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He knew it was getting to be too much when a random biker in a bar wrapped their arm around him and he nearly cried and hugged back.
Izzy wasn’t an overly physical person. He didn’t like to be touched at random, at least not by strangers, and he didn’t like to linger around after the fun was done with groupies lest they got ideas. Usually it was fine. He went about his life, he enjoyed every bit of solitude he could scrounge up while touring, and he even kicked back with his friends on occasion.
But, sometimes, he would notice this sensation underneath his skin. An ache, an itch, a pulse, a push. He had never taken the time to put a particular verb to the feeling. Yet it laid there like a parasite, feeding on his loneliness and growing until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. That’s what it was -- loneliness. Being alone, Izzy enjoyed very much. But loneliness, the kind where you feel invisible in a room full of people, the kind where you make a nest out of your bed to ease the emptiness, the kind where you catch yourself about to spill everything to a bird on the windowsill in the hopes that it would maybe, just maybe, love you back.... Well. Who enjoyed such a thing?
The parasite analogy was apt, considering Izzy viewed it as such. Something foreign to him, something unnatural and unneeded. A drain on his self. Why the fuck did he “need” intimacy when he had sex, drugs, and rock n roll? He didn’t.
(He did.)
Izzy had to eventually accepted the hard truth that he was, in fact, “a fucking human being that needs a fucking hug on occasion.” Axl’s words, not his. Yes, he had succumbed to his frustration and talked to Axl about this. The conversation had been, surprisingly, just what he needed.
There he had been, sweating and grimacing as he described the feeling and how annoying it was and how anything he tried refused to make it going away, and when he was done, Axl had sat back, told him to get a grip, and laid it out simple and harsh.
“You’re not the only lonely bastard in the world, Izzy, okay?” He had said. “Stop fucking acting like a martyr and go find yourself a nice girl. You can’t fix this with heroin or surfing or whatever else you fucking tried, it won’t work. You need to find yourself some love, someone to kiss your bruises and listen to you babble about airplanes and share your soul with. All that jazzy shit. Don’t ask me, though.”
“Why not? Aren’t we best friends?” (Not that he wanted that with Axl, anyways, it would be too weird)
“Cause I’m not a human. I’m a god. So go find yourself a puny little human wife and leave me to my mountain shaking.”
That meant he was going to jerk off, by the way. Izzy left.
And followed Axl’s instructions to find a sweet girl by going to find Duff.
Oh, he knew that Duff wasn’t even close to being a girl. And neither of them were gay. Izzy didn’t want to kiss Duff, or anything like that (really!). But Duff’s soul felt like it connected with his own soul easier than anyone he had ever met - even Axl - so if Izzy was going to bare himself to someone, it would be him.
Besides, Duff was the least likely person to say no if he asked him to cuddle and watch chick flicks and talk about their feelings. He would laugh a little. But he would do it, and do it seriously.
Izzy had been right, all those months ago when he’d gone to find Duff and explain the situation to him. Duff had been a little incredulous at what he was hearing. And Izzy got that, it was probably unsettling to have your friend walk up to you out of the blue and state that they were hurting from the lack of intimacy in their life and would you mind cuddling for a bit to make them feel better? But, like he knew he would, Duff had agreed and gone up to his room with him after finishing his beer.
The first time was awkward, to put it lightly. They weren’t sure whether to keep their clothes on or take them off, and if it would feel slightly less weird on the couch versus the bed, or if they should put some music on, and then once they’d settled on the couch Izzy accidentally kneed Duff in the nuts and Duff’s arm fell asleep and he had sneezed in Izzy face and, also, how do you tell someone your deepest secrets when you don’t know what they are yourself?
The experience had left Izzy feeling very put out. He’d gone to bed that night feeling worse than before the cuddling had happened, and twice as lonely. But, when he was awoken the next morning, it was to Duff at his door, wrapped in a hotel bathrobe and carrying a tray of breakfast.
Their second try was lightyears better. Izzy was still sleepy enough that he didn’t have the reservations he would normally have when fully cognitive and invited Duff into his bed without hesitation. It was discovered that they both preferred to cuddle in a bed, with minimal clothing, and without music (“soul sharing” was difficult if you couldn’t hear one another).
Duff traced a line down Izzy’s spine with his fingertips. Izzy laid his head on Duff’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. They talked, about everything and nothing at once. Izzy did, in fact, mention airplanes, and how he had always wanted to make one of the little model ones that came in a kit because he could never afford one as a kid. Duff said that he would help him. Breakfast was forgotten about for so long that it got cold, but they ate their waffles and bacon anyways with smiles on their faces.
A deeper understanding of each other had been built that day. Though there had been no sex, and no topics of conversation worth bringing to a therapist’s office, intimacy had sprung up. When Izzy saw Duff from then on, he immediately felt his shoulders loosen and his mind calm. Duff understood him. Duff cared for him. Duff wouldn’t judge him, no matter how silly or vulnerable or weird he was.
Izzy’s whole character had not changed. He still did not like random touches, at least not from strangers. He still didn’t linger with the groupies -- in fact, the groupies were becoming few and far inbetween these days. He liked his peaceful solitude. But he was also able to recognize that feeling under his skin when it had been a few days since his last cuddle session with Duff. Longing. He longed for the feel of Duff’s warm body, his steady heartbeat, and his comforting voice.
“You jonesin’ for some?” Duff would say when Izzy sidled up to him.
“Yeah,” he would sigh, already underneath Duff’s arm.
“Well, alright then. Let’s go upstairs so I can love you.”