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It was raining, an uncommon sight at their current base. The downpour blurred the buildings, muddied the colors into a swirl of browns and greys, further blocking their already limited view. Pyro knew the rain was necessary, otherwise the sun would not feel as sweet and the flowers wouldn’t bloom as bright. In fact, sometimes they enjoyed it - it weighed them down, brought them closer to the earth and made them feel alive. Sometimes the water would seep through the suit, and their socks would get wet and their hands cold and frozen. It was so unusual from their routine, a break from the heat and colors threatening to eat them alive every day.
Fire was kind, and loving, and understanding, but it could never replace the need for rain. They're very similar after all; if you upset them, they will take everything you know away from you - body, soul and mind, too. If you nurture them, however, invite them into your home and treat them with kindness, their hunger will lessen. It will never cease, no, it doesn't know how to be anything but hungry, but it will retract its claws and stop baring its teeth, until it is soft and gentle. The difference between fire and water, however, is that Pyro is keenly familiar with one - it's symbiotic and they need each other to survive (it feeds off of them, but it gives just as much back), but the other feels unfamiliar, but new and welcoming. It beckons to them, an invitation to new sensations Pyro had never experienced. Fire is both their friend and Pyro themself, but rain is something so different, but so freeing.
It sang softly to them, an uneven beat and tune Pyro shouldn't know, and doesn't really (after all, it's nothing like the sound of crackling, or the whine of gas, or the low rumbling of their flamethrower), but suddenly they find themselves enveloped in its voice and they realise that they want to learn to sing along.
The sky is gray. It's dark and ominous, and the air feels heavy. It's a telltale sound of a storm, of crackling televisions and candles being lit to chase away the shadows. Fire and rain go hand in hand. The cold beats the heat but the heat beats the cold. Pyro can feel it tugging on their sleeves, enveloping them and threatening to wash the red in their suit away. It's everything that they are not (cold and blue and knowing), and for a moment or two, Pyro lets themself bask in it. In the rain, they are insignificant. It could wash them away if it chose, to extinguish them forever, but it chooses not to. They are not in control and they are not its friend, but it treats them with kindness - today, it will cease its hunger.
Suddenly, they can feel it on their skin. They do not know when they removed their gloves to gently slip off their mask, but they can feel it on their cheeks and nose and lips. It traces their burns and scars, cupping their face and giving them gentle kisses. It blurs their eyes further but they can't help but look up, up, up, towards the dark rumbling clouds and listen to the singing and become one with it. They are unravelling, stitching coming undone to turn the fabric into something new - and it frightens them just as much as it was exhilarating. They felt alive, but at the same time the cold was nibbling at their bones and the rain was devouring them, chipping away bit by bit to reveal unfamiliarity, a sinking weight at their feet and stomach, anchoring them to the spot.
Amidst the noise, they could hear their name being called. Pyro knows who it is without needing to hear it clearer - the only one willing to brave the storm for them would be Scout.
Scout was kind. He did not like to be called that, wanting everyone to think he was sharp angles and the cocking of scatterguns, but to Pyro he was the scratching of crayons on napkins and the fizzines of soda.
He was red and pink and orange, smelled like chocolate and sugar and never seemed to stop laughing. Pyro enjoyed being with him - even though their friendship had a rocky start and Scout sometimes said and did things that made Pyro feel flammable.
"Scout," they yell, their voice scruffy and itching their throat like sandpaper on an uneven surface (so different from the softness they feel). They turn their head towards the red shape on their right, the downpour masking any discernible features and replacing them with blurry, washed out shapes.
"Mumbles?" the voice approaches them. Pyro can see the moment Scout realised their mask is off, as he quickly looks away (always so kind - no matter how curious he was, and no matter how much he wanted to see their face, he wanted them to show him it, not to see it by accident). "Geez, it's freakin' awful out 'ere."
Pyro doesn't reply. Scout is soaked, his hoodie clinging onto his arms and chest like he's a lifeline, and somewhere in the back of their mind they wonder how soaked they looked. Maybe they didn't look like anything at all, just a vague shape of what they used to be. Pyro didn't know if that would be a good thing or not - who are they without others' perceptions? Who are they when they do not go hand in hand with red and heat and smoke? They certainly didn't feel like themself currently. Maybe Scout could tell - maybe he couldn't. They wondered what they were to him.
"How long have ya even been out 'ere?" Scout has to scream to be heard over the rain. He's used to screaming though, it's what he does. Pyro likes his voice, so they don't mind. "Was lookin' for ya everywhere!"
"Dunno," their voice was never meant for yelling. The fire spoke for them usually, and their words were always distorted and muffled by the mask. Even before Mann Co, they hadn't had much to say, and when they did, nobody but the fire listened. But the fire isn't here for them now. So they yell, yell to be heard over whatever they were currently, to be heard over the rain.
"Well Engie is cookin' dinner and he wanted your help with somethin', and it's been over like an hour since anyone saw ya last, so I offered t'a go look for you, like a gentleman," Pyro can't help but smile at that. "But I didn't realise tha' you were out in the freakin' rain and now I'm all wet and-"
"Scout," they interrupted, grabbing the hand he was using to shield his eyes from the rain, as his hood was soaked and did nothing to protect him anymore. "Dance with me."
"Whuh?" Closing his eyes, he turned to face them, his other hand slipping out of its pocket to land on their shoulder. "Are ya nuts?"
They giggled. "The rain has such a lovely voice, it would be rude not to dance along, no?"
Scout was silent for a moment before shrugging half-heartedly. He was probably used to their ideas by now - nonsensical to him, but they were all Pyro knew. That was simply how they saw the world - and for once, it wasn't filled with red and yellow and white, but with blue and orange and grey, and they wanted to spend this moment of being alive, of change and unfamiliarity with him.
Pyro was a clumsy dancer - their center of mass too large for their feet, their posture poor and they never quite knew what to do with their hands. Scout, however, was naturally very talented at it. He was flexible and could find the rhythm easily, never second guessing anything. Together, they met in the middle - all the fumbling charm of Pyro's willingness to try, and Scout's guidance to show them how.
Pyro would take any chance they could get to dance with him. In the beginning of battle while Engineer would tune his guitar after the teleporters were set up, or in the middle of battle after a particularly lucky kill, or afterwards when their bones hurt and their head throbbed but they were too happy to care. Scout had probably noticed by now that it was just him, nobody else, that Pyro danced with. They weren't sure why, but they were drawn to him.
Scout and the rain were similar, in a lot of ways - a friendship Pyro had never known, opportunities shining through the murkiness and a simmering threat beneath the surface, waiting to eat them up (but they found that with Scout, it was never frightening, never unfamiliar despite the newness, like a flower rising out of the ash of a forest fire. A forest fire is alive alive alive but after the ash and dust settles the earth blooms fresh with new life).
Their feet splashed and their fingers slipped from each other's grips, their laughter mingling in the air. Pyro stared at his face the entire time, looking at his closed lids and wrinkled nose and buck teeth. They wanted nothing more than this, to bloom in the rain with him, feeling the pieces slot in place and the smoke lift. They could breathe, and they felt born anew.
At some point their laughter turned to huffs and their movement got more and more sloppy. Good things must come to an end, and they could feel Scout's hands shake and felt their cheeks flush from the cold. The rain had had enough of them, it seems.
"Scout?" they asked when their dancing had more or less turned into a hug. "Thank you."
"Huh? Thanks for what?"
"For everything. For being my friend. For being kind," They grabbed his cheek and pressed a small kiss to his cheekbone. They could see Scout's cheek light up, despite this being a pretty regular occurrence.
"Uh- yeah, 'course, no, uh, no problem," he coughed into his fist. "Let's get outta 'ere. I can't feel my freakin' feet."
Looking around, they quickly spotted their discarded mask on the ground and quickly slipped it back on (which was uncomfortable, shutting out the light and noise but bringing a sense of safety and removing the anchors weighing them down), and mumbled in agreement. Scout opened his eyes upon hearing their normal voice (or as normal as it could be).
He gave them a thumbs up, which they returned. "Engie made pancakes, by the way." He added, a grin growing on his face.
Pyro threw their arms up and shouted in joy, and Scout laughed. Pyro hopes it rains more often and that they could do this again soon.