Chapter Text
Tangerine has enemies. That’s a given with his line of work. At some point he was bound to have at least a few. Being that as it may he’s been able to avoid any complications with that for a while now. The whole situation of the train had proven that maybe it was time to change it up a bit. So he and by extension Lemon took some time off. They kept moving for a while, before landing in an apartment in San Francisco. It’s small and lacks furniture, but it works for them. It’s just as good as anywhere else they could’ve ended up. They never know when they might just want to up and leave.
Tonight Tangerine is just trying to make it back to the apartment. He had an unfortunate encounter. More so for the other guy, who he left behind in a pool of blood. Tangerine might be on his way there if he doesn’t get help soon. His clothes are damp from the rain he hadn’t been able to avoid. As well as the blood seeping into his shirt on his side. Lemon can patch him up. Everything will be fine. The wound in his side won’t take him down. Not if Tangerine has any say in it. All he has to do is keep moving.
He curses aloud as his foot catches on seemingly nothing and he stumbles. He falls sideways, cussing as he goes. A trash can lid falls to the pavement with a loud clanging sound. He’s normally much more graceful, but between the pain in his side and the couple hits he took he isn’t in top form. He’s about to get up when he sees a light coming down the alleyway. He doesn’t have time for this, but until he can identify if this is an enemy or not it's best to stay put. Tangerine practically prays that they turn around.
His luck is absolute garbage apparently.
He struggles to hang on while trying to stay unnoticed. He needs to keep moving, keep his adrenaline going. Tangerine’s grasp on consciousness starts to slip.
It's near dark. It happens earlier and earlier everyday as November comes to an end. This evening is particularly dreary as Ryland walks back to his place from the shop at the corner. He really should've brought an umbrella to protect himself from the rain. Oh well. He had managed to wait out the worst of it at the shop. He might get a bit damp but at least he won't be drenched.
He gets to the main entry of his building, key fob in hand to unlock the door when he hears a ruckus from around the corner. There’s a small alley there where the dumpsters for the building live. It's not uncommon for there to be a raccoon or cat wandering around there. It's also not the first time he's decided to investigate a sound down there. Ryland walks away from the door, back down the stoop and uses his phone flashlight to look around.
He's hoping to find nothing, but he has more than a few times now found an injured creature. His landlady would probably have a conniption if she knew about the few birds and squirrels he's nursed back to health in his apartment. An old habit from when he was a kid that he just can't break.
His brothers understood. They were already used to patching each other up from times when their father got physical. They couldn't fault Ryland for putting those skills to use to help a small creature. Occasionally they even helped. Court was happy to check him out books at the library to build Ryland's knowledge. Colt was willing to sacrifice old t-shirts to make bedding.
Ryland is more than willing to face his landlady's ire for a helpless creature.
He picks up strays. So what? There's way worse he could do.
Ryland tracks his light from one side to the other as he ventures into the alley. Whatever had created that noise is either gone, hiding or incapacitated. Or possibly, sadly dead. The thought makes Ryland tear up a bit.
He steels his resolve. Nope, better not to think that way.
As he pans over to the right, walking forward he hears something. Heavy, labored breathing. Ryland turns to the sound. The bag in his left hand hits the ground as he gasps in shock. There's a man slumped against the wall at his feet.
“Oh fudge,” Ryland kneels down and starts taking a mental catalog of everything he can see.
A sluggishly bleeding wound by the hairline of his somewhat disheveled brunette locks leads down to a strain of blood from his nose into a well trimmed mustache. If not for all of that or maybe in spite of it the guy is unreasonably attractive. Ryland shakes his head. Now is not the time for thoughts like that. Ryland reaches forward and places a trembling hand on the stranger's shoulder to shake them as he goes to find his phone. The stranger stirs a little with a groan.
“Oh, gosh, okay” Ryland can hear his own panic in his voice even as he tries to keep calm. It wouldn't be very useful of him. He finally manages to get his phone out. “I'm going to call some help. J-just hang on.”
The man grumbles. With reflexes faster than Ryland could possibly anticipate he brings a bloodied hand out from his jacket and snatches Ryland's wrist. Ryland yelps in surprise.
That's when Ryland notices the growing bloodstain on the man's side, right above his hip. Oh this is worse than he thought.
“N-no hospitals,” his voice is raspy. He follows the quiet command with a couple coughs. “Fuckin’ hell.”
Ryland tilts his head. He doesn’t know why this guy doesn't want to go to the hospital. He looks rough. This might be too much for him to handle, but he can’t just leave him here. The hand on his wrist feels slick with blood, but also desperate. All while this runs through his head he keeps looking at the wound in the side. He knows that pressure is a necessity. Pressure that has been removed by the grasp being held on his wrist.
“Okay, okay. No hospitals,” Ryland agrees. “Can you hold pressure to your side if I help you up to my apartment? I live in this building.”
The brunette nods, “First aid kit.” His grip slick with blood finally releases. “All I need.”
Ryland puts his phone away and strips off his hoodie. He holds it out as a quiet offer. With what appears to be an apologetic look, the man takes it and holds it to his side. He starts to get up on his own, using the wall to leverage his way. Ryland moves to the side and pulls an arm over his shoulders. He is surprised about the weight on him, stumbling. The guy is much more solid than he anticipated. Eventually he is able to get him fully up. He places his other hand over the man’s own adding to the pressure holding to the wound.
“What am I getting myself into?” Ryland asks, mostly to himself. He doesn’t expect an answer.
“Just a little stab, nothing to worry about,” the man responds, making light of his injury with his snark. Ryland doesn’t know if movement got him feeling a bit more lucid. The words are not reassuring one bit.
The walk is excruciatingly slow and complicated. Although Ryland typically avoids it, they end up taking the elevator. He doesn’t trust himself to be able to haul this man up the stairs. He almost starts to fidget in the elevator when he feels the fingers of the hand he is covering twitch and interlace with his own. The blush that heats his face feels improper. The pull on his fingers is oddly grounding. He manages to escort the man the rest of the way to his apartment.
Ryland helps him into the dining area. The man dislodges himself enough to take a seat in one of the chairs, leaning heavily towards the table. His eyes scrunch closed as he groans. Ryland steps back, “You stay here, I’ll go get my first aid kit.”
Ryland rushes to the bathroom and finds his quite honestly ridiculously stocked first aid kit. It's a large white metal case with a handle. Between what it started with from Court’s own contributions and the additions Ryland had added it’s quite well equipped. More than he ever thought he’d need. Right now he is pretty thankful for that. On his way back into the dining area he grabs some towels from the cabinet in the hall.
“Okay,” Ryland starts as he places the kit on the table. “I just need one more thing.”
He goes into the small kitchen, grabbing a large bowl and filling it with warm water. He can still see the man past the kitchen island. As the bowl fills he opens his phone with his thumb, a streak of red follows it. He winces at it but finds his messaging app and Court’s thread. Ryland tries to make the text the least panic inducing thing he can and phrases the question of how to fix a stab wound as a hypothetical.
“I’m not certain I know how to handle a stab wound. I mean I haven’t seen it yet, but if it’s really bad I might not be able to,” Ryland knows he’s rambling. He can’t help it. This is nerve-wracking. The man at his table watches him with eyes half closed. “You don’t look like you’re actively about to die at least. I don't know for sure how much blood you've lost. I suspect your adrenaline is crashing. But you’ve been responsive so that’s good, right?”
The man hums in affirmation.
There’s a stranger in his house with multiple contusions and a wound of unknown severity. Hopefully his assessment is correct and it's not as bad as it looks, “You just need to stay awake a little longer, okay? I need you to do that…” Getting a name might be helpful. It would be one less thing to feel uneasy about and certainly make things a bit more comfortable. “You know, I should probably get your name?”
“Tangerine,” his voice is low with an exhausted edge, even though he looks somewhat amused.
“Tangerine? Like the fruit?” Ryland looks over curiously. “You know what? Not important. My name is Ryland. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
“Forward of you,” Tangerine chuckles then winces. “Alright, no laughing I guess.”
Ryland reaches forward and starts disassembling Tangerine’s clothes. It’s more complicated than he’d like with the tie, vest and button up he has to open first all under a nice suit jacket. With some difficulty they work together to peel all the layers off exposing Tangerine’s torso. They constantly have to alternate who holds pressure to his side as they maneuver his many layers from his body. Ryland kneels down to get a better look.
He looks up from his position. Ryland tries not to let his eyes wander more than needed. Tries not to blush at just how intimate a position this would be in any other circumstance. His gaze catches on toned muscle and scars the whole way. Tangerine is staring at him with half-lidded eyes. Now that he’s in the light Ryland can see a bit of bruising by his temple and jaw line. Tangerine nods, as if giving permission. Ryland reaches over and grabs Tangerine’s wrist slowly pulling his hand and the hoodie away. Tangerine lets the limb hang to the side.
The bloody mess underneath makes it difficult to tell the severity of it. Ryland dampens a towel and wipes away some of the blood. He tries to be gentle even with shaking hands, Tangerine reacts with a pained expression and a growl.
“Sorry. It's okay. I'm sorry,” Ryland says softly, he gently grabs Tangerine's calf and squeezes. He doesn't know what he intends with the touch other than maybe a distraction from the pain as he continues to wipe away blood.
Taking a closer look, it's a puncture wound, but doesn't appear too deep. It’s still bleeding, but not gushing blood. It's definitely out of his wheel house. Hopefully Court responds soon. Ryland doesn't know what he'll do if Court doesn't. This doesn’t feel like something he can just improvise. If he messes this up he could really do some damage. His mind halts for a brief second. If he messes up he could kill this man.
He grabs a towel and puts pressure back on it, before any other terrible thoughts can make him reconsider. Just as he does that his phone starts ringing, startling both of them as Tangerine also jumps.
It’s Court. Ryland answers it. He’s probably freaking out and assuming the worst.
“You can’t just text something like that,” Court scolds. “Are you hurt? I can come over.”
“No, no I’m fine, seriously just a hypothetical. I was watching a movie and I just wanted to know how to handle something like that,” Ryland knows that he’s talking too fast. That Court will pick up that he is nervous and possibly lying. “Seriously I don’t need you to come over. I figure with your old line of work it might be useful to know. Just in case.”
It's then that Tangerine starts to slump over. Either blood loss is catching up to him or exhaustion. Hopefully the latter. Ryland’s phone falls to the floor as he tries to catch him. Oh, fudge. Ryland tries to lower him to the floor as gently as possible. He reaches for his phone, still trying to maintain pressure on the wound to Tangerine’s side.
Court is calling his name when he brings his phone back to his ear.
“Sorry, you know me, clumsy. Anyway, can you just answer the question?” Ryland laughs nervously. The towel he’s holding is starting to feel damp against his fingers. Dread hits him in a big wave. Threatening to drown him. Ryland puts the call on speaker and sets his phone down. Court asks questions, like location and depth that Ryland tries to answer to the best of his ability.
As Ryland answers Court he taps Tangerine’s cheek a couple times. When Tangerine turns his head away he tries to quietly coax him awake, “Show me those eyes, Tangerine.”
“Hypothetically you could pack it and wrap it, but a hospital would be better. I can't be sure without seeing for myself,” Court finally tells him.
“OK, ok and what are the steps for that?” Ryland has to stand to pull the kit from the table. Doing so means he can't hold the towel in place anymore. It will probably be okay if he starts working right away.
“First you would need to thoroughly clean the wound. Warm water and a towel or use saline to clear any debris,” Court instructs.
Ryland kneels back down and puts on a pair of gloves. Tangerine grabs Ryland's side just above the hip as he starts cleaning. He won't deny him the anchor point. Especially with the way his eyes clench shut and he bites down on his lip. The grasp on his side tightens as he pulls out the saline. Tangerine stifles any noises he makes well enough that Court doesn't catch them, breathing heavily through his nose. Ryland tries not to respond sympathetically. He pushes his compulsion to apologize, soothe and assure aside. Not wanting to make a noticeable fuss that Court might question. It makes his heart ache. Court is already on the next step. Ryland doesn't want Tangerine to feel like he's being ignored, but he has to keep up.
Ryland starts packing the wound. The depth is only a few inches. As he uses a q-tip to push moistened gauze in, Tangerine sharply exhales, no longer able to hold back.
“Fu-uck,” he mutters, inhaling shakily. Tangerine's hand clamps down harder. Ryland can feel his nails digging into him through his t-shirt. He gasps and Tangerine’s grip loosens. A guilty look crosses his face.
“I'm sorry,” Ryland says much too loudly, before dropping to a whisper. “Grab on as hard as you need, I can take it.” Ryland wants to emphasize it by clamping Tangerine’s hand down harder, but his gloved hands are busy with their task.
Court pauses suddenly, “What's going on Ryland?”
“It’s fine, Court. I just dropped my pencil. Could you repeat that last step? I fell behind trying to take notes,” the excuse should hopefully work well enough. He is behind a full step at this point. Ryland mutes the mic on his phone with his pinkie. He feels tears welling up. That just makes it worse as panic mixes with frustration.
Ryland startles as Tangerine grabs his forearm. His thumb gently caresses his skin, juxtaposing the rough grip still on his side. “Don't cry, sweetheart. You're doing great,” Tangerine encourages him even with blood on his lip from biting down so hard.
Ryland nods as Tangerine releases his arm, “Ok, yeah.” He can't stop now, he has someone depending on him to keep it together. He needs to compartmentalize and keep his cool. “If you need to make noise you can.”
He finishes packing the wound as Tangerine takes his earlier words to heart. His grip turns bruising. Ryland tries not to let the pain show on his face or make any sounds. It’s got to be nothing compared to what Tangerine is dealing with. He definitely can't fault Tangerine for the few expletives he gasps out. He splits his attention as Court is still going through the next steps.
From there it's much easier. He just needs to put some gauze and an occlusive bandage over it. Court voice comes through with aftercare instructions.
Ryland sighs in relief. The vice-like grip on his side becomes less painful, but doesn’t go away. He pulls off his gloves as he leans in, “Tangerine, The worst is done.” Ryland reaches up and runs a hand through brunette strands near his temple. They're a bit damp from sweat and rain but he doesn’t care.
“Ry, are you still there?” Court asks suspiciously. Ryland frantically grabs for his phone, turning his mic back on.
“Ya know… it's getting late I should go,” Ryland hurriedly hangs up even as Court protests.
Ryland brings a hand to Tangerine’s jaw to get his attention, “I know you're hurting, but I can't move you by myself. We can get you set up in my bed.”
Tangerine groans. He reaches up to grab Ryland's hand. Following up his arm to his shoulder. Ryland expects to be helping Tangerine into a sitting position. Tangerine props himself up on his elbow before yanking Ryland down.
Ryland stares in wide-eyed shock as their lips meet. It tastes slightly metallic. Tangerine keeps himself propped up as Ryland hurriedly pulls away, “Wha-what the…”
Tangerine lets out a curse with a stuttering laugh, “Sure you did great, love, but just in case I still kick the bucket, figure I earned that one.”
“You're not in your right mind, obviously,” Ryland reasons. This is not the time to get flustered.
“You're the one taking me to bed,” Tangerine tries to pull himself up with the chair behind him. “I'm clean by the way, don't worry.”
Ryland can't bear to watch him struggle, jumping in to help. It takes a moment for the words to register. He hadn't even considered the possibility of the potential biohazardous implications of helping a bleeding stranger. He honestly hadn't even been concerned about the metallic taste of that kiss.
“You're going to rest. That's all,” Ryland takes Tangerine’s weight as they shuffle to his bedroom. Tangerine grabs onto his waist for extra support. Ryland deposits him on the bed gently.
“You gonna join me under the covers?” Tangerine attempts to smirk up at him but his lack of energy takes the edge off of it.
Ryland looks down at him, “Let me clean up your face and get you some pain killers first.” The blood isn't as off-putting as Ryland would have expected. His heart twinges slightly at the injuries still present. Tangerine raises a brow at him, making Ryland realize what he just implied. He backs out toward the door, “I'll be right back.”
Ryland leaves quickly, returning with supplies to finish cleaning Tangerine up. He drops those off on the nightstand, including a glass of water and some Tylenol. It’s all he’s got so it’ll have to do. Tangerine in the little time he’d been gone must have run out of steam. Painkillers will have to wait. He removes Tangerine’s shoes and considers his pants. Would it be inappropriate to remove those? They are slightly damp and can’t be all that comfortable. Oh, gosh it’s such a weird thought. It would be completely different if Tangerine was awake and he could ask first. Although he imagines he would get an embarrassingly flirtatious response. He’ll think on it, there’s other tasks to attend to instead.
Namely the blood still on Tangerine’s face. He goes to the head of the bed and kneels down. As he takes to cleaning the blood from his face, Tangerine reacts a bit, particularly when he bumps the bruise on his jaw. Still he doesn’t stir. Tangerine looks quite handsome without all the blood on his face. Not that he didn’t before. Ryland has functioning eyes after all. Ryland takes the opportunity to let his eyes wander. He tells himself it’s just to check for injuries, but he knows that’s a lie.
He finds nothing to worry about outside of the recently bandaged wound on his side and multiple scars of various ages. There's a nasty one at the base of his neck. Another crossing his clavicle. He reaches out to touch a particularly deep one across his left pec, but then retracts his hand. He’s curious, but not enough to do something like that. It’d be embarrassing if Tangerine were to wake up to find Ryland feeling him up like that. Not that it seems likely. Tangerine is definitely out for the count. Ryland doesn’t even think he’d be mad, based on all the moves Tangerine has made on him tonight. Regardless, Ryland takes that with a pretty big pile of salt. Tangerine couldn’t have been thinking rationally to pull any of that with Ryland.
Ryland lets his head fall forward onto the mattress as he tries to decompress. He sighs deeply. He is somehow so incredibly tired and wired. He doesn’t know how he could possibly go to sleep right now if he tried. He also doesn’t feel right just leaving Tangerine alone. He grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed and brings it up to cover Tangerine, deciding that the pants are staying on. He just needs to clean up a bit. Take care of blood soaked towels and repack his medical supplies. Maybe that will be enough to tire him out.
Tangerine awakens slowly at first until the pain hits him like a brick. His side aches dreadfully. It isn’t an unknown feeling. He has had similar feeling wounds before. He suspects a stab wound of some kind. He touches the spot feeling a bandage already covering it. As he starts to get used to the pain he finally cracks open his eyes, only to be faced with an unfamiliar ceiling. That’s when he notices the few glow-in-the-dark stars. Cute. Unexpected. He stares at it for a long moment, trying to get his bearings. Mustering the strength to simply move takes more effort than he'd like.
Someone is breathing softly next to him.
This isn’t an entirely new scenario for him. He has woken up in a stranger’s bed before. It’s never been in combination with a serious, excruciatingly painful injury. He has always made it back to home, wherever that may be. Wherever Lemon is. He isn’t too worried about who is next to him. They had all night to hurt him if they had wanted. Based on the bandage on his side they did the opposite.
Last night is a bit of a blur. Especially after he collapsed in the alley way. It’ll come back to him eventually. It always does. Tangerine looks to his left first. There’s a night stand with a glass of water and a couple pills next to it. He is parched. He starts to pull himself up into a sitting position. His side throbs at the effort, but he can push through. Once fully upright he takes the pills, Tylenol from what he can tell, and downs the glass of water in one go.
The room is relatively plain. Basic simple furniture in medium brown tones. There’s a bookshelf, with some sparse knick-knacks between what appears to be textbooks and a few novels. Next to that is a desk that appears fairly unused. A sliding door exits out onto a small metal balcony with a dying plant hanging on the rail.
Tangerine jolts as he feels a hand come in contact with his wrist. The sudden movement agitated his side making him wince while pulling a grunt from him. He follows the arm up to the source. Messy blonde hair. Glasses slightly askew. Tired blue eyes looking up at him.
It comes back to him right then. The guy from the alley, who hauled him to his apartment and patched him up. Still dressed in the same t-shirt and jeans. Ryland, right? Yeah.
Those blue eyes focus more, sleepy expression left behind for a brow furrowed with worry. Ryland suddenly rises up onto his knees. One hand grabs his biceps as the other finds the junction of his neck and shoulder opposite. Right at his pulse point. As if checking that he is alive. That he is actually here.
Tangerine can't find it in himself to push Ryland off. Not after the kindness he had been paid. Not with the way he's looking at him with such heavy concern. Not with the anxiety he can see bubbling under the surface.
“Gosh, you- you're okay. No, of course not,” Ryland looks down at his side. When he looks back up there's tears in his eyes, ready to spill over. “I mean you're up and not dead. I didn't kill you.”
“Takes more than this to take me out, sweetheart,” Tangerine with a smug expression on his face, reaches up and fixes Ryland's glasses. His hand lingers on his cheek. He's struck by the fact that this feels absolutely natural. The use of a nickname over Ryland's given name, actually intended. Not for the purpose of creating distance like it normally is.
Tangerine is tempted to do much more. It would be so easy. He knows he definitely made a pass or two last night. He could blame that on delirium. That wouldn't be at all true. The problem is that he can't stay. He can't possibly stick around when Lemon is waiting on him. Not when he might have more enemies hiding around dark corners.
Tangerine has done flings and one-night stands. That feels wildly wrong as well. This kind, beautiful man deserves more than that. More than Tangerine can or should give.
He grabs the hand at his neck and removes it, gently pushing Ryland away. Tangerine is surprised at the confusion that crosses Ryland's features as he tilts his head. Oh, fuck. Yeah, absolutely the time to end this. If Ryland is already attached, it would be best to get out now.
“Did I have my phone or can I borrow yours?” Tangerine asks.
“I didn't find a phone with your jacket, so I don't think so,” Ryland turns away and grabs his own phone from the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. Ryland hands it over, already open to the keypad.
Tangerine nods his thanks. He looks at the time. Earlier than he thought. Just shy of 9AM. He types in Lemon's number. He picks up after a couple rings.
“Hey, you've reached Citrus Services,” Lemon says their current greeting for vetting unknown numbers.
“Hey, gonna need an extraction,” Tangerine glances over at Ryland looking on curiously. He looks away quickly with a blush, having been caught staring.
“Where the fuck you been? Worried sick about you.” Lemon scolds him.
“Oh, you know, got into a scrap. A concerned citizen helped me,” Tangerin answers. “So, you gonna come get me? Could use some help.”
“Yeah, yeah. What's the address?” Lemon responds.
Tangerine turns to Ryland to ask, before rattling it off to Lemon.
“You serious?” Lemon asks, puzzled. “That's literally one floor down.”
“Must've been real out of it to not realize that while getting hauled up here,” Tangerine tries to wrack his brain. He had other things to focus on last night. Far more important than taking in the scenery.
“I'll be there in five minutes “ Lemon hangs up on him.
Tangerine hands the phone back to Ryland, “My brother will be here in about five minutes.”
Ryland jumps up immediately. Tangerine struggles to put on his shoes as Ryland goes to collect his other clothes.
“Are you sure you want these? They're pretty messed up. I could lend you something?” Ryland is right of course. The bloodstains aren't ideal. Borrowing clothes is less so.
“It's fine. Not my first time doing the walk of shame in bloodied clothes,” Tangerine grabs his shirt, vest and jacket. Sure enough the clothes are dry and stiff where blood has dried down.
“I don't know if that's exactly what that means,” Ryland leans against the door frame with an eyebrow raised.
Tangerine grins. He likes the banter. Ryland is fun. A breath of fresh air. Too kind for his own good, yet able to be stern and straightforward. He wants to latch on and never let go. What he would do to just exist in this man's space.
Before he can let that train of thought go wild, the thumping of a fist against the door breaks him free. Ryland jumps, rushing to the door. Tangerine barely has his shirt on, but chooses to follow.
Ryland beats him to the door easily. He doesn't seem to notice Tangerine even followed. He misses the start of the conversation. Lemon makes for an imposing figure compared to Ryland. He's looking down at Ryland with feigned disinterest, hands in his pockets.
“He's just in my bedroom, I can show y-” Ryland turns as he finishes the sentence, startling at Tangerine right behind him. “Fudge.”
Tangerine looks over Ryland's head to Lemon. Lemon's brow is raised in silent judgement regarding Ryland as he fidgets nervously between them.
“I'll uh… go get your things,” Ryland sidesteps from between them and hurriedly walks off.
Tangerine watches him go until Lemon interrupts, “So you had a fun night?”
“What can I say? He's good at plugging a hole,” he pulls his shirt aside to show off the bandage.
“We'll see about that when I change it for you,” Lemon looks at it somewhat impressed.
Ryland returns holding out his clothes. Tangerine takes them and drapes them over his arm, “Thanks for the help.”
“Uh, yeah. Of course,” Ryland looks at the floor. Tangerine is tempted to reach out. His hand comes up briefly before dropping again. With Lemon standing right there he knows he shouldn't. Lemon would never let him live it down.
Ryland takes the initiative for him. Before Tangerine can react he finds himself with two hands wrapped around a single one of his own.
“If you need help again, you know where to find me,” Ryland meets his eyes with a serious expression. This isn’t an empty offer. “Anytime.”
“I'll keep it in mind. Thank you,” Tangerine responds as Ryland steps back.
Lemon clears his throat behind him. Tangerine nods and steps away. The realization hits him that neither of them actually said goodbye as the door closes behind him.