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The clock ticked over to eleven in the evening, and Tango was a heavy sigh away from calling it a night. The remote to the tv sat lazily in his hand as he skipped through various shows and movies. None of them quite piqued his interest.
He nearly skipped his phone as it rang on the coffee table by his kicked up feet. The phone vibrating on the glass made a weird noise. He fought the urge to push it off and onto the floor with his foot. He didn’t though, his eyes falling on the caller ID.
Why on earth would Jimmy be calling him?
With a grunt and a crack of his spine after sitting in the same, messed up position for multiple hours, he reached for his phone. It wasn’t a video call, thank goodness. He dragged the bar to the right to answer and put the phone on speaker before leaning back into his previous position.
“Tango here. What’s up?” he said, voice betraying his boredom easily.
At first, there was nothing but shaky breathing. A frown made him look down at the phone but a voice rang out before he could ask. “Tango?”
“Jim? What’s going on?” Subconsciously he’d sat up and stared at the boring icons on the screen. He worried the edge of his phone case with his thumb. Both out of curiosity and worry, he waited impatiently for the reply.
“I- Tango, I don’t-” Jimmy paused and for a moment he heard nothing. “I don't know what to do. I don’t know where to go.” His voice was hushed and full of panic. It made him bite his lip and start to bounce his leg up and down.
“What happened? Are you okay?” The question of where he was burnt at his tongue. It was better to answer the other questions first.
Jimmy made a noise that sounded like something between a whimper and a sound of protest. “I- I don’t know what happened. I think I’m fine.”
Tango didn’t like the way he phrased that, not one bit. He grimaced through the anxiety swirling in his stomach. “Jimmy, what do you mean?”
Jimmy sobbed through the phone. “Tango, I don’t know where to go. I- I don’t want to go to jail. I don’t know what happened. It just- I didn’t do anything, I swear! Can you please let me in? I don’t know where else to go.”
His head shot up to the front door when someone knocked onto it. Quietly, and only twice, but he definitely hadn’t misheard it.
He shot onto his feet. Phone forgotten by the couch, he ran to the door and opened it. He was instantly greeted by the sight of his friend. Jimmy looked about as helpless and scared as he sounded on the phone, maybe even worse. Well, definitely worse. Tango couldn’t help but freeze and hold onto the handle as he looked over him.
Jimmy was coated from top to bottom in what he could only guess was blood. It had completely ruined his white shirt, discoloured his hair and the blood on his skin made his face pale as bone in comparison.
“Oh- oh God ,” was all he could manage. After that, his body worked on autopilot. Without even thinking about it he pulled Jimmy inside and shut the door as silently as he could. He locked it for good measure and moved to pull all his curtains closed.
Meanwhile, Jimmy just stood in the living room, not quite dripping blood but definitely looking like a kitten left out in the rain. He was shaking too. When he noticed Jimmy wasn’t wearing a sweater or even a vest — it was near winter, what on earth was he thinking? — he grabbed the first hoodie he could find.
“Are you- are you hurt?” He couldn’t help the stumbling of his words. Everything was just one big shock.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he quietly replied. His arms wrapped around himself in a shaky hug and Tango had to remind himself no one would’ve been able to walk all the way to his place if they’d lost that much blood. Unless they were incredibly close by, which was … unlikely. Jimmy didn’t live close to him in the slightest.
He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. They needed to get rid of the blood. “Right, uhm. You should probably take a shower and get rid of all the uh … yeah.”
Jimmy nodded quickly, shoulders sagging in relief with the promise of a shower.
He showed his friend to the bathroom and left a pair of warm clothes. The door didn’t lock behind him when he walked back to the living room. The screen of his phone lit up with a few messages. Instead of looking at or even replying to them, he turned on his heel and marched into the kitchen.
Only then did the situation catch up to him. Jimmy was covered in blood. Blood that wasn’t his own. That could mean two things: either he hurt someone, or he killed someone. Tango didn’t know which he preferred. With the amount of blood, the answer leaned towards the latter.
He spent a good ten minutes mulling away at the food he could find the quickest. Which meant a pack of dry crackers and a glass of water. Then the shower turned off. The noise pulled him back to reality from his spiral of thoughts. He shook his head, Jimmy would explain things to him.
He heard the door open, but Jimmy didn’t get out of the bathroom. “Tango?” he called out.
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and put the packet of crackers on the counter — he’d only eaten two of them. “Yeah?” He walked to the bathroom almost hesitantly.
Why the hesitance? He wasn’t scared of him. He could never be scared of him. It was Jimmy, for goodness sake.
The door had been left ajar and Tango gently knocked before pushing it open further. Jimmy stood in the middle of the bathroom, towel around his waist and arms hugged around his stomach. Although the rest of him had been dried, his hair was still dripping water onto his face.
No, it wasn’t. They were tears. He sniffed, looked away and hunched his shoulders. “I- I’m sorry. I know you probably want me gone and all …”
Tango shut the door behind him to keep the warmth inside the bathroom. “Oh Jim, that’s not true. What’s wrong?” He didn’t know whether to approach and comfort him or to give him space.
But Jimmy shook his head and finally revealed his hands. Tango hadn’t even seen them, they had been tucked away and hidden under his arms. “I can’t- I can’t get it off-” a sob interrupted his sentence. He scrubbed his thumb over a blood-coated hand but it didn’t help.
Whatever it had been, Jimmy probably had a good reason. And while that thought scared him, he knew Jimmy better than most of their friends. He would believe him in what he’d say.
“Come here,” he muttered. He grabbed him by the arm, careful not to hurt him or touch the blood, and led him to the sink. It took a second or five before the water turned warm, but he took some soap and gently started scrubbing at the skin. “Can you tell me what happened?”
His fingers twitched. Jimmy didn’t pull away. “I don’t know,” he whispered and more tears gathered in his eyes. “I was- I was at home and then I wasn’t. But … I don’t know what happened. There was suddenly just blood everywhere and I didn't know how and what to do.”
He nodded along, humming. Slowly but surely he managed to get rid of the blood. His sink had become red with discoloured water and by then his own hands had started to shake a little too.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out, okay?” He looked over to see Jimmy struggle to stay upright. All the fear and stress must’ve been exhausting. His eyes blinked away the remaining tears but the underlying tiredness was clearly visible. Just looking at him made Tango want to wrap him in a blanket and then a hug and make sure nothing could ever hurt him again. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Jimmy nodded absentmindedly. He leaned his head against Tango’s shoulder, eyelids drooping. It wouldn’t take long before he’d fall asleep standing.
So he hurried while still being as careful as he could and washed his hands until he was satisfied. He led Jimmy to his bedroom and tucked him in. He was fine with the couch for the night — he’d slept on the couch for much, much lazier reasons.
He left the package of crackers open in the kitchen and dropped straight onto the couch. Maybe, if he wished really hard, this was all a dream. A really weird and concerning dream.
What did he get himself into? Even worse, what did Jimmy get himself into?