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Physical affection is something Frenchie never really exhibited. There really isn’t any dramatic reasoning for it, they just never have been too keen on it. That is until he found his way onto The Revenge and was introduced to Roach and his erratic and hyperactive tendencies.
Then Frenchie took to Roach like a moth to a flame.
They found themself clinging to Roach like his life depended on it. Always leaning on the man back in the good old days of Stede’s nightly storytime to bid them off to sleep. Nights on deck where Frenchie would trade his makeshift hammock in favor of an itchy sleepsack laid right next to Roach. Even the smallest of touches as they passed by him would end up with the most tender lingers.
Something about Roach just seemed to break that invisible barrier that always has kept physical affection locked behind it.
And Roach has never once complained either. He loves taking whatever form of affection happily handed out to him.
Roach is a simple man, he loves love. He loves taking and he especially loves giving. Granted the way he gives could seem overwhelming at times however Frenchie has never been burdened by the profoundness of Roach’s affection.
Perhaps it may seem a little off to any regular outsider considering that their energies seem to be– lack of better phrasing– on complete opposite ends of whatever imaginary spectrum they want to fit the two on. To the family they’ve found on the seas, it makes sense to some extent.
In some strange way, Roach’s hyperactive tendencies seemed to attract the more tranquil habits Frenchie possesses. At times it really does feel like they don’t belong in the same room much less on the same planet with how their auras should clash with one another but the truth is both Roach and Frenchie have never felt more complete than when they are in each other’s company.
Neither have ever felt as if they have ever truly differed from each other– besides the contrast of their sporadic and mellow energies, Roach and Frenchie have never felt like another person got them so well, seen them from the inside and out for who they truly are until the art of piracy had brought them together.
It doesn’t matter if nobody fully understands it because Roach and Frenchie do. Besides, when have they ever needed to explain themselves to anyone?
Frenchie does have a problem though. Since leaving Ed and Stede by the rundown shack and becoming interim captain, Frenchie has temporarily moved into the captain’s quarters. Not necessarily a problem in and of itself, Frenchie absolutely loves having a bit of privacy back and they know that anyone above deck would probably stab everyone on the crew just to have the room so it’s not like he’ll be giving up the cabin willingly anytime soon.
However, they do miss the nights when he can curl up into a ball and cling to Roach’s side as the stars and the moon shine above them acting as their ceiling. He misses the natural warmth of Roach’s body and the faint scent of onions that comes from his sleep sack. Frenchie especially misses the way that Roach would seemingly subconsciously caress the back of his neck so tenderly, soothing all of his aching muscles until his body has relaxed in what feels like a puddle of mush.
Frenchie just misses being able to cling to Roach.
It’s ridiculous, really, it’s not like fate has separated them from each other for the rest of their lives. He can just up to the deck and cuddle right into Roach’s side if he so wishes. The thing is, Frenchie has never been good at asking for the things that make him vulnerable.
So, he doesn’t ask but apparently he doesn’t need to.
In the quiet of the night, Frenchie sits in the alcove of one of the windows with his knees pulled to his chest staring out into the darkness of the mystery that remains the ocean. The moon illuminates the surface of the calm waters, not even the slightest gust of sea wind disturbs the stillness of the night.
Three small knocks on the door startle Frenchie. They take a moment to exhale a shaky breath and wills their heartbeat to settle back to its normal rhythm before he gets up and begins making his way across the dimly lit room.
When he opens the door to find Roach standing on the other side, something inside of Frenchie seems to relax immediately. It’s funny that just the sight of the man alone is enough to have a wave of calmness wash over him.
“Can I come in?” Roach questions, his voice low and soft almost as if he thinks if he speaks too loudly then the quiet night will soon be ruined.
Frenchie simply nods and opens the door the rest of the way while stepping aside to allow Roach to enter the room. As soon as Frenchie closes the door, he turns to follow Roach’s movements.
Roach slowly strides over to the desk where a few candles flicker, the pearly wax has gotten low and the wicker is not doing any better. Frenchie believes that they won’t survive to see the morning sun.
It's silent for a beat, then Roach slowly turns to face Frenchie. A sort of nervous look rests on his face as if he is anticipating something that will wind up hurting him. Frenchie wishes he could make it go away, whatever is ailing Roach he just wants to take it and tuck it into his own heart where he can bear the pain for his friend.
“Remember that night on deck where Capt– Stede was telling that awful story about a man with a hook for a head,” Roach says as he begins scratching the back of his head, a nervous tick that Frenchie has come familiar with in the time of knowing him.
Frenchie lets out a soft chuckle as he recalls the attempt at a horror story. “How could I forget? ‘M pretty sure half of us stayed up all night just groaning about how bad the story was.” Frenchie does miss those nights, the nights before maroonings, and storms, and mutinies, and death. “He was supposed to be a carriage driver, right?” Frenchie adds, faintly recalling a small detail from Stede’s story.
Roach gives a soft smile as he breaks eye contact and stares back down at the burning candles. “Yeah, yeah I think so. And uh, do you–” He pauses as he dips a finger in the pool of wax. “Do you remember how you were pressed into me? You were practically lying in my lap.” He says softly as he rubs the wet wax between his thumb and forefinger, allowing it to cool and harden on his skin before peeling it off.
Roach’s eyes meet Frenchie’s once more. His gaze is softer now, still with that glint of nervousness swimming deep in swirls of rich browns, and Frenchie can feel their heart starting to pick up in rhythm again as heat rushes to his cheeks.
Frenchie slowly nods, maybe he should feel a little anxious about where Roach might be going with this but he simply doesn’t. Nothing about Roach has ever made Frenchie feel nervous in any way, he trusts him with his entire life and has this certainty that Roach would never do anything to make him feel or think otherwise.
“And I know things haven’t really been the same since the whole– uh, Blackbeard crew thing,” Roach continues carefully, probably scared of saying the wrong thing that could possibly trigger something horrible inside of Frenchie, “I get it, I mean you went through a lot, probably more than I will ever know but…” He trails off with a slightly frustrated sigh as if he cannot seem to find the right words to convey what he feels.
And, fuck, Frenchie understands that completely.
Roach taps his fingers against the top of the wooden desk a few times before finally saying, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I miss it,” he looks up to meet Frenchie’s eyes again. Even in the very dim lighting, Frenchie can see the new vulnerability swimming in his brilliant irises. “I miss… you.” Roach finishes, his voice barely above a whisper as he does so.
The truth is things have been different since the entire crew has been reunited. Frenchie just hasn’t realized that the differences have affected Roach just as much as it has himself.
That physical vulnerability Frenchie seemed to only have with Roach seemed to drown in the depths of the sea the moment they were separated from each other. Frenchie knows he has missed it, god he has missed it more than he ever thought he could. And now Roach is standing across the room from him saying that he has missed it, missed him.
So now, Frenchie needs to dive headfirst into the dark waters and find that need to be vulnerable again. Not just for Roach but for himself as well.
“Do you–” Frenchie cuts himself off to clear their throat, “it’s not a question that you ever need to ask. You’re allowed to stay, whenever you need or want.” Frenchie is opening a new door, a door that he never knew was shut and locked in the first place. Behind that door is where his heart resides and he is allowing Roach first entrance to burrow himself deep there and live out the rest of his days if he chooses.
Roach’s eyes softly widen as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, almost as if he wasn’t expecting Frenchie to understand him, or worse, deny him.
He nods his head, then looks down at the low-burning candles before meeting Frenchie’s gaze once more. “Maybe just until the candles burn out,” Roach says softly, and Frenchie once again understands.
Roach doesn’t want to push him, he doesn’t want to rush back into how things used to be because they never will be the same exact way again. And that’s okay because now they get to heal and move forward. Things won’t be the same but they can be better. They will be better.
It’s easy the way they move around one another. Frenchie allows Roach into the bed nook first in order to be closest to the window since he knows how much Roach loves to count the stars and trace the constellations until he drifts off into sleep.
As Frenchie climbs in after him, curling up into Roach’s side like he’s done numerous times before, he finds himself letting go of a breath he feels as if he’s been holding for months. The warmth of Roach’s body immediately engulfs him, he can even still get a whiff of the scent of fresh bread that Roach had baked earlier today.
Roach wraps an arm around the back of Frenchie’s body, pulling him slightly closer and allowing Frenchie to rest their head on his chest. Then as subconsciously as he has done before, Roach’s fingers find the back of Frenchie’s neck and slowly caresses the soft sensitive skin there making Frenchie practically melt into the touch as a content hum reverberates through his entire body almost purr-like.
They lay pressed into one another, legs entangled, and breathing slow and steady. It’s not just about the physical vulnerability but also the emotional kind, they remain connected both with their bodies and their hearts.
After moments pass in silence, Frenchie manages to whisper words that he should have said weeks ago. “I missed you too.” Roach holds him closer, caresses his skin softer, and then a new feeling– one Frenchie’s never felt before– heats up his skin.
Soft lips graze against his forehead briefly yet ever so tenderly. It makes the slow beat of his heart skip and his face go hot. It’s new, exciting, sort of scary, but fuck does Frenchie want to feel it again and again and again until he can memorize what the shape of Roach’s lips feels like against his skin.
Things won’t ever be the same but they will be better. It already feels as if they are getting better and it’s only the very beginning.
The night continues to pass slowly, still remaining as quiet and calm as ever.
And even when the candles finally burn out, Frenchie and Roach still remain entangled in one another, hearts beating in sync and sleep just waiting over the horizon for them.