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“I’m goin’ ta fuckin’ regret this.”
The street itself was narrow enough that Tangerine had to angle his shoulders to avoid clipping the walls on either side, holding the umbrella high above his head to avoid scraping against sloping tiles. Rainwater splashed beneath his feet, filling the gaps between uneven cobblestones in spreading puddles, the unending shower of rain that started that morning still showing no signs of stopping.
There was none of the fractured splashes of neon pinks and blues reflected up at him like there had been in Tokyo. It was strange, really, just how different Kyoto felt. No loud signs. No annoying J-pop blaring from loudspeaker trucks. Still the same crowds of gormless tourists with their phones out and their too-loudly spoken English – American voices the loudest and most grating of them all, carrying in a way that no other accent seemed to amongst the multitudes of visitors descending on winding streets and ancient temples.
He followed the handful of wooden placards hanging beside doorways, each brushed with black kanji faded grey-white by sun and heat and smoke. Tangerine checked the address against the nearest sign one last time. Google Maps hadn't steered him wrong yet. Satisfied, he left his umbrella in the stand by the door and ducked beneath the izakaya's curtains into the room beyond.
Curtains hung lower across the entrance, swaying behind him as he passed through and was met by an instant wall of heat and smoke. The room smelled like old cigarettes and charcoal and grilled meat, the scents not entirely unpleasant, albeit overwhelming compared to the cool, fresh air beyond.
“Shit,” Tangerine cursed, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on a low-hanging light, the top of his hair brushing against the ceiling, stained a shade of brownish-yellow he tried not to look at too closely.
A server – a tiny old woman, half bent over from age, half from the tray of drinks weighing her down – popped out from a side door, a look of disapproval making her wrinkled face look even more stern.
“Sorry, luv, sorry. Shit. I mean, sumimasen.” Tangerine ducked his head in apology. Around him, everything was bathed in low amber light; paper lanterns flowed softly against plaster walls, light catching in dusty glass bottles lined in perfect, neat rows behind the counter. There were only a few tables, most customers instead sitting shoulder-to-shoulder along the counter, jackets folded neatly in baskets beneath their seats, conversation low over tiny ceramic cups of sake.
Tangerine craned his head, trying to get a better look, to see if he could catch sight of his target. He should have been around there somewhere – should have been easy enough to spot, all things considered. His brow drew down as he glanced at his phone again, triple-checking the address.
Floorboards creaked as Tangerine took a step further inside, bypassing the little hostess stand to peer around the corner. Laughter rang louder from the far corner, a group of salarymen unwinding after work, their table laden down with grilled fish and meat, wisps of smoke drifting up in lazy spirals towards the ceiling. Somewhere in the background, the low thrum of the radio played, not quite loud enough to pick out any of the lyrics, but enough to fill in the gaps in between.
A handwritten menu hung above the bar on narrow wooden slats, no English translation in sight. No tourists at all in sight, Tangerine realised, hands moving to smooth down his suit, as eyes surreptitiously slid across him, wondering what on earth he was doing so far off the well-trodden tourist path. He wondered, for a brief moment, if foreigners were even welcome; it wouldn’t be the first place to refuse him and Lemon.
Tapping through to pull up Google Translate, Tangerine already knew that his handful of Japanese phrases wouldn’t be enough to help. He turned in a slow circle, trying to find where the old woman had wandered off to. “How hard is it to get some bleedin’ service around here?” he muttered under his breath.
He would much rather be back at the hotel with Lemon. Would rather be just about anywhere else, truth be told. But he had made a promise. Lemon had asked him to check on the idiot before they flew home – Lem hadn’t been able to corner him while Tangerine had been laid up in hospital – and Tangerine intended to keep his promise.
“No, no. More. What’s more again… shit. Motto?”
Tangerine’s back stiffened. Sharp blue eyes cut across the room, towards the familiar voice. There, slumped at the end of the bar, was a familiar head of dirty blonde hair.
“Motto! Motto, motto, motto. Thank you.”
Ladybug sat half-draped over the bar top, gesturing emphatically at the bottle held tightly between old, wrinkled hands. Judging by the way he swayed in his seat, his shoulder bumping the patron to his left before drifting back against the one on his right, he had been there for some time.
Straightening his tie, Tangerine made a beeline for Ladybug, taking stock of him as he went. White t-shirt stained. Eyes unfocused. Phone and wallet just sat on the bar. It was a wonder that the man had survived as long as he had on his own. Not that it was any of Tangerine’s business. Only… that wasn’t quite true. Not anymore.
There was a cut across his nose still, red and swollen around the edges, as if he hadn’t been paying it enough attention. The way that he held his left arm towards him, almost cradling it against his chest, spoke of another injury. Strained shoulder, maybe? Or a stray bullet wound? Tangerine hadn’t exactly been around to watch the events play out in real time on the shinkansen.
From what Lemon had told him later – much later – the wound on his neck had looked far worse than it had been. Little more than a graze, once it had been bandaged up, the blood transfusion finished, and the painkillers handed over.
Ladybug was, at least in part, the reason Lemon had made it out of there safely and, more importantly, alive. As far as Tangerine was concerned, that meant that they owed the walking disaster a debt. And Tangerine hated to be indebted to anyone if he could help it.
“Bloody hell. You look fuckin’ awful, mate.”
Ladybug blinked slowly at the floorboards beneath his beaten up trainers, white laces turned grey trailing down from the barstool as he watched the grain of wood beneath him ripple and bend like water.
The voices around him weren’t helping the pounding in his head. Neither did the hand suddenly gripping the back of his jacket hard enough to keep him upright as he swayed too far to the side once more, bumping into his seatmate with just a little too much force.
“Sorry! Sorry. Gomenesai," he murmured over and over again, the words bleeding into one. As he settled upright on his seat once more, he stared down at the sake pooling at the bottom of his cup. Clear, not dark. Not a hint of red in sight. Hands moved away from his cup, turning slowly beneath the warm amber haze. No hint of red at all. Good. That was good.
Ever since that bellhop fell, it had felt like everything his hands touched kept turning to blood if he looked at it for long enough. Had it always been like that, and he had just never noticed? Or was it something new? Had bad luck always been in his veins, or had he become cursed along the way.
The hand on his back remained, the ebb and flow of voices around him swelling, one louder than the rest. Ladybug stared down into his drink. It looked almost like rainwater, his reflection no more than a blur on the surface. He found himself staring at his hands again.
How many bodies had there been on the train? How many in the wreckage of houses and shops and cars that the train had tumbled through as it derailed, wiping out everything in its path? He had been too afraid to watch any of the news coverage, to look up the figures in the papers. Some things were better off not knowing.
Ladybug reached for his cup, downing the clear liquid in one. The faint taste of oranges lingered on his tongue. He took a shuddering, deep inhale, fingers roughly carding through his hair. He never should have agreed to cover for Carver.
In his mind, the scenes continued playing out. The Wolf bleeding out on the upholstery in the drinks car, bewilderment overlaying anger as the light faded from his eyes. The Hornet stretched out and bleeding from her eyes, her ears, her mouth. The White Death in the platform, blood blossoming in a spray large enough to splatter against Ladybug as the pistol backfired, sending him tumbling down in pieces. The Prince’s cold, triumphant smile, eyes dark and filled with certainty of her victory, right up until the second that Lemon drove into her, sending her flying, landing at an unnatural angle that could mean only one thing.
And Tangerine.
Sharp-suit rumpled. Blood soaking past ring-laden fingers. Eyes turning glassy. The howl that Lemon let loose as he found his brother–
Ladybug squeezed his eyes shut. He waved for another drink. Of all the faces haunting his dreams, it was Tangerine’s that carried the most weight. That he would always regret the most – it was harder, knowing something about one of the people whose deaths he had caused, even if it had been an accident. That hardly mattered. It wasn’t fair; he wasn’t the one with family to mourn him. If his bad luck had to take someone out, why couldn’t it be someone who deserved it for a change? Why couldn’t it be him.
At least alcohol helped make the sharp edges of his memories turn soft. Manageable. It was like they were putting a distance between Ladybug and reality in a way that made it all more bearable. His hand shook as he asked for another refill. He wished they would just leave him another bottle.
Memories returned, little cutting flashes, each one arriving quicker than the last without something strong and sweet to distract him from the bitterness collecting within.
The sound of Lemon screaming his brother’s name.
The train hurtling down the tracks.
Tangerine laying still. Too still.
Blood spreading out across the carpet. Spreading towards once-white trainers.
Ladybug exhaled shakily through his nose. Barry had once told him that guilt liked to make itself useful. That his brain would rather find a way to blame itself for the terrible tragedies in life, rather than accept that terrible things simply happened sometimes for no reason. As if, by taking the blame on himself, he could protect himself from the sheer terror of the universe.
He had not found it to be a particularly comforting thought then. He found it even less comforting now. Because terrible things did happen around him. Constantly. No matter how many times Maria tried to convince him it was all only in his head, or Barry insisted it was something they should continue working on next session.
People died around him like it was a law of nature. Targets. Rivals. Civilians. Innocent bystanders. How long could he keep fooling himself? How long could he keep putting others at risk like that? Anyone stupid enough to stand too close to him for too long eventually got caught up in the blast zone of his disastrous bad luck.
He bit back a laugh. Bad luck? Calling it bad luck felt like an understatement, if ever he had heard one. It was like the joke that just kept on giving. Maybe everybody would have been better off if he just–
“Are you kiddin’ me right now?” The same voice from before said, the hand between his shoulder blades hauling him up and off of his seat. Ladybug clutched at the bartop, rough wood splintering beneath his fingers, dragging a hiss from between his lips. There was no time to save his cup from toppling over, the delicate china smashing on the sticky floor between his feet. “You better not be bloody wasted.”
There was something familiar about him, about that voice, that made Ladybug’s chest clench painfully. The stool clattered to the floor, tangling in his feet, almost sending him flying. It was only steady hands and the firm pressure of the bar at his back that kept him standing.
Tired eyes flicked up, trying to focus on the figure in front of him. A pinstripe suit. Mouth twisted downwards. Moustache.
Ladybug went completely still. His stomach rolled, sake threatening to make a reappearance. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his head. The room tilted unpleasantly around him, the golden glow of lamps and heavy scent of cigarettes and stale smoke in the air hitting him all at once. Somebody laughed from another table – loud and bright, followed by the sound of glasses clinking together.
He must have drunk more than he realised. Standing in front of him– no. Not, it couldn’t be.
“You’re dead,” Ladybug said, certainty colouring his voice. “Or am I really fucking drunk right now?”
There was something off about him. His hair wasn’t slicked back for one. There was a graze high on his cheekbone, white skin blossoming purple-green. A cut at the corner of his lips disappeared into the line of his moustache, half-healed and red. His suit jacket was green this time, not blue, rain turning the fabric darker still. He looked… bigger, than Ladybug remembered. Taller. Broader. More intimidating, maybe. More handsome for sure. Ladybug pushed that particular thought down. It would have been bad enough to be lusting over him if he was still alive, let alone whatever that was. A hallucination, maybe?
Ladybug met the other man’s gaze, the corners of the room sharpening from the unending blur that had been bothering more and more as time had drawn on and his wallet had grown thinner.
The eyes were the same as he remembered. Sharp. Exhausted. Irritated beyond belief. But… alive.
Ladybug frowned at him for several long seconds. He reached out with one bloodied hand, moving to press it against Tangerine’s chest, only for the other man to take a sharp step back. It made sense, Ladybug thought to himself with a nod. If he was a hallucination, he wouldn’t want anyone to try and touch him, either.
As he moved to turn back around towards the bar, not-Tangerine reached out, hand gripping onto his shoulder with a bruising force. His bad shoulder. Ladybug swallowed down the wave of bile that rose in his throat at the sudden, sharp pain that radiated out from him.
“Okay,” he said, words slurring together. “That’s… that’s concerning.”
Tangerine’s expression shifted. One eyebrow raised. “What is?”
“The hallucinations. They don’t usually start this early.” He squinted harder, hand patting the bar top behind him, trying to find his missing glass. He’d just had it a second ago, hadn’t he? Broken porcelain crunched beneath his trainers, slicing through the worn-down rubber with ease. He looked down slowly. Oh. That was a shame. That one had tasted pretty good.
Tangerine snorted, disapproval clear on his face. “I think you’ve had enough.”
Ladybug pouted. “Y’know, you are a very judgemental hallucination.”
For one brief moment, Tangerine stood there, staring at him as if he was the hallucination. Absentmindedly, Ladybug reached up to pat at himself, making sure he was still there. A relieved hum sounded between them as he found everything was as it should be.
A bark of laughter broke between them, disbelieving and sharp. He looked down at the mess of spilled sake and pottery between their feet, eyeing it as if it held the answers he was looking for.
“Oh, you are beyond pissed, aren’t you? I’m gonna regret this. I just know it,” he said, voice dropping low to barely more than a murmur before letting out a long, low sigh. “C’mon.”
The cold air outside hit Ladybug like a slap to the face. Even with Tangerine’s arm wrapped tightly around him, holding him in place like a steel band, Ladybug still stumbled, the combination of too many drinks and rain-slicked steps stealing the last of his balance from him.
Rain still clung to the narrow cobblestone streets, shifting and slick beneath their feet, lit lanterns reflecting back from dark, wet stone. Somewhere nearby, a bicycle bell sounded. The low roar of evening crowds – of izakaya’s filled with locals and tourists, of commuters trudging their way home, of cars passing by and coaches filled with tourists leaving for the day – echoed in the distance.
Ladybug blinked blearily. It took longer to register than it should for him to realise that Tangerine was leading him down the narrow street and towards a wider, brighter, more well-trodden one.
As they came to a stop waiting for the traffic lights to change, his gaze drifted towards a glowing vending machine across the alleyway. A coffee sounded pretty good right about then. Or one of those weird vitamin drinks like they had in the Family Mart near his hotel. His stomach rolled at the thought of trying to drink anything else. Maybe he could wait until the morning after all.
A car drove past faster than it should, sending a spray of grey water up and over them both.
“Fuckin’ great. This is the last thing I need.”
Ladybug blinked, filthy water dripping from him, soaking his t-shirt and jeans. Hadn’t he had a jacket before? Had he left it behind? Or wait, no. Was that his jacket over Tangerine’s arm?
“We’re… outside?” Ladybug said, his voice slow, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of his own words.
“Brilliant fuckin’ observation that.” The arm around his back tightened, hauling him away from the pavement before a second wave of dirty water could soak him. “Careful! Do you have a fuckin’ death wish or somethin’?”
Ladybug frowned, taking the question far more seriously than Tangerine had intended it. “Sometimes I think I do.”
Quiet fell between them; neither one was sure what to say to the other. Eventually, Ladybug laughed weakly, patting at Tangerine’s suit jacket once more. Fingers tangled in the sharp line of his lapel, holding on to him as if he half expected Tangerine to disappear at any minute.
“I thought I killed you.”
Tangerine’s grip on him tightened. “Yeah. Lem thought the same. Insistent on tryin’ ta find me anyway. Said…” Tangerine trailed off, his voice thick. Ladybug turned towards him, taking in the way that he gazed into the distance, unseeing. The light turned green, then back again to red. Still Tangerine didn’t move. “...said he couldn’t stand the thought of havin’ ta come back ta lay flowers. Fuckin’ idiot was gonna try and take me back home, one way or another.”
Ladybug swallowed hard. “You’re lucky. To have someone like that.”
“I know.”
The alcohol had blurred everything together inside of him: fear and relief and exhaustion with work, with the world, with his luck, with himself, all sloshing around in one big, swirling mess. He found himself blinking too hard against the stinging in his eyes.
“Oh no,” Ladybug mumbled miserably. “I think I’m gonna cry. This is embarrassing.”
“Of course you’re a tearful drunk,” Tangerine sighed. “You are already well past embarrassing, mate. Just let it out.”
They crossed the street, making the slow, uphill walk back towards the station. Despite the late hour, nearly half the stores were still open, stray tourists browsing for yukata and gold leaf icecream, laden down with shopping bags and phones out and raised, taking snaps of everything that they passed. Ladybug wondered what it would be like to be one of them. When was the last time he visited somewhere just to enjoy the scenery? When was the last time he travelled without hurting someone?
“I’m serious, you know,” Ladybug said at last, coming to a halt behind Tangerine as the other man stopped at a bank of vending machines. A steady hand pushed Ladybug to sit on the nearby bench as Tangerine fished in his pocket for change, waiting for the softly glowing machine to spit out two bottles of water.
Ladybug scrubbed hard at his face with the heels of his hands, missing most of the actual tears entirely and leaving little bloody smears in his wake. The fresh air was beginning to sober him up at least. He was pretty sure, at any rate. “I really thought I got you killed. Both of you, for a minute there.”
Tangerine sighed through his nose. He came to a halt in front of Ladybug, holding out one of the bottles until the other man took it. He stayed standing as Ladybug started picking at the label, peeling the corners off with blunt nails.
“Drink,” Tangerine commanded, unscrewing the cap of his own and taking a mouthful. Fingers twitched for his pocket, tugging at a pack of menthols before pushing them back inside, seemingly thinking better of it. “I’m still standing here, ain’t I?”
Ladybug opened his mouth again, words dripping over themselves in drunken desperation. “But you nearly weren’t. I should’ve… should’ve done something different. I always say that. That’s sort of a pattern with me, really. Y’know, my therapist, Barry? I don’t think I’ve mentioned hin before. Barry always says–”
“Fuck me.” Tangerine tilted his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose, an air of regret sitting heavily around him like a second skin. “You are a right fuckin’ mess.”
Ladybug laughed, watery and exhausted. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been told that before. Like, a lot.”
For a moment, the only sound between them was the hum of traffic and the distant sound of a train passing. Tangerine shook his head, hand clenching around his water bottle, mind clearly made up. “Listen… we need to talk.”
Ladybug nodded, leaning forward on the bench, and promptly having to catch himself before he could overbalance and fall flat on his face. Tangerine swore again, hauling him upright.
“Tomorrow. We can talk tomorrow. You can apologise all you like then.”
Ladybug frowned. That sounded like a terrible idea. He didn’t always manage to find that sweet spot, between blackout drunk, and making the nightmares go away. What if he couldn’t drink just the right amount to hallucinate Tangerine again? Then how could he say sorry?
A hand squeezed his shoulder and Ladybug blinked. He couldn’t decipher the expression on Tangerine's face at all. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, tomorrow,” Tangerine said softly. He kept hold of Ladybug’s arm, guiding him back up and onto his feet. The two of them resumed the slow, long walk towards the station. “I’m still gonna be here in the morning to tell you what a complete bellend you are. And… if you need ta apologise after you’ve sobered up a bit, you can do it properly then, yeah? No more tonight.”
Ladybug stared at him, his foot slipping off the edge of the curb and into the road. Ringed fingers glinted in the fading sunlight as Tangerine hauled him back to safety. The words seemed to take several seconds to settle into place in Ladybug’s head.
“You’re staying? With me?”
“Well, I'm hardly gonna leave you unconscious in the gutter here, am I? D’you know what a pain in the arse you were to track down? That handler of yours is right scary. Pretty, mind. But scary.” Tangerine’s gaze slid towards Ladybug, taking in the wide-eyed amazement from the other man. “What? You want me to leave your arse here ta sleep it off in the rain?”
Ladybug shook his head, his voice catching awkwardly. “No! No, I mean, just… you don’t… hate me?”
“Work’s work. And as for the rest of it…” Tangerine looked at him for a long, endless moment, expression unreadable. At last he spoke, voice quiet, barely more than a whisper. “As far as I’m concerned, I owe you one. For Lemon. You help get him outta there.”
Something tight and terrible shifted in Ladybug’s chest. Tangerine let out another little sigh – this time, more fond. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m trying not to,” Ladybug admitted earnestly. As they waited to cross the road, Ladybug slipped his arm around Tangerine’s, hoping that this way, he would be less likely to trip and fall. “But you’re very pretty, so.”
Tangerine stopped dead in the middle of the road. Ladybug continued on for another pace, then two, before the other man’s stillness pulled him to a halt. Ladybug pointed at him, expression flickering between a frown and a pout. “That’s another thing. I think maybe I should’ve just asked you out on the train instead of fighting you. Barry says I always do this. Get my feelings all mixed up. Huh. Maybe that would’ve been more productive…”
A bark of laughter echoed between them. A car beeped, waiting for them to hurry up and get out of the road. Tangerine flipped the driver off before, finally, starting to lead Ladybug away.
“Oh, you’re a fuckin’ delight pissed.”
Ladybug leaned heavily against his arm, feeling none of the usual anxiety he would when trying to talk about his feelings. Well, romantic ones, at least. “I’m just saying. Near-death experiences really clarify things.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’s this clarified for you?”
“That I’ve got terrible luck,” Ladybug said solemnly, “and apparently, a type.”
“And fuckin’ atrocious timing.” Tangerine snorted. “C’mon. First thing’s first; we’re gettin’ you sobered up. Lem’s waitin’ for us.”
Ladybug allowed himself to be guided along beside him, still staring intermittently like he feared Tangerine might disappear if he looked away for too long. They finally reached the station, tickets found and swiped without too much hassle.
“And then?” Ladybug asked at last, as the train began pulling into the station.
Tangerine looked at him sideways. “Then… we’ll see.”
The train rolled to a stop in front of them, doors sliding open in a wash of warm light. For the first time in weeks, Ladybug followed someone aboard without feeling like disaster was waiting at the next station.