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Summary
Lemon dips down onto his elbows, taking the strain off his shoulders as they kiss, and the gold pendant hanging from his neck lands in the hollow of Tangerine’s throat like an ember from a wildfire. Tangerine hadn’t been able to make himself look directly at it since he’d looped it over Lemon’s head and left it there, in the Shinkansen bathroom. He had thought-as much as it could be said he’d been thinking, then, as much as operating solely on rage and pain-that if Lemon was…gone, dead, dumped in a fucking bathroom by some asshole, he might as well take said asshole out with him. It’d been ironic that the fucking American’s interference had only hastened the end of that plan, and, truthfully, the only thing he’d really been upset about, in the end, was that the stupid girl was still alive.
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Tangerine might've overestimated his own ability to have normal, casual sex with Lemon after the Tokyo job.