AAAAAA I LOVE THIS AAAAAAAAAAAAA
Tango sits on the peak of the burned-out farmhouse roof, silent. For once, he is not blazing with anger or explosive with emotion. His face is impassive and stiff, and his hair flickers a quiet red.
A voice from behind, soft and stilted. “Can I… sit with you?”
It’s Jimmy. Tango says nothing.
Behind him, Jimmy sits on the opposite peak, facing Tango’s back. “I…” he starts. “I know it really isn’t worth anything, not now, but I’m sorry.”
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