#relgnira

Occasionally I forgot that they were meant to look bad, sorry about that. There's a possibility that the person I drew didn't draw their pfp themselves, so I hope none of the original artists will get too angry with me. Also I did Airyal's sideblog picture too because the other one turned out too bad. If anyone wants their picture better cropped and without the blog title getting in the way just say and I can send it to you!!

He looks older—not aged, because it hadn’t been that long since he’d seen the man. Maybe a few years, but it was like time and stress had taken chisels to his features, made them tired and shadowy and strong. He follows the scar down his cheek, the hints of what he could see under the collar of his shirt geometric and pale. It’s still him—Ren knows this, that Martyn hadn’t magically become someone new in the moments they’d been away, that all his careless devotion came spilling out the moment the two of them actually met, but he guarded something in his chest like it would wither away if he didn’t. That’s what Ren felt was so different. Or maybe it wasn’t different at all, and he had just been allowed to see the soft inside of Martyn for a moment longer than others.

He feels a bit like he’s seeing it now, watching the fire in his eyes, and watching Martyn watch the sky.

“Is it working?” Martyn says suddenly. Ren startles, realizing that he’d been chewing on the pad of his thumb. He furrows his eyebrows

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re staring at me like you’re trying to read my mind,” Martyn says, offering somewhat of a lopsided smile as he lowers his eyes to look at Ren directly. Ren feels his shoulders soften and round. “Is it working?”

He snorts.

“Not quite,” he jokes, grinning, mouth full of sharp canines and dog-like teeth. Martyn’s smile widens just a fraction. 

“Well I bet you’re wonderin’ why nobody wants to work with me,” he replies, folding his arms. His voice is still light and playful, edging on indignant laughter. Ren rolls his eyes, mostly out of habit, and waves one hand.

“Not in the slightest,” he teases back. “You’ve clearly got no skill for mind reading, Martyn.”

“Hm,” Martyn hums, shrugging. “Some would say otherwise. What’re you thinkin’ about then?”

Ren waffles for a moment, not audibly, but he shrugs his shoulders and feels some warmth flood to his face. If he were to describe the relationship he and Martyn had with each other, it might be something like binary suns, or vines, or equally orbiting asteroids, a system of mutually assured destruction, but of two things that were unable to shake the other. Even as faded as it was, Ren could see the stripe of the banner at Martyn’s waist. He decides he wants to be truthful, at least right now.

“I was thinking’ about how long it had been since we’d been on the same team,” he says. “I’ve missed it.”

Martyn hums. His gaze goes far away for a moment as he drags his eyes back to the fire.

“Me too,” he says, much more gentle than Ren thinks he intends. Ren smiles despite himself. He can tell something lingers behind Martyn’s eyes, but he wants to let him breathe through it on his own. For now, he settles with having him at arm's length for now. He can have him in his arms later.