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Even though the pyramid is so empty without his... former teammates, Impulse still finds himself sitting on the jukebox, head resting on his hands.
He shouldn't be here. He should be with his new team, drowning out his sorrows. What's the point in sitting here with ghosts? Impulse goes to stand up and leave, but comes to face Martyn in the doorway, Cleo behind him. Had they been here for long?
“We're here for the funeral.” Cleo explains, quiet.
“No I— I can't do another funeral.” Impulse responds quickly, makes for the door, to slip past them both, but Martyn's hand grips his wrist, stopping him.
He struggles, tries to pull his arm free, but Martyn's red. He has no chance. “Thought you were gonna say that.” Martyn says, his voice so heavy with... it's hard to place the emotion, but it reeks of bad.
Martyn pulls him back to the jukebox, sits him back down, keeps him from running with hands pressing into his hips. Impulse feels like a poor prey animal being pinned by a predator. He glances to Cleo, hoping they'll offer some sort of help, but they sit atop a chest, curling into themself, just looking sorry.
When he looks back at Martyn, into his eyes, there's barely disguised fury. The red leans over him, the position may be considered compromising if the circumstances were different.
“You're a coward,” Martyn accuses. “You're so selfish you won't even give your teammate— our husband— a funeral because it makes you too sad?” Oh there he goes, reminding Impulse about their stupid marriage to try and make him feel guilty.
“You can't even do this one thing for them. You know how much Ren would've done for you? I could hardly get them to shut up about you,” when Impulse tries to look away, Martyn grabs him by the chin, forces eye contact. “They would've hung the stars for you, and you can't even do them the honor of a fucking funeral.”
Does Martyn even want him to try and defend himself, or does he just want to vent out his anger? Maybe Martyn wants him to continue to make a fool of himself to he can ridicule him more. He won't give him that satisfaction. Even if it pains him not to cry about how much Ren meant to him, what he would've done for them, and how that makes the fact he can't do this so much worse.
Martyn stares him down for a good few long seconds before easing back, letting go of Impulse. His hips hurt where his hands were. “We are going to give our husband a grave. You can either turn up and show Ren you give one single fuck about them, or you can go back to The Rejects.”
Impulse flinches, like he's been caught. He hasn't. He's a grown man, he's allowed to join whatever team he wants now that his is gone.
“I mean, I knew you wouldn't stay on your own for the rest of the season, but I thought you might actually stay with us.” Martyn says. Is that seriously—?
“Oh, come on, you only wanted to team with us because of Ren,” Impulse accuses, and Martyn turns to face him, expression... decidedly upset. In the corner of his eye, he can see Cleo sit up. “You only married me because you had to.”
Martyn laughs. Laughs. “Are you joking? Do you— I—” Martyn rakes his hands through his hair, far more frustrated than he was before. “You think I've been kissing you for— what? No reason? For fun?”
Truthfully? He never thought about it. Probably just assumed Martyn was doing it out of committal to some kind of roleplay; even if he'd acted like he meant it. He's convinced himself Martyn and Cleo only cared about being with Ren, that really, deep down, he wasn't actually apart of the polycule.
“You don't want me,” Nobody should. He'll only drag his teammates down, and the evidence lays in this pyramid. It's for the better he leaves Martyn and Cleo alone, because they'll be dead next session if they get too close to him. “The Rejects—”
“The Rejects!” Martyn cuts him off. “They tried to kill you! Cleo! Me! You know that wasn't a bloody accident,” maybe that'd be for the better. If Impulse had never planted that bamboo then Martyn would be happier, even if he was dead. He'd die right after Ren, just like— “What do they have that we don't?!”
Nothing, really. They're worse teammates to have than Martyn and Cleo, probably. Maybe that's why it feels easier to let himself destroy them. “Why are you so upset about this?” Impulse hisses. “Cleo isn't!” He glances to them, and they're curled over themself, staring at Impulse with a gaze so sad.
“Of course I am,” they respond, far quieter than Martyn's yells. “I really wanted you to come and stay with us, Impulse. We made plans.” He really... doesn't think he's ever heard Cleo sound so downtrodden.
“Don't act like you weren't going to ditch me the second Martyn died.” Impulse accuses, because all he ever does is make things worse. Cleo reacts like they've been hit.
“We said we were going to join Cabincore together once our reds died. If Martyn died instead of Ren, I would've come to live with you here.” Cleo says, only a little louder. More offended. Martyn shifts in discomfort in front of him every time they mention him dying.
What's Impulse meant to say to that? He has nothing, so he says nothing. He curls over himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He's so terrible.
After a long period of silence, Martyn scoffs. “I guess that's what I get for thinking I could trust you this time.” It stings like reopening a wound; because that's what it is, isn't it? He's sticking a hot poker into a wound that's been festering for years.
Impulse wants to defend himself, say Martyn's ridiculous for not getting over him killing him all that time ago, that Martyn already got his due justice for that and needs to let it go. But he can't. Martyn deserves to be able to hate him.
He actually feels nauseous. He's so desperately in need of comfort, but he doesn't have any teammates left to hold him and he's undoubtedly ruined any amount of affection Martyn and Cleo held for him. It'd be sick to ask Martyn to be a shoulder to cry on when Impulse is the one that ruined them.
The only thing he has now is The Rejects, and when he goes to them, all he'll be able to think about is how he left Martyn and Cleo for them. How he's such a horrible partner. If Martyn wanted to kill Impulse now, four times, so that he's gone and dead, he'd be well within his rights. Impulse'd probably just sit there and take it, because he's useless.
Martyn won't do that, though. Even though he's red. Because he's just so delicate with Impulse. Kissed him with so much care, like he thought any sudden movements would make Impulse bolt like a scared deer. When the bloodlust got bad he'd always avoid Impulse (and Cleo) so there'd be no chance of him accidentally hurting them.
His reputation isn't accurate. Maybe once Martyn would've turned the blade on his allies at the first opportunity, but he isn't like that now. Even when Impulse knows Martyn's so angry with him, that they're probably not even allies anymore. Martyn holds back. Because he still cares about him.
“Are— are we getting a divorce?” Impulse squeaks. It's probably a stupid question. Of course they are.
Martyn chuckles, but it's sour. “Are you going to choose us over The Rejects?”
Impulse could whimper. “... I don't know. I don't want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” There's something unsaid about how Impulse has already hurt him.
“I'm bad luck, if I'm on your team you'll both just die.”
“... Is that what you're worried about?” Martyn crouches down, places a hand on Impulse's knee. Oh, void, he isn't even angry anymore. Impulse has guilt tripped him, or something, he's so manipulative— “Mate, I've accepted that I'm gonna die soon. I almost died today like, three times.”
Impulse can't meet his eyes. Cleo's come over, too. They aren't crouching like Martyn, but they've got a hand on Impulse's shoulder. Both of their touches are so comforting. He doesn't deserve it.
“We'd both die for you, Impulse,” Cleo supplies, and it makes his heart twist. “We've both won before, we don't need to win again. We want you to make it to the end.” Oh, void.
“Yeah, I mean, I've only really being trying to kill people who could do well in the finale,” Martyn confesses, changing his position so he's sitting in the dirt rather than crouching. His head rests on Impulse's leg. Distantly, Impulse has the thought of petting him. “I want to make things easier for you.”
It's so sweet, it's a shame Martyn's wasting it on him.
Martyn sighs. “If you want to go live with The Rejects, we can't stop you. Won't do anything about it,” He stands up, hoists Impulse up to his own feet. A mirror. “Just... we want you. Not just as our teammate.”
Why?
Martyn pulls him into a hug, and he can feel Cleo's arms wrap around his back, too. Impulse feels the need to squirm away, even if this comfort is what he's been wanting since Ren died (since Tango died).
“Please come to the funeral?” Martyn asks as he pulls back, holds Impulse's hand in his. “You don't have to do anything, just be there. The session's over, so it won't be trapped. We're not inviting anyone except you, anyways.”
Impulse stares at the floor. He instinctively wants to say no, continue to block himself off from it all, but... Martyn looks at him so sweetly. He's sure if Cleo weren't behind him she'd be giving him the same look. “Please?” Martyn begs and— fine.
“Okay,” Impulse agrees, and his voice is shaky. Not surprising, he really needs to cry, but he's holding that in for the ceremony. “Can I um— Can I stay with you both, just tonight?”
He doesn't want to spend the night all alone in this stupid pyramid, and he wants to stay with people he barely trusts and have to choke back his feelings as to not be a party-killer (there will be a party. Jimmy's gotten four kills today) even less.
“Of course you can,” Cleo says. Neither of them seem to take his question as confirmation he won't be staying forever (is it? He doesn't know), or if they do they don't mention it. “Come on, pack a bag, we'll hold it over at our base.”