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Taako’s hair supplies, his makeup, his lotions and nail polish bottles and a million other things Magnus can’t understand, fill up the entire bathroom. He has three different shampoos in the shower, there’s never any hot water when anyone else needs it, and he’s always humming. The smell of flowers is drifting out from under the door. It’s just a part of life on the base; Merle fills his room with plants, Magnus sits in the common space making things, and Taako indulges his well-earned vanity. Everyone has to have hobbies.
Magnus barely even glances up as the bathroom door clicks open, clicks shut, and Taako takes the few steps to his bedroom, but he spares a second look. Taako’s hair, most recently a greenish blue that looked like the ocean, peeks cotton candy pink out of an elaborately folded towel. He hasn’t changed out of his fancy skirt, but his sweater looks old and worn in places. He meets Magnus’ eyes for a second, and his skirt swishes as he disappears into his room. It stirs up something in Magnus, something he’s been wondering since he first saw Taako.
Since that first day, with Taako in high boots, leggings under his skirt so he could still fight, Magnus has been wondering. It’s built up in the back of his brain, underneath the memories of how it felt to have a dress blowing against his knees in the wind, how it felt looking in the mirror and seeing himself but slightly to the left, slightly off. Taako’s obviously not caught up in all that. Taako doesn’t live with that divide of yes and no that Magnus doesn’t know how to break through, or how to live comfortably with.
He rests his knife gently over the scars on his knuckles, blade laying over old white scars cutting through dark skin.He’s marked like that for all the times he’s been a little dumb and run into something. It leaves the skin stronger, though. He’s covered in scars from head to toe, quite literally, so shouldn’t he be stronger by now?
There’s a noise from the other room, and he stands up. Sets the knife down, wipes his sweaty palms on his pants.
He knocks on the door with the back of his hand. “Hey, Taako, you got a minute?” With about three seconds of no answer, he takes the risk and opens it anyway.
Taako is sitting cross legged on the bed, which theoretically elves don’t need- now that’s another thing Magnus wants to know- combing out that mess of pink. It’s shocking, that’s for sure, and it’s going to clash with everything. It’s nice. It looks soft.
“Okay, I guess we’re talkin’ now,” Taako mutters, at the same moment Magnus blurts out “You look good.” Taako blinks at him, then shrugs, flicking some hair back over his shoulder.
“You come in here just to say that?”
“Kinda? I mean,” he shifts, “it’s sort of connected to that, if you wanna use that as a jumping off point? I was just thinking- you wear skirts. And stuff. And that’s fine! But.” All those careful words he’d thought of go out the window, that huge scary one under Taako’s rug, as Taako’s hands still and his eyes turn kinda steely.
“But what.”
Magnus has definitely messed this up, and the only way out is going to be in.
“But. I don’t know how you do it? Without feeling weird about it, or people looking at you, or something. It’s fine! But I don’t get it and it’s messing with my head, when you do it and I can’t understand it-”
“Okay,” Taako stops him. “Right off the bat we have a problem, there. This?” He gestures lazily at, just, all of himself, “isn’t for anybody to ‘get’. Or understand, cuz sometimes people do get with this, but, anyway, this? Not your business.”
Magnus nods, heat creeping up his cheeks, and starts to turn around, apology already halfway out his mouth..
“But,” Taako interrupts. Lot of buts in the past two minutes. “I’m gonna do you a solid here, because I think I know how you’re feeling about all-” he gestures at Magnus, this time, and that it’s doesn’t help the blush- “of that. Sit down,” he adds, and Magnus does. He looks up at Taako from the floor and waits for however this is gonna go.
He knows about Taako and he knows Taako knows about him. If not from the constant close proximity, then definitely from the worst elevator ride ever. And it’s fine. There’s an understanding, something built there that they don’t really talk about it, but Magnus figures it’s fine. He’s cool with himself, at least; he’s pretty proud of everything he’s got going on here, but there’s alway something lingering in the background. Just creeping around in there, whenever he looks at all those scars hidden under his armor, and then at how beautiful Taako is. He can’t read Taako’s expression right now, but he feels a little ashamed he’s even thinking about something as dumb as this.
For thinking that maybe he’s still a little rough around the edges, still put together slightly wrong. He’s still feeling a little scattered between parts of himself, and even though he knows who he is, he feels like there’s so many other versions of him he could have been, if only. If only he’d done this instead, if only he did that, if only he’d build himself up differently or if only he’d been different. He’s lost himself so many times and had to build himself back, and he’s turned out like this.
He doesn’t know why Taako doesn’t worry about this stuff. He knows Taako doesn’t. Taako only has to worry about saving the world, and how his eyeliner looks. Taako probably doesn’t give a shit about anything that anybody thinks, unless it’s a suggestion that he’s not at the top of his game, and Magnus needs to know how someone can fit into their own life so perfectly that there’s no room left over and nothing spilling out.
“Listen,” Taako says. “We all know I’m pretty great, and I’m gonna keep doing that, because that’s what I’m doing. And I look really hot, like, all of the time, and everybody’s just gotta be chill with that, because what’s the point in not digging this. Chasing my bliss, and whatnot. But, Mags,” and he touches the side of Magnus’ face very briefly, very lightly, “I know about imitation and flattery and all that, but damn you look good like this.” He smiles and pokes that same cheek. “Big manly man, all ready to rush in and protect my dainty ass.”
In the pit of his chest, Magnus can tell that this was a bad topic, and he regrets it. Taako’s eyes are still a little hard, and he’s lost that dazed and relaxed look that means things are good. Magnus wants to say sorry. He’s going to have to say sorry. He opens his mouth, and,
“Okay.” Taako straightens. “Tell me how you feel about some nice tough black nails.”
“Normally when your nails are black it means you messed them up and they’re gonna fall off,” Magnus notes, but he looks at his hands and considers it. The aborted conversational arc hangs in the air, and Magnus wraps it up like fantasy headphones, brings it back. And it’ll get tangled some time when he reaches for it, but right now it’s all right.
“That’s five times better,” Taako says. “Fifty times better, five million times better. Plus one on intimidation checks, now lemme at those paws.”
His hands are a lot tinier than Magnus’, and most of the time that’ll be all right.