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If you were to sort the world into a binary of people who enjoyed hugs and people who didn’t— False would have reasonably placed herself on the side of non huggers.
She’s not even adverse to them. Hugging is fine— she loves cuddling Bear and offering him pats. And with family it’s alright as well, it’s familiar, normal. Being a content creator means hugging is almost a part of her job description when it comes to long distance friends. There’s no discomfort, she's completely fine with receiving them, but they’re never something she seeks out.
There’s just other ways she'd rather pursue someone’s attention / validation / affection. Building stuff for them, spending time together, chatting nonsense and twaddling and— (Is it obvious yet, who she's chasing ?) (Is there anyone else she cares quite as much about their opinion of her?) (Is there anyone else she cares quite as much about?) (She does worry about him.)
When they'd met in November; on a patently cold and wet day, Ren had been pathetically soaked from the rain. Out of good grace and “keeping her dignity intact” (he certainly has… a way with words…) he'd refrained from hugging her. It’s respectful, it’s decent, it's the exact type of chivalrous, platonically restrained behaviour she expects from Ren. Especially when his whole invitation sounds suspiciously like a date to begin with.
To be honest False, does not give a flippin 'heck what it sounds like. Or what it looks like, or what it is. But it is annoying her that Ren, awfully affectionate Ren, the guy who’ll call anyone baby (except her)— this Ren who always makes an exception for her is making another exception, but this time it’s not in her favour. It’s a miserable miscommunication that leaves both of them wanting.
It’s just been the shittiest week of the year— and for once she really could use a crushing hug from someone— she knows he probably could use a good hug as well. Something that drags both of their racing minds back down to earth, grounded by each other's gravity. But the trouble of never wanting, only accepting hugs given, is she never quite learnt how to ask for one when she needs it.
Instead she reverts to a senseless search for contact. An arm touch (or two) (or four). Stretching out her legs so that they instead lean to rest against his underneath the tables. Ren doesn’t notice any of these things—her hints. (Does it count as a hint ? And what is she even hinting at?) He hardly flinches, just beams at her with that smile that makes her heart go... fuzzy .
Really, the whole meet up makes her feel that way— she blames it on the sentimentality of the occasion. How he talks about her and to her, with so much delight. He saps the whole afternoon away till he walks her to her car, insisting on carrying the trophy for her (it’s not quite that heavy, but she appreciates the gesture.)
It’s a short stroll in the blue of the day. Talking with Ren seems to stretch the time by; dilating between shared smiles and laughter. Maybe it’s a trick of the mind, or maybe it’s because both of them seem to be dragging their feet to get there. False is reminded of the first time they met— his cheeky laugh and bravado while touring her around London. He had seemingly an endless stream of jokes for her back then— now he’s meeker, maturer. Now he can make her laugh in a single look. Unravel her wholly.
The mood is still as damp as the city when she leans against the car boot, the two of them exchange platitudes while False hopes— waits for a hug goodbye.
But then the weather takes a turn, it starts to spit, Ren passes on the trophy, makes a dash for the undercover while False slips into her car. They wave goodbye through the window, he turns on his heel and walks back to his hotel.
False sinks into her seat and digs her nails into the fabric of her jeans, ignoring the blinking whine of her ignition begging for her keys. She wonders if she should have offered him a ride— but Rens already disappeared into the streets and she doesn’t have his phone number. She types a message into discord, and quickly backspaces— Ren hardly checks his messages, so she doubts he’ll respond in time.
The drive back home is tedious in traffic, False wouldn’t consider herself quite emotional, and neither would she consider herself to be terribly rational. But the mix of the sweet and somber energy, the ambiguously date like activities and lack of physical contact is making her frustrated and confused.
But she’ll survive— because it’s Ren and at the end of the day and she can’t really be mad at him for not hugging her when there’s no precedent for him to.
And then he leaves for a month— goes south to be with his family. False is sitting in her parents home, curled up on a sofa watching holiday classics by the fire. The photos Ren posts are all summer and warmth, filled with the type of blue skies she hasn’t seen in awhile. There’s extra photos he sends into the Hermitcraft server, and even more he sends to her alone.
She’s not sure what she’s supposed to do with those ones. They’re often of silly trinkets or cringy selfies mixed in with picturesque sunsets and beaches and starry filled skies. But the subtext of ‘thought of you’ is there. Rens thinking about her. He seems to be thinking about her a lot: When he sees an interesting bug, when he’s in his family home or admiring something magnificent. False tries not to think about what that means.
She wonders vaguely if he sends other people these types of things— she idly remembers a year ago, Ren mentioning going to South Africa to get a girlfriend. He hasn’t brought up dating or complained about being single since then. But False knows he wouldn’t, couldn’t keep that from her. And as far as she’s concerned, Ren's lingering too close to her to be interested in someone else. Oh.
Oh .
Ren isn’t dating anyone. He is seemingly content with being single. At the same time, False is his constant exception. She's the girl he plans suspiciously date-like hang outs for, showers with lavish gifts and spends all his time with. He'd even called her once to “prove she was real” to his mum—
Fuck .
He talked about her to his mum ? Enough for her to question her existence. What the flippin 'hell is Ren saying about her? What the flippin’ hell does that say about them ?
When he returns from the holidays, things feel strange, Ren's photography era putters out as he falls back into routine, but he finds his spot next to her on Hermitcraft again and all is well, good. Her days are filled with building stuff, spending time together, talking nonsense and twaddle.
She ignores the nag, that pang of fuzziness whenever she hangs around him; ignores her strange urge to pry open her screen and hold his face for herself when Cleo calls his cheeks pinchable. She blames the instinct on Cleo bringing it up first, and how pathetically sad Ren sounds when he says no one’s ever done it to him before. It’s not False's fault and she’s doing him a favour (never mind that justification doesn't even make sense because she's only doing it in her imagination).
Ren and Cleo continue in their prank wars, False watches from the sidelines and somehow ends up joining whatever side that ends with Ren as the focus. Whether that’s assisting in covering Cleo’s base in resin, or pinning the blame on him. It ends with her base having a giant Mr Blobby looming over it and a week or so later Ren and Cleo have mysteriously escaped to exile.
And that might be the worst prank either of them could play— half the neighbourhood is busied with IRL things, and Xisuma is practically living in exile for fun. She’s alone: And this is now Ren's problem.
“I can’t believe you just left me!” She whines, with a flair of faux distress. She’s not genuinely upset, but Ren can read between the lines; he knows it’s not all for naught.
“I’m sorry False!”
“You better be!”
He chuckles, her stomach lurches.
They’ve been away from each other for longer, but never when they’ve been this close, and never when she’s been this alone. False is parkouring around her base, bored whilst Ren makes an iron farm for exile. At least, that’s what he told her he’s doing— discord filters out the familiar sounds of the game and Ren is not streaming so she’ll never really know. She misses the ambience of him placing blocks.
“Come, join us in exile— it'll be fun!” He placades, with puppy dog excitement. “I’ll give you the full tour.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs, it's not like she hasn't gone to crazy places before for him, going to exile isn’t a stretch. Still, False likes playing the contrarian, and she’s not going to give in that easily.
“I miss you.” He says, it barely carries over the mic— but it lights up the green circle of his discord avatar, so she knows, she knows it’s real.
“Awww, you can’t live without me?” She teases, voice drenched in the stench of sarcasm.
Ever earnest, Ren doesn't catch a waft of it. Or decides to blatantly ignore what she means. “No, it’s just— it’s just not the same without you False.” His tone falls to a whimper and suddenly she feels their roles have been reversed— how can this be? It should be False complaining! She's the one suffering alone! “At least we’ll see each other IRL soon— then you’ll truly have to live with me.” He adds, giddy.
False doesn’t know if she likes the way he phrases that— if it had been in an episode she would have had to have cut it out, if it were a stream she would’ve quickly changed the subject. But since it’s just an unrecorded twaddle she can let the thought linger. She is going to see him soon, and for lack of better phrasing she is going to have to live with him— alongside sixteen of her other colleagues, friends and their partners.
“I can always pretend you’re not there.”
Ren gasps, his desk creaks and she hears him lean forward into his mic, finger wagging tone. “Eh— it'll be pretty hard to ignore me when I’m right there.”
“I’m good at ignoring you.” False retorts. It’s pretty much a lie. Ren has woven his way so thoroughly into her life it’s less likely for her to not be vaguely aware of what he’s up to. It sounds hysterical considering how sporadic his schedule is— but it’s true. And whatever he’s doing always ends up being fairly interesting, so it’s hard to black out.
“You wouldn’t.” He says pouty, and as much as she hates to admit it, (and she won’t say it out loud) it’s true. He breaks from his moping. “Argh— It's going to be so wonderful hanging out with you False.”
Her eyes bulge at her monitor— did he really just say that? False can barely hold back her pleased smile, she’s glad he can’t see her. “Someone’s excited for the trip, ey?”
Part of her wonders if he’s this excited to see everyone else— or if she’s a special exception. And if she is, does that excitement even mean anything? Does it change anything about the status quo they’ve been maintaining precariously for months now?
“Yeah, I had to check that my passport was all good but. It looks like I’m sorted.”
Right, his passport issues, False feels like she vaguely remembers that being brought up when they were prebooking things last year.
“I was worried they wouldn’t let me in, but I think I’ll make it— it expires just after.” He adds cheerfully.
False mouth twists, at this point normally she’d punch his character in game. But his thirty million blocks away, so she settles for frowning instead.
“Ren, you better not leave me alone in America too—“
“I won’t !” He promises quickly. “Worst case scenario you’ll have to stuff me in your suitcase.”
“I don’t think you’d fit.”
Ren laughs deviously. Now False really wants to punch his character. She sprints across the top of her gondolas and watches the regen beacons replenish her falling stamina.
“I’m excited to meet everybody though.” Ren finally muses, breaking the silence. Maybe that’s the answer to her earlier question, he’s happy to see everyone. (But he only thinks it’s going to be wonderful hanging out with h— Okay. She needs to calm down.)
“Yeah, it'll be good.” False nods, she misjudges a jump and floats down into the river. “Better than last year!”
“True — mostly because I’ll actually be there of course.” He teases.
False tenses, normally she’d retort his pompous declarations, but it’s the truth this time and she can’t find it in herself to complain. She is glad he’s coming, she’s glad they get to make better memories. And secretly, most of all, she’s glad she gets to make them with him.
One of her boat pillagers shoots her in the side and False is struck back to reality— that’s all still a fair while away, so far away it’s practically a fantasy. And one she shouldn’t dwell on; lest she start to think about things she shouldn’t.
“Sure Ren.”
In the end Cleo makes it back to spawn on horseback before she can even get exiled herself. They prank the POE together. Cleo gives her the tour of the area instead of Ren. False builds a boat house. And then, before she can even think about it, everyone's un-exiled. The servers meeting agendas change from intricate storylines to intense planning of the Gamers Outreach streams.
Things start to get real, the fantasy now hangs not just in her peripherals, but exists as a date visible on her calendar. She pulls her suitcase from her closet, buys packing cubes from the store. Her bedroom is splayed with clothes and her messages with Ren become even more frequent somehow.
Anxiety and enthusiasm are blooming as the days pass on— the afternoon before their flight Ren calls her in discord. He has a question about editing that apparently couldn't be answered over text. She thinks it might be an excuse just to talk to her. Fifteen minutes off topic from the question she managed to answer almost instantly— False is certain her hypothesis is true.
Just as predictably, the conversation warps around to the elephant in the room, and they chatter on about the stream segments and preparations for them. She props her phone up on a stack of books and begins folding and rolling her clothes into the packing cubes.
“Oh! Before I forget False, if you need to bring anything extra I still have a heap of room in my suitcase.”
“How on earth do you have room in your suitcase?” False still technically hasn't fully packed, but she knows it won’t be an easy squeeze.
“I’m a master at suitcase efficiency !” He declares proudly.
False huffs. “I don’t believe it— you must have missed something.” She teases.
“Obviously nothing important if I can't remember. ”
“Toothbrush?”
“Yes.”
“Your clothes?”
“Couldn’t leave without them!”
“Auction stuff?”
“All safely wrapped for transit.” He chirps. “I get pretty anxious when I travel so I prepare for like weeks in advance— you don’t have to worry about me False.”
“I’m not worrying about you— I’m just worrying for you!” She whines, definitely making complete sense. She blames it on Ren throwing her off with his over-preparedness. Her brain frantically rakes for something to say. “It's like a week long trip y’know? Did you pack a jumper?” …And she's repeating herself.
“ Yes Madam.” He salutes, and then laughs endearingly. “I can be responsible, y'know? I’m quite responsible in real life. You’ll see.”
False hums unconvincingly. “We’ll see.”
She stares at the organised chaos of her room, half folded clothes spread across her bed, a bag of semi packed toiletries and the extra auction items that were sitting in a tote next to her mirror.
“By the way, are you not in your office? Your microphone sounds off.” Ren interrupts the silence , his tone is a little off, as if he’s unsure of what he’s saying.
“It’s my phone mic– I’m packing my suitcase right now.” She omits the fact that she's also in her bedroom— because somehow that feels weird to admit. (Which means nothing.)
“Oh.” He pauses, hesitates— considers something. False pauses from what she’s doing to stare at the green flickering ring until he adds. “Being efficient as always— can't say I expected anything less from FalseSymmetry.”
She snorts. “You’re the one who’s already packed.”
“True.” He clicks his tongue and she can hear him adjust himself in his seat. “Y’know, since you have your phone on you— it’s probably a good time to give you my phone number for the trip right?”
What? What on earth is he saying? False wants to burst out into laughter. It makes no sense that he'd give her a number she won’t be able to use in America. But she's not going to question the logic that means she gets to seep into another part of his real life. (She's become quite possessive of her prominence in it recently.)
With a lack of response Ren is rushing to defend himself. “Just in case I get lost in the airport or something...”
“Dude if you get lost I’m not coming to find you.” She giggles, shaking her head. “But sure, send it through.”
Ren cheers (maybe a little too enthusiastically) and types it into chat. In exchange she trades him hers and the hitch in his breath when he sees her message False mentally catalogues as one of her favourite sounds alongside his laugh.
“No spamming me.” She warns, but secretly, she unlists his contact from her dnd mode. Ren may never check his messages but she prides herself on being a fairly efficient communicator. (And also he’s her exception too.)
False drags her suitcase through the crowd of the airport terminal, phone clutched against her sweater as she eagles for the group. When she can’t find them where she thought they'd be, she pulls off to the side of the walkway and rechecks her discord for the details Grian sent about their check in.
Lifting her sunglasses, she stands on her tippy toes and scans for them again. She should spot Jimmy, or even Martyn because they’re technically taller— but instinctually her eyes land on Ren first. She guesses it's because he’s familiar. She knows him.
He’s laughing, False can’t even hear him laughing— but her shoulders suddenly tense, her feet stick in their place, which somehow turns out to be a good thing because her knees weaken and her stomachs queasy and flippin 'hell, why is her heart suddenly beating so fast? Her suitcase isn’t that heavy, so it can’t be from exertion.
Frozen in spot, False eyes wander up and down his frame. It’s only been four or so months since she last saw him, but shit? Has he somehow managed to get hotter? Wait. Hotter ? Ren isn’t hot. False has never subscribed to that idea. Ren will occasionally say bizarre things that give her that fuzzy feeling— but she’s never been able to say he’s hot before. Or at least— she presses her lips together, swallows — Not until now ? Oh no .
Trust her brain to pick the worst time to process this. When she’s about to be stuck in a plane with him for ten hours— and then spend the next week in person with him. When she knows Ren will want to spend time with her because he specifically pointed out how excited he was to see her. When she knows how much time she’s going to have to spend with him, because frankly he’s the person she's closest to on this trip. Her face warms and she has the mind to find the nearest bathroom and splash her face with cold water— as if it'll rid her of this new disease.
Unfortunately, and rather predictably, Ren turns and spots her in the crowd. If False wasn’t internally panicking, it might have even been a cute moment. He waves to her with such fervor it’s almost embarrassing (but mostly just endearing). Still, she puts one foot in front of the other, walks towards him like he’s the earth pulling her into orbit.
“Hey— it’s a False!” He proclaims to the group like an excited boyf— no False, let’s not finish that sentence.
He shuffles over and makes room for her to shimmy into the small circle. False slips her phone into her pocket and nods, waving back awkwardly to the group as she drags her suitcase in front of her. “Yep! It’s me!”
Grian starts to blabber about the details of their trip, False's mind is spinning with anxiety, she wrings her fingers together and stares at the floor tiles, tracing patterns in the checkerboard design.
“Good drive in?” Ren whispers, bumping her shoulder to get her attention.
Her head snaps up to look at him, and False thinks she might have actually stopped breathing when she catches his eyes. Had they always been this blue? False liked most variants of the colour, but Rens are a particularly pretty shade.
“Uhm Yeah, a bit of traffic but that’s just London.” She mumbles.
Ren nods in agreement and it strikes her then just how unnecessary it was for him to ask that. Grian is literally talking about the important details of their trip— and childishly neither of them are paying attention.
Childishly, Ren would prefer to make small talk with her than listen. (Is it because she’s like the girlfriend he never had?) She pokes his shoulder and gestures towards Grian because they should be responsible adults. But childishly, False would prefer to just look at him too. (Is it because he’s like the boyfriend she didn’t know she wanted?)
False keeps a mental tally of who Rens hugged— it feels obnoxious and judgemental because it’s not like there’s anything wrong with Ren hugging people. But it’s also getting to the point where he’s hugged everyone except her— even Scar’s dad !
The exception he made for her, to be overly chivalrous is becoming an annoying assumption. Sure False doesn’t ask for hugs, or open her arms for them but surely he’s noticed she isn’t denying them either. False has hugged plenty of people on the trip so far. But none of them have been the person she actually wants to hug— does that make sense? Is that insane to say? Or is the dubious crush she has on him just making her crazy?
Whatever. She’s trying to be normal about it.
Thinking Rens hot and being Rens friend she decides are two mutually possible things as long as she doesn’t think about it too much. (Some would say there are many possible ways to do this, starting with boy and ending with—)
And by possible she means she has one working strategy which is: ‘staring at his arms/ shoulders / face from a distance until she gets caught— and then avoiding being near him in case of confrontation.’
At first it is a complete success story; because there are a lot of distractions when they’re setting up their streams, and Ren is caught up in his omnipresent tech issues. So he can’t call her out for being weird, and False can uphold the facade that she sees him in a purely platonic light to their friends.
But as the day presses on, as her excuses thin, (for both staring at him and running away from him) the inevitable happens and she’s stuck next to him.
Part of her wants to laugh that of all things, that is her doomed fate: Standing next to him, making polite conversation with their colleagues. For what personal anguish it’s causing, the trial alone is really nothing. But the other part of her, the part that catches a glance at his cheeky grin while he cracks a bad joke and feels her stomach flip— that part of her is very conscious of how bad she has it.
Ren rocks back on his heel and watches the circle of their friends descend into a fit of giggles. He catches False's eyes then, and flippin’ winks at her ! Like this is some sort of inside joke they share. She turns away, the tips of her ears burning.
False hopes she isn’t too obvious; or at least not embarrassingly obvious. To be honest she wouldn’t mind if Ren cottoned onto this weird little thing she has for him. If he noticed then she wouldn’t have to bring it up (or the more likely option: False wouldn’t have to sit on this secret until it burns itself out). Her only hope is that nobody else is noticing how weird she’s acting around him. That would be mortifying .
She sneaks another glance up at him as Martyn makes another terrible joke, Ren laughs, shoulders shaking and she wonders selfishly, what it might take for her to make him laugh like that as well. False's humour is dry and sarcastic, disarming and not exactly charming— she could hardly compete with their banter. And yet Ren still looks towards her whenever he laughs, as if he’s making sure she’s entertained, amused by their shenanigans. (He’s still treating her specially, looking out for her in a way that makes it obvious how much attention he devotes to her alone.)
But surely Ren should know, she's rarely bored when he’s around. Especially now that she has so much to think about, look at, indulge in.
And indulge, she does.
Their schedules hardly align across the first day of streaming. False has ‘guess the build’, Ren has the ‘quiet games’— there’s no official segment they share. And she thinks she can survive this, until she’s watching him play guitar for the stream while she eats.
His voice is a bit wobbly, a bit nervous, his head sunken, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. But he puts the sweetness into a bitter sweet song, and False notes how easily he draws people in, draws her in. Moth to a flame— moon to the earth. She pivots in her chair to watch him ( or rather listen to him given he’s behind all manner of screens and recording equipment).
The song ends and then he’s chatting to Martyn. The stream has barely started and she should probably talk to her chat again; but she’s itching to be near him. To look at him in real life again. Maybe pay him a compliment just to see his reaction in real life. Maybe even, if she dares, touch him too.
Physical touch has never quite mattered to her before. But of course, as always, Ren makes a little exception for himself in her brain. Rent free— he’s infested her, now he’s playing with her heart strings like he plucks that guitar. And it’s somehow all on accident .
In truth, the way he treats her specially, the way he always makes exceptions for her doesn't actually mean anything. Ren will never make a move because he doesn’t want to make a move. He is content with treating her like a girlfriend without it actually being anything, so she shouldn’t read into it, and she shouldn’t linger on her feelings— she should let them wash out.
And yet she's biting her cheek when he takes his jumper off on camera, and quietly breathless when his finger brushes over her shoulder and laughing helplessly when he pulls her chair back in a prank. Ren says he’s bad at getting the girl, but he’s winning her over without even trying. He’s so unfortunately good looking and she's so into him.
False is putty in his hands, one glance and she is gone. And glances at her aren’t something Ren spares.
Of all the things she could have expected from this evening, she would have put Ren taking her out on a date closer to impossible than likely. And yet here they are, sitting in a corner booth together, sharing a takeaway box of shoestring fries.
The hermits are celebrating their first streaming day at the hotels pub and bistro— they'd gone down to eat and then someone had suggested a toast and now half of the hermits are spread across the venue, playing pool and darts— and some of the others have gone back to their rooms already. Her and Ren hang back at the tables, keeping track of the belongings. False easily offered to do that because she's not that great at those types of games— and even less so when she's had a drink. Ren stays back to be a gentleman, as he always is.
They chat idly about their favourite parts of the day— exchange funny stories and laugh. A lot. False tucks her hair behind her ear when Ren stretches and removes the sweater he was wearing. Tries not to latch onto the fact that she can very much see his arms, and his slightly tosselled hair and stare into his eyes (without looking weird because he’s the only one she has to pay attention to). Tries not to think about how hard she had to fight to split the bill with him (he’s always trying to pay for her stuff). Tries not to think about the fact that to an outsider perspective this could look very much like a date.
Of course, it’s not actually a date because Ren never asked her and she never said yes— but it’s also a Saturday night and they’re both single and they’re sharing a ‘meal’ at a bar. This is the closest she’s been to a date in years, this is the closest they’ve been to going on a date together. (Though, they’ve had some close calls over the years.)
“These are so unhealthy, but they’re literally the best chips I’ve had in ages.” Ren says, dipping his fry into the garlic sauce. “Glad you convinced me to go halves, I was actually getting kind of hungry.”
False shrugs. “I know you too well.” She pauses, and then frowns, nudging his leg. It’s both to remind him he’s being stupid, and to remind them both of the easy space between them. “and we’re on holiday dude— you’ve got to relax, this is just like your American diet.”
He chuckles at her obstinance, as if it’s charming rather than childish. “True, true— at least it’s not like a chocolatey sweet.” Ren laughs, False reaches for another chip. “Then you know I couldn’t resist it.”
“Like how every MCC I’m in I get a picture of you eating ice cream.” She raises an eyebrow and then chews.
“Can’t break tradition! Need a sweet treat for a sweet victory.”
“But you didn’t win ?”
“It’s a hermit alliance — I’m celebrating for you.”
“It’s still hardly ever a victory.” She rolls her eyes takes a sip of her dwindling cider.
“More than what I win.”
False is two seconds away from kicking his leg again. “You win things!”
“I don’t, really.” And he smiles, he smiles so gently it feels like sunlight— and she's some sort of nocturnal beast shrivelling away. “But that’s okay because you win things and I’ll always root for you.”
Her lips part in shock, and she quickly inhales. So startling it almost sounds like a gasp. His sincerity is always so disarming, exasperating. False usually likes to play the contrarian, it fits her sense of sarcasm— and balances out Ren's earnest declarations of affection. But she’s had a drink enough to be honest.
At least with him, it’s what he deserves since she’ll be lying to his face for the rest of time about what she wants with him. (But maybe he’s been lying too, he’s never looked fonder about her on their second successful not-date.)
“Well I root for you too Ren.”She mumbles shyly. “Unless we both make it to dodgeball on opposing teams in which case you're going down .” She laughs, punctuating her sentence with a flimsy chip.
“Probably for the best— then I’d have to eat two bowls of ice cream.”
False snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, cheeks flushed red. Ren wets his lips and holds back a smile. She meets his eyes, and then it’s over— she can’t help it— and neither can he, they both laugh.
“That’s literally—“ She looks up through giggles, wiping tears and catches his crinkled eyes with a toothy smile. As of lately she's described him as hot, handsome even; but right now she just thinks he’s happy. And he makes her happy, so happy her cheeks and voice ache with laughter. Ren is her happiness. “You don’t have to eat two bowls of ice cream, Ren.”
“Oh but I do,” he grins and lets his chin rest on his propped arm, sighing. “That’s the problem False, when I see something in real life I cannot resist.”
“Do I have to come take the ice cream away then? Will that stop you?” She teases.
“But you don’t even like ice cream.”
“I do sometimes.” She shrugs. “On special occasions.”
Ren blinks slowly. “When it’s the right time.”
“Exactly.” She nods. “When it’s the right time.”
“When is the right time?” His tone unfurls with every word peeling back layer and layer till his vulnerability is exposed, expression pitifully matching. He must realise the implications of what he’s saying; the innuendo peeking behind it that they’re rallying back and forth; because he coughs awkwardly. “To eat ice cream of course—“ He ushers in quickly before adding. “…because I’ve been trying to stop indulging in it but I’m a man of grea— well it’s just hard to resist.” He’s flailing his arms around a bit in an attempt to explain it, but really he just looks squeamish.
Funny that a guy who likes the spotlight so much seems to squirm whenever she gives him all her attention.
“Not everything is worth resisting.” Her eyes flicker up to his “Some things are good in moderation, even ice cream.”
“You think?”
“I know.” She smiles, and Ren looks away, flustered.
He’s picking at a fry now. “Even if it’s a weird flavour of ice cream?”
“As long as it’s not rum and raisin Ren, I'll forgive you.”
He laughs easily for a bit, and then his voice dies, fades away when he catches her eye. False is staring at him shamelessly, sweetly— longingly . It’s the exact same look he’s been using on her when she thinks she’s not watching. Jokes on him— False has been terribly observant of him lately. She wonders guiltily if he’s noticed how much she’s been looking at him too.
Ren takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. He’s fighting off some kind of thought— probably about liking her because he decided long before she even had the chance to answer, long before he even asked, that he'd never be able to have her. That they'd never cross the line of being more than friends.
But then again, it’s the two of them in a bar on a Saturday night, sharing chips and sipping drinks. And the night is warm and she likes him— and she knows he likes her. So maybe there is a chance— they have a shot.
Ren leans back in his chair, opening and closing his mouth as his thoughts race to come up with something. She smiles again, because it’s fine, he’s waited awhile without the hope of anything, she can wait for the chance of something.
Honestly, she's just glad he’s thinking about it for once. Considering the concept of what they are and what they could be. She could go to sleep happy now. She’s done her dues for the day.
“Uhm, it’s a bit uh, warm in here, I might get another drink.” He fans the collar of his shirt and tilts his head towards the bar. “Can I get you one as well False?”
Well, fuck, that was fast.
There’s a pinkness to his cheeks, he’s nervous, aware. He knows what he’s asking and what it sounds like and what it means and what it could mean. Ren is asking her to stay a little longer, to linger. To see where all of this could end up.
“Okay.” She smiles. (Like she would ever say no.)
The sort of real date is going well.
A few drinks in and False is far from drunk, but definitely not entirely sober either. Her skin is buzzing, her face is flushed and her brain is swirling around in its own head. Ren is nursing his glass of whiskey, knees knocking against hers. They giggle between sips and shared barbs, twaddling into their own corner of the universe.
False notes that a lot of the hermits have retired to bed now, and she knows she should be more responsible— the both of them should be because they have even more responsibilities tomorrow. But under the yellow light of the booth, the warmth radiating when his skin brushes hers, between the canon of laughter they share, False can’t find it in herself to leave. However tired her legs feel, however drowsy her eyes, however sluggish her speech.
They’ve gotten right to that point in the evening where Ren might be getting too comfortable with the compliments, and False might be getting too clingy to be platonically explicable. Luckily, not a lot of hermits have stuck around at the bar still— and none of them are paying attention to them. (Is it weird how easily they’re written off ? How none of the hermits seem to care about how close they are?)
“False,” He hiccups. “You’re wonderful you know?”
“Of course I’m wonderful.” She giggles, twirling her hair and clinks the bottle against his glass teasingly. She takes a sip.
Ren wriggles with his seat and bobs his head. “I mean it. You're the most extraordinarily patient human being in my life.”
“I’m hardly patient.”
“You tolerate me.”
“I don’t— Ren quit it.” She grumbles, setting her drink down impatiently. “You’re not someone I just tolerate. A-And even if you were, you’d be twice as tolerant of me.”
Ren's eyes widen, face flushing bright red and he buries his face in his hands. “ Lord have mercy .” He splutters out in a hiss.
False presses her lips together, thinning out a smile. She taps his arm, and he jolts back— head darting up to look at her again. It’s always like this now, False lets herself linger close, too close to not be obviously interested in him and yet he still seems unsure, nervous.
“Ren.” She whispers.
“Yes?”
“Last time we met up, it was really great.” False wants to look away, but she can’t.
Ren chuckles. “I’m glad you liked it— even though it wasn’t what it was supposed to be.”
“I enjoy doing stuff like this. With you.” “ Like a date ” is what she wants to add, but she’s not sure she's brave enough to say that out loud yet.
“Me too.” He croons. “You’re my favourite person in the world to talk to.”
Of course, she tries to say something nice and Ren has to go and one up her with something even more sentimental and cheesy without even trying. Her heart is floating in her chest.
“You’re my favourite person to talk to too.” She feels like she's wobbling on a tightrope when she says it, and the vertigo only gets worse having to look him in the eyes while saying it.
The both of them lean forward, like magnets. And the rest of the world, the dulcet ambiance of their friends laughing, the faint chatter of sports on the TV, the tap running water for the dishes in the kitchen— All of it fades to black. All she can digest is his eyes and face and voice; it’s tunnel vision and it’s terrifying. Almost claustrophobic, or like the crushing hug her skin still yearns for.
He sighs, and False can see his eyes watering. He’s wearing an expression she can only describe as desperate and yearning and she wants to grab his collar and shake him till he understands that everything she's saying she genuinely means. But then there’s a twinkle in his eyes, a flash of assurance as he blinks the teariness away and False thinks he probably knows.
“Um, it’s getting late— should we head off.”
False nods wordlessly, downs the last of her cider. Ren leaves to let the other hermits know they’re retiring to bed and she gathers her belongings— careful to pile the hermit's bags into the corner of the booth safely. She picks up Ren's sweater from the back of his chair. It’s warm and good material, and to that she leaves a mental note.
Ren returns and she relinquishes the jumper. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t notice the way his shirt raises when he does. (Lying if she said she wasn’t flustered too.)
Ren escorts her out, opening the door for her all gentlemanly. False passes through the threshold back into the colder lobby and is reminded of the last time they met up. How sombre the ending, how much she regretted not taking the initiative. Her stomach sinks, and she picks at the hem of her shirt. It’s all so temporary, their hang outs, this week, the glimpses she catches into his real life. False selfishly clings to all of them.
The lift dings, they pass to their floor, neither of them are talking. She's barely looking at him.
They walk down the corridor to her door.
“This one’s mine.” She shrugs. “Thanks for the drink tonight Ren. And the company, I appreciate it.”
“Anytime.” He smiles. “Good night, False.”
False has seen this before, the exact dialogue and scene plays out in her mind. This is the part where Ren turns away and walks back to his place and she's left to wallow about ‘could be’s’ and ‘should haves’.
She knows him. Ren is content with nothing going on between them, he’s fine with ambiguity— whatever False will give him. But she can’t unsee the way he laughs in the airport. Can’t un-feel the way her heart splutters when he’s near. Can’t erase the creases he carves into her face when she laughs— and dammit , he can make her laugh .
Maybe it’s greedy and wrong and distasteful to want him. But she can’t just throw away her feelings— and unlike Ren, she’s never been particularly good at playing pretend. He can hide all he wants, be as responsible as he likes— but that just means she gets to be a bit more reckless— balance it all out in equilibrium so to speak.
“Ren—“ She calls, catching his arm as he walks away.
He turns, immediately. False doesn't dare look at him, just takes a step forward and closes the distance between them, hugging him.
“Goodnight Ren.” She mumbles into his chest. Ren freezes for a second, before he lets his arms wrap around her waist, squeezing her tight. Her nose scrunches at the scent of whiskey, but fainter and more pleasantly he smells like hotel soap and peppery cologne.
“Goodnight False.” He repeats again. The sound rumbles from his chest and she’s never heard his voice from this close before but it’s probably her third favourite sound she's ever elucidated from him.
False wonders why they’ve been wasting their time, when this is what they should have been doing all along. She lets her chin rest on his shoulder, sinking into the hug. His nose brushes her ear as he leans down to fit in the crook of her neck. And then, accidentally his lips brush against her collar. The both of them jump back at the contact, limbs still half entangled as they step back.
“Sorry!” Ren exclaims, panicked, his fingertips grazing against her forearms, she shivers, skin gooseflesh.
False tucks her hair behind each of her ears, resisting the urge to touch her neck and looks up. “It’s fine!” She licks her lips, glances up at his. Ren swallows. Neither of them have moved away quite yet.
Maybe that’s a sign. Maybe this is an opportunity. False lifts her arms from their position in limbo and snakes her arms around his neck. Ren leans in and presses his forehead against hers. The world stills. All she can hear is his chest and heartbeat. Even though she knows better than to ask, the alcohol is in her system and Ren's chest and arms are warm and tight around her and it’s giving her the necessary courage (insanity) to blurt out a stupid thing.
“Come sleep ?” She mutters, False isn’t even sure if she’s coherent or audible or if that even makes sense.
False feels the jump in his pulse when she says it. He raises his head and cups her cheeks, giddy and grinning as he whispers back. “I'm all yours.”