Chapter Text
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January 7, 2023
It’s not the first time Izzy has considered buying a fourth computer monitor, and it won’t be the last. He grumbles to himself as he drags Adobe Premiere from screen to screen, trying to find a good placement that aligns with the priorities in his brain.
He’d been proud as fuck when he’d first gotten this office set up. The broad, curved desk seemed like a banquet table back then, with so much space he couldn’t imagine using it all, even after he’d set up two wide monitors with a third, slimmer model clipped between them. Everything had been new and shiny back then, and it was a huge fucking upgrade from where he’d started — with a roaring laptop fan heating up his thighs on a full size bed in a shitty apartment. No matter how much Edward groused that this room was still barely more than a closet, it was a palace compared to the system Izzy had been dealing with back at the turn of the millennium.
Now, he’s learning that good tech setups are like goldfish — they always want to expand to fit the size of the tank.
He lets his head flop back to rest on the extra cushion Edward velcroed to his desk chair for exactly this reason and sighs, rubbing between his eyes for a moment before straightening in the chair again, hitting alt and tab to quickly switch back to their Discord server, checking in on the debate that a couple users had started over the most recent post last night.
Things seem to have died down, for now. Still, he’ll have to keep an eye on it if no other discussions pop up to overtake the channel.
He clicks back over into Premiere to start editing on the next vid, nudging the heavy plastic-framed glasses he’s still adjusting to back up the bridge of his nose. The distinctive shuffle of Edward’s feet crossing the barrier between the hallway’s hardwoods and the carpet in Izzy’s office catches his attention, and he pauses his task, knowing he’ll make no progress until Edward leaves the room.
Edward’s hands settle in on his shoulders, and Izzy leans back incrementally to bump his headrest into Edward’s belly. “Told you, didn’t I?” Edward says, voice vibrating through Izzy’s head where they’re pressed against each other.
“I still don’t think they’re making any difference,” Izzy grumbles in return. He doesn’t look away from the screens. Someone is typing in the server, and his shoulders tense, waiting to see if they’ll return to the fray or change the topic.
Edward’s hands come together and he squeezes the nape of Izzy’s neck, digging blunt fingers into the tendons there and making Izzy roll his head into the contact like a cat. “Wait. What are you talking about?” Izzy taps the blue light filtering glasses in the tip of his nose, and Edward chuckles, rubbing Izzy’s shoulders with his thumbs in a rolling motion. “That’s not what I meant. Besides, who cares if they work? I think you look sexy as hell in them.”
He lets go suddenly, and Izzy has to catch himself with both feet to keep from tumbling backward as Edward moves around to the desk. He perches his butt in front of the keyboard and leans on the edge, obscuring Izzy’s view of all but the sides of his screens.
Izzy slaps at his thigh, scowling, but when Edward doesn’t move, Izzy caves just as quickly, leaning back again to take him in. Edward is half dressed — battered jeans and his grey and black plaid shirt hanging open, revealing the curve of his stomach, the pattern of hair above his waistband cut through by an old surgical scar. His hair, still damp from the shower, hangs in long, loose curls draped over one shoulder. Izzy lets out a slow breath. Twenty-five fucking years and he’s still not over the urge to touch when he sees Edward like this. Never will be.
He leaves his hand where it landed, on Edward’s thigh. The well-worn denim is soft when he twitches his fingers. “What were you talking about, then?”
“That Instagram thread.”
Izzy scoffs, dropping his hand back to his lap. “What Instagram thread?”
“C’mon, Iz; I know you just deleted it.”
“Who cares?” Izzy growls. “We don’t take feedback from randoms on social media. If they think it’s so easy to do this, they can start their own account, organize their own packs.”
“They have their own accounts,” Edward points out, picking up his leg to rest the tip of his toe on the chair between Izzy’s splayed knees. “That’s how they’re able to comment on our posts. And that’s sort of the point of this whole social media thing, isn’t it? Human interaction.”
“Yeah, well, humans are fuckin’ stupid.” Sitting up, Izzy nudges at Edward’s knees and reaches for his mouse, craning to see around his boyfriend’s chest to the screens. “Now, fuck off and let me work unless you’ve got an opinion on what music we use for this end of year compilation.”
“Stevie Nicks?” Edward suggests, not budging.
Izzy snorts. “Yeah, sure. Which one of your sponsors is paying us Stevie Nicks licensing money?”
Edward inclines his head, shrugs his shoulders, and Izzy tries desperately to ignore the way the movement squeezes a few fat drops of water from his hair, one of which goes rolling down his exposed chest. “That guy, or girl I guess, thruthewoodz—”
“Definitely a fucking guy with that attitude.”
“Guy, then. He’s got a point, Iz. I’ve been telling you people will think it’s weird if I keep doing AT videos and posts but I never actually do the AT.”
“You have done it,” Izzy insists for the fiftieth goddamn time. “We’ve done every section by now, some of ‘em a few times. We must’ve done the whole thing from start to end twice by now. That’s more than enough to be an official completion.”
Edward goes quiet, calm, and for a moment Izzy thinks maybe he’s actually thinking things through logically. Then, he says, “You know it’s not the same. C’mon, man. One more long trip.”
“Your knee—”
“My knee is fucking solid,” Ed declares, slapping it, and Izzy rolls his eyes when the move is followed by a wince. “I’ve been in PT for five goddamn years, in case you lost count when you were shuttling me to weekly appointments. It’s as good as it’s going to get. Hell, I asked my trainer last time and she said—”
“Wait. You asked your trainer last time?” Edward tenses, and Izzy shoves himself back from the desk, ripping the stupid screen glasses off his face to press his palms into his eyes. “Edward, that was three days ago. Have you been planning this shit? Is there even a ‘thruthewoodz,’ or is that a fucking sockpuppet of yours too?”
“What’s a sockpuppet?”
“It’s— Nevermind. I don’t actually want you to know that.” Izzy drops his hands and then blinks up at Edward, trying to clear the red tinge from his vision. “In case you missed it, we’re not twenty-two anymore.”
“Plenty of older people hike the AT,” Edward points out, shrugging. “Older than us. First timers, even, which we’re not. We can do this, mate.” His foot slides back up, back between Izzy’s legs, and he adds, “Baby?”
Izzy sputters, “Baby?”
“Yeah, should have thought about that one a smidge longer,” Edward says with a wince. “Point still stands. We can do it. We should do it. It’ll be fun, and besides that you know it’s good for the ‘brand’ or whatever. Like old times.”
“Yeah, sure,” Izzy snaps. “Let’s risk your health and your ability to walk just so some fucking teenager on the internet doesn’t think you’re a goddamn poser. What the fuck, Edward. Old times? Do I need to remind you why we didn’t finish the trip the first time?”
Edward’s expression shutters so quickly that Izzy almost regrets his words. Almost. “Fuck you, Baz,” he hisses, shoving off the desk and stomping toward the door. It loses some effect with his feet bare on the carpet.
“Maybe later,” Izzy shouts back, volume increasing as Edward marches through the door and into the rest of the flat. “Right now, I’m trying to do my fucking job, Blackbeard. And, in case you’ve forgotten, that includes looking after you!”
No response echoes back to him from down the hallway. Sighing, Izzy turns his attention back to the Discord server. The topic has changed to some libertarian bullshit, which makes Izzy’s scowl deepen, but it’s technically not against the rules. He mutes the channel for the moment and turns back to the compilation video.
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AT Class of ‘98
FANG: happy new year!
FANG: Ivan rang 2023 in here at the homestead and we got to thinking…
FANG: it’s the 25th anniversary of our meeting this yr!!! 😱
FANG: i know it’s not all good memories, but we ought to do something for it. meet up at the trailhead in March? maybe hike a bit?
FANG: won’t be long before some of us are too old to climb those mountains
Izzy: Did Edward put you up to this?
FANG: ???
Do Not Answer Jack: fuk yea were gona kick that montains fukkin asssssss
Izzy: Jack what year are you texting from, 2003?
Blackbeard: it’s a sign Iz
Blackbeard: high time we crossed this shit off the bucket list boys
Blackbeard: see you at the peak ✌️
Izzy: 😡