Chapter Text
Ren was going to the biggest Hermitcraft and friends meetup in recent years, yet it couldn’t have more of an unromantic prologue.
Going to America required a flight. And taking a flight required going through the bustling, dreary hell that was Heathrow Airport.
At least Ren wasn’t alone this time. And he certainly wouldn’t be alone when they arrived at Michigan.
Ren and his companions were at the airport waiting for their friends. The British hermits had decided to take the same plane. To be more accurate, the UK residents had decided to take the same plane, because Ren was South African. So now Ren was standing with Jimmy, Zedaph, and False. In Ren’s mind, he stuck out like a sore thumb, because he was old. He was sure no one else cared, but it was something he was self conscious about.
“Grian says he’s coming in five minutes,” Jimmy announced. “Martyn’s with him.”
“Nice,” Ren said automatically. His palms started sweating for some reason.
Had Ren met Martyn after Grian’s wedding? Probably not. And they hadn’t spoken since the Real Life recording session, which was an April Fool’s joke. To be honest, the recording session wasn’t that long ago, but with the chaos of preparing for the charity event, it felt like an era had passed. Prior to Real Life, the last time they spoke was the Decked Out stream last year in which they had a fabulous time roleplaying as demons. Ren knew he’d missed quite a few Life series and he wasn’t playing in MCC anymore, so he was grateful whenever he and Martyn had the chance to talk. Even if it was absolute twaddle. Especially if it was absolute twaddle.
Martyn’s unreplied DMs sat like heavy stones in his pocket. The red notification taunted him, haunted him. Ren knew he was horrible at replying to messages (his fellow hermits could testify), but he was especially bad when it came to Martyn. Ren didn’t know why he was avoiding Martyn like the plague, consciously or not. He enjoyed Martyn’s company immensely, maybe too much. Maybe he didn’t want to scare Martyn away with his theatrics even though Martyn was the only person who could match his unhinged energy.
Martyn was one of Ren’s favourite people that he’d met in the past few years. Martyn was weird in the way he was, and maybe Ren’s jokes didn’t always land, but it didn’t matter when Martyn was around. Bouncing back and forth with him was effortless and playful. Martyn was someone Ren could be foolish with.
And maybe Ren was so scared of acting foolish that he tried not to see the opportunities laid out in front of him. Martyn had messaged him a lot, and Ren would always feel a wave of anxiety and giddy delight whenever he tried to reply. Somehow, it felt a little too much for him— an old man with a brittle heart.
The Decked Out stream had pushed his role playing to its limit. Ren’s voice hurt from speaking into a cup, but it was all worth it. Maybe the flames were too hot, the atmosphere too electric, and hence it had melted away all of Ren’s restraints and self consciousness.
“You have very fine lips and a wonderful neck for kissing.” “These flames sparkle in your eyes, you’ve never looked more magnificent.”
Heat pooled in Ren’s stomach when he recalled all of those lines he’d said. It had been instinctive. Whenever he got in too deep with Martyn, he would lose all filter and self control. Martyn always had that effect on him. Ren remembered the cloying sweetness in his throat that would rise every time he spoke to Martyn. The adrenaline rush of roleplaying with a like-minded person was dizzying and almost sickening with how intense Ren got into it.
“... feeling ill,” Jimmy was saying.
Huh. Wait. Was someone unwell?
“What did you say?”
“Martyn’s still sick. He’s coughing.”
“I’ve got some cold medicine on me, if that helps,” False said.
Ren’s heart sank on Martyn’s behalf. “Damn. And we need to do a lot of talking too. Really hope he feels better soon.”
“Martyn was the host last charity stream, wasn’t he?” Zed asked.
“Yeah, Martyn did a wonderful job.” Ren absentmindedly glanced around.
Jimmy was on his phone. “Yup, False, Martyn says he might have to borrow some of your medicine.”
“No worries.”
Anxiety on Martyn’s behalf bubbled up in Ren’s chest. It was terrible luck, especially because they had to take a flight and deal with jet lag. Ren was aware he didn’t know Martyn as well as some of his friends, but he was already promising himself to look after and take care of Martyn.
The four of them stood in their circle a little awkwardly. The caffeine was yet to set in, and Ren didn’t want to sour the mood by talking about twaddle. At that moment, Jimmy’s eyes lit up and he waved.
“Guys!”
Ren turned around.
And ah. Because there he was.
Martyn. In all of his glory.
And Grian too, of course. A flurry of “hello”s and hugs were exchanged. Ren didn’t know why, but he was feeling out of place again. Maybe it was because he was still the oldest of the group, which was funny considering False had been around the longest in Hermitcraft.
Martyn was probably the second oldest? Ren looked at him again, making his mind get used to seeing Martyn the man in real life instead of his Minecraft avatar. He noticed the shapes and curves that made up Martyn: the glasses, the blond hair, the hoodie he was wearing, the glint of a wedding ring on his finger. They’d met at Grian’s wedding, but they didn’t really know each other then. It was Third Life that had broken the ice. And now, three years later, after Martyn’s persistent messaging and Ren’s even more persistent ghosting, they met again.
What if Martyn didn’t like him in real life? Because Ren didn’t reply to his messages? Because Ren felt too shy to ever initiate anything? Because Ren missed Martyn so intensely that it felt too real and vulnerable, and he had to bolt towards the opposite direction?
Martyn looked up and made eye contact with Ren. Despite everything, Ren couldn’t help but beam, his excitement spilling from his heart, overshadowing whatever anxiety he might have had earlier. “Hello, Martyn.”
Martyn’s beautiful blue eyes lit up. “Ren Diggity Dog!” he called out joyfully. “Even more handsome in real life.” He coughed. “Blast.”
“You’re welcome to take my medicine,” False said. “I bought it just in case.”
Ren’s mind was running around like a speeding train for no reason, so naturally he had to latch onto something. (But at least Martyn seemed happy to see him.) “Falsie, you’re always so prepared.”
“I have to when dealing with the hermits,” False drawled. She paused. “And friends.”
“Thanks for remembering I exist, False,” Jimmy snarked.
Grian raised his hands. “Okay, okay, just so we’re clear— we’re still using in-game names, right? Except for the obvious two.” He glanced at Jimmy. “Or not. Still gonna call you Timmy.”
False, Ren, and Zed exchanged glances. “I mean, it’s what we’re used to?” False said hesitantly.
“You guys can call me Kris if Zed is too weird,” Zed offered.
Ren felt a shudder down his spine. Suddenly everything felt too real once again. “Nah, you’re Zed to me, brother. Also, Grian, I am not calling you anything but Grian. It sounds like a real name anyway.”
“Oh yeah, go for it, Ren. Don’t give me flashbacks to when my wife called me Grian.” Grian gave an exaggerated shiver. “Horrendous.”
Everyone laughed. “Well, at least I don’t have that problem,” Martyn declared. “Neither do Joel and Lizzie, now I think of it.”
“Is anyone gonna discuss we might have to yell out ‘Rendog’ in the middle of a busy airport?” Jimmy said, and Ren leapt to attention at his name.
“Oh my goodness. They would think we lost our dog or something,” False said, because she always had to roast him.
Ren shrugged. “Just cut away the ‘dog’, my dudes. Or do whatever you want. Ren’s part of my full name anyway.”
Martyn chuckled. Ren couldn’t help but notice how Martyn’s laughter sounded warmer and fuller in real life even if he was ill. “If you remove the Diggity Dog from him, what’s gonna be left?”
Ren exhaled. “No Diggity and no dignity too.”
“You said it Ren, not us,” Grian teased him.
“Maybe you’ll find some dignity in America,” False mumbled. “Okay, that came out mean.”
“I expected that from you, it’s fine.”
“Speaking of America—” Grian gestured for the group to huddle close. They stood in silence for a moment, anticipation hanging in the air. “I think we might go a little wild there. So, what happens in America,” Grian declared, “stays in America.”
“Cheers to that!” Jimmy cried out, and everyone joined in.
“My dude, you’re acting like we’re going clubbing and getting mad drunk over there,” Ren marvelled.
Martyn stepped up next to Ren, and Ren couldn’t help but notice the details about him again— Martyn’s height in relation to him, the bit of stubble on his chin, how the liveliness in his eyes was the same that he felt through a screen.
“Who says we can’t do that, Ren?”
Ren chuckled. “You always get me, Martyn.” It felt nice saying Martyn’s name out loud. It felt nice saying his name to his face.
Martyn laughed again and patted Ren’s shoulder. Ren was wearing a jacket, but he could feel the pressure on his skin. The warmth and imprint of Martyn’s hand lingered after it was long gone.
… Ren couldn’t help but be reminded of how Martyn was his Hand in-game. It had started out as silly roleplay, but it ended up defining both of their characters in the Life series. The fans seemed to think that way, anyway.
Maybe Ren was spacing out for a bit, because Grian came up to him and asked, “How’re you feeling, Ren?”
Ren glanced at his friend. Maybe Ren was just used to seeing Grian, but he strangely suited his Minecraft skin. It didn’t feel as jarring as Martyn (although Martyn still suited his skin). Ren didn’t have to situate Grian in his real, material world like he had to with Martyn.
“I’m so hyped up, man. It’s been so long since we all met up.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m just checking in with everyone. It’s definitely going to be memorable.”
Grian was the type of guy to bring together people whether it was online or offline. He had that kind of practical charisma and concern for his friends. Ren was sure he’d heard jokes of “manager Grian” floating around. He didn’t remember where it came from, but it was definitely true.
The group chatted as they dragged their luggage to the check-in counters. Ren could hear Grian and Jimmy compare passport photos, and he shuddered once again. Okay, now that was definitely too real.
Somehow Ren ended up next to Martyn during security. They placed their bags in the trays provided. In the tight space, Martyn’s hand, with the wedding ring, carelessly brushed past Ren’s.
… Right. Martyn was married. Because he was a man in real life with a wife and kids. He wasn’t just some image or character that he saw through his screen, wasn’t just a voice that brightened his days and made him smile no matter what.
When Ren walked through the scanner, he was hit by an abrupt bout of insecurity, like the machine would beep and uncover some nefarious, dangerous secret Ren didn’t even know he was carrying. But nothing happened, and Ren passed through security uneventfully.
Martyn was waiting for him. Despite his visible tiredness, he gave Ren a smile. Always so kind, always so lovely, that Martyn.
“Let’s go, Ren.”
(It was nice meeting up with friends, even if it was someone he’d barely spoken to for the past two years or so.)
For the first time that day, Ren allowed himself to relax. He let the contentedness of meeting his friends cover his anxiety like a soothing balm to a burning wound.
“Yep, let’s.”