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“That’s incredibly treacherous how could you do such a thing.”

Snake-Punk adds almost amiably. But also, with a suspicious hint of confusion.

(despite the fact that he didn’t really know what a lizard was.)

“So.” Oh boy, here it comes. “How’d you get permanent blood stains in your hair?”

Not what I thought was coming.

But I grin anyway -while shoving the traitor as far away as I can.

“When the exes are fighting the kids get to play.” Search laughs.

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(Almost a year ago)

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SEARCH

“Wait. My hair’s black?”

…

“I THOUGHT IT WAS BROWN!”

“You … don’t remember what color your hair is?” Don’t laugh at him. This isn’t funny even if he’s making a funny pout.

“Shut up.” He says. “What color can we dye my hair?”

I consider.

“It needs to make Oscar furious.” He adds.

“Well. That’s pink.” I say.

“So let’s buy pink.”

“I’m not entirely sure you want pink in your hair. It really wouldn’t flatter you.”

“I don’t care!” he says. “I’m blind. The only enjoyment I’m getting out of it is other people’s reactions.”

This … this is fair. “So. Bubble-gum pink?”

“I have no idea what that is.” He deadpans. “Will it make Oscar mad?”

“Incandescently.” It will make those veins stand out on his neck and forehead.

“Then I want it.”

 

It takes a short trip to the store and a quick perusal of the hair-dyes.

“Look. I am not putting a permanent dye in your hair. Okay?” I say. “We want to make Oscar turn red. Not permanently destroy your look.”

Hm. Speaking of … “Also I’m not promising the most vibrant results – if you want that in dark hair, you, ah, have to bleach it first.”

“No. that’s too smelly.” Burn says with suspicious confidence.

“Hush now. I’m not finished.” I say. “This dye – because I am not bleaching my hair either – has worked for me. Well. This brand.”

And then we’re back at his, well, Oscar’s house, my wallet slightly lighter. (My wallet for the simple fact that Oscar and Grimme monitor Burn’s funds. Does this make me uncomfortable? Yes. Does this make sense for Burn? Also yes.)

(Comically enough, they’ve never actually put a hold on any of his purchases – even the particularly alarming ones like the time he decided to buy a gun. And use it. Because the AI on his phone ‘could help me aim.’)

I look at the pink we bought. Less bubble-gum and more sparkly, shiny princess. “I’m not quite sure how this will turn out. I’ve never put bright pink in my hair.”

“Why?”

“Eh. I don’t like putting pink with red.”

I watch his jaw drop.

“YOU HAVE RED HAIR?!?!”

“You… didn’t know?” I am sure this would have come up before now.

“How was I supposed to?! You’ve completely ruined the mental image I had of you! Entirely!”

“Back to topic!” I interrupt. We will laugh about this later. “This is going to be shiny and pink…”

“What’s going on?”

Oops.

“Oscar!” Burn shoots finger-guns in the man’s general direction. “I thought you’d be gone all day. isn’t that why you got Search do baby-sit me?”

Well. This … isn’t entirely blown.

“Why is Burn wrapped up in towels over the sink.” The question is a statement and an order to deliver a reasonable answer rather than what he expects.

“I’m getting dyed hair!” Burn says happily.

Oscar’s face is turning a lovely, lovely, wonderful shade of red – much, much redder than my hair.

“Of all the irresponsible, immature, heartless…”

I wait patiently.

“Why would you even do that?” he bellows. “How could you take advantage of a blind man like that?”

Bite my lip. Don’t say a thing.

“Why?” he says.

“Burn said he wanted dyed hair.”

“Yeah. I want to fit in!” he chirps.

“With PINK hair dye?!” Oscar grabs the dye container from my hand.

“Why not?” Burn asks – his mind had weight through his options faster than an AI on the ethernet.

Oscar splutters.

“Out.” He says through grit teeth. “Out of my sight. The both of you.”

I grab Burn’s hand and pull him out of the bathroom.

He makes sure the towels trail over the floor and leave as big a mess as possible.

 

“Burn.”

Ah. The fun parent.

“Oscar won’t let me dye my hair.” Burn says.

 

The interesting thing about Burn is how he uses the truth.

“Oh really?” Grimme says. “Well that’s not nice.” She considers. “What color were you going to dye it?”

“Pink!”

She blinks. And then grins slowly. “Well. As nice as it is for you to pick my favorite color, I think I have a better idea.”

Welp. Those two just had another fight, didn’t they?

 

“What do you want now …”

Oscar stares at us.

I wait, mostly hidden behind Burn and Grimme – for once, there are perks to being short!

“why…” he says weakly, “why is our son’s hair red?”

Grimme looks down in surprise. “Oh. It’s just a few locks.” She dismisses.

Oscar nods numbly. “and … why is your hair red?”

“Oh you noticed?” she poses, flexing her enormous bicep. “I think it makes me look strong.”

Hahaha. Please tell me they’re not flirting. They’ve been exes longer than they’ve had Burn.

Oscar rubs his grayed temples. “Why? Why are you like this? Why do you make our son like this? Why? What did I ever do to you?”

Grimme takes a deep breathe.

“Don’t answer that.”

“But isn’t it cute?” Grimme leans over Burn, shoving their heads together. “We match.”

Oscar finally notices me. “Oh at least one of you has normal hair.”

Grimme shoves me between her and Burn. So that my braids perfectly line up with the new streaks in their hair.

Silence.

Oscar gaps. Closes his eyes. And sighs like he can exhale all the tears he refuses to cry.

“Why?”

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(present moment)

“Uh. Is that thunder?”

 

@ethan-leonard, @this-is-not-an-alien, @rusted-knight