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Sometimes, Jimmy wonders what has brought him to this very crucial point in his life. The door to his new dorm is imposing and grey and the handle beckons him forward. Inside, college life would be waiting for him.
He’d heard stories from his relatives, about horrible roommates, hangovers and the horrors of college, and on the two-hour drive here Jimmy had stared out of the window the entire time.
Now he is here.
Jimmy‘s hand hesitates at first.
As he walks inside, two facts immediately stand out: one, his roommate has already made themselves comfortable, and two, they for one did not lie about their hobbies on the form. This is very obviously an artist‘s dorm, and for the rest of the semester Jimmy and his denim jacket and his tattered bag are going to be sticking out like a sore thumb.
He takes a few tentative steps forwards. It’s the normal dorm layout with a bed on either side and two desks in between. The shutters are halfway down, bathing the room in darkness despite the bright sun outside. Here, the only real light comes from two lamps, a smaller one by the left bed - looks like his roommate has already claimed that one - and a red-orange lava lamp on one of the desks.
Jimmy’s never seen one of those in real life and so he stares, hypnotized by the way the goo inside moves. He can be lucky his new roommate is out, so they don’t see his dumbfounded expression, but there are traces of them everywhere. And Jimmy does mean everywhere.
Sticky notes upon sticky notes are strewn around the dorm. Some of them are plastered on the walls, others cover the desktop. Both desks, actually. Most notes are filled with drawings of impressive dragons and what must be the guts of machinery, but some also bear scrawly handwriting, hasty one-liners along the lines of ‘add detail here’ or ‘rewatch show’ or even ‘call mom’. It’s both endearing and confusing, given the initial date to move in was just two days ago, so the mess is… impressive, to say the least.
Jimmy steps over a few shirts on the floor towards the right bed, on top of which he immediately throws his suitcase. Then, he checks out the small bathroom attached. It’s tiny, but probably luxurious for a college; nothing to write home about. Now he just has to wait, phone Scott and his own mom until he doesn’t feel as alone anymore.
Before Jimmy can dig out his phone from his pocket, though, the door bursts open and another person enters. He’s blonde, significantly shorter than Jimmy, but he looks like he has built up energy ready to snap like a spring. The two stare at each other for a long time, red eyes meeting brown ones, before finally Jimmy mutters a lame greeting and his new roommate quickly walks over to the desks, brushing countless notes to the side.
“I‘m sorry, I- if I‘d known you‘d arrive today, I would have cleaned up a bit,“ he rambles, showing off sharp teeth. “Uh, I didn’t really realise I’d get a roommate, for some reason. Sorry.“ His voice is scratchy in a good way and Jimmy feels his face heating up as his roommates steps even closer to push all of his stuff over to the left side of the room. “It‘s alright,“ Jimmy mutters, observing him from a distance he deems safe. “I‘m Jimmy, by the way.“
“Tango. Nice to meet you!“
Tango promptly outstretches his hand to shake. His fingers are strangely warm and when they part, Jimmy misses the weird sensation.
“Uh, so, what classes do you take?“ asks Tango. It appears he is as desperate as Jimmy to smother the awkwardness seeping into the room.
“Um, English lit.“
“Ah, cool! My major is art. Although I don’t doubt you‘ve noticed,“ Tango chuckles, glancing over at his drawings.
“They‘re good,“ Jimmy quickly says. He particularly likes the dragon that was glued to Tango‘s bedframe, though by now it’s disappeared under countless other papers. Tango‘s face flushes as he grins at Jimmy, equally sheepish and proud.
“Thanks! I want to get an internship this year to become a tattoo artist, but for that my portfolio has to be real good. I‘m practicing whenever I can.“
“I like your drawings,“ Jimmy repeats, quite awkwardly. Tango grins, but it looks forced, and Jimmy realises he probably thinks that was a lie.
“No, really! You, uh, I bet you can do it.“
“Thanks Jimmy,“ Tango huffs. With that, he moves over to his side of the room, brushing a pile of sticky notes off his bed before plummeting on the mattress, effectively ending their conversation. Jimmy, who replays the way Tango had said his name over and over in his mind, unpacks his stuff with shaky hands.
Across from him, Tango grabs another paper to doodle on. Jimmy throws his books and shampoo and chargers through the room and by the time the sun has gone down, they’re not yet comfortable with each other but at least somewhat amicable.
-
Scott practically demanded to meet at least once before the start of the semester, so they settled on a coffee shop date the weekend before, chatting and laughing as they completely forget to drink their coffee with the conversation flowing.
Scott’s at the same college as Jimmy, but his dorm is in another building and an eternity away, and he’s also taking completely different courses than Jimmy. Funnily enough, Scott is an art major just like Tango, meaning Scott will see him at least as much as Jimmy over the next few months. The two lament over their loaded schedules for a while before Scott shakes his head and refuses to pity himself any longer.
“So,“ he drawls, in that tone that tells Jimmy he’s eager to dig up any interesting news. “Made any new friends yet? Have you met your roommate?“
“I have, actually.“
For some reason Jimmy didn’t want to tell Scott about Tango over the phone. You see, they are exes - dated for like a week in High School - and while their breakup was amicable, Scott sometimes acts… weirdly possessive of him. Nothing too bad, of course, he isn’t like an evil ex, but he does care a lot about Jimmy‘s love life.
What that has to do with Tango Jimmy doesn’t want to admit to himself, but it is the reason he only today tells Scott about his eccentric, unorganised roommate who does great sketches and wants to become a tattoo artist.
“He sounds hot,“ Scott quips as soon as Jimmy’s done, taking a sip of his matcha.
“You wouldn’t like him,“ Jimmy quickly says. Scott raises a knowing elbow and he blushes, sputtering excuses. “I mean, because he seems introverted and he’s also not very tall, and you like tall guys, so-“
“Relax, he’s all yours,“ grins Scott, making Jimmy turn even redder. Under protest and a lot of squawking, he eventually changes the subject before they end up at the topic of their dorms again, sighing that it’s a shame they didn’t end up in the same room.
“All of that effort for nothing! I even lied and put drawing as a hobby,“ moans Jimmy. He’s referring to the form the freshers had to fill out a while ago to determine a suitable roommate. He and Scott went over their papers at least fifty times, double- and triple-checking their answers matched up perfectly. How they ended up separated is a mystery, but at least Tango isn’t the worst roommate.
Scott sighs. “If my own roommate hasn’t appeared by tomorrow, I‘ll let you live with me,“ he offers. Jimmy smiles brightly. “Thank you! Oh, I‘m going to miss you lots.“
“I won’t die,“ snickers Scott as he reaches over the table to ruffle his hair. “Besides - maybe we can both take this opportunity to make new friends.“
“Maybe,“ Jimmy echoes.
-
During the week, the air in the dorm room carries something heavy with it, a constant sense of waiting and dreading the next class. Jimmy paces around, trying to waste time. He’s got about an hour until English lit, time he could spend doing his work, but Jimmy half expects his professor to call because he somehow got the schedule wrong and is needed in class. Fidgeting, Jimmy eventually sits down at his desk, only to jump up not even a second later when he hears the doorknob turn.
Tango steps in with his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He freezes when he catches sight of Jimmy, but after a second he resumes his conversation, stepping inside and throwing his bag onto the ground.
They’re still in that awkward phase having to learn how to live in a shared space, leaving them spooked whenever they run into each other unexpectedly. Jimmy tries to busy himself with making his bed and tapping his nails against the headboard while Tango talks. After he hangs up, the room is silent once again.
“So… you also don’t have any more classes today?“ Tango asks. He’s taken a seat on his bed, and Jimmy copies him over on his side, head falling onto his pillow. “I wish,“ he sighs. “If I haven’t read my schedule wrong, I’ve got two more today.“
“Sucks,“ Tango simply answers with a shrug. “Are you this busy every day? What does an English major even do?“
Jimmy snorts. Horrified at the ugly sound he slaps a hand over his mouth, but Tango only laughs. A warmth spreads in his chest at that, blooming over his cheeks in pink splotches. Jimmy hopes Tango doesn’t see.
“Well, right now we‘re analysing Shakespeare for like the tenth time. I‘m so tempted to skip, man.“
Tango makes a tutting noise. “Always hated Shakespeare. Now I‘m glad I stuck to art. Wanna see what we did today?“
“Sure,“ Jimmy replies. He rolls off the bed and saunters over to the left side of the room where he abruptly comes to a halt in front of Tango’s bed, considering. Tango pats the mattress beside him and makes the difficult choice of where to sit for him, browsing through his bag with his other hand. When they’re both sat next to each other, he pulls out a black folder with a triumphant “Aha!“, proudly showing it to Jimmy.
“My portfolio. Or, well, the beginning of one,“ he explains as he hands it to Jimmy. As he flicks through, Jimmy notices only the first two pages contain black-and-white sketches while the others are blank. Another paper falls out, which Tango quickly catches. It’s a checklist, containing words like ‘Lettering’, ‘Object study’, ‘Lighting study’ and at least ten more art terms, all in the messy scrawl Jimmy has learned to recognise as Tango‘s.
“My to-do list,“ Tango explains before Jimmy can ask. “If I really want to do tattoo, I‘ll have to be able to do a lot of different things - Neo Traditional, Fine Line, all that stuff. A lot of work.“
“Uh-huh,“ Jimmy replies intelligently. Truth be told, he doesn’t understand half of what Tango‘s saying, but he smiles and nods nonetheless. His voice is soothing, and when Jimmy remembers the time and rushes to his next class, his mind is full of doodling hands and laughter.
-
A beige jacket draped over the chair looks entirely foreign to the room, as if the English textbooks and drawings strewn around are aware it doesn’t belong. The window is cool to the touch with winter on its unstoppable trek throughout campus, but the heater is boiling hot. Two blankets, one with a star motif and the other a blue and white pattern, are thrown to the ground. The bin is full of empty candy wrappers, proof of long conversations during a lovely Picknick right here on the floor.
Scott looks around with an interested look as Jimmy babbles on about college or whatever. Almost lazily, he takes one of Tango‘s drawings from the desk, holding it in his hands to observe it. Jimmy nervously glances over Scott‘s shoulder - maybe to make sure he won’t damage it, who knows.
Over the last few weeks, the sticky notes have migrated. While most are arranged in neat squares on the stretch of wall between Tango‘s bed and the door, a few are also sticking to the bathroom wall or the desk, like the one Scott‘s looking at. It’s a messy study of a cylinder and an apple, and Jimmy remembers this was one of Tango‘s assignments. He’d later tidied the sketch up and copied it onto a larger paper, but the original draft remained.
“Tango talks about you sometimes,” Scott says nonchalantly, putting the sketch away. Jimmy takes a deep breath when it is safe, then he does a double take at Scott when he processes the question.
“‘scuse me?”
Scott shrugs. “We’re in the same class, remember? He also gifts everyone at our table his sketches. Last time, he gave me one that really reminds me of you, a pencil drawing of a feather. I doubt he knows who I am, though.“
Jimmy makes a face. “Sorry, we don’t talk much about our friends. I don’t know who his friends are too, honest.“
“Oh, no, that wasn’t meant to be a dig at you,” promises Scott. “I just wanted you to know he’s quite fond of you, given how often he starts rambling about his roommate when we’re supposed to be doing our work.“
Scott yawns, pretending not to notice the giant blushing mess that Jimmy‘s just become. He wants to ask him a thousand things - firstly, why would he drop such a massive bomb on him, and secondly, what the hell does he mean with that, fond of him?
Jimmy doesn’t get to ask, though, as suddenly there’s loud knocking on the door and they both jump, sharing a confused glance.
As Scott leans his back against the desk Jimmy walks over to the door. Maybe Tango has somehow locked himself out - makes sense given he usually returns from classes around this time. When he opens the door, though, he is met with three unfamiliar faces.
“Hello,“ says one of them. Gosh, he’s a giant, taller than Jimmy even with black hair and two scars over his nose. Next to the giant two smaller guys, blonde and brunette, push into the room whilst hastily offering apologies.
“I‘m Skizz, those are Zedaph and Impulse, we‘re Tango‘s friends,“ the giant who’s just introduced himself as Skizz says. “You must be his roommate Jimmy!“
“Tango‘s out,“ Jimmy responds dumbfounded. Scott has gotten up from his position on the ground, eyeing Zedaph and Impulse as they place a small bag on the desk.
“We know,“ says Skizz, looking around the room. “Man, you two have it cozy! We wanted to surprise Tango for his birthday by visiting, drove all the way here from our college. Sorry for bursting in uninvited, but this is supposed to be a surprise.”
“No, I get it.” Jimmy steps to the side and Skizz finally walks in as well, closing the door behind him. Apparently, it’s Tango’s birthday today. He didn’t even know. With all their idle conversations, they had never talked about anything… substantial, and while it hadn’t even occurred to Jimmy before, the realisation hits him like a truck now. They probably don’t even know each other‘s last name.
Scott has taken to putting their blankets away and helping Impulse and Zedaph set up whatever had been in the bag they’d brought in. Curious, Jimmy steps closer to throw a glance over Impulse‘s shoulder. On the desks lays a box with a clear lid containing a long needle attached to a black pen-like plastic piece. Zedaph also pulls out a few small canisters to place on top of the lid. As soon as Jimmy sees black gloves, he snaps his fingers, looking up at Skizz.
“Is that a tattoo kit?“
It is Zedaph that answers. “Want to be Tango‘s Guinea pig for his first stick and poke?“
Scott cracks his neck around with wide alarmed eyes, but even if he hadn’t done that, Jimmy would have still refused. Waving his hand, he takes a few steps back as if the three strangers in his room would jump him with the tattoo needle if he didn’t. “No, thank you.“
Tango‘s friends laugh in unison. Someone murmurs ‘pity,’ but Jimmy doesn’t find out who before a key jingles in front of the door and everyone jumps, scrambling around like headless chickens.
When Tango pushes the door open, everything’s silent for a moment. It’s Impulse who shouts “Happy Birthday“ while Skizz runs forward to engulf Tango in a bone-crushing hug. Scott snorts while Zedaph laughs, and the room suddenly feels half its usual size with every shouting and cheering. Skizz and Zedaph sing a croaky-sounding Happy Birthday as they lead Tango to the desk, and he looks down at his gift with wide eyes.
“Guys! You shouldn’t have,“ he coos. “Hold on, is that a-“
“To practice,“ interrupts Impulse. “Zed even found fake skin, but we forgot it at home which means in a few days you’ll have skin in your mail, sorry.“
Tango’s smile is broken up by small sniffles, and suddenly his friends are all on him in a giant group hug while Jimmy and Scott stand to the side. They exchange a quick look. Silently, Scott takes his jacket from the chair and creeps backwards, Jimmy close on his heels. This really isn’t their moment to intrude on. As quietly as possible, they shut the door behind them.
Happy Birthday, Tango.
-
The sound of paper is the most prominent one. There’s swishing, turning, flicking, smoothing and crumpling by the two desks, the roommates hunched over in front of their textbooks and drawings. Tango is making small noises of discomfort, one hand in his hair, whereas Jimmy is completely gone and blankly staring at the pages of the book he’s supposed to be reading.
The bin is already filled to the brim with Tango’s sketches and at least a dozen of Jimmy‘s books are opened and strewn around the room. What little space isn’t covered by words and lines is unorganised and messy: clothes in giant piles on the ground, hastily stashed away food spilling out of drawers. It’s the kind of mess that makes one uncomfortable for being immovable, because that book will be needed in just a second and maybe that drawing should be revisited, too.
To say the two are deep in exam preparation and corresponding stress is an understatement. Like most students, they, too, went through the stages of grief before coming to this point. They’ve already passed study denial and anger - although signs of that are visible in angry lines digging too deep onto drawings and all the crumpled paper around.
Right now, Tango is bargaining. Jimmy‘s in depression. At least the sun is inviting and friendly as it laughs at them. Mocks them. Stupid sun.
“Once this is over,“ Jimmy announces gravely, “we‘re havin‘ a party.“
Tango spits out the pencil he‘s been gnawing on, gladly responding to the distraction. “Who would we even invite? I don’t have any friends here other than you.“
Jimmy tries to ignore the way that makes something akin to pleasure slosh around in his stomach. Tango, considering him a friend! A friend that is very right in his observation. Apart from Scott, there’s no one, really. Grian and Joel are at a different college, Martyn‘s in a different country, and inviting his sister would be quite embarrassing. Plus, neither Lizzy nor Scott like alcohol. Bummer.
“Doesn’t matter,“ Jimmy says confidently. “It‘ll be fun with just the two of us, don’t you think?“
Tango hums. “Alright. We’ll be two drunk losers together.“
“Together,“ repeats Jimmy. The English textbook is forgotten now that he receives a broad smile from Tango. Then, an alarm beeps, and Tango grabs his phone with an annoyed groan. He shows the screen to Jimmy with a snort, and the message ‘exam at 12 tmrw‘ oh-so cruelly brings them back to reality. It looks like Tango has reached depression, too, now that he slams his forehead against the table and whines. Jimmy can’t not chuckle at that, so on instinct he reaches over to ruffle Tango‘s hair. He’s amazed that he lets him.
Tango‘s hair is soft and the air is warm and Jimmy never wants to return to his textbooks.
-
Bottles roll around the room, occasionally meeting each other with a slight clinking sound. A celebration – their first batch of exams is finally over. The curtains are drawn half-shut, but Jimmy is aware that it’s late and dark outside, few stars wide apart and dimly glittering.
After the first bottle or so, the ceiling light had become unbearably bright. For some reason drunk Tango was afraid his lava lamp would overheat and catch on fire if they plugged it in, so it is only the blue light of Jimmy‘s phone that illuminates their silhouettes pressed together on Tango‘s bed.
Tango uses his nightstand as a base for an impromptu drawing while Jimmy watches. His pencil moves with rhythmic scratches. Little by little, a bird appears, a wild mixture of gears, scales, and feathers. The bird’s eyes are dark where Tango has added pressure to his pen and its beak is open as if captured mid-song. Jimmy thinks the bird beautiful, but his tongue is too heavy to say so and he lets his head drop back against the wall. It’s uncomfortably cool.
“Done,“ Tango finally says, in that raspy voice of his that does things to drunk Jimmy. He leans back, observing his work from afar. “Nice,“ Jimmy croaks and, delighted to find a new headrest, burrows his face in his shoulder. For a while, everything is silent. Despite the blankets, their arrangement isn’t exactly cozy with the smell of cheap beer and harsh blue lighting, but it is something the two of them share.
“‘ve already ran through all of my fake skin,“ Tango complains aloud. His gaze drops to his desk where the stick-and-poke set from his birthday are sitting. The thought to try it on a real human probably hasn’t occurred to him yet.
Jimmy, on the other hand, has thought about stick-and-pokes a few times, especially about his own role were Tango to search for a volunteer, but he’s always come to the conclusion a reasonable friend would dissuade Tango from the idea.
But Jimmy isn‘t thinking right now.
“Yea? Why not order more?“
Not the worst he could have said! A pleasant surprise.
“Expensive,“ Tango groans. He puts his head on top of Jimmy‘s, his hair falling down into his eyes. Jimmy huffs. The warmth is making him sleepy.
“Try it on a real person then.“
Jimmy! We thought you were better than this!
“Huh?“ slurs Tango, incredibly intelligently.
“Plen‘y of people do it, even people who don’t want to do it.. professionally,“ Jimmy explains.
“But…“ Tango‘s silent for a moment. “What if it hurts them?“ His voice is whiny, and Jimmy snorts, despite himself. “O’course it will. You should know that be‘a than me, I reckon,“ he snickers. Tango sighs dramatically. “‘m also too tired to do it.“
“I didn’t say you had to,“ Jimmy defends himself. He yawns, and Tango joins in with his own. Their blinking is starting to get slower and slower, locking their eyes shut for growing amounts of time. “T‘was an idea. For later, maybe, if you want to.“
“For later,“ Tango echoes. Now, he sounds lost in thought, as if he’s considering it. “Sure.“
“Sure.“ Another yawn.
Mysteriously, Jimmy is too tired to move to his own bed and to clean the bottles up in the morning. For this night, he stays.
-
Tango does it a few weeks later.
Jimmy bursts into their room one day, in a rush because he only has half an hour between lectures and he really needs some food. The first thing he sees is Tango on the ground, head snapping up as the door flies open, eyes wide as if he’d been caught.
Caught he was indeed. Jimmy stares at the needle-pen thingy as he drops his bag on the ground, unable to tear his eyes away from Tango‘s naked calf. Well, not naked anymore, because now there are tiny stars dotted all over his leg, and the tube with red ink is still open, and in a hundred years Jimmy couldn’t have predicted this.
“What-“
“Don’t be mad!“ Tango rushes to say. He drops the needle onto a paper towel before dragging Jimmy further inside as the door closes behind him. His walk is wobbly, and he’d had to suppress a hiss when he had first stood up.
The two sit down on the ground, Tango criss-crossed so Jimmy can see his tattoo, oh my god, clearly.
Tango watches him intently, something akin to guilt resting on his face as he looks up at Jimmy like he’s about to reprimand him. Jimmy swallows. Admittedly, he doesn’t really know what to say, and it’s slightly confusing that Tango is waiting for his input, so he just looks a little while longer.
None of the many stars are bigger than a fingernail, strewn around in unknown constellations like red dust. Jimmy counts at least ten wandering up Tango‘s leg. The first few closer by his heel are a bit wonky, but they get gradually better, and all in all, Tango probably did a good job for his first time. The ink is still out in the open right next to Jimmy.
“They’re pretty,“ Jimmy finally says. Tango practically deflates with relief, rubbing the base of his neck. “You think so? I mean- they’re alright, I guess. I messed up quite a bit.“
“It, er, makes them unique?“ Jimmy offers.
Tango laughs. “Sure, let’s put it that way. Look, that one-“ he points at a star right over his bone “hurt like a bitch, but the rest were okay. Walking again was weird, though.“
Pride is obvious in his voice. “You‘ve done it,“ Jimmy congratulates him. “Your first tattoo!“ Tango scrunches up his face. “I mean, there’s quite a substantial difference between a stick-and-poke and a real-“
Jimmy waves it off. “Doesn’t matter! It’s really cool, trust me, Tango.“ If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought Tango was blushing.
“I- thank you. You inspired me, kind of.“
“Oh?“
Now it’s Jimmy‘s turn to flush pink.
“Yes! Remember a few weeks ago? You told me to try it, so I did. Jimmy, you wouldn’t believe how different it is.“
Right, their talk. When they were both drunk and fell asleep in Tango‘s bed, waking up with their limbs tangled and arms wrapped around each other. Jimmy doesn’t remember much, but what he does remember feels like warmth and coziness. Honest, he didn’t even know what he said to Tango then, but if he’s happy with the result Jimmy won’t say anything.
“Really? Dude, you’re making me interested in tattoos as well now with all your talk about it,“ he laughs. Tango perks up, tilting his head in a way that makes his hair fall to the side. “Does that mean you want to be my Guinea pig?“
“Er, no,“ Jimmy hastily says. Since he’s moved in with Tango, he’s considered it multiple times, but he hasn’t come to a good conclusion yet. “Not yet, anyway,“ he adds. Tango grins, not at all showing any disappointment with his answer. Suddenly, he looks up at their clock, frowning at it. “Hey, don’t you usually have class around this time?“
“Oh, shoot!“
Jimmy scrambles upwards, throwing a package of crackers into his bag before rushing out of the door. “Bye Tango,“ he shouts. Tango only gives him a snicker in return. They’re both smiling, the room is messy, the day is good.
-
Joel’s just sent another picture in the ‘bad boys’ group chat. It’s a close-up of his lobe, so blurry the three silver piercings blend together with his skin. In response to Grian‘s complaint he sends another one, this time shot from a bit further away. As a caption, he wrote “Yolo fifth one down!!“. Grian promptly reminds him that no one says yolo anymore, to which Joel threatens to block him and Jimmy snickers at the screen.
“What‘re you laughing at? Chatting with Tango again?“ Scott asks. He’s sprawled out on his bed, head handing upside-down. “Am not,“ Jimmy defends himself, blushing red regardless. “It’s just Joel and Grian fighting. Joel‘s got his ear pierced.“
“Again?“ Scott asks. He makes grabby hands for Jimmy’s phone, curious to see. Joel and him had some weird co-dependency back in high school where they always had to one-up each other, which led to Joel piercing his eyebrows right after Scott got his earrings. Although that is well in the past, Joel obviously likes his piercings given every other month he randomly sends a picture to Jimmy and Grian showing off his newest achievement.
Jimmy hands his phone over to Scott. The two sit huddled over it in silence, basking in the warmth of Scott‘s dorm room. It’s closer to the ground than Jimmy and Tango‘s, meaning there are trees scratching the window and creating beautiful shadows on the carpet. Jimmy‘s mind wanders upwards to where Tango is surely sitting now, leaned over an assignment.
The stars on his legs are healing well, although they are already fading. Apparently, stick-and-pokes and red ink aren’t a duo meant to last forever, prone to fading.
Joel‘s comment shoots through Jimmy‘s head. You only live once.
“Hey, Scott,“ he finds himself saying out of the blue. “Would you mind doing me a favour?“
Scott‘s blue eyes twinkle with something unreadable as he crosses his arms. “Depends.“ He tilts his head. “What exactly are you asking?“
Jimmy doesn’t really know himself. He scans Scott’s drawers until his eyes lock on a specific piece of paper. He knew Scott must have kept it, and his words describing it hadn’t left his mind.
“Mind if I borrow something?“
-
Jimmy and Tango have been friends for a while.
By now, it feels like they’re not even Jimmy and Tango, they’re more like JimmyandTango, names sharing a singular breath. They’re roommates, they’re always together, all of Tango‘s friends know about Jimmy and the other way around, but they are both too stubborn to do something about the nail that is slowly digging itself into the tender flesh of their relationship.
The nail, instead of being made from iron and rust, is a manifestation of budding feelings, doubt, and uncertainty of what they will become going forward.
Jimmy wants - really wants - change. He doesn’t know what Tango wants, and it’s driving him insane.
He arrives in his room Friday evening after he’d walked Scott back to his dorm. His bag is slung over his shoulder, his hair is messy after a long day, and clutched in his hand is a small paper.
When he opens the door, fumbling with the key at the doorknob, Tango greets him with a wide smile. He‘s bent over a sketch at his desk, and Jimmy curiously comes over to see. Although the room is dark aside from their trusty lamp, he recognises the few lines on the page. A bird.
Tango has drawn a lot of those over the last few weeks.
The sticky notes situation is even worse than when they first moved in, as they’ve now breached their (relative) containment of Tango‘s side and scramble over the walls to freedom. Tango is either about to develop creative block or simply overeager to draw, because all of his more recent notes depict the same thing: a bird, yellow when Tango has taken the time to colour him. Brown eyes, short beak, always staring out of the picture right at Jimmy‘s soul.
He realises he isn’t looking at the drawings anymore but at Tango. His face is doused in the lava lamp’s red.
“Tango,“ Jimmy finally says, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud. “Would you do me a solid?“
“Sure! I’m just a bit busy right now so I can’t promise anything.“
Jimmy wordlessly hands him the paper. Tango frowns, then his eyes go wide with acknowledgement. He must recognize the drawing, because it’s his own, from many months ago. Jimmy was incredibly glad Scott has kept it. Even in its crumpled state, the feather looks beautiful, twisted as if it was falling.
“I‘ve seen that drawing before somewhere. It’s pretty,“ Tango muses. He looks up at Jimmy, a silent question in his eyes. Jimmy takes a deep breath, then raises his hand and taps his left forearm with it, just a bit below the elbow. “I want it here.“
If it’s even possible, Tango‘s eyes go even wider.
“I- really? Right now? Are you-“ His voice cracks, and he coughs, face flushing red. “Are you sure? From me? You‘re not just saying this because you for some reason think you have to, right?”
“I am sure.“ Jimmy pretends his face isn’t as hot as it feels. Tango sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Okay. Sure. Now? I have time now- we could do it now- are you sure I should do it?“
“Who else should?“ asks Jimmy. He’s surprised how steady his voice sounds as he sits down on the ground. “But, uh, your needle‘s sterile and all, right?“
At that, Tango laughs, and he pulls out his tattoo kit with a grin. “We‘ll need to print the stencil first,“ he says, voice lowering into a mumble that definitely doesn’t help Jimmy calm down. As soon as everything‘s prepared, the two sit down cross-legged with Jimmy‘s arm suspended on a pile of school books. Tango asks if the placement is right one last time before he begins.
It feels weird, but the pain not as bad as Jimmy thought it would be. He says as much to Tango, who looks much more relieved now. Truth be told, the constant poking of the needle and the weird tug when it leaves his skin aren’t even the most prominent sensations in Jimmy‘s mind. Tango‘s hands are resting on his arm, and even through the gloves his warmth seeps through Jimmy‘s bones.
They’re more than halfway through already and the feather is taking shape.
“What made you choose this particular drawing, by the way?“ Tango questions as he draws smooth lines from the stem of the feather towards the edges.
“Do you recognise the sketch? It’s yours. You gave it to Scott a while ago and I… borrowed it back.“
“Hwhat?“
The very last line of the tattoo almost goes uneven as Tango sputters, retracting the needle from Jimmys arm. “That’s mine? You’re getting my-“
“I’m sorry?“
Jimmy raises his shoulders up to his chin. Shit. What if Tango doesn’t want his drawing there? On his body? And isn’t it considered disrespectful to use an artist‘s work without asking for their permission first? That though hadn’t even occurred to Jimmy - is that why Tango is looking so red now?
“Listen, if you didn’t want…“
“No! No, it’s just…“
They both can’t seem to finish their sentence before getting interrupted, so they take to staring quietly and feverishly waiting for the other to talk first. Tango looks up at his drawing of the bird, then back at Jimmy. He tilts his head, staring at the finished tattoo - the sting of the lines is already starting to fade - and then up at Jimmy‘s face. His eyes are full of emotions Jimmy can’t decipher, but he hopes they’re pleasant. Those eyes glance downwards for the fraction of a second. Jimmy nervously licks his lips.
“I really can’t put to words how much I want to kiss you.“
As soon as Tango says it he winces, and then quickly backs away as if his own mouth had betrayed him. Jimmy blinks a few times, locked in place, unable to look away from Tango even as he’s frantically searching for an escape. He quickly shuffles forward to grab onto his arm, then runs his hand down until it can squeeze Tango‘s. They’re both silent. Tango‘s eyes are red like rubies.
Jimmy, praise the lords and everyone above, has the courage to move first.
It’s - new.
Tango‘s lips are not soft like those in past relationships but chapped, and he moves more roughly than an inexperienced Highschool sweetheart would. The experience makes Jimmy giddy, leaves him aching for something he‘s never known existed.
Most importantly, the kiss is so Tango.
Suddenly, the warmth pooling in his stomach perishes as Tango pulls back, and Jimmy immediately wants to chase his lips. “Hold on, hold on,“ Tango rasps, pulling off his gloves with his teeth–oh god–and hastily shoves the needle and ink to the side. Jimmy makes a small ‘oh’ sound but he is distracted from that as soon as two hands cup his face and pull him forwards once more.
One of them sighs as they meet again, now flush together between Tango‘s hands. A tongue touches the corner of his mouth and suddenly Jimmy tastes graphite, because Tango likes to chew on his pencils.
When the two break apart, their faces stay close, foreheads touching as they inhale and exhale together blindly. Jimmy‘s cheeks are squished by Tango‘s hands, and his thumb is moving in slow circles between the corner of his mouth and his jaw. He wants to stay in this moment forever, bury himself in the soothing warmth Tango provides, but he can sense Tango‘s restlessness, so he opens his eyes.
“Um,“ Tango clears his throat. His face is a lovely shade of red, and a small smile is quirking up his lips. Jimmy grins in return. “I liked… that. I like you. And I like that you got my stupid drawing as a tattoo, even though that‘s stupid, but I really liked it.“ Tango‘s voice wavers a little, but he’s holding eye contact. “I like you,“ he repeats. If possible, Jimmy‘s smile grows even bigger.
“I like you too,“ he grins, utterly giddy. Tango does a shaky exhale, which makes him laugh, and soon both of their bodies are shaking with shared laughter.
Jimmy glances down at his forearm as he places his hands in Tango‘s lap. They change positions, Tango‘s hands moving away from his face so they can sit with their sides together, one of his arms around Jimmy‘s torso.
The feather looks back up at them, moving gracefully as Jimmy turns his arm. It’s beautiful, and Tango‘s beautiful, and even if it does fade he knows Tango will be right by his side to go over the lines once again. Jimmy has faith in this.
Neither of them has to put any of their soft feelings into words. They’re just there, and Jimmy and Tango are basking in each other‘s presence.
His new roommate really isn’t as bad as he’d initially feared.