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There are times on the Red Sprite, on the field, when Jimenez greets Tadano with a bump of shoulders and a cocky smile before even saying it.
Nonchalant and familiar, “Yo,” or “Hey,” or sometimes just getting straight to the point- a conversation about morale, how they’re feeling, and things they want to do when they get back home.
Sometimes Tadano doesn’t want to hear it, pumped with adrenaline and feeling more like a demon than a human, feeling angry- angry that this was life and that no matter how much he didn’t want to be here, he had no choice. He doesn’t want to hear or speak of things about a place he can’t return to, most likely would never return to again.
But he can’t complain because it seemed, sometimes, that these conversations were the only things keeping him sane. Remembering what they have, what they’re fighting for makes him cherish his human skin. His human mind, his human body. Makes him cherish his human comrades and at points, he almost can’t help but consider everyone on Red Sprite like family.
And Jimenez, Jimenez who refused to shake his hand when they first met, felt closer to Tadano than any family or friend he’d had. It was strange, Tadano sometimes thought, how much Jimenez would hide behind hurtfully blunt words. How Jimenez would pretend as if it didn’t bother him, the way the rest of Red Sprite saw him. But it did.
Tadano knew it was about death because it hurt to see ones he considered family strewn across the sectors. Corpses. He returned to them often, even after submitting their reports, to remember. To pay respect to those they did not bury.
He cherished his humanity, but it didn’t mean he had to believe humanity was invincible. Because if humanity was, the Strike Team wouldn’t have lost so many. If it was, Jimenez would be the most invincible of them all, because he wouldn’t be scared.
Scared to be selfless, scared of losing people he’d cared for. So afraid of losing people that he’d refused to let himself care for anyone at all.
(Tadano wouldn’t say anything about how Jimenez just naturally trusted and was trusted more than he thought. The rest of Red Sprite might not get along with him, but they depended on him as much as they depended on the rest of Strike Team. Tadano was worried Jimenez would try harder to push everyone away.)
Except, with Bugaboo, with Tadano himself, Jimenez was softer. Warmer. Still rough around the edges, it was a part of who he was, but Jimenez was himself the most when it was just them. Because when it was just them, that was when Jimenez would bump his shoulder with Tadano’s and smile.
So when Jimenez was alone, when he looked like he felt alone, Tadano would nudge him to remind him.
“Yo,” Tadano tried to say sometimes. He’d feel his cheeks heat up when Jimenez would snicker because ‘yo’ was not Tadano’s thing, but that was fine, as long as making Jimenez feel less alone was.
Because Jimenez did the same for him all the time. With a smile and a bump of shoulders and conversations that’d feel like a sanctuary compared to the stress of fighting every day.
(And if it was also Tadano’s thing to wonder if kissing Jimenez would feel scratchy because of that goatee, then he’d keep it his secret thing forever.)