Chapter Text
Tangerine tries to wrack his brain for all the times he’s seen the man before. Now knowing that they are literal neighbors there is no way they haven’t crossed paths even briefly. Their apartments are stacked right on top of each other. Tangerine’s own balcony hanging over Ryland’s. Not that he checked. It’s just that he never really bothered to take notice of Ryland before. Apparently the same must be true of his downstairs neighbor. That’s what bothers him. Tangerine knows he keeps odd hours. He comes and goes as he pleases with little regard to the time unless necessary for a job. That must be it, he figures.
The problem for Tangerine is once something piques his interest he has a hard time not thinking about it. Ryland with his unwavering kindness and delicate touch had definitely become a resident in the forefront of Tangerine’s mind.
That’s how he finds himself somehow stepping out of the stairwell on the second floor when Ryland returns one evening around 4:30. Ducking behind a much too large truck in the side lot early in the morning as Ryland unlocks his bike. Hiding in the aisles at the corner shop, while trying to restock on painkillers and gauze. All this in just a week after the stabbing incident.
It’s not that he’s trying to catalog Ryland’s movements or keep tabs on him. He had chosen the stairwell for that very reason, hoping to avoid an awkward interaction in the elevator. How was he to know that the bike that lived in the rack kept on the side of the building belonged to that man downstairs? He really did need to restock his own first aid kit after Lemon changed the dressing for him the second time. It is all just random chance. Coincidence.
Coincidences that continue to happen. He feels like a stalker, without even trying.
He definitely doesn’t hang out on the balcony in the early mornings or early evenings just to see if he can catch a glimpse of his neighbor below him. It’s Friday morning when that finally pans out. 12 whole days since he was in that very apartment below. Not that he’s been counting. He watches Ryland nurse a cup of coffee. The stillness of the morning and lingering fog make for a relaxing start to the day. Tangerine kind of understands it and wonders how much better it would be if he was just down one level.
Lemon opens the door and pulls him free of his thoughts. They have a job.
The job is supposed to be a simple escort mission set for two days later. Something to get them going again and bring in a little money. Not that they need it, their line of work is very lucrative. Regardless it should be fine, even if Tangerine isn’t fully healed.
They should’ve known better, things are rarely that simple. The payload is a girl, barely in her 20s with a deed to some high-value land in her name. The goal is to get her to the airport to fly to Japan. There she’ll be picked up by her uncle and if all goes well, safe. They end up having to split up. Lemon takes the girl. Tangerine steals a vehicle by punching out a window. Not his finest work if the handkerchief wrapped around his hand and the blood dripping down the steering wheel is any indication. The point is Lemon gets away while Tangerine distracts and blocks. It works. Lemon calls him later telling him he’s made it back to base. Tangerine confirms he’s on the way.
As he’s walking up to the apartment, Tangerine pauses at the third floor. He looks up toward the next level then down at his handkerchief wrapped hand. Decision made he shoots off a quick text to Lemon and exits the stairwell.
“Fuck it,” he sighs as he wraps his knuckles on the door.
Almost a week has passed since their first meeting. During which Ryland swears he sees Tangerine out of the corner of his eye at least a few times. The stairwell, the parking lot, even the corner store. Although that could just be Ryland being hopeful. He can't help feeling a bit disappointed every time he looks just to find no one there.
Court visits Thursday evening with a restock of supplies for his first aid kit that Ryland didn’t say he needed. He doesn’t even knock, just uses his key to let himself in. It is a surprise mostly because Ryland comes out of the shower with just a towel to find his brother sitting in his living room. He almost shrieks but manages to hold back with just a tiny “eep.”
They stay in a standstill for just a moment as Court scans him from top to bottom. Court raises a single finger twirling it in a circular motion. As if trained, Ryland does a full turn.
“Oh good. You’re not the one with the stab wound after all,” Court says with an eyebrow raised.
Ryland starts to back step into the bedroom, a hand coming behind his neck, “What? Huh? Let me just…”
He shuts his door none too gently and changes as quickly as he can. By the time he’s back out Colt has already gone into the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, placing it in front of him on the coffee table.
He keeps his hands busy restocking, not looking up at Ryland, “You need more saline than I thought.” He mutters before sitting back. “So. Who was it?”
“No one,” Ryland answers without thinking. The words are quick and defensive. Lying over the phone is one thing. Easier. Lying to Court’s face? Near impossible. He picks up every little thing.
“Uh-huh,” Court clearly doesn’t believe him. Why would he? Ryland looks to the floor, guilt sitting in his chest. He hates lying to Court. He also hates making him worry. Honestly hates doing it in general. It’s just worse when it’s Court or Colt. There’s no winning here. Obviously he’s already done both or Court wouldn’t be here. “So… you just so happen to be missing the exact things one might need to fix a stab wound?”
Ryland frowns, frustrated. He knows he’s caught. There’s no point in lying. At the same time, anyone who is so adamant about not going to the hospital, must not want to be known. He needs to figure out how to navigate this. He could be honest and come clean. Maybe Court won’t ask too many questions. His only hope is that he won’t be too angry or upset.
“I found someone in the alley that needed help,” Ryland admits, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
“So you brought them up here and used me to help patch them up?” Court is a hard read. His face stays pretty neutral. It’s gotten better since his time on the run. He has become a teeny tiny bit more transparent with his emotions. Ryland thinks being in one spot and being able to connect with people again helps. Things have calmed enough that he feels safe to stick around. That could change any moment, but it’s been almost a full year.
Colt had a harder time letting Court back in than Ryland. It was understandable. Colt’s memory is much better than Ryland’s. Ryland blames that on trauma. There was a good year after the night their father tried to drown him and had his life taken by Court that is hazy at best. Full of holes that Ryland can’t fill back in. Where Ryland had escaped into his mind, Colt had dealt with it all head on. Clasping Ryland’s hand the whole way and feeling bitter at the sense of abandonment that filled in the gap Court left behind. Ryland saw Court as his protector. The person who finally stopped their father from hurting them. Colt saw him as the one who tore their family apart. The few weeks they spent in a terrible foster family didn’t help. Luckily their uncle Holland got them out of there. When Court finally reappeared Ryland was ready to welcome him back without any issues. Colt took about six months to let Court back in.
Regardless, Ryland can tell Court isn’t thrilled with him. Ryland has enough awareness to feel a bit of shame. He wouldn’t change his choice to help. Kindness isn’t something he would ever stop giving.
“I mean… yeah more or less,” Ryland shrugs. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Call an ambulance?” Court shuts the first aid kit and stands, walking over.
“They didn’t want to go to a hospital,” Ryland looks up through his lashes before returning his gaze to the floor. He doesn’t feel bad, but he can’t handle the look Court is leveling him with.
“And that didn’t raise any red flags for you?” Court looms over him. His voice isn’t angry, but it doesn’t help Ryland feel any less small. His shoulders rise minutely. It's not Court’s fault. Court just looks more like their father than himself and Colt. It’s just genetics. He can’t help it.
“I didn’t think of it like that,” Ryland removes himself from the wall and takes a spot in the middle of the room, giving himself space. His hands, free of his pockets, clench and unclench a couple times. “I just saw someone who needed help. And yeah it was difficult and scary, but I couldn’t just leave them there.”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Court turns toward him, relaxing his posture. Ryland looks him in the face. Court just looks concerned. Ryland understands. It’s just hard sometimes. “You are too kind for your own good, you know that?”
“Maybe so,” Ryland shrugs once more. “Can we drop it please? It all turned out okay, in the end.”
“Fine, but next time- which there better not be a next time by the way- don’t lie to me,” Court gently places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “I was just worried about you. I’m not mad.”
“Ok, geez. Seriously, you can stop with the protective older brother thing,” Ryland takes a step closer putting his head on Court’s chest.
“Never. I’ve missed too many years. Gotta make up for lost time,” Court wraps his arm further around Ryland in a loose hug. It’s a newer development, something Court isn’t completely used to but perfectly willing to do. “I’ll ground you next time.”
“You can’t do that, I'm 30,” Ryland mumbles against him. He can hear Court’s heart beating against his ear.
“Watch me,” Court releases him.
“Whatever. Do you wanna stay for dinner?” Ryland asks as he pushes Court’s hand off his shoulder.
“Are you cooking?” He grimaces at Ryland’s nod. “Fine, but I’m helping. You manage to burn water.”
“Shut up,” Ryland walks away to the kitchen to see what he has. Court right on his heels.
Saturday night brings a quiet night of grading assignments when he hears a knock on his door. He tries not to feel hopeful when he approaches to look through the peephole. Suddenly he's hastily fumbling to undo his door chain and unlock his deadbolt. He whips the door open to Tangerine standing casually in the hallway. He stares wide-eyed, knowing he should say something, but can’t find the right words.
“Hey love,” Tangerine breaks the silence.
Ryland blinks before he closes the distance wrapping his arms around Tangerine. Tangerine stumbles back at the sudden weight. He stiffens for a moment before awkwardly patting Ryland's back.
Ryland stays latched on as he asks, “What’re you doing here?”
“You said anytime right?” Tangerine keeps his voice low and husky directly in his ear. The tone makes Ryland flush as he steps back.
“Wh-what's wrong?” Ryland checks him over once more. His sleeves are pushed up and out of the way, jacket slung held in one hand a piece of bloodied cloth around his other hand.
“Busted up my knuckles,” Tangerine leans in with a devilish smirk.
Ryland releases him and grabs his hand. He looks up at Tangerine before carefully peeling the cloth away. It sticks in a few spots where the blood has started to tack up but otherwise comes away easy. Sure enough the knuckles are raw and red. Cracked with blood in a few spots. Flecks of what looks like glass protrude from some of the wounds. Ryland uses that same hand to pull Tangerine inside. He sits him down at his dining table and motions for him to stay put. He returns once again with his ridiculous first-aid kit. He runs to the kitchen to grab a couple paper towels to lay on the surface of his table.
When he pulls his own chair over to sit he sees Tangerine reading one of the assignments he was grading in his uninjured hand. They just started a unit about stars. To engage the students they all went to the computer lab and connected astronomy to astrology by having them map the constellations in the sky on their birthdays to determine the accuracy of their star sign. It’s a bit silly and a little less scientific, but it makes it tangible to the students before they get into the bigger concepts.
Ryland puts on some gloves and pulls out some tweezers. He leans forward slightly, their knees almost touching as he lightly taps Tangerine’s injured hand. Tangerine sets down the assignment and extends the hand forward. Ryland gently grasps it as he starts plucking bits of glass from the knuckles.
“So… a teacher?” Tangerine asks. There’s an uncertainty to his tone.
“Yeah. Middle school science,” Ryland twists his hand, double-checking for any bits of glass still embedded in the skin, his glasses have slipped a bit making it a bit difficult, but he doesn’t want to touch them with his gloved hands. “We’re doing a unit about stars soon. I mean obviously you saw.”
Tangerine nods, “Star signs. Very scientific.” Tangerine reaches up, Ryland flinches away a little surprised. He pushes Ryland’s glasses back into place for him.
“Thanks, um,” Ryland finds another bit of glass to pluck. “It helps, not every student connects the same way with the material. Plus if I can make it fit with other classes in other subjects it adds to the repetition. The literature class is working on reading classics right now.”
“Bet you’re a Pisces,” Tangerine guesses with an oddly certain look.
“Why would you say that?” Ryland asks with honest curiosity. He doesn’t want to admit that Tangerine is correct. He doesn’t even have his real name. He knows so little about him. Ryland would like to hold a few of his own secrets, but it feels like they are going to steadily fall through his fingers anyway.
Tangerine’s answer comes in the form of a deliberate look. A quirk of his brow that says all it needs to. In the silence he seems to take to looking around the apartment while Ryland continues to work. His place isn’t super cluttered. The dining table is the worst. It's often where he chooses to do his grading. Always with stacks of paper sitting about it. There’s a few sparse things hanging on the walls. Some art from a few students and his PhD are the most prominent.
Satisfied he sets the hand down on the table, setting the tweezers aside to grab antiseptic and a cotton pad.
“Little over-qualified for middle school aren’t you?” Tangerine looks pointedly at his PhD on the wall behind Ryland’s head.
“Hmm? Oh that,” Ryland follows his gaze. As he looks away he feels the weight of a hand on his knee. His leg stills. He hadn’t even realized he had been bouncing his leg nervously till that moment. Ryland ignores the PhD on his wall, unwilling to be forthcoming about it. It's not that he isn’t proud of the achievement. He is. He just isn’t proud of how he got where he is now. It's not a story for today. Depending on whatever this thing is with Tangerine, if it is anything at all, it might not be a story for any day. “This is going to sting.”
“Not my first time, sweetheart,” Other than the slight flex of fingers on his knee, Tangerine doesn’t react as Ryland sets to work.
“So how’d this happen?” Ryland dabs a little more at a particularly nasty cut. He tries not to lose focus as he feels the soft touch of the thumb rubbing by his knee. He resolutely doesn’t look at Tangerine’s face. He doesn’t need to see the amused look that will no doubt appear at the color on his face.
“A little accident in the kitchen. Nothing to worry about,” Tangerine answers and there’s something there that feels like a lie. Maybe it’s the way he seems to pull away. His uninjured hand falls away as he sits back.
“And the stab wound?” Ryland decides to push his luck. Even if it’s a lie, it’s not like it will change anything. He will still help.
“Wrong place, wrong time,” Tangerine just barely tilts his head, looking up and away thoughtfully. “This neighborhood is a bit dangerous innit?”
“Hmmm… is that so?” Ryland responds, putting the antiseptic and soiled cotton pads aside to start picking out bandages. It’s not the best neighborhood, but he wouldn’t call it dangerous. He has lived here for a while and never had any issues. That doesn’t mean bad things don’t happen. It just means they haven’t happened to him. “I have been feeling a bit on edge recently,” he wraps a couple adhesive bandages around Tangerine’s middle and index fingers. He peers up at Tangerine through his lashes as he works at adding a final bandage on his knuckle. “Like someone has been hiding in my peripheral.”
There’s a momentary flash of surprise across Tangerine’s face. That’s all Ryland needs to see to know that he was in fact seeing him throughout the last two weeks. Ducking and hiding behind things at the last possible second. It proves one thing with relative certainty for Ryland. They must live in the same building. The frequency can’t just be a coincidence. He loosens his hold on Tangerine’s hand, an open invite for Tangerine to retract it. It stays where it is.
“Speaking of. Your side. How is it?” Ryland brings their hands down to rest on his leg, fingers interlacing.
“Are you just trying to get my shirt off again?” Tangerine smirks. Ryland, cheeks flushed a little pink, gives him a thoughtful look. The flirting is interesting. It’s hard to tell the reason behind it. Ryland can’t help that he likes it, but it doesn’t always feel genuine. Maybe Tangerine just likes to tease. It’s all fun and games for him. That doesn’t feel right either. Maybe he’s deflecting. Let him try.
Two can play at this game. Ryland isn’t entirely out of his depth. A little rusty. Missing the rule book. If that even exists. The situation is a bit strange to be honest.
He leans forward returning Tangerine’s smirk with a sly expression of his own, “Is it working?”
The subtle widening of Tangerine’s eyes is enough to make Ryland feel pleased, but not for long. The second passes as Tangerine pulls his hand away. Ryland clenches his own into a loose fist at the loss, before removing the gloves on his hands.
“My brother has been helping me redress it. So far so good. Maybe got a couple more weeks to be fully healed,” Tangerine pushes his sleeves back down and stands. That’s when Ryland remembers the person who came to retrieve Tangerine last time. “Not the worst I’ve ever had.”
“You must have terrible luck,” Ryland thinks nothing of it as he says it.
The way Tangerine’s expression becomes guarded makes him think again. There’s something there that must be terrible. He thinks of all the scars he saw on Tangerine’s torso. Thinks of his own, far fewer in number but no less painful, hiding under his clothes. Feeling a pit grow in his stomach at the thought of those just being attributed to bad luck. The moment feels uncomfortable as Ryland looks toward the floor.
“Ain’t nothing unlucky about being here, love,” Tangerine crowds his space. His knee slots between Ryland’s own as he tilts his chin up gently. Ryland stares, no words find their way out. A brush of calloused finger tips on his jawline breaks him free of those dreadful thoughts.
Ryland tries to say something, anything. All that comes out is a mumbled bit of nonsense. His brain lagging behind. Tangerine walks past him to the door, exiting into the hall.
Tangerine returns upstairs to find Lemon waiting up for him at the dining table. Their shared laptop is open, what appears to be a contract on the screen.
“How was it?” Lemon starts in on him, turning around in his chair.
“I'm right as rain,” Tangerine holds up his bandaged hand for Lemon to see.
“Not what I meant,” Lemon regards his hand in an uncaring fashion.
“Oh yeah? And what exactly is it you meant?” Tangerine crosses the room and drops into the chair next to Lemon. He leans forward, intertwining his fingers together in his lap.
Lemon gives him a sharp look, “There’s very few reasons why you would’ve gone to that apartment after a mission.”
Tangerine knows what Lemon is assuming. He could correct him easily. Unfortunately for Lemon, Tangerine isn’t feeling very forthcoming. Not because he doesn’t want to share the details. He wants to make Lemon say it. To make him admit his assumptions out loud.
“Well go on then,” Tangerine crosses his legs as he leans back. He settles his chin on his hand.
“We’re doing this? You really wanna do this?” Lemon closes the laptop in front of him, giving Tangerine his full attention. Tangerine raises a brow silently inviting Lemon to keep going. “I admit he’s good at patching you up, but we could’ve done that up here. So…”
“His bedside manner is better than yours,” Tangerine interrupts with a smirk.
“Yeah I’m sure,” Lemon stares him down. Tangerine returns it with the same intensity. Lemon must be fed up with beating around the bush as he sighs with a roll of his eyes. “You fucked him right? That’s why you went back?”
Tangerine holds a hand to his heart with an exaggerated gasp, “Lemon…”
“No?” Lemon asks, genuinely surprised. “Why not? Francis, just shag and get it over with.”
That’s how Tangerine knows Lemon is being entirely serious. A name drop like that adds to the weight. The problem is that Tangerine just can’t bring himself to do that. With anyone else it would’ve been that simple. A one night stand or a short fling would’ve been enough to get Tangerine to forget them. With Ryland it feels like doing that would only pull him further into his orbit. Tangerine is afraid to find out.
Maybe he just needs a distraction. Something or someone else to take his mind off of Ryland. Throw himself into work. Throw himself at a few strangers.
“Whatever, Liam,” Tangerine rises from his chair, heading to the bedroom. “Lemme know if you find us another job.”
Tangerine is just having a smoke. That's the only reason he's back out on this balcony this evening. It has nothing to do with Ryland one level below.
Nothing to do with gentle hands pulling glass from his knuckles.
Nothing to do with flirtatious words reciprocated.
And absolutely nothing to do with sad, downcast, apologetic eyes.
He's just out here for a quick ciggy before the rain hits. Bit late for that unfortunately as the first few drops fall. The door below slides open. Just his luck, Ryland catches a few droplets in the palm of his hand and looks up.
It was bound to happen eventually. Tangerine hasn’t been particularly careful after all. He just didn’t expect it to be quite so innocuous when it did happen. Ryland’s eyes widen at first before he settles into a soft smile. Tangerine feels his heart constrict as he turns away to head back inside. Lemon is already out for the evening. He had asked Tangerine to come along, but Tangerine had declined. He regrets that choice now.
Feeling frustrated, he texts Lemon to find out where he is. Maybe joining him is the best idea. A quickie would be a perfect distraction. It might even help him get his mind right, so he can stop thinking about a certain middle school teacher.
He just needs to blow off some steam.
The rain subsides in the time it takes him to get ready. He goes for something a bit more casual but no less put together. A patterned, knit polo shirt with a pair of straight legged dress pants. Matching black belt and shoes. On the way out the door he grabs a leather jacket with a black sherpa lining.
A couple drinks at a bar lead to a dingy club with loud music and sticky floors. A couple more drinks and a bit of a chat with someone at the bar leads to stumbling into a dirty bathroom stall with a lock that doesn’t even work.
Blonde hair, not quite the same shade or as messy. Blue eyes that don’t look at him the same way as the ones he can’t get out of his head. Not nearly as soft or as kind.
He sways slightly. He’s no lightweight, but several drinks in a short amount of time has him tipsy. He lets himself be pushed up against the wall. A passive participant at best as lips connect with his own. No part of him is in it right now. As hands fumble for his belt, Tangerine grabs a wrist and puts a stop to it. He can't. Can't let himself do this. It feels like such a low thing to do. This has never been an issue before. The fact that it is now feels so utterly confusing. At the same time using this guy as a replacement for the real thing just feels shameful.
Without a second thought or an apology he pushes the other man away and leaves the stall. He knows it's rude. He growls in irritation as he looks for Lemon. His towering height makes him easy to find. He barks that he is going home, not waiting for a response as he weaves through the crowd toward the door.
Tangerine finds his path blocked before he makes it. The man from the stall standing next to another bulkier man, rivaling Lemon’s build. He looks between the two. Clearly he offended the other more than he realized if he decided to recruit someone to fight on his behalf. The fight that follows is messy, but quick. The larger man gets one good hit on him, right in the eye. That’s going to suck later. Tangerine fights dirty. A quick jab to the throat throws the guy off enough to create an easy opening.
Tangerine wanted to blow off some steam. The dirty stall was a bust. Punching this large man till he drops unconscious will have to do. He doesn’t even care that security throws him out after. He feels better.
The walk back certainly sobers him up a little. The air is just a little frigid. He pulls his pack of cigarettes and lights one up. A second follows on the way.
He feels a bit more grounded. Tangerine had thought that maybe he was just feeling a bit pent up and frustrated. That he could fix it and get over it with a quick hook-up with a stranger. That had been quickly proven incorrect. The fact that he had chosen someone so similar looking should've been a big clue to that. The inherent feelings of wrongness and self-condemnation in that stall evidence of something deeper.
For now using injuries as an excuse feels safe. He isn't pursuing Ryland, just the care he provides. Resolutely ignoring the fact that Ryland's kindness was what initially drew him in.
Tangerine makes it back into the apartment. He throws his coat off and catches sight of himself in the reflection of a window. Without a second thought he's opening the balcony door.
It’s late. Ryland should already be in bed, but he’s never been that good at actually doing it. Almost midnight on a school night is not ideal. He’s brushing his teeth, one of the last steps before he tries going to sleep when he hears the knock on his door. He’s not dressed for company, but if someone is going to come knocking at this time of night then that should be expected. He spits and rinses quickly before stepping out of the bathroom. He grabs his favorite cardigan, off white with foxes on the back, to cover up the matching set of burgundy and blue striped shorts and short-sleeved button down pajama top a bit better as he goes toward his hallway door.
A second knock comes when he realizes that the knock isn’t at his main door. It's from his balcony. His sock clad feet pad cautiously into his darkened bedroom, peering around the frame. If this were a threat he doubts they'd announce themselves. Regardless he feels wary.
Ryland's heartbeat spikes as he jumps from the figure standing on his balcony. He would like to say he didn't squeak, but that would be a lie.
He squints, pulling his glasses away and letting them dangle around his chin. It takes him an extra second to recognize Tangerine. He isn't wearing his typical three piece suit that he's seen him in. Noticing the lack of sleeves on his crossed arms he hurries forward to unlatch his sliding door and let him in. Tangerine wears a look that speaks to his annoyance and impatience.
“Gosh, what are you doing?” Ryland grabs his forearm feeling cold skin covered in goosebumps. Without a thought he's stripping his cardigan and draping it over Tangerine’s shoulders.
Tangerine seems to almost melt into it as Ryland leads him to the couch. The lack of words starts to feel concerning. Even more so when Ryland sees evidence of a black eye starting to form now that he is in the light.
Ryland frowns, reaching forward slowly with both hands. When Tangerine doesn't make any moves to get away he gently holds his face, tilting to the left to get a better look. Panic spikes at the sight. It’s not something that is unfamiliar to him. The occasional black eye was common when he was younger. Most often on Court.
“Tangerine, what happened? Who did this? Do I nee-” Ryland stops as Tangerine reaches up to grasp his wrist. He doesn’t push Ryland away. It's more grounding than anything.
“Just a bit of a scuffle down at the club,” Tangerine tries to reassure. “I'm not some kinda damsel in distress, love.”
Ryland feels terrible for the relief that comes over him. Sure he was spiraling and assuming something awful, but a bar fight isn’t anything to celebrate either.
He starts to pull away, “Let me get you something for that.”
Tangerine’s sharp eyes catch on his forearm, near the inside of his elbow. His grip tightens as he pulls his wrist to the side, positioning it better for the light to cast upon it. Ryland doesn’t need to look to know what Tangerine sees. They’re old, hard to see and easy to hide most of the time. Three small, slightly sunken, circular patches of scarred skin.
“What’s this?” Tangerine looks up with icy blue eyes, eyebrows pulling just the barest amount together as a grimace takes over his face.
“You’re not the only one with secrets,” Ryland deflects. He places his hand over Tangerine’s on his wrist.
“That so?” Tangerine loosens his grip, his head tilts as his focus intensifies. Ryland resists the smirk that he feels trying to show on his face.
“Maybe if you tell me your name, I’d be willing to share,” he decides to push his luck. Tangerine deflates. His shoulders fall. Head hangs down with a soft sigh. Tangerine releases his wrist. Ryland steps back taking a brief second to rub at the spot. Where Tangerine had held him. It doesn’t hurt, his grip wasn’t that tight. Secure but not painful. “I’ll be right back.”
Ryland walks away. He doesn’t have any ice packs prepped, but he has a bag of frozen peas that’ll do perfectly fine. He walks back into the living room to find Tangerine deep in thought. Sulking, possibly. Ryland tosses the bag underhand. It lands on the floor right in front of Tangerine. He looks up before picking up the bag and placing it on his eye.
“I’m going to go to bed. Are you staying?”
“Sure, love,” Tangerine responds. He looks a little ridiculous with the bag on his face. Ryland refrains from laughing.
“Let me get you a pillow and blanket,” Ryland turns toward the threshold leading to his bedroom.
“Not with you this time?” Tangerine asks. Ryland looks over his shoulder at the question.
Tangerine can’t be serious with that. There were definitely extenuating circumstances that night. A black eye is child’s play comparatively. Ryland smiles, “Not tonight.”
Tangerine watches Ryland turn the corner. He toes off his shoes. He leans off to the side, propping himself against the armrest as he holds the icy bag to his eye. He didn’t need to come here. He could’ve iced this at home. If he iced it at all. It was just some kind of compulsion. He had a perfect excuse. Ryland said anytime. So far that has held true.
Ryland is a mystery. There’s bits and pieces that are starting to come together. Scars that tell a story that Tangerine feels too connected with. Questions left unanswered that leave gaps Tangerine wants to fill. That damnable need to put others before himself that Tangerine finds endearing. It’s also a bit concerning. His lack of self-preservation is astounding. Tangerine is practically a stranger. Yet Ryland keeps opening the door and letting him in. Even when his injuries come from less than stellar circumstances, Ryland doesn’t force him to leave. He barely stopped to consider the implications of Tangerine at his balcony door. It lights something in Tangerine that while not foreign is often only reserved for Lemon. This feels different in some ways, but the need to be close and to protect is there.
If something happened to Ryland, well Tangerine doesn’t know how he would handle it. The scars on his arm made him want to cause irreparable damage to the cause of them. He knows what a cigarette burn looks like, even that old. Ryland clearly doesn’t smoke, those weren’t self-inflicted.
He can hear Ryland in the other room, searching. Tangerine has slept in worse places, he hardly needs a pillow or a blanket. He drops the bag of frozen peas to the coffee table. Empties his pockets of everything except for the knife he keeps hidden. It's not a lot. His phone and a bit of cash. The cardigan around his shoulders is warm enough. He takes in a deep breath as he curls into his side, smelling citrus and sandalwood. He pulls it around to his front. Part of it ends up under his head providing a small amount of cushion, the rest covering his arms and torso.
He hears it when Ryland returns. A soft huff and a chuckle as the weight of a blanket drapes over him. Fingertips brush back hair from his face. As steps quietly pad out of the room Tangerine makes his decision.
“Francis,” he barely opens his eyes. Just enough to see Ryland come to a halt and look back at him.
Shock passes. Wide eyes crinkle at the corners with a fond smile.
“Good night, Francis,” Ryland says softly as he leaves for his bedroom.
Tangerine only sticks around for a couple hours. Around 5 A.M. he sneaks his way out.
It was a moment of weakness telling Ryland his name. Stupid and idiotic. He shouldn’t have done that. Why had he done that?
Is a bit of kindness all it really takes to break him down?
Sad eyes, soft smiles?
He can’t take it back now that it's out there. He knows himself well enough that he won’t be able to completely avoid Ryland. He’s in too deep.
Still, he can try.
Tangerine- Francis is gone in the morning. So is his cardigan.
Ryland doesn’t know which name to stick with. Which name feels better. Tangerine running out on him feels like a sign. Maybe Ryland pushed too hard.
He doesn’t have time to get too deep into this. School first. The kids are starting to get rowdy as winter break is right around the corner. He loves them, but trying to get a room of 25 eighth graders to settle down and focus is exhausting.
He’s dragging his feet by the time he arrives home. Ryland dreads taking the stairs on a day like today, but hates the elevator even more. He stops before entering his hall. He could go get his cardigan back. It's just one more floor.
He could also see Tangerine. Try to assess just what is going on.
He nods to himself and tries to pump himself up. It’ll be fine. No matter what happens or what the outcome. It’ll be fine.
Instead of Tangerine the man who retrieved him from his apartment a few weeks ago answers the door. He looks down at Ryland with a bored expression. Entirely unimpressed. Ryland feels himself shrink into himself under the gaze.
“Yeah? What’s up?” he asks, blocking the view into the apartment with his body.
“Tangerine… um borrowed my cardigan. I came to get it?” Ryland tries not to fidget.
“Ah. Alright. Wait here,” The door shuts leaving Ryland alone in the hall. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
What is no less than five minutes feels like an eternity. The door opens, the other steps into the hall and leans against it. He offers Ryland’s cardigan to him. As Ryland reaches out to take it the other pulls it away.
“So what’s your deal?” He asks, looking Ryland dead in the eyes.
“My deal?” Ryland looks up with confusion.
“Yeah. You got him obsessing. Must be something about you,” the other man remarks. Ryland thinks he must be lying. Obsessing over him. Impossible.
“I’m just a middle school teacher,” Ryland shrugs.
“Gotta be more than that,” he continues to look down on Ryland. His tone is dry. Lacking in any amount of amusement. “You serious about him?”
“I uh-” Ryland starts, unsure.
“‘Cause if not, you should probably back out now,” his hand releases the cardigan, letting Ryland take it. “Or just fuck and get it over with. One and done. Get you outta his system.”
“That’s not-” Ryland tries again.
“You even know anything about him? You know what we do for a living?” And maybe he’s right, Ryland doesn’t know a lot about Tangerine. At least not a lot about his life or his past. He doesn’t know if it really matters. Tangerine is more than just interesting.
Tangerine is tender and caring underneath the exterior. He has caught glimpses of it. Had a front row seat. He is intense, sure, but there’s moments. Quiet, soft moments that really draw Ryland in. That feels like enough.
Ryland locks eyes with the man in front of him, “He told me his name.”
“Huh…” he gives Ryland another once over. With no further comment he goes back into his apartment.
They are running. Security hot on their trail as they abscond with a flash drive full of private documents. They just have to get past the gate. Even if it shuts it’ll be easy. Climbing chainlink is basic. Tangerine stumbles on the other side of it, knee catching the pavement. A bullet narrowly misses him as Lemon helps him up. They run off to their get-a-way car.
The derlivery is quick. Flash drive placed in a dead drop site with picture proof. They’ll have to wait a few days for the client to confirm the information, but after that they should receive money directly wired into their account.
Until now the adrenaline had kept Tangerine from limping. Out of danger he finally gets a chance to look at his knee. Pants torn and a bit bloody.
“You going to go see Ryland for that?” Lemon asks. Side eyeing him from the driver’s seat.
“Oh sod off,” Tangerine responds, crossing his arms.
“You are,” Lemon sounds so assured.
Tangerine is tempted to prove him wrong. He’s been avoiding Ryland as much as possible the last couple weeks. Made more difficult by Ryland's apparent change in schedule. A break in the school year probably. Christmas was just a couple days ago.
He looks down at his knee. Thinks of Ryland using gentle hands to patch him up and smiles. He knows he shouldn’t. He can’t resist.
Ryland is out on his balcony when he spots their return. Right away he notices Tangerine’s hobbled gait. He goes back inside and waits by the door. He feels horrible for being hopeful. He shouldn’t be excited to see Tangerine injured, just because he might come to his apartment. Yet he can’t help it. He hasn’t seen or heard from Tangerine in almost two weeks. In the grand scheme of things it’s nothing. To Ryland it feels monumental. Much too long.
There’s a knock on his door. Ryland has to stop himself from immediately opening it. How embarrassing would it be for Tangerine to know that he had been waiting for him? He takes a deep breath and opens the door. Tangerine looks as put together as he normally does when he has appeared on Ryland’s doorstep. His hair is a bit loose. Suit mostly intact except for the top buttons of his shirt. His left knee ripped with some blood staining the fabric.
“Hey love,” Tangerine greets. Ryland feels his heart flutter at first at the nickname, before he deflates.
He only shows up when he is injured. If Ryland hadn’t thought so before the conversation with Tangerine’s brother all but confirmed it. This isn’t just about first aid for Tangerine. There’s something there.
Yet, Tangerine hasn't initiated anything since that first time.
The sweet nicknames get thrown around, but Tangerine never calls him by name. It's clear that names hold weight to Tangerine. The distance created by those nicknames, the main reason why Ryland can’t bring himself to think of him as Francis. It was a big step for Tangerine to share his name, but it doesn’t feel right yet to use it. Especially with the way he essentially ran away after. Like it was something Tangerine regretted doing. Like Ryland was a mistake.
It's all so confusing. Tangerine keeps coming back. Keeps existing in his space. Keeps creating distance. Keeps running away.
If Tangerine is going to play games, Ryland is going to break the rules.
Even if he ends up losing.
“What is it today?” Ryland asks as he leads Tangerine to sit on his couch.
“Scraped a knee,” Tangerine rolls his pants up to show off the raw bloodied skin.
Ryland hums with a nod but for once doesn’t rush for a solution. His normal is to go get the first aid kit straight away. Instead he steps forward and kneels in front of Tangerine looking up at him expectantly.
“What are you doing down there, sweetheart?” Tangerine looks down at him, brows furrowed.
“Hmm?” Ryland tilts his head, gently holding Tangerine’s ankle. “I don't think that's my name.”
Tangerine stares at him, a conflict happening behind those eyes. Ryland pushes his luck, hand rising up the calf, staring up at him intently.
Tangerine's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, “Ryland.”
And well that deserves a reward. Ryland leans forward and plants a soft kiss to his knee. Emboldened by the gasp he receives and the flex of Tangerine’s calf muscle he goes for a second to the other side. Two fingers find their way under his chin tilting his face back up. Tangerine is staring at him, eyes dark and entrancing.
“I thought maybe… I could kiss it better?” Ryland answers, reaching forward to intertwine his hand with Tangerines.
“You could just kiss me instead,” Tangerine starts pulling him up. Ryland follows easily, letting himself be pulled forward into Tangerine’s lap till he’s straddling him.
Ryland doesn’t get a moment to breathe before he’s roughly pulled into a hungry kiss. Tangerine is as intense as always. He reaches up under Ryland’s t-shirt, nails digging into his skin. The sting makes Ryland gasp. Tangerine licks into his mouth while his other hand runs up into his hair at the base of his neck. Ryland grips Tangerine’s sides to help hold himself steady. His back arches as nails rake across his back and he whimpers.
At the sound Tangerine pulls away. Pushing him back at the shoulder. His eyes looking to see if Ryland is hurt or upset. Searching. Ready to run away again. Ryland sucks in a breath. He brings his hands up to Tangerine’s shoulders and runs a hand through his hair. Tangerine leans forward wrapping his arms around Ryland’s waist tightly. He buries his face in his shoulder. Ryland is forced to wrap his arms around Tangerine’s neck to keep balanced.
“Please, Tang-” he whispers.
“Francis” corrects, slightly muffled.
Ryland smiles, “Francis, will you stay?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Francis responds, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I’m not a good person. I hurt people. I’ve killed people.”
“Okay,” Ryland acknowledges it. He isn’t necessarily a fan of it. At the same time, considering what Court used to do for work, he’d be a hypocrite to judge Francis.
“‘Okay’? That’s it?” Francis looks at him incredulously.
“Yeah. That’s it,” Ryland tilts his head to the side. “So will you? Stay?”
“Just for tonight?” Francis asks, but Ryland can see he is hoping for more.
“As long as you want,” Ryland kisses his forehead.
Francis doesn’t run away in the middle of the night or even the next morning early. They stay in bed late. Ryland invades his space as if he wants to live inside of him. Francis lets him. Encourages it with how hard he latches on. Ryland won’t be surprised to find nail marks and bites all over him later. Francis practically devours him. He stays almost the entire day, leaving his phone number and a promise to return.