Chapter Text
“Martyn,” says Ren, “I want to get married.”
There’s not much peace in a well-built base like this one, but Ren doesn’t mind. Cows’ lowing, their new lake’s gentle susurration; the whistle of the wind in the crisp late autumn air reminds him that the cold is coming, as it seems to love to do when they’re together. In the absence of the burnt-down towers, they’ve made beds in the space beneath the central mound, which is a familiar comfort.
Ren has pulled himself in as close as it’s physically possible for him to get. This night has been a long time coming.
“Yeah?” says Martyn, softy, tenderly.
“Yeah, dude.” Ren thinks of early days, of a house on stilts and easy affection. “Since it came up, you know. In the quizzes.”
“What, you jealous of Timmy and Scott?”
“Well… yeah, a little,” he shrugs. “Y’know, it’s like… we coulda had that this whole time.”
“Marriage?”
“The pledge. Commitment. Domesticity.”
Martyn snorts. “Yeah, loads of time to be a happy housewife in the death games. And if you forgot, I’ve sworn my allegiance to you, like, four or five different times now.”
“That’s overselling it,” says Ren. “You know what I mean.”
He makes a little face. “Yeah, I do.”
It won’t change anything; it would just be nice, is all. As much as Martyn’s right - as much as they will die soon, and they both know it - it would be nice to die with a ring on his finger, y’know?
“Honestly surprised it’s never come up before,” says Martyn. “You seem like the type. You’re all lovey-dovey and that. Hopeless romantic.”
“Am I?”
“Dude, you’ve recited Shakespearean sonnets to me before. That’s almost too romantic, I might get scared and run off.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” Ren has done that, admittedly. And he’s been thinking about good ideas to serenade him. And he’s been carrying Martyn’s junk all day and trying to aid him in his frag endeavours, which is perhaps more of Martyn’s romantic speed.
“Yeah, you got me.”
They sit in silence for a moment. Ren relishes the warmth of Martyn’s body. It’s always a little out of reach in the day, when wild cards keep them busy rushing round the server and talking to everyone else; there’s rarely time for intimacy before time-out is called between sessions. Now, though, they are allowed their moment of peace and quiet. There’s no substitute for that. The ring will just be a reminder of the real treasure.
“Alright, then,” Martyn says. “You get me a diamond, get down on one knee, I’ll swoon and give you a lil’ smooch and we’ll have a little ceremony on, uh… Where would you wanna get married?”
Ren hums. “Good question. Not somewhere we’re gonna get interrupted. Do you think we could get away with going up on the mountain?”
“With the Bamboozlers?”
“Yeah! Pretty cherry blossoms, that’s romantic; nice aerial view?”
“Timmy could be best man,” Martyn agrees, “I think he’d try and kill me if I thought about asking anyone else, to be fair.”
“Maybe I’ll ask Lizzie to be maid of honour, then.”
“Right, ‘cause of your Shadow Fort stuff?”
“Oh, yes, that would make sense. I just thought she’d like to be involved. And Scar can be the ringbearer.”
“Or the flower man, yeah.”
“And we’ll get some snazzy suits, unless you wanna wear a dress?”
“Not massively,” Martyn chuckles.
“And a little flower arch, and Scott’s ordained, I’m sure he’d be okay to do the honours, and -”
“You’ve really got this all planned out, haven’t you?”
Ren looks up. Inches from his nose, Martyn’s eyes meet his.
There’s this terrible fondness in it that sort of makes Ren feel bad for getting Martyn so attached. He’s never meaningfully outlived Martyn before, is the thing - Martyn’s always the guy who ends up going without Ren for days or for seasons on end. Martyn’s always the one who has to sit in his loneliness while Ren’s blissfully oblivious back on Hermitcraft. (Ren doesn’t even know where Martyn goes when he goes; he’s never been able to get a straight answer.) If Ren leaves Martyn a widow - if he doesn’t come back next time, like last time - he might not be able to forgive himself.
But at the same time… is he not entitled to a taste of the happiness that they can’t have forever on the outside? Ought not a dog be able to look his boyfriend in the eye, surrounded by beautiful fluttering cherry blossom petals and parrot statues, and say I do? Selfish though it may be, he just… listen, he just wants one day where they promise each other eternity. It doesn’t even have to be true.
Martyn’s impromptu staring contest breaks into a grin. “What, what’re you staring at!”
“You,” Ren smiles right back. “Your beautiful face.”
“Well, that’s a funny coincidence, because I was just thinking the same thing. You’re so cute. Let’s get married.”
“Martyn, my dude, nothing on this earth would make me happier.”
He dreams about it, fractured thoughts of vows and smiles and rings playing through his head through the night. He dreams of a quieter life where they sit on a bench in a tree-lined park, where they drink coffee and split cake, where they cook dinner with one’s arms around the other’s waist. It’s all so far removed from anything they’ve ever done together, but it makes his heart ache with the wanting of it. Peace and quiet. No killing. A simple life.
That’s what Renchanting could have been, in another life, he reckons. Without the constraints of the world in which they’ve found each other - in a place like Hermitcraft, where rules are meant to be followed - they could have been insufferably domestic.
But in the morning, there’s another wild card, and there’s traps to lay and wardens to kill and accidental Skizzes to shoot, and the whole idea sort of gets lost in the kerfuffle, and then the next session rolls around and they’re having fun playing with their superpowers and conducting espionage together and then Martyn’s dead,
and it takes him a second to realise,
because he’s wearing Martyn’s face and people get a bit confused,
but that’s their chances flying out the window, there, watch them hit the ground below and splatter.
Just like him, a couple minutes later.
Ren sleeps on top of naked hands on a bed in a bunker without anyone to hold against his chest. Next time, he tries to tell himself. Himself doesn’t seem to believe it.
(It’s okay. It’s alright. Martyn’s close, now, closer than physically possible, wrapped all the way around his heart and his lungs and his Loop of Henle, woven through his messed-up DNA.
Ren won’t let go of him. Ren won’t outlive him. Better to be half himself than without Martyn.)