Work Text:
He’s chasing Ladybug around the flat before he can stop himself, following the other man as he picks up his belongings. He’s still yelling for fuck’s sake, like he’s unable to control himself for how the words keep spilling out. He’s not even sure what set him off this time- maybe his shitty attempts at making eggs, or perhaps the way that Ladybug had gotten him a glass of water before setting his medication in his hand, both the antibiotics and the mood stabilizer he’s been on since- well. Lemon had said he should see somebody for his nickin’ problem. Tangerine hadn’t expected to be given a mood stabilizer for his troubles. He hardly takes it half the time anyway, flipping back and forth between convinced he doesn’t need it and angry that he does.
“Sweetheart, I’ll come back when you’re feeling more like yourself, okay? Take your meds. I gotta go before you say something we both regret, alright?” Ladybug says, not even turning back to look at Tangerine as he gathers his coat to his chest. Something in Tangerine heaves, unable to stomach the fact that Ladybug is leaving. As if he doesn’t deserve it.
“Of course, you’re going to bloody fucking leave, aren’t you? Everyone does, don’t they, everybody just fucks off as soon as my mouth gets too hard to deal with- you seemed to fucking appreciate my mouth last night,” he spits, everything just coming out so fast and angry he can’t fucking stop it. Ladybug spins around, grabbing him by the shoulders, jacket dropped into a chair unceremoniously. His next words catch in his throat. It’s the first time Ladybug’s touched him since they got out of bed. Tangerine rocks with it.
“Tan, you’re being mean,” Ladybug says slowly, as if he’s trying to communicate this to a very small child. Tangerine shakes him off.
“Oh, am I?” he asks, his voice cracking into the hard tone once again, his rage coming back up to a boiling point. Mean. As if that’s a descriptor anyone older than ten uses. Mean. He ignores the cold ball in his stomach that tells him that Ladybug is right, that Lemon has said this before, that he’s off on a tantrum and perhaps he should come down before he burns the entire flat down. He clenches his jaw around an apology that wants to wiggle its way out.
“I don’t know why you’re mad, and if you don’t tell me, I still won’t. I can only make things better if I know what’s wrong,” Ladybug says, his tone still that calm smooth-over bullshit that makes Tangerine want to start swinging when anybody else uses it. And ain’t that the fucking problem? It’s only when other people try to talk him down that Tangerine gets angrier. With Ladybug, it’s- everything is different with Ladybug.
“Who says you can make it better?” he chokes out anyway, humiliated by the prospect of tears pricking at his eyes.
“I don’t know, baby, but maybe telling me will help anyway,” Ladybug says. Rage sizzles even higher than before at the pet name, and yet still Tangerine feels his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of it, which pisses him off even more. Baby. Tangerine wants to rip his fucking hair out.
“Don’t- don’t call me that,” he stutters out. Ladybug’s expression shifts from confusion to concern, just that quickly. As if he said something important.
“Baby? I’ve called you that before- how long has it bothered you? I don’t have to ever use that one again,” Ladybug says, and a brick drops itself on top of that cold feeling in his stomach at the idea of never being Ladybug’s baby again. Fucking hell. He doesn’t want Ladybug to stop, but. Jesus fuck, he can’t deal with it right now.
“No, it- I’ve liked it. Before,” Tangerine grinds out, the need to clarify stronger than his anger for this one second. He wants to be- he likes to be called baby, sure enough, but not right now, not when every little thing feels like a transgression against him. Everything feels like nails across a chalkboard right now, and he can’t for the life of him figure out why.
“Before what?” Ladybug asks patiently. The rage spikes again.
“Before I was angry!”
“You’re always angry, Tan. I’m gonna need something a bit more specific-” Tangerine can’t help himself but to interrupt.
“Why do you stay then? If I’m always like this, what’s worth staying for, huh?” Tangerine says, his voice coming out so much hoarser than he intends, with so much more to lose. Ladybug places careful hands on either side of his face and Tangerine tries his damnedest not to relax into his grip. Despite all of it, or maybe because of it, hell, Tangerine needs this. Needs Ladybug to touch him, to hold him, to… to forgive him. Even when he’s not sure he’s earned it. Maybe especially then.
“B- Sweetheart. No matter how angry you get, no matter how much you yell, and even when you skip your meds, I still love you. That’s not up for debate,” Ladybug says, switching so quickly from that word- from baby- that Tangerine almost doesn’t notice it. The whole sentiment makes him feel as if he’s chewing glass, like he’s bashing his head through the back of that bullet train again.
“But- you- why?” he asks, his voice coming out smaller than he means it to. Ladybug’s thumb strokes along his cheekbone.
“Because… because you yell at me when I get fucked up on a job. Because you’re bad at making breakfast. Because no matter how many morning afters we have, I’ll still be happy to see you in my arms when I wake up. Because you’re sweet to me when you want to be, and even sometimes when you don’t. I love you. Do you get that?” Ladybug leads, but Tangerine does not follow. He doesn’t know how.
“No!” he exclaims instead, “I don’t fucking get that!” He’s unable to stop himself. He doesn’t fucking get it. That’s the problem, right? Ladybug loves him without expectation, without want of Tangerine doing anything more than he does without trying, without want or need or view of results. He doesn’t want anything that Tangerine isn’t willing to give. And it terrifies him, how much he’s willing to give away. How much he loves Ladybug back, even if. Well, he’s never said it, has he? He doesn’t know that he ever will.
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Ladybug says, pulling Tangerine in. Tangerine lets himself be pulled, lets himself be maneuvered until his face is against Ladybug’s throat, vulnerable, and finds himself relaxing into the hold. Fucking Ladybug. Ladybug wraps himself around Tangerine like a blanket, making soothing sounds every once and a while, and it’s only when he notices the sounds that Tangerine notices that he’s crying. He’s fucking crying. That’s goddamn embarrassing.
“Don’t-” he starts, but he cuts himself off with a gasping breath.
“Don’t what, angel?” Ladybug coaxes, stroking up and down Tangerine’s back with a steady hand. Tangerine presses his face against Ladybug’s collar more fervently, wanting to wipe his face but not wanting to pull far enough away for Ladybug to see him, to see him crying. It wouldn’t be the first time, but other circumstances, well, they were most definitely more favorable than these. He’s never flipped shit like this, not in front of Bug. He told himself that he never would.
Only Lemon has seen him break down like this. Only Lemon has stayed.
Ladybug’s fingers are still making their way through his hair. For some reason, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave. The very idea terrifies Tangerine to his bones.
“Don’t leave,” he whispers anyway, words dropping from his lips unbidden, untethered, hopefully unheard. Ladybug’s arms wrap tighter around him, so that’s out the window as soon as he thinks it. His hand is fisted in Ladybug’s shirt hard enough it’s hurting his hand, but he can’t make himself release. Ladybug tucks Tangerine’s head even closer against his chest.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweet thing. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere,” Ladybug repeats, his lips pressed into Tangerine’s hair in such a way that Tangerine can feel him speak. Tangerine sinks even further into Ladybug, letting himself be held and holding in return. He feels sort of… fuzzy when he finally pushes back from Ladybug’s chest, smoothing out the creases of his button up shirt. He’s dressed down still, only in his trousers and undershirt, his button up still unbuttoned and his suspenders unclipped, no plan of a vest today. It’s morningtime still, he thinks, but he’s not entirely too sure. He’s only quite sure of one thing.
“Well, that was fuckin’ embarrassing, wasn’t it?” he asks, his hand scrubbing down his face. Ladybug holds him still by the hips, his grip loose but definitely there.
“Sweetie, I think you just might have had an anxiety attack,” Ladybug says. An incredulous noise rips itself out of Tangerine’s throat before he can help it.
“No, no, see, I don’t have those,” Tangerine says quickly, almost retracting himself from Ladybug’s hold completely, but unable to convince himself it’s worth the dramatics.
“Anybody can get one, you know. It’s what your body does to keep you from having an aneurysm or from your heart exploding. How do you feel most of the time?” Ladybug asks. As if that isn’t the hardest fucking question in the world.
“What the fuck do you mean how do I feel most the time? That’s vaguer than shit, love,” Tangerine says, his frustration moving to exasperation moving to exhaustion. It’s still morningtime. Why does he feel as if he’s ran a marathon?
“I mean, do you typically feel worried during the day? On edge all day? Irritable? Trouble relaxing?” Ladybug leads him, and this time Tangerine finds himself able to follow.
“You know all of that is true, what the fuck are you on about?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Ladybug squeezes his hip.
“Tan, that’s anxiety. Those are anxiety symptoms, dude. You totally need to bring that up to your therapist,” Ladybug says, his tone showing no sign of joking and his expression serious. Tangerine can’t help his immediate snort.
“What am I supposed to say? Hello doctor, my boyfriend armchair diagnosed me with anxiety, do you reckon we need to change my head pills for that?” Tangerine asks, half sputtering in his incredulity. He still blushes when he says the word boyfriend aloud. That’s not really the point though, is it?
“I mean if that’s how you wanna put it-” Ladybug starts. Tangerine doesn’t bother to let him finish.
“No, that’s not how I’d fucking like to put it!” he says, his fist still tangled up in the bottom of Ladybug’s shirt tightening back up for just a moment.
“Listen, Barry explained it to me like this- if all anxiety is on a scale from 1 to 10, there are no people who live in the 1-3 range anymore. Everyone is anxious all the time, whether their anxiety is useful or not. How I see it is, you having a lot of anxiety in this line of work, that could be a good thing. Could keep you alive. I’m thinking you might be so aggressive all the time because you’re constantly stuck at a nine,” Ladybug expounds, squeezing Tangerine’s hips in intervals where he would typically be gesticulating. Tangerine sighs.
“And what the hell does that mean, exactly?”
“Well, Barry says that 4 to 5 is the new normal, right, so my anxiety has me at a constant 6 or 7, just regularly up in anxiety. An eight is something that a lot of people skip right over, it’s tearfulness, so if somebody gets irritated because he doesn’t wanna cry, he might skip right into 9, which displays as irritability and aggression. And that’s where I think you might live. Irritable because you’re worried all the damn time.”
It's fucking irritating when Ladybug sounds like he might be making sense. Especially when it’s about something Tangerine doesn’t want to look in the mirror and see quite yet. He doesn’t know that it’d ever be easier to see this. He dips his head down against Ladybug’s collarbone, leaning against his boyfriend heavily.
“If- If I think any of that sounds- well- like me, how do I make it better?” he asks, his voice hoarser than a second ago, but still clear enough to be understood. Ladybug moves a hand to scrub through Tangerine’s hair.
“Well, I’m glad you asked, sweetheart, that shows real growth. There are breathing exercises that might help, and grounding exercises for when things get as bad as they were a few minutes ago. I think the best thing, though, would be to tell your therapist about it so that you two can develop some coping mechanisms that work for you. I can tell you what works for me all day but learning what works for you would probably help a lot more.” It’s a lot to process all at once, and suddenly, all Tangerine wants is to take Ladybug back to bed. He wants to lay down and he wants to be held, and he wants to be loved, and for once in his goddamn life, he just wants to relax.
“Fuck it, teach me a- what did you say? A breathing exercise? Teach me one of those later,” he acquiesces, willing that to be the last of it.
“It might help you calm down if you wanna do it now,” Ladybug suggests. Tangerine shakes his head.
“I just want-” he cuts himself off, embarrassed. Ladybug’s thumb strokes along his temple encouragingly.
“You want what, Tan, you can tell me,” Ladybug says, affirming and sweet. Tangerine still doesn’t want to answer. He does anyway.
“I want you to call me baby and hold me for a little while,” Tangerine says, groaning into Ladybug’s shoulder. It’s embarrassing. Saying it aloud is the freest he’s ever felt.
“You’re my baby again?” Ladybug asks, just the slightest edge of teasing in his tone, and Tangerine turns red all over again.
“Always your- fucking hell,” Tangerine interrupts himself, turning away from Ladybug to lead him back to the bedroom. Ladybug follows easily. They get into bed more carefully than usual, Tangerine tucked close to the wall in the way that he’s grown accustomed to and Ladybug on the outside, guarding him from the door. He’s never really understood why Ladybug makes him feel so safe, laying between him in the world. They lay facing one another, Tangerine’s mouth level with Ladybug’s jawline. Ladybug turns to press his nose into Tangerine’s hair, nuzzling into him.
“Always my baby?” he asks quietly, near to a whisper. Tangerine nuzzles into Ladybug’s throat instead of answering, placing soft kisses and gentle bites along the skin there. He chooses not to answer because he’s afraid of what the answer might be, what might come out of his mouth in this safe space of their bedroom, in this moment where he feels like he and Ladybug are the only people in the world.
“Hold me,” he reminds his partner, tangling their legs together roughly.
“Yes dear,” Ladybug says in return, pulling Tangerine into his arms.