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Zedaph had been coming to dinner with them for weeks now.
Impulse and Skizz didn’t like him, at first. Tango found a random, lone sheep hybrid on the street, near the end-of-times protesters. They fed into the stereotype of Zedaph and his ears and who he is being the centre of the Watchers, forever entwined like a string of fate that couldn’t be separated.
So it took time for them to warm up to him. Tango thinks they still don’t trust him, and won’t for some time, but that’s okay with him. They love him. They want to protect him with the force of a thousand suns, because all they have left is each other. With each day, the sky grows darker and fear grows stronger and Tango is afraid the world won’t be the only thing that ends. Their fear of him and his friends will only bring them pain.
Zedaph was a light in Tango’s life. Their stolen moments were what kept Tango going, their souls bleeding into each other until they were the same. They were binary stars, fated to orbit each other in every life since Time was created. When Earth was nothing but particles in space, they were orbiting.
“Tango,” Zedaph said, pulling Tango from his thoughts. “Will you pass me the towel?”
Tango never let him help with the cooking so Zedaph insisted on washing the dishes. Tango watched as he dried them, placing each plate and pan in its rightful spot. He could hear the murmur of the TV in the background.
“Solar astronomers have reported the sun is still growing dimmer,” the reporter said.
The second reporter, sitting next to her, chimed in. “Meteorologists are afraid of what this means for Earth. As most people know, Earth’s continued survival relies on the sun. What’s next for humanity?”
Tango shivered. Skizz turned the TV off and silence reigned in their small apartment.
“Enough of that,” Skizz said. His wings were puffed up, a sign that he was anxious but trying to hide it. Impulse laid his hand on Skizz’s shoulder, before moving back to settle on the top of his wings. Tango watched them comfort each other. He wished he could keep this memory forever, remember the taste of his pasta dinner and the humming of the heater in the background.
“You good?” Zedaph asked. His arms circled Tango’s waist as he rested his chin on his shoulder. Their height difference was comforting to Tango. He felt warm and safe, protected and loved.
“Yeah,” Tango replied. “Just- you know.”
Zedaph hummed and nuzzled into Tango’s neck.
At first, Tango wondered if they were moving too fast. He had only known Zedaph for a few weeks and they were already close. But they were intimate in ways beyond the tactile touch that accompanied most relationships. They were just them. Tango and Zedaph, together and separate. Tango exhaled slowly and finally felt the tension leave his shoulders.
Zedaph tugged him toward the couch and pushed him down in between Impulse and Skizz, while he sat on the floor in front of them. Tango felt a rush of affection for him, for Zedaph knowing what he needed. His blaze rods agreed as they whirled faster at his beaming smile.
“Hi,” Impulse said. His hand was his own once more, but he succeeded at calming Skizz down enough to relax his wings.
“Hello,” Tango replied.
“Hey! I’m here too,” Skizz said from behind Tango. He could hear the pout in his voice but when Tango turned to face him, there was only a small, fond smile. Something secret, just for them.
“Movie?” Tango asked.
When they turned the TV back on, Skizz rushed to change the channel before they could hear more of the news. “When those who failed the gods perish-” was cut off, but not before they heard it.
The movie Skizz put on was mindless, just something they could watch without focusing too much. Zedaph leaned back on Tango’s legs and warmth bloomed up his body from their point of contact.
Tango fell asleep halfway through the movie. Impulse woke him up when it ended so he could walk Zedaph to the door. He was firm in his insistence that Tango would stay with them tonight and Tango didn’t argue. They both needed the comfort.
At the door, Zedaph tugs Tango into a hug. “You’ll be okay tonight?”
“I always am.”
The words he doesn’t say sit between them. I have you. You give me strength to exist. It’s only been a few weeks, but I know the choreography of your heart better than I know my own. The way your blood pumps through your veins, the way your soul sings when I’m next to you is as familiar to me as breathing.
Zedaph sighed, a small gentle thing. The way his hand squeezed Tango’s own was as much of a reply as any words he could’ve spoken. I know, it said. You complete me. My binary star, the one I orbit. You are precious.
“Zedaph,” a voice from behind startled Tango. “Do you want to stay the night? It’s getting late.”
And the gratitude Tango felt for Impulse was immense. His best friend’s trust in Tango to know what’s right when it came to Zedaph spoke to their years of friendship. When Tango glanced at him, Impulse was watching their hands contemplatively.
“If you’ll have me, I’d appreciate it,” Zedaph’s smile was so bright Tango couldn’t look away. The flames on his head flared, lighting the hallway with a soft glow. Zedaph looked beautiful. Tango hoped his flames never went out, so he could see the way Zedaph’s eyes twinkled and his face softened every day for the rest of his life. “It’s a bit scary walking home alone these days. Especially at night. So thank you.”
Impulse was silent for a few moments. “You’re important to Tango, so you’re important to us,” he said finally. He glanced behind him, to where Skizz was setting up blankets on the couch. “I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”
“Not at all. Thank you, Impulse.” Impulse nodded once and turned to help Skizz with the pillows.
Later, instead of sleeping, Zedaph and Tango talk.
“I know when we met I said I could handle their hatred for me,” Tango confessed, his whispered words loud in the quiet room. “But sometimes I can’t. I try to be strong so Impulse and Skizz don’t worry, but- they fear things that are fundamental to who I am. I’m not Tango without my flames and claws. I haven’t ever done anything to justify their fear. They just do. They show it with hatred, but I know they’re just scared. But so am I, you know?”
And Zedaph whispers back like he’s sharing a secret, like he hasn’t ever spoken these words out loud before. “I’ve never been religious either, but my parents were growing up. They took me to those Watcher churches. The big shrines with their massive wings and a thousand eyes scared me to death. They always had expectations of me there, like because my parents were sheep hybrids too, I’d follow in their footsteps. It was my destiny, they said.” Here, he pauses. He gasps, like his lungs were losing breath faster then he could take it in. Tango reaches over, tugging Zedaph into a hug tight enough to ward off any lingering fear. Zedaph shudders underneath him. “It’s stupid. Everyone has always underestimated me. I’m no more weak for my ears and horns than you are evil for your flames and claws.”
“I know,” Tango said, and it was whispered into Zedaph’s curls.
Tango had never felt the crushing weight of the end more than he did laying in the dark with Zedaph, the moon looming over them from the window. The gods were gone, but it felt like they still cast their shadows onto the world. Threatening and menacing. How was Earth supposed to live on when its creators abandoned it to Death’s possessive arms? Tango would never admit to this under the light of daytime, but he was scared. He didn’t want to die and he didn’t want Impulse, Skizz, or Zedaph to die either.
Tango and Zedaph’s hushed words under moonshine felt like giving up, somehow. An admittance of true fear when they were supposed to be strong. Zedaph fell asleep in Tango’s arms, his breath evened out but shoulders still tense.
Tango didn’t sleep.