Chapter Text
Izzy looks at the hole above the dishwasher and sighs. He’s managed to patch up the damage for now, but it’s a temporary fix at best. Fucking pipes behind the fucking drywall. One of the shelter kids claims to have a half-finished plumbing apprenticeship under their belt and promised to pop down in the evening. Still, the incident has left Izzy wet and dirty and he’s trying real hard not to spiral about how much time and money that small slip of the power drill just cost them…
The chime of the door is a welcome distraction. Izzy wipes his hands on his shirt (fucking useless) before facing Ed. His husband doesn’t seem to notice how damp and filthy he is, or that a sizable chunk of the wall is missing. He just steps over the puddle on the floor and leans down to kiss him. There’s a desperate urgency to it, like he’s been poisoned and Izzy’s mouth holds the antidote. Ed’s lips taste like chocolate, his tongue is cold. When they come apart, Izzy notices the redness in his eyes. Right.
“How was therapy?” Izzy keeps his tone neutral - no prying, no judging, that’s the deal.
Ed blinks, sniffs once, then lifts up the half-eaten ice cream cone in his right hand.
“Rocky road, peanut butter, sprinkles.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Ehh. Intense, is all.” Ed shrugs, looks down at his boots. “Got you some, too.”
He holds out his other hand - a small cup of what used to be ice cream and is now closer to slightly chilled soup. Izzy takes it with slight hesitation.
“Vegan vanilla, no toppings,” Ed reassures him and Izzy licks the little plastic spoon. It’s nice, even in this state.
“Makes me sound like the most boring person alive,” he complains around the next sweet mouthful.
“Yeah.” Ed’s grinning now, smacking a sticky kiss on Izzy’s cheek. “But you’re my boring person.”
Izzy rolls his eyes and feels his face go hot. Twenty-one years of marriage and the man can still make him fucking blush. He grabs Ed by the hand and leads him to the armchair. Remembering the condition his pants are in, Izzy opts to sit on the floor by his feet. Can’t afford to clean the upholstery on top of everything else.
There’s a loud crunch as Ed finishes the bottom tip of his waffle cone. He licks the last sprinkles off his fingers, then crumples up the paper napkin with a decisive inhale.
“Iz?”
“Hmm?” Now that he’s leaning against Ed’s knee, Izzy can feel the day’s exhaustion settle in his limbs.
“Would you leave me if I had abandonment issues?”
Izzy blinks up at him, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he tries to process all the bizarre layers of that sentence. Then - a twinkle in Ed’s eye, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly under his beard. Izzy shakes his head, tries hard to look annoyed.
“Isn’t therapy supposed to make you less of a twat?”
“Nah,” Ed chuckles, apparently done hiding his amusement. “I do think it helps, though. Session was good today.”
“Yeah?” Izzy relaxes against Ed’s leg again. He wants to know, he does, but he’s not about to make his husband share anything he would rather keep private. Behind him, Ed leans back in the chair.
“Yeah. She said to find ways of reducing stress. Also said to call my mother, which seems like a massive fucking contradiction but whatever…” Ed takes a breath, refocusing. “There’s something we should talk about.”
Izzy’s body tenses up against his will. His stomach grows cold and it has nothing to do with the vanilla goo he’s been slurping.
“Alright.” He fights to keep his voice steady as he looks up at Ed, heart pounding way too fast even though it’s fucking stupid and he knows it. He’s got nothing to worry about. It’s ok. They’re ok… He follows Ed’s eyes as they wander around the room - half-built shelves, bare light bulbs, pipes held together with duct tape and spite.
“Look, I know you hate changing plans-”
Fuck. Ed doesn’t want this. They should have just sucked it up and stayed at Badminton’s shop. Just a few more years and they could have retired. But of course Izzy had to push him, too eager, too determined to be brave, to take a risk for once in his life. He’s such a fucking idiot- Wait. Ed is still talking.
“-know we wanted to open in May. But Iz… Six weeks is a bloody insane time to remodel a whole café. Don’t want us to burn out before we even have our first customer, y’ know? So I was thinking, why not move it to June? Talk to the shelter folks, maybe make it a whole Pride thing…?” Ed trails off. Izzy exhales, fingers and toes tingling as the sensation of drowning slowly seeps out of his body. He’s so relieved he can’t keep the hysterical giggle from bursting out of his chest.
“Iz?” Ed sounds worried. Izzy catches his breath, wipes his eyes.
“Fucking hell, Ed. Yeah. Suppose June would be fine.”
“You’re so fucking weird.” Ed looks down at him, his expression warm enough to chase away the last shreds of panic clinging to his bones. Izzy can’t help himself. His hips protest as he clambers up from the floor and into Ed’s lap but he doesn't care. The ache in his joints will pass, and plaster crumbs wipe off leather well enough. It pulls a startled whimper out of Ed that melts into a pleased hum as their lips meet. Ed leans into it for a moment, then breaks the kiss to lick at Izzy’s chin, snickering as his husband squirms.
“What? ‘s good, that oat milk stuff. Shame to waste it.”
Izzy grumbles wordlessly. There’s a question itching at the back of his mind, has been for a while now. Deep breath in, out. Fuck it. No time like the present.
“Is your therapist taking any new clients?”
Ed doesn’t pry. Doesn’t judge. Just lets his palm rest on the back of Izzy’s neck, holding him close.
“Hmm, probably. I’ll text you her number. At least you’re already talking to your Mum, so maybe you’ll get a discount.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Izzy huffs, grateful.
He rests his forehead against Ed’s shoulder, smells leather and that orange shampoo Ed nicked from Bonnet’s fancy shower. They’re going to be ok.