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“You really wanna know a secret?”
Tango and Scott are laying on Scott’s silky, teal bed, heads turned to face each other. Tango’s flame hair slightly flickers and dances, touching the soft fabric of the blanket, but it doesn’t go up in flames or even burn. His red tinted glasses feel slightly uncomfortable because of the position his face is in, but he doesn’t care all that much. What he does care about is how Scott shoots him a smile (which makes small fireflies start to stir up in his stomach) and nods.
Tango stifles a sigh, settling for exhaling through his nose. “Alrighty then,” he says, pausing for a few seconds before jumping into the story, “So, y’know how Jimmy is in that wheelchair?”
Scott purses his lips thoughtfully. “You mean that blonde one?”
“Mhmmmm,” Tango nods in confirmation while fidgeting with his glasses. “That’s… kinda my fault.”
Scott raises his eyebrow stares at him with an expression that Tango can’t quite figureificate out. Slowly, the bluenette hums, prompting him to go on.
Tango takes a deep breath, guilt and fear starting to creep its way into his heart. Scott doesn’t think he’s some type of serial killer, right? “Yep, yeah, so uh, uhm— when I was young, like, really young, like when Jimmy was just a happy little baby an’ I didn’t have my non-burny-hairificator potions yet.” His hand subconsciously reaches up to touch his flame hair, which feels warm but not hot enough to burn or catch something on fire. “Which is the reason why, y’know, my hair doesn’t really affect anything else.”
Scott nods at him in understanding. Tango takes that as a sign to go on, “So… some kids were kinda making fun of me ‘n stuff. Calling me names and just really nasty things in general.” Tango slightly winces at the memory, wrapping his arms around himself. He can see just a smidge of guilt present on Scott’s frowning face. “I was honestly used to it, actually, but… y’know. Those kids took the extra mile. Not gonna lie, I got some of the same kinds of insults from you and your friends as those kids called me, and…” Scott’s frown deepened, lips parted out to say something before Tango quickly swoops in,” …b-but it’s not that bad! Like I said, I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Scott insists, wrapping his painted nails around Tango’s. Scott’s hands were icy cold, contradictory to Tango’s warm ones. That’s what having flame hair gets you, he supposes. Tango pretends that the simple action didn’t make the fireflies do somersaults in his gut and instead distracts himself by continuing the storytelling.
“R-Right… Anyways, those kids made me super mad ‘n stuff, and my hair, which wasn’t safe yet, kinda exploded with my temper.” Tango’s voice was lowered to a quiet, slightly whispery tone now, like a girl sharing gossip at a sleepover. “So, the house we were staying in, me and Jim, got burnified. And while I was tryna help Jimmy escape, one of the roof pieces kinda…”
“Landificated on top of him?” Scott finishes for him with a small, cheeky smile sneaking onto his face. Tango stares at him with wide eyes, surprised how Scott used his wordification. Usually, it would be to make fun of him, but this one felt more… lighthearted. Like an inside joke between friends.
Tango lets out an airy chuckle. “...Yeah. Landificated right onto his tiny lil baby legs.” He squeezes Scott’s clasped hands, shuddering at the memory. “And… yeah, that’s kinda it. He couldn’t walk after that. So… that’s why I said that it was my fault.”
He can still remember the blinding smell of smoke and the alarming sight of fire spreading throughout his house. He still remembers reaching out to his brother through the flames, crying at him to get out of the house. He remembers the ear-splitting crash of wood landing right behind him. He remembers the tears that blurred his vision as he used every last ounce of his strength to try and push the wooden plank off of his brother’s legs.
Ever since that day, his father was quick to make sure that this would never happen again. Of course his father blamed Tango— who wouldn’t? It was his fault that the house was engulfed in flames. It was his fault that he had fire hair. It was his fault that he was even born. His father searched everywhere for a sorcerer to get some sort of cure or medicine to fix Tango’s hair. Luckily, he had found a potion that wouldn’t get rid of the flames, but at least it would make it so that his fire didn’t affect anything. He drinks the potion every morning, if he forgets just one day, who knows who he would hurt next?
Luckily for him, Jimmy doesn’t blame him. Jimmy doesn’t have the heart to do that, anyways. Even though his little brother is stuck in a clunky wheelchair that he has to maneuver around with, Jimmy never once viewed him as a monster or the person that ruined his life. That doesn’t mean that he wasn’t eager to go to Shiz, though. A new life, Jimmy had said, a new beginning. A new group of people that won’t view him as the little brother of a terrorist. And now Tango has ruined the chances of that, like he always does.
Scott furrows his brows and lets out a noise of disbelief, which startles Tango out of his guilty thoughts. Scott shakes his head and sits up, “That wasn’t your fault, Tango.” He reaches down to cup Tango’s face (and oh wow the fireflies must be having a dance party down there), “It’s those kids’ fault. You did nothing but feel.” He pauses for a moment, eyes darting away. “And… I’m sorry for… well. Being rude to you.”
Tango sits up next to him and gently nudges him with his shoulder. “...That’s okay.” He offers Scott a reassuring smile. “I accept your apology.”
A flash of relief strikes through Scott’s facial features and his tense shoulders loosen up. “Thanks,” he whispers, leaning over to rest his head on Tango’s shoulder.
Tango freezes, and even his fire stops for just a millisecond before slightly flaming up and getting hotter. He fights the blush creeping up onto his face as he hears Scott hum in satisfaction. A giddy smile slices through Tango’s face, and he rests his head on top of Scott’s, the two of them eventually drifting into silence and slumber.