unlucky enough to have them in class. It was tradition.

And, sure enough, the second Ren stepped through the school doors, Martyn was already there waiting, leaning casually against the lockers with that signature smirk of his.

"Took you long enough," Martyn greeted. "Figured you got lost or something."

Ren rolled his eyes, clapping a hand on Martyn’s shoulder. "Nah, mate, just mentally preparing myself for another year of our brilliant academic performance."

"Bold of you to assume we’re gonna perform at all," Martyn shot back, grinning. "I say we just coast off our existing reputation."

Ren laughed. He and Martyn weren’t bad students, exactly. They just had a tendency to push the limits of what they could get away with. Teachers either loved them or wanted to strangle them. Sometimes both.

They fell into step together, moving toward their first class of the day. Their schedules weren’t completely identical, but they shared enough periods to keep things interesting.

"Any bets on how long it takes before we get in trouble?" Ren asked.

"Three days, max," Martyn replied. "We could make it longer, but where’s the fun in that?"

"Fair point."

Their first class of the day was English, and they had the misfortune of landing a seat assignment near the front of the room. Ren gave Martyn a suffering look as they dropped into their chairs.

"This is cruel," he muttered. "Who sticks us at the front?"

"Someone who thinks we’ll pay attention if we’re in direct line of sight," Martyn said, stretching back in his seat. "Joke’s on them. I stopped paying attention five minutes ago."

The lesson itself was the usual first-day-of-school nonsense—syllabus readings, icebreakers, and a half-hearted attempt to pretend that this was the year students would be engaged and excited about learning. Ren spent most of the period doodling in the margins of his notebook while Martyn kept making increasingly dramatic facial expressions every time their teacher turned away.

They managed to make it through without incident, but by the time the lunch bell rang, Ren was already ready to be done with the day.

They found their usual table in the cafeteria, where their friend group had already gathered. Lizzie was arguing with Jimmy about something ridiculous, Scott was rolling his eyes at them both, and Grian was animatedly telling a story while Scar and Mumbo listened, laughing at all the right moments.

Ren dropped into his seat next to Martyn, immediately stealing a fry off his tray. Martyn didn’t even blink. "Help yourself, mate," he said dryly. "I love providing for you."

"Aw, thanks, man. You’re the best," Ren said with an exaggerated grin.

The conversation flowed easily, bouncing from topic to topic. At some point, someone brought up relationships—who was dating who, who had a crush on who, all the usual high school gossip.

Ren wasn’t paying much attention until Martyn, out of nowhere, said, "Yeah, I’ve got my eye on someone, but it’s no big deal."

Ren nearly choked on his drink.

"What?" Lizzie asked, leaning forward with a devilish grin. "Who?"

Martyn just smirked. "Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?"

Jimmy groaned. "I hate you."

"Understandable," Martyn said, grinning. "Lots of people do."

Scott rolled his eyes. "You’re such an ass."

"Gotta keep things interesting," Martyn said with a shrug.

The conversation moved on, but Ren felt like his brain had short-circuited. He had no idea why the comment had thrown him so much, but it had. It was like someone had flipped a switch in his head.

Which was stupid, because Martyn had had crushes before. It wasn’t a big deal.

So why did it feel like one?

It wasn’t like Ren liked Martyn like that. Sure, they’d been friends forever. Sure, he spent more time with Martyn than with anyone else. Sure, he noticed little things like how Martyn’s eyes crinkled when he laughed, or how his voice always had a teasing edge but softened when they were alone, or how he always—

Ren slammed his tray down on the table a little too hard, making Grian jump.

"Dude," Grian said, giving him a look. "You good?"

"Fine," Ren said quickly.

Martyn turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Ren refused to meet his gaze. "Yeah. Just thinking about how much of a pain this year’s gonna be."

Martyn snorted. "You’re not wrong."

Ren forced himself to laugh along, but his brain wouldn’t shut up.

It was just the first day. No way was he gonna let himself spiral over this.

But as the afternoon dragged on and he found himself sneaking glances at Martyn more often than he’d like to admit, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this year was going to be very, very different.

Chapter Text

Ren was not spiraling. He was just… hyper-aware. Totally different thing.

He was hyper-aware of the way Martyn walked next to him in the hallway between classes. Hyper-aware of the way Martyn’s elbow would bump into his when they stood too close together. Hyper-aware of the way Martyn laughed just a little harder at his jokes than anyone else’s.

This wasn’t weird. It wasn’t new. They’d always been close—best friends since middle school, practically glued at the hip. Ren knew Martyn. He knew how his friend operated. The teasing, the easy grins, the chaos. This wasn’t new.

Except now it was.

Now every time Martyn slung an arm around his shoulders, Ren's brain short-circuited. Every time Martyn leaned in to whisper something during class, Ren forgot what subject they were in.

And worse—Martyn didn’t seem to notice. He was just being himself. The same chaotic, charming disaster he always was.

Ren was the one acting weird.

It all came to a head on Wednesday.

They were in rehearsal for the fall play—technically not in the cast, but involved just enough to cause trouble. Martyn had volunteered to run sound, and Ren… well, Ren wasn’t sure what he was doing there. He claimed he was there to “support the arts,” but really he just wanted an excuse to hang around with Martyn and the rest of their friends who’d gotten roped in.

Shelby was in the cast—playing Little Red, full of energy and sarcasm. Katherine, the Baker’s Wife, had instantly become a crowd favorite. Lizzie had been cast as the Witch and was going way too hard for a high school production. Ren kind of loved it.

Etho, as stage manager, kept everything running like a machine. He didn’t raise his voice—he didn’t need to. A single look from Etho had actors scrambling into position.

Ren and Martyn had claimed a spot behind the soundboard, pretending to be useful while mostly whispering commentary about the scenes.

Until Etho called a break and Martyn turned to Ren with a weird little smile.

"You’ve been weird all week," he said casually.

Ren stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Martyn raised an eyebrow. "You’re jumpy. You keep zoning out. And I swear to god, Ren, if you make me repeat something one more time—"

"I’m fine," Ren interrupted, maybe a little too fast.

Martyn gave him a look. "You sure? You haven’t been this weird since you tried to dye your hair with food coloring in eighth grade and it turned green for a week."

"That was a science experiment," Ren muttered.

"That was a cry for help."

Ren snorted. "I’m just tired. School’s a lot."

Martyn let it go, but Ren could tell he didn’t quite buy it.

Later that afternoon, they ended up walking home together. Martyn had offered, and Ren had said yes before he could think better of it.

The sky was turning orange, the streets warm with the last heat of summer.

"You’re really not gonna tell me what’s going on?" Martyn asked, kicking a rock down the sidewalk.

Ren shoved his hands in his pockets. "There’s nothing to tell."

Martyn glanced sideways at him. "Okay. Sure. But if you wanna talk—"

"I know," Ren said. "Thanks."

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Not awkward—never awkward—but not quite comfortable either.

Ren hated it.

"You know," Martyn said after a bit, "I still haven’t told anyone who that crush is."

Ren looked up fast. "Oh."

"Yep," Martyn said, hands behind his head like he was just chatting about the weather. "People keep asking. I keep dodging."

"Why?"

Martyn shrugged. "Haven’t figured out how to say it yet. Not sure if I should."

Ren’s heart was beating in his ears. "Is it… someone I know?"

Martyn’s smile was slow. "You could say that."

"Are you gonna tell me?" Ren asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Martyn just laughed. "Eventually."

Ren groaned. "You’re the worst."

"And yet you love me," Martyn said without missing a beat.

Ren didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because, for the first time, he wasn’t sure if it was just a joke anymore.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Chapter Text

Ren had survived worse things than chemistry class.

Probably.

Maybe.

Okay, definitely not.

Because sitting next to Martyn during a partner lab—watching him mess with a beaker like he was about to set something on fire while casually joking about stealing the goggles—was doing something deeply unhinged to Ren’s nervous system.

“You know this stuff’s all fake, right?” Martyn said, swirling some weirdly colored liquid around. “Like, they’re not gonna let us blow anything up.”

“It’s not fake, it’s just...school-safe,” Ren muttered, scribbling their group data into the shared worksheet. “And you will set something on fire if you keep messing around like that.”

Martyn grinned at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Ren didn’t respond. He was too busy focusing on not staring at Martyn’s hands. Or his face. Or the way his stupid curls were sticking up a little from where he’d shoved goggles on top of his head.

It was so dumb. Ren knew it was dumb. He had been friends with Martyn forever. This wasn’t new. But now? Now everything Martyn did felt like a punch to the gut.

And worse, he had no idea if Martyn knew.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t flirted before—Ren could look back and pinpoint moments all over the past year where Martyn had been extra flirty, where they’d said dumb things, leaned too close, laughed too hard. But that was just Martyn. That was just how he was.

Maybe it wasn’t anything. Maybe Ren was imagining it.

“Hey, Earth to wolf-boy,” Martyn said suddenly, snapping Ren out of his thoughts. “Your turn to light the burner.”

Ren blinked. “What?”

Martyn nudged him with his elbow. “Come on, I did the last one. You’re up.”

“Oh. Right.”

Ren reached for the striker, but his hands were shaking more than he wanted to admit. He’d been stuck in his head all day—after the walk home, after the stupid almost-conversation, after Martyn’s mysterious "I haven’t told anyone who the crush is yet" moment. His brain would not shut up.

He struck the flint.

Nothing.

Again.

Still nothing.

Martyn tilted his head. “You good?”

“Fine,” Ren said, too quickly.

“You sure? You look like you’re about to pass out or burn the lab down.”

Ren finally got the burner lit. A small blue flame flared to life. He sat back and muttered, “Maybe both.”

Martyn laughed, but quieter this time. “Seriously. What’s up?”

And god, Ren hated how fast that wall went back up. He shook his head, stared down at the burner. “Just tired.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

Martyn didn’t press. Instead, he shifted a little closer and mumbled, “I meant what I said yesterday.”

Ren’s heart leapt into his throat.

“I do wanna tell you,” Martyn added. “About... y’know. The crush.”

Ren nodded slowly, unsure how to breathe. “Okay.”

“But I’m kinda waiting to see if they figure it out first.”

Ren looked over.

Martyn wasn’t looking at him. He was focused on the beaker now, adjusting the stand underneath it. His face was carefully neutral, but his ears were a little red.

Oh.

Oh.

Ren swallowed hard. “You think they’re close?”

Martyn smirked, still not looking up. “I think they’re catching on. Slowly.”

***

By the time lunch rolled around, Ren had gone through every possible interpretation of that conversation and then a few more for good measure.

He barely touched his food.

“You okay?” Lizzie asked from across the table, dunking a fry in her milkshake with no shame.

“Fine,” Ren said, again, for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Scott glanced over from where he was teasing Jimmy about his pink water bottle. “Ren, you look like you got run over by a truck.”

“Cool, thanks.”

“You want some of my fries?” Jimmy offered kindly.

“No, he wants Martyn’s fries,” Shelby said, grinning as she slid into the seat next to Katherine.

“Shut up,” Ren muttered.

“Don’t worry,” Katherine said gently, nudging Shelby’s knee under the table. “You’re being very subtle.”

“I am not—”

Ren didn’t get to finish because Martyn showed up, plopped his tray down next to Ren like he always did, and leaned his shoulder against Ren’s like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ren, once again, forgot how to breathe.

“Hey guys,” Martyn said, already stealing a handful of fries from Ren’s tray. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Lizzie said. “Ren was just lying to us about being fine.”

Martyn grinned. “Classic.”

Ren groaned and let his head fall to the table.

He was so so screwed.

Chapter Text

Ren had been through a lot of uncomfortable situations. That time he wore jeans to gym class and ripped the knee out in front of everyone. The middle school science fair disaster where he accidentally set the table on fire. The eighth grade dance when no one would tell him there was food on his face until the end of the night. Grian saring him to wear a wolf tail freshman year. But none of that came close to the moment he walked into third period History and saw the only open seat was next to Martyn.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to Martyn before. They’d been lab partners, assigned seats, theatre tech buddies. But ever since the chemistry lab confession thing, being around Martyn felt… different. Charged. Like Ren was aware of everything—the way Martyn tapped his pen, the way his hair flopped into his eyes, the way he smiled at him sometimes like Ren was the only one in the room.

Ren dropped into the seat without a word.

Martyn glanced up from his notebook. His smile was small, a little sleepy. But it was real. Ren felt it like a punch to the gut.

“Hey,” Martyn said.

Ren grunted something like “Hey” back and started pulling out his stuff.

“You okay?” Martyn asked quietly.

“Fine,” Ren said. “Just tired.”

Martyn gave him a look. “You always say that.”

“I’m always tired.”

“Fair.”

Mr. Sausage—who never seemed to know the volume of his own voice—barged in with a chipper announcement that they’d be working in assigned pairs on a Cold War propaganda analysis. Half the class groaned. Ren stayed quiet.

Assigned pairs. Of course he and Martyn were stuck together.

“You’re gonna carry us, right?” Martyn said, nudging him with an elbow.

Ren shrugged. “I guess.”

Their task was to analyze a pair of propaganda posters—one American, one Soviet—and write a summary comparing the techniques. Martyn looked about as excited as someone about to be sentenced to death by PowerPoint.

About ten minutes in, Ren looked over and realized Martyn had abandoned the posters entirely and was doodling. Ren tilted his head.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

Martyn grinned and angled his notebook toward him. The stick figure had a spiky haircut and tiny fangs, holding up a flag labeled “wolf supremacy.”

“Yup,” Martyn said. “It’s your Cold War alter ego. Warlord Ren.”

“You’re a menace.”

Martyn elbowed him again. “You love it.”

Ren did not say anything to that. His face was hot, though, and he refused to look up.

“So,” Martyn said after a minute. “You figure it out yet?”

Ren looked up, frowning. “Figure what out?”

“The thing I said in chem. About the crush.”

Ren’s stomach curled. He had been thinking about it. Constantly. He knew who Martyn meant. He was pretty sure, anyway. But there was something terrifying about saying it out loud.

“Maybe,” he said.

Martyn raised an eyebrow. “That a yes?”

“I have a guess.”

“Then guess.”

“No.”

“Coward,” Martyn said, leaning in close enough that Ren could smell the faint scent of mint gum and whatever shampoo Martyn used. Probably something stupid that smelled like pine trees and adventure.

Ren stared at the propaganda poster, willing himself not to combust.

***

After school, Ren headed to the auditorium to help with strike. Joel was supposed to be supervising the catwalk crew, Cleo was wrangling lights, and Etho had the master clipboard. Ren had just started pulling flats when Martyn appeared next to him, already in his tech clothes.

“Hey, you didn’t die without me,” Martyn said.

“Barely. Joel almost dropped a wrench on my head.”

“That’s just how he says hi,” Martyn said.

They moved in sync, stacking platforms and pulling nails. Martyn kept humming something under his breath that Ren vaguely recognized as the opening number from *Into the Woods*. It made Ren smile.

Up on the catwalk, Joel yelled something unintelligible.

“Don’t die,” Martyn shouted.

Joel’s voice echoed back. “No promises!”

Cleo sighed from the booth. “If he breaks another limb, I’m leaving the state.”

Etho, clipboard in hand, was deep in a discussion with Pearl about whether the stairs were too steep for the costume changes. Ren barely paid attention—he was focused on the fact that Martyn was still humming and smiling and working like they’d done this a thousand times.

And maybe they had.

When they finally sat down on the edge of the stage, Ren looked over. Martyn was looking back at him.

“You still thinking about your guess?” Martyn asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

Ren didn’t say anything.

Martyn bumped his shoulder. “You gonna say it or what?”

“You said I had to figure it out myself,” Ren said.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m patient.”

“Tough luck,” Ren said.

But he smiled when he said it. And Martyn smiled back like they were already halfway there.

Chapter Text

Ren wasn’t even halfway down the hallway when he heard Martyn’s voice call out behind him.

“Ren! Wait up!”

He turned just in time for Martyn to jog up beside him, a hoodie tied around his waist and one sock visibly mismatched from the other.

“You good?” Ren asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Barely,” Martyn said, panting. “I slept through my first alarm, then the dog ate my other sock. My mom said that was dramatic, but, like, I’m not the one who eats socks for fun, am I?”

Ren couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “So your solution was to just… wear one blue and one neon orange?”

“I am nothing if not bold,” Martyn said, grinning. “Anyway. Walk with me to bio?”

Ren nodded, shifting his backpack. They made their way down the hallway together, bumping shoulders once or twice. It was quiet for a second—then Martyn glanced over.

“So I’ve been thinking.”

Ren glanced sideways. “That’s always dangerous.”

“Rude. But fair.” Martyn grinned. “I was thinking about the Cold War project. You wanna come over and finish it today? I promise not to draw any more stick figures of you conquering the USSR.”

Ren hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sure. I’ve got nothing after rehearsal.”

Martyn’s grin widened. “Sick. My house, 5 o’clock. My mom said we could order pizza if you don’t mind Hawaiian.”

“I don’t,” Ren said. “As long as it doesn’t have anchovies or something cursed.”

Martyn looked absolutely scandalized. “I would never do you like that.”

They turned the corner and nearly ran into Mr. Keralis, who was standing outside the science lab with a stack of field trip forms in hand. He beamed when he saw them.

“Ah, perfect! Two responsible-looking students,” he said. “Field trip to the city art museum next week. Sign and return by Friday, or you’re staying here doing busywork.”

Martyn grabbed a form and held it up dramatically. “Ren. We should go. Get inspired by some 200-year-old paint.”

“Isn’t it for AP Art?” Ren asked.

Martyn shrugged. “You’ve got an artist’s soul.”

Ren raised an eyebrow. “That just means you want someone to sit with.”

“Maybe,” Martyn said. “But also maybe you’re fun.”

Ren rolled his eyes and signed the form anyway.

Later that day, rehearsal was chaos. Katherine had called out sick, Shelby’s voice cracked halfway through her solo, and someone (Joel) managed to knock over half the prop table while demonstrating “aggressive stomping.”

Cleo nearly lost her mind.

Ren sat on the edge of the stage with Martyn and watched the mayhem unfold. He caught Martyn stealing glances more than once—at the chaos, yes, but also at him. It made Ren’s chest tight in a way he wasn’t ready to admit.

“So,” Martyn said. “You ever gonna tell me your guess?”

Ren blinked. “You’re still on that?”

“Obviously. I’m nothing if not persistent.”

Ren stared down at the worn wood of the stage. The energy in the auditorium buzzed around them—voices, footsteps, the faint sound of Lizzie cackling about something Shelby said.

“I think,” Ren started, voice quiet, “I figured it out. But I’m not sure you want me to say it.”

Martyn leaned in. “Try me.”

Ren finally looked at him. “It’s me, right?”

There was a beat.

Then Martyn’s smile spread slowly, soft around the edges. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s you.”

And just like that, Ren’s world tilted sideways—but it didn’t feel bad. It felt like falling into place.

Of course, Joel chose that exact moment to shout, “HEY ETHO, I THINK THE LADDER’S BROKEN,” followed by a loud clatter.

Martyn sighed and stood. “We should probably go stop him from dying.”

Ren followed, heart still racing. “Probably.”

But as they rushed toward the scene, side by side, Ren was pretty sure Joel’s chaos could wait a second—because something had shifted, and it was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

The day after the chaos at rehearsal, Martyn found himself standing at the bus stop with Ren. It was the morning of the field trip to the art museum, and the last thing Martyn wanted was to be the awkward guy who had no idea what to talk about. But, apparently, Ren was the only person who didn’t mind the silence.

“Hey,” Ren said, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “You’re not nervous about this, are you?”

Martyn blinked. “Nervous? No, why would I be?”

“You just… seem quiet. Usually, you’re talking about something random or making fun of the tour guide by now,” Ren teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

Martyn scoffed. “I’m just trying to have an intellectual moment, okay? I’ll probably start cracking jokes once we get there, don’t worry.”

“Good. I was worried you were going to stand in front of a painting and start having an existential crisis or something,” Ren joked, but the soft edge in his voice told Martyn that Ren was half-serious.

Martyn rolled his eyes, laughing. “You think I’m that deep? No. I just have a bunch of random facts stuck in my head, and it’s either humor or weird trivia that gets me through the day. Today’s going to be the trivia day.”

Ren snorted. “I’m ready for it. Lay it on me.”

As the bus pulled up, they hopped on, the sound of their classmates filling the air. Martyn was half listening to everyone else, but his attention kept wandering to Ren, who seemed completely at ease. It was strange to Martyn how he could just be himself so effortlessly. And Martyn? He was still trying to figure out where exactly his feelings for Ren had turned into something more than friendship. Every laugh, every shared look, seemed to make the knot in his stomach tighter—and yet, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

The art museum was, surprisingly, not as boring as Martyn had expected. Their guide, an older woman named Mrs. Lawrence, walked them through rooms filled with classic paintings, sculptures, and weirdly abstract pieces that looked like someone threw paint at a canvas and hoped for the best.

“Now this,” Mrs. Lawrence said, pointing at a massive painting of a tree that looked like it was made of clouds, “is a piece by one of the most important surrealist artists of the 20th century. Can anyone tell me who painted it?”

Ren raised his hand, but Martyn beat him to it. “Dali,” he said confidently.

Mrs. Lawrence blinked, then smiled. “That’s right! Salvador Dali. Known for his wild, dreamlike landscapes. Did you know he once said that, ‘I don't do drugs. I am drugs.’?”

Ren chuckled beside him. “Classic.”

Martyn smiled, feeling a rush of satisfaction. “You gotta love an artist who talks in riddles.”

As they continued through the exhibit, Martyn found himself getting into the groove of the day. But every time he caught Ren’s eye, something tugged at him. The way Ren would smile when their hands brushed by accident. The way his presence seemed to pull Martyn closer without saying a word.

Martyn felt that strange, twisting feeling in his chest again. Maybe it was because of the field trip, or maybe it was just everything else he was processing, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing.

It was after the trip, on the bus ride back to school, when the tension finally broke.

Martyn was staring out the window when Ren leaned in from the side, close enough that Martyn could feel his breath against his ear.

“Hey, you’re quiet again,” Ren said softly.

“I was just thinking,” Martyn replied, his voice hoarse, trying to ignore how close Ren was. “About… everything. About this. About us.”

Ren stayed quiet, and when Martyn glanced at him, he saw that same thoughtful expression on Ren’s face.

“I’ve been thinking too,” Ren said, his voice low, almost too quiet for the rumble of the bus. “About how it’s kind of hard to keep pretending I’m just your friend, Mart.”

Martyn froze.

“Ren, I—”

“I like you. I think I have for a while,” Ren admitted. “I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and maybe you still don’t. But I can’t just keep acting like I don’t care.”

Martyn’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to say something, but words were hard to come by. Instead, he just let himself look at Ren—really look at him—for the first time. And maybe that’s when it all clicked. The tension between them, the way their shoulders brushed, the little moments that added up to something bigger than either of them had been willing to admit.

“I do,” Martyn said quietly, finally letting the words tumble out. “I like you too, Ren.”

There was a pause, and then Ren smiled, that familiar grin spreading across his face like a lightbulb switching on. “Well, that’s a relief,” he said, his tone back to the teasing one Martyn loved. “Guess I won’t have to keep pretending anymore.”

Martyn laughed, feeling the weight on his chest finally lift. “Yeah, me neither.”

And as the bus pulled into the school parking lot, the rest of the day felt lighter. Like they had both crossed some invisible threshold, and maybe—just maybe—it was the beginning of something new.

Back at school, Martyn found it impossible not to smile every time he saw Ren. The whole day felt different. Lighter. Like they were on the same page for the first time in what felt like forever. They still didn’t make any big announcements or gestures, but there was an unspoken understanding between them now.

As they parted ways in the hallway, Ren shot Martyn a wink. “See you later, partner.”

Martyn couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, later.”

He watched as Ren disappeared into the crowd, the day feeling somehow brighter—and maybe that was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

The weekend had finally arrived, and with it came a long-awaited event: Shelby’s party. It had been in the works for weeks, ever since the art museum field trip, and now that it was finally happening, everyone was ready to let loose.

The living room was full of people when Martyn arrived, the sound of music thumping through the speakers and voices blending together in a low hum of excitement. It wasn’t the biggest party he’d been to, but it was the kind of gathering where everyone knew everyone. No strangers. Just friends, or at least, people who pretended to be.

Ren was already there, leaning against the wall near the snacks table, his hair a little messier than usual but still somehow effortlessly cool. Martyn’s heart skipped a beat when their eyes met across the room. Ren smiled that slow, teasing smile that always made Martyn’s chest tighten.

Martyn gave a half-wave before heading over, weaving through the sea of people.

“Hey,” Ren greeted, his voice barely audible over the music. He was holding a red cup in his hand, though Martyn wasn’t sure what was in it.

“Hey,” Martyn replied, grinning back. “Nice party.”

“It’s decent,” Ren said, shrugging, but the light in his eyes told Martyn he was enjoying himself more than he was letting on. “You ready to play some games?”

Martyn raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were more of a watch-and-tease kind of guy.”

Ren shrugged nonchalantly. “Sometimes it’s fun to get involved. Plus, I promised Shelby I’d join in. She threatened to lock me out if I didn’t.”

Martyn laughed. “I’d love to see Shelby try.”

“You really wouldn’t,” Ren said, giving him an exaggerated look of mock fear.

“Fair,” Martyn chuckled.

Before they could say anything else, Shelby appeared, arms flailing dramatically as she skipped over to them, her voice loud enough to cut through the noise.

“Alright, alright! The first game of the night is Spin the Bottle!” she shouted, already holding the bottle in question, which looked a little too fancy for a party game.

“Don’t look at me, I’m just here for the pizza,” Martyn joked, but Shelby shoved the bottle into his hand anyway.

“Spin it, Martyn,” Shelby insisted, grinning. “We need to get this party started!”

Martyn couldn’t stop his laugh, and he looked at Ren, who just raised an eyebrow, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“You’re not getting out of this, you know,” Ren teased.

Martyn sighed. “Fine. But if I end up kissing someone weird, I’m blaming you.”

“Sure,” Ren said, grinning wider, leaning back casually as Martyn spun the bottle with an exaggerated flick of his wrist.

The bottle twirled, spun, and eventually slowed to a stop—pointing straight at Ren.

“Well,” Martyn said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Guess we’re doing this, huh?”

Ren’s smirk only deepened. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As everyone around them cheered and hooted, Martyn felt his face heat up. Ren didn’t seem nearly as embarrassed—he simply leaned in, making a show of it, as the room waited for their kiss. It was a little too theatrical, a little too dramatic, but then Ren’s lips were on his, and the rest of the world seemed to disappear for a moment. It wasn’t a quick peck; no, Ren lingered for just a second longer than Martyn was expecting, and when they pulled apart, Martyn couldn’t quite tell if his heart was beating faster from the kiss or the fact that the entire room was staring at them.

Ren, of course, just looked pleased with himself.

Martyn cleared his throat and backed away, trying to get his bearings. “Well, that was…” He waved a hand vaguely, unsure of how to explain that kiss. It was just a game, wasn’t it?

“Not bad, right?” Ren asked, voice full of amusement.

“Yeah, sure,” Martyn muttered. “Not bad at all.”

Before he could say anything more, Shelby swooped in again, this time with a little too much energy. “Alright, alright, time for another round! Next up!”

Martyn felt a rush of nerves—not because he was scared of kissing anyone else, but because something about the kiss with Ren had shifted something in him. The weird, dizzy feeling he got whenever Ren was near was starting to make sense.

The game continued, but after the kiss with Ren, Martyn found it hard to focus on anything else. Every time the bottle landed on someone, he felt the excitement in the room, but his mind kept wandering back to that moment. The way Ren had kissed him so casually, the way their lips had connected, and how Martyn still felt it in his chest.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the bottle landed on him again. This time, though, it was on Shelby.

Martyn raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You sure about this?”

Shelby rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who kissed Ren earlier. It’s only fair.” She leaned in, and Martyn went along with it, laughing as she planted a quick peck on his cheek before backing away with a wink.

It wasn’t the same as kissing Ren—no way it was—but Shelby had a playful energy that made it fun.

Then, the game continued. People kissed, dared each other to do ridiculous things, and everyone laughed, letting the pressure of the day slip away. Ren’s turn came again soon after, and Martyn couldn’t help but steal glances at him, his stomach flipping whenever their eyes met.

“Alright, Ren,” Shelby said, holding the bottle firmly. “Time for your turn.”

Ren spun it confidently, watching as the bottle sped and finally slowed—stopping on none other than Martyn.

The group collectively gasped, and Martyn felt his heart drop into his stomach.

“Alright, Ren,” Martyn said, trying to sound casual, but he knew he was grinning way too much. “Let’s make it quick.”

Ren raised an eyebrow, smirking. “We can take our time, right?”

Martyn felt his breath catch in his throat. “Maybe just a quick one, alright?”

Before Martyn could say anything more, Ren closed the distance between them. This kiss wasn’t as playful as before, but it wasn’t intense either—just soft and lingering in a way that made Martyn’s heart race. The world seemed to fall away again, and for a moment, Martyn lost track of everything except the feeling of Ren’s lips on his.

When they broke apart, Martyn felt like he was floating. There were whispers and laughter around them, but Martyn couldn’t focus on anything except Ren’s eyes, the mischievous glint in them that made Martyn want to kiss him again.

“Well, that was something,” Ren said, stepping back, and Martyn had to fight the urge to smile too widely.

“You’re not wrong,” Martyn replied, his voice rougher than he’d intended.

By the end of the night, both of them had been part of more rounds of spin the bottle than they could count. There were more stolen glances, more nervous laughter, and more soft touches that felt like they meant something more than they could put into words.

As the party finally wound down, Martyn and Ren found themselves standing in the hallway, alone for the first time that night.

Ren smirked, his usual teasing edge softened. “So… about that kiss.”

Martyn tilted his head, pretending to think. “What about it?”

Ren stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. “It wasn’t as bad as you thought, was it?”

Martyn felt the heat in his cheeks and looked away, but not before he shot Ren a playful look. “Maybe not.”

Ren chuckled, and for the first time all night, there was something more than just teasing in his expression. It was quiet, and it was just the two of them.

Martyn didn’t know where things were going, but he had a feeling that this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Martyn wasn’t even halfway through his sandwich when the fire alarm went off.

It wasn’t a drill—at least, it wasn’t scheduled, which everyone knew because Stampy had written “FIRE DRILL CANCELLED - SYSTEM TEST ONLY” on the whiteboard that morning, complete with a badly drawn fire truck and a note that said “NO PANIC, PLEASE.”

And yet.

“Was that smoke?” Lizzie said, immediately standing up and sniffing the air like some kind of bloodhound.

“Maybe the toaster oven in the staff lounge finally gave up,” Joel muttered from the crew table. “Dan burns something every week.”

Chaos unfolded. Half the lunchroom panicked, the other half stood around filming on their phones. Somewhere in the middle, Ren grabbed Martyn’s wrist and said, “Come on.”

They filed out with the crowd, Martyn still holding the remains of his sandwich like a war casualty. He looked half-concerned, half-annoyed.

“If we die because of bad cafeteria wiring,” he said, “I want it known I died disappointed in this sandwich.”

Ren snorted, squeezing Martyn’s hand as they stepped into the sunlight. The courtyard was full of confused, mildly cold teenagers. Some were yelling, some joking. Jimmy was wrapped around Scott like a very dramatic octopus. Scar had Grian sitting on his shoulders again for no reason except that Grian insisted on “surveying the panic.”

Martyn, for once, didn’t have much to say.

“You good?” Ren asked, nudging him.

“Yeah,” Martyn said, eyes scanning the crowd. “Just… loud.”

Ren nodded and shifted behind him slightly, wrapping his arms around Martyn’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. It helped. Martyn leaned back just enough to hum in contentment.

Eventually, someone announced it was a false alarm. No fire. Just “an enthusiastic microwave incident” and a tripped sensor. Everyone groaned and started filing back inside.

“I swear to God if I don’t get my cookie back,” Shelby muttered as they passed.

Back inside, everything returned to the usual rhythm. Kind of. Ren noticed how Martyn kept glancing over at the drama room as they passed it on the way to class.

“You wanna skip?” Ren asked.

Martyn blinked. “What?”

“Not like skip school. Just… drama class. Go chill backstage or something.”

Martyn tilted his head. “You mean like a date in the prop closet?”

Ren raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you wanna phrase it?”

“…Maybe.”

They did skip, sort of. Etho, who was pretending not to see anything from the corner of the stage, waved them off with a smirk and said, “Ten minutes or I tell Cleo.”

They ended up sitting behind the curtain, legs tangled, sharing a pack of fruit snacks that had been hiding in Martyn’s hoodie pocket for weeks. It was quiet, warm in the way theaters always got when the stage lights were on, and full of the soft sounds of set painting happening out front.

“I like this,” Martyn said eventually.

“Me too,” Ren said, and meant it.

“You think people are tired of us yet?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Martyn laughed. “Guess we’ll just have to be obnoxious in new and exciting ways.”

They stayed there a while longer, until Etho yelled, “TIMER’S UP, GET BACK TO CLASS, YOU MENACES,” and Martyn threw a single fruit snack in protest before dragging Ren to history.

They walked the hall like they always did—side by side, fingers brushing together, grins on their faces, as if the day hadn’t tried to catch on fire an hour ago.

Somehow, it felt like a perfect Tuesday anyway.

---

Chapter Text

Ren had never thought he’d be the kind of person to stress over what to wear to a diner, but here he was, half an hour before the double date, standing in front of his mirror and wondering if his hair looked *too* styled.

Behind him, Tango was sprawled across the bed, scrolling on his phone.

"You look fine, dude. Like, aggressively fine. Martyn’s gonna combust either way."

Ren tossed a pillow at him. "Helpful."

Tango grinned. "I try."

The diner was one of those local places with neon lights, sticky menus, and exactly three waitstaff who all looked like they’d seen too much. Ren got there five minutes early and found Martyn already at a booth in the back, sipping from a milkshake.

"You’re early," Ren said, sliding in beside him.

Martyn grinned. "Had to beat you here. It’s a dominance thing."

Ren snorted. "You and your one sock could never dominate anything."

Martyn lifted his foot to reveal two matching socks—finally. "Growth, baby."

Before Ren could reply, the bell over the door jingled, and Shelby and Katherine stepped in. Shelby waved with both hands like she was trying to flag down a plane, and Katherine just smiled in that gentle way that made everything around her feel a little warmer.

They slid into the booth across from the boys. Shelby immediately stole a fry off Martyn’s plate.

“Hi, sorry we’re late. Katherine couldn’t decide on earrings.”

“I said I was sorry!” Katherine laughed. “And also, you changed your shirt three times.”

“Fashion is a delicate art,” Shelby said solemnly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Martyn offered them both fries in peace. “So what’s the plan for tonight? Greasy food and pretending we’re cool?”

“I brought a deck of cards,” Katherine offered, digging in her bag.

Ren raised an eyebrow. “You carry cards?”

“You never know when a game night might break out,” she said, smug.

Shelby leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Do you guys wanna play Heart Attack? Or Egyptian Rat Screw?”

“I don’t want to *die* tonight,” Ren said. “Can’t we just do something normal?”

Shelby lit up. “Truth or dare.”

Ren groaned. “Why did I even come.”

But Martyn was already nodding. “Yes. Chaos. Let’s go.”

They played over fries and milkshakes, the game getting more unhinged with every round.

“Katherine,” Martyn said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“What’s the weirdest dream you’ve ever had?”

Katherine didn’t even blink. “Shelby turned into a giant moth and tried to convince me to eat drywall.”

Shelby gasped. “I was *nurturing* you!”

“Shelby,” Ren said, pointing a fry at her. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to go order a milkshake but in a pirate accent.”

Shelby saluted. “Aye aye, landlubbers.”

She marched off. Martyn turned to Ren. “Your turn. Truth or dare.”

Ren squinted. “Truth, I guess.”

Martyn grinned. “When did you first think I was cute?”

Ren blinked, then slowly smirked. “The sock day.”

Martyn’s grin widened. “Knew it.”

By the time Shelby returned with the milkshake, the table had devolved into wheezing laughter and a pile of ketchup packets, and Ren felt something solid settle in his chest.

The four of them stayed way too long, playing cards and stealing each other’s food, until the staff started giving them pointed looks. Eventually, they all spilled out into the parking lot, full and happy.

Shelby grabbed Katherine’s hand. “Next week? Arcade night?”

Katherine squeezed her fingers. “Absolutely.”

Martyn slung an arm around Ren’s shoulders as they walked toward Ren’s car.

“This was good,” Martyn said. “I like us.”

Ren bumped his shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”

He didn’t even mind when Shelby shouted, “KISS!” like a gremlin behind them.

Because he did. He really, really did.

Chapter Text

Monday hit like a truck.

After the whirlwind of the double date, reality returned with the force of a caffeine crash. The school auditorium had transformed overnight into a chaotic disaster zone full of half-painted sets, a missing prop chicken, and the undeniable scent of someone burning popcorn in the green room microwave.

Ren and Martyn showed up early for rehearsal, mostly because Martyn had to present his AP Lit project and Ren had nowhere better to be. They claimed their usual seats toward the front of the stage and watched as Shelby tried to help Katherine balance a stack of sheet music, her hand on the small of Katherine’s back as she whispered something that made her snort-laugh.

“They’re disgustingly cute,” Martyn muttered, sipping his gas station coffee. “We should sue.”

Ren hummed in agreement. “And yet, here we are, also disgusting.”

Martyn grinned and bumped his knee against Ren’s. “We’re subtle. Tasteful.”

“Subtle?” Ren said. “You wore a shirt that says *‘Gay and Tired’* to rehearsal yesterday.”

“Exactly. Understated.”

Before Ren could respond, Cleo clapped her hands from the front of the stage and shouted, “Alright, chaos gremlins, circle up. We’re running Act 1 today and I swear to all things holy, if anyone forgets their lines I’m replacing you with a sock puppet.”

The cast groaned collectively. Joel tripped over a flats cord on his way to the center of the stage. Lizzie waltzed in late wearing an iced coffee like a fashion accessory and announced, “I’m here! You may all rejoice.”

Etho, the ever-patient stage manager, appeared from the wings with a clipboard and a deeply resigned expression. “Lizzie, please don’t rejoice too loud. You broke a mic last time.”

Rehearsal started in earnest. Shelby nailed her scene as Little Red, dramatic and loud in all the right places, and Ren could see Katherine watching her from the wings with the kind of fondness that made Ren’s chest squeeze a little.

Ren had one line in Act 1 and delivered it with so much dramatic flourish Martyn stage-whispered, “Oscar-worthy,” from behind a tree prop.

During a break, they all collapsed backstage. Martyn was stretched across three chairs. Ren sat next to him with a water bottle pressed to his cheek.

Katherine plopped down with a sigh, fanning herself with her script. “Shelby just threatened to stage bite me if I forget my cue again.”

“Hot,” Martyn said without thinking, then caught himself and raised both hands in apology. “I mean. Supportive.”

Katherine just laughed. “Honestly, both are true.”

Ren tilted his head toward Martyn. “You think we’ll ever be that smooth?”

Martyn leaned closer. “Baby, I was born smooth.”

Ren laughed, too loud, and got shushed by Etho from across the room.

The second half of rehearsal was even more chaotic. The set collapsed once. The fake beanstalk broke in half. Joel managed to get tangled in a curtain and shouted, “This is not how I want to go!” as Grian and Scar tried to rescue him.

By the time Cleo called it for the day, everyone was covered in paint, dust, or emotional damage.

“Opening night’s in two weeks,” she reminded them. “Sleep well. Hydrate. And for the love of theater, no more microwave popcorn in the green room.”

Ren and Martyn walked out together under the fading sunlight, shoulders bumping, laughing about the day.

Martyn stretched his arms over his head. “This show’s gonna be a disaster, huh?”

Ren shrugged. “Probably.”

“But like… a fun disaster.”

Ren looked at him and smiled. “Yeah. The best kind.”

Chapter Text

Backstage was buzzing, and not in the good way. It was the kind of buzz that came from last-minute costume fixes, missing props, and the scent of too much hairspray and not enough sleep.

Katherine stood near the stage door, already zipped into her Baker’s Wife dress, trying to keep her breathing even while someone behind her shouted about a broken fog machine. She could hear Cleo yelling for people to “get their asses in gear” and Gem asking if anyone had seen her mascara for the fifth time.

“Hey.” Shelby’s voice cut through the chaos. She stepped closer, cloak already tied snug over her Little Red dress. “You okay?”

Katherine nodded, then shook her head. “I’ve got pre-show jitters. But, like, the earthquake kind.”

Shelby grinned. “You’re gonna be amazing. You’ve been amazing since the first read-through.”

Katherine smiled, just a little. “Right back at you.”

Across the stage, Ren was perched on a rolling platform, checking the locking wheels while Martyn handed him cable ties. Joel paced nearby with a headset on, muttering into the mic.

“I don’t care if the chicken looks haunted,” Joel snapped. “It’s a prop. We need it for the second bakery scene or Grian’s gonna ad-lib something cursed.”

From overhead, Etho’s voice echoed down. “Stop panicking and check the fog machine. I’m not coming down until that thing stops hissing like a dying goose.”

Martyn snorted. “Opening night vibes.”

Ren hopped off the platform and dusted off his jeans. “At least we haven’t lost power yet.”

“You just jinxed us,” Joel said, turning to glare.

Etho’s voice crackled through the headset again. “Ten minutes to places.”

“Let’s go, people!” Cleo barked from center stage. “That includes you, Joel. Stop threatening the chicken.”

In the green room, Grian was adjusting his mic while Scar admired himself in the mirror, glitter in his hair from Gem’s emergency makeup kit. Lizzie, fully transformed into the Witch, was practicing her glare in the reflection beside them.

“This show’s gonna be chaos,” Grian muttered.

Scar beamed. “Beautiful, sparkling chaos.”

Katherine took a shaky breath as Shelby reached over to fix the edge of her apron.

“You ready?” Shelby asked.

Katherine nodded. “I think so.”

“Good. ‘Cause it’s showtime.”

The overture started, the lights dimmed, and the magic began.

***

The show was going shockingly well.

Scar and Grian had incredible chemistry as the Narrators, tossing lines back and forth with way too much flair. Lizzie looked like she’d walked straight out of a storybook—terrifying, majestic, and oddly fashionable. Shelby was absolutely killing it as Little Red, fierce and funny in every scene, and Katherine? Katherine was nailing it. Her monologue in the second bakery scene got actual gasps from the audience.

Ren and Martyn peered out from the wings between cues, Joel whispering cues into his headset as they managed scene shifts and kept people from tripping over cables.

“This might be the smoothest show we’ve ever done,” Martyn whispered, knocking on the wooden prop table.

“You fool,” Ren said. “You doomed us.”

Right on cue, disaster struck.

Joel, trying to adjust a light from the side catwalk, stepped backward into a bundle of gaff tape and tripped. He fell with a very loud **crash**, knocking over a prop tree in the process.

Martyn whipped around. “Joel?”

“I’m fine!” Joel called from the floor. “Tree’s dead. My pride’s in critical condition.”

Ren and Martyn hurried over to help him up as Etho radioed down from the fly system.

“Do I want to know what that noise was?”

“No!” Joel shouted. “Don’t come down, we’re fine!”

The audience didn’t even notice. Grian smoothly filled in with a joke about deforestation, and Lizzie stomped onstage so dramatically no one even looked at the tree.

Backstage, Joel sat on a crate while Ren checked his knee and Martyn replaced the prop with a spare.

“You good to finish the show?” Ren asked.

Joel gave a weak thumbs-up. “Born for this.”

“You were born to fall down stairs,” Martyn said.

“Same thing.”

***

By curtain call, everyone was running on adrenaline and the thrill of applause. The audience erupted into cheers, clapping wildly as the cast lined up for bows.

Lizzie got the loudest reaction. Scar blew kisses. Grian dabbed. Shelby and Katherine bowed together, smiling like they might burst. Joel limped onstage with a flashlight as a pretend “cameo” and got a laugh loud enough to make his fall worth it.

When the curtain dropped and the lights dimmed again, everyone screamed. Hugs, cheers, laughter. Even Cleo looked like she might cry.

“That,” Shelby breathed, spinning around in her cloak, “was insane.”

Katherine caught her hand. “You were incredible.”

Shelby looked at her like she wanted to say something more, but instead she just squeezed Katherine’s fingers and grinned.

Ren flopped down in a backstage chair, head resting on Martyn’s shoulder.

“We pulled it off,” he murmured.

“Barely,” Martyn said, grinning. “But yeah. We did.”

Joel limped past with a cupcake someone had shoved into his hand. “I better get a trophy for this.”

“You got applause,” Etho called from the ladder.

“And a bruised ass,” Ren added.

They laughed.

And for a moment, it was quiet backstage—not in the silent way, but in the *we did it* way.

The show had gone on. And somehow, through prop malfunctions, wardrobe panic, and Joel’s nearly broken everything—they’d made it to the end.

Tomorrow would bring the next show.

But tonight?

Tonight was victory.