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Impulse fiddles with the rings on his finger absentmindedly, staring off into the forest with tears pricking in his eyes. He's just gotten married, he should be happy. He does love Ren (Cleo and Martyn, too, he supposes), but how can he be happy when he's... him.
He's a total screw-up. He couldn't even trap Tango's funeral properly. He could've dealt with just killing himself— relished that, even, because he deserves it— but making Ren red, too? And then being thanked for it?
It's too much. Tango should be here. He should be being loved alongside him even if it's just a silly way to cement their alliance, Tango should be getting this. Not him.
The gravel crunches as somebody joins him outside the pyramid, sits down next to him—inches away, close, but not close enough that they touch— and silently follows Impulse's stare, for a minute or two.
Misery is better with company, he supposes, even if he isn't sure who that company is because he can't bring himself to turn his head to check.
“You're not happy about us getting married, are you?” Martyn's voice is so loud compared to the silence Impulse has been listening to for the past, what, fifteen minutes? Is that how long ago he excused himself?
It's a good question, that's for certain. Is Impulse happy about getting married? Probably. Martyn's nice, Cleo's nicer. Has he ever thought of them romantically before this? No. Would he ever have proposed this if Ren hadn't? Absolutely not.
Impulse isn't big on romance anyways, even what he has with Ren is closer to being friends. He likes to cuddle and maybe kiss a bit— and wouldn't be opposed to doing that with Martyn and Cleo— but anything more, anything that might feel like love is just... not for him.
“No— I— Of course I am, Martyn,” He lies (Is it lying? He just has mixed feelings), turning to face the man— his husband. “I just wish Tango was here to be apart of this.”
Martyn doesn't look back at him. “I don't.” He responds, coldly. What? Impulse can feel irritation creep up his spine, but he tries to keep himself cool. How can Martyn say that?
“Tango never liked me. Hated me,” The man's brows furrow as he speaks. “Every time I spoke to him he'd go on and on about how untrustworthy I was, that I never did anything good.” He stares down Tango's grave like it's personally wronged him.
“Especially now that I'm red, he'd just think I was waiting for the right moment to strike, or something,” Martyn finally faces him, looks at him with those red eyes. “Face it, Impulse. If he was still alive this alliance would've never happened. This marriage would've never happened.”
He's right. Impulse glances down at his hand, the ring on it matches one of Martyn's own. The man crafted them himself, said he had a bit of experience doing it, that he'd made his ring himself and that he'd happy to make each of them one for this marriage.
Martyn turns his body to face Impulse, knees pressing into Impulse's hip and Martyn sits up on them, leans over him, so close. He grabs Impulse's hands in his own, pulling them close to his chest.
“We wouldn't happen." Martyn finishes, bringing one of Impulse's hands to his lips and kissing it. Oh, that is. Something. Void, it's getting a bit hot— it's the lava, surely.
He wants to be mad at Martyn for hating Tango, he really does. Tango is— was?— one if his best friends, and hating him even after he's dead is... is just mean. But Martyn's looking at him with something so appreciative in his eyes and he's holding Impulse's hands like he wants to, not like it's just because he should be doing it, because they're married.
He can't be mad at him. He's red, he should want to kill Impulse, but instead he's being nice and holding him gently and being so close.
Impulse doesn't know what to say. He could cry— he's been needing to for hours now— but that'd probably kill the mood of whatever's happening right now. Does he need to say anything? Can he just stay with Martyn holding his hands, inches away from his face for as long as he wants? Would Martyn grant him that?
“Can I kiss you?” Martyn asks and— what? Yes. Of course, yes. It'll make him feel better. Impulse doesn't answer, just shakes off one of Martyn's hands so he can grip his husband by the back of his head and connect their lips.
It's only brief, barely anything more than just touching, but it's nice. Impulse pulls away after barely five seconds, releasing Martyn, stand up, groaning as his joints protest. He holds out a hand to help Impulse up.
“Come on, we'll play some card games. Cleo thinks they're good at them so I wanna beat them into the dirt.” Martyn says as he lifts him up, placing a hand on Impulse's back and guiding him back into the pyramid.