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It’s no surprise to Izzy when he wakes earlier than Ed. He wakes up at the same time every morning, like clockwork, used to two decades of the same commute. It’s ideal for days when he’s working, but really fucking annoying on the days when he’s not. He groans slightly, sitting up and chugging from the glass of what’s now room-temperature water, glancing over at Ed beside him. Ed’s still sleeping, face pressed into his pillow and snoring lightly, hair falling over his eyes, and lying on his stomach in a position that makes Izzy internally flinch just to look at him. He smiles softly and presses a kiss to his temple, before carefully disentangling himself from the sheets. Ed’s a notoriously light sleeper (except for when Izzy’s driving them somewhere and could really use help with directions, somehow).
He heads downstairs to the kitchen, ignoring Ed’s fancy coffee maker in favour of the instant stuff. He pours some water into the kettle and starts boiling it, fetching the post while he waits. There’s nothing special – a few promotional leaflets which are instantly dumped into the recycling, something from the car insurer, something from his brother inviting him somewhere that they both know he won’t go to, and one that looks like it’s from some government office. He sets them down on the side, and pours himself his coffee.
It’s not even had time to cool down enough for his first sip, when he hears the familiar shuffling upstairs that means Ed’s awake. He checks the time and frowns, wondering why the fuck Ed’s up, and coming downstairs, apparently, this early.
“Eddie?” he calls, a little uncertain. It’s a few seconds before Ed appears in the kitchen floor, looking half-asleep and wearing just his sleep shirt (one of Izzy’s old AC/DC ones from fuck knows how many years ago). “Everything alright?”
Ed doesn’t say anything and just walks over to Izzy, pulling him into his arms. Izzy’s panicking, but trying not to let it show as he puts his cup down so he can give Ed his full attention. Ed, in response, mumbles something Izzy can’t quite make out into his ear.
“What was that?” Izzy asks, careful to keep his voice soft, gentle.
Ed pulls back slightly and looks at him with those gorgeous brown eyes of his. “I asked where you’d gone…”
“What d’you mean, where I’d gone?” Izzy frowns, then sighs, “did you have one of those fucking dreams where I leave you somewhere again?”
“No!” Ed says, shaking his head, and Izzy can’t help but feel relieved that he doesn’t have to spend the day figuring out what he did in Ed’s dream that he has to apologise for. Ed slumps forward again, resting his forehead on Izzy’s. “Just… woke up and you weren’t there.”
Ah .
Izzy frees one of his arms so he can cup Ed’s cheek. “When have I ever left without telling you where I’m going?”
Ed bites his lip, and Izzy knows he doesn’t have an answer for that one. He makes sure to text Ed before he leaves for work, every single time, so he has the text to wake up to. He smirks.
Ed shrugs. “Never, I guess, but…”
“Hm?”
“It’s n–”
“Edward Teach, don’t you fucking dare say it’s nothing,” Izzy says, firmly but still gently and without a trace of annoyance in his voice.
“It’s just…” Ed looks away, although not before Izzy catches the glassy look in his tired eyes. “Y’know.”
“One of those days?” Izzy offers.
“Yeah,” Ed says, voice small.
Izzy never knows what the cause of it is, and Ed says he doesn’t know either, but every now and then, he’ll have a day where his nerves all come bubbling to the surface and all he wants – what he needs – is to be with Izzy, in his presence until the anxiety goes away. And while Izzy knows he should be worried, and he is, he also fucking loves it, loves knowing that he’s that person who can help Ed’s brain settle. He brings both of his hands to Ed’s waist, softly stroking up and down his sides. “Alright, love,” he says, the term of endearment slipping out and he can see the surprise on Ed’s face. Izzy is very, very rarely one to use them. “Head on up to bed and I’ll make you some coffee–” he stops, seeing the look on Ed’s face, and corrects himself. “You sit at the table and I’ll make you a coffee. There’s a letter from Tom, ‘s got my name on it but you can open it.”
He brings Ed over to the table and pulls out the chair for him, kissing his forehead once he’s sat down. Ed smiles up at him, and Izzy briefly curses himself for being so fucking evil and leaving Ed in bed alone, even if he wasn’t conscious at the time. He heads back to the kettle and gets started on Ed’s coffee, rinsing out his favourite mug. It’s designed to look like you’re drinking from a shark’s mouth and Izzy thought it was fucking stupid, and it is, but Ed had seen it and been so excited that of course Izzy bought it for him.
“He’s having his seventieth in London,” Ed says, having opened the letter and waving the invitation card in the air. “You sure we shouldn’t go? That’s like a major birthday.”
“Fuck no,” Izzy says immediately. “You remember the last one we went to, where he had too much to drink and started a fight with the fucking doorman?”
Ed snorts. “Wasn’t much of a fight, was it?”
“It’ll be the same shit this time, and I’m not going to fucking London for him, Edward.”
“You really hate it there, don’t you?” Ed says. Izzy hands his coffee to him, smiling slightly as Ed runs his fingers over the spikes of the shark teeth. How he drinks from that fucking thing without spilling stuff everywhere, Izzy will never know.
“I do,” Izzy says, “and I’m right to. Ten pound seventy, Edward, and the glass was fucking filthy.”
He’s referring, of course, to the time he’d gone to a shitty chain pub with a group of their friends, and the large glass of wine he’d ordered had come in a dirty glass with a lipstick stain on and tasted like it had been open since about 1989. But horrible pub experiences aside, it’s too much. Too much of everything. It’s too big and too loud, too overwhelming, and the people are fucking rude. Izzy isn’t the kind of person to say hello to strangers in the street, absolutely not, but nodding politely to someone and being looked at like you have two heads for it just seems unnecessary.
“You’ll never be over that, will you?” Ed says. When Izzy sits down beside him, he rests his feet over Izzy’s lap.
“No.”
Ed laughs, and Izzy strokes gently up his shin, stopping at his knee and looking over at him. “How’s the knee treating you? I know the shit weather hasn’t been helping.”
Ed shrugs, which Izzy knows means that the answer is ‘really fucking bad’, so he starts massaging slow circles into it with his thumb, the way he knows helps.
“How’d you know?” Ed asks, very quietly, sipping from his mug.
Izzy doesn’t look up, doesn’t stop what he’s doing. “Name five things that made me throw up on our honeymoon.”
“Prawns, lentils, quiche, that coffee where they didn’t give you non-dairy milk, and too many negronis,” Ed says, reeling the list off immediately.
“The negronis don’t count, you little shit,” Izzy says, even though they definitely do. “But you see what I’m saying?”
He watches as Ed nods slowly. “We… just know this shit about each other, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Izzy leans over and switches on the radio with the hand not massaging Ed, and they’re greeted with Izzy’s favourite radio soap. Ed groans, and Izzy swats gently at his thigh. “Shut the fuck up, it’s a repeat anyway, I just need to hear the end bit and we can put something else on.”
Izzy listens to the part he’s missed, and it’s not long after that before Ed is restless where he’s sitting, and he asks Izzy if they can go back to bed. And, fuck it, they’re not working today, so even though Izzy is generally more of an ‘if he’s up, he’s up’ kind of guy, he agrees. He’s not going to deny Ed anything, certainly not when he’s feeling like this. He threads his hand through Ed’s as they walk upstairs, and he’s now sitting with his back against the headboard, Ed resting on him, one leg slung over his own and his arms around his middle. He’s resting on Izzy’s chest, and Izzy can see that he’s trying to breathe in and out in time with the rise and fall of his own breaths.
Ed hasn’t said much, he’s still very much waking up, but Izzy doesn’t mind. He isn’t about to push him to do anything, although he does grumble when Ed tugs at his shirt as though he’s trying to make him take it off.
“There’s no fucking way you’re in the mood for–”
“No,” Ed cuts in, “it’s just nicer without all this in the way.” He’s pulling back and taking off his own shirt as soon as he’s said it, then he’s got his arms around Izzy’s waist again and he’s looking up at him, wordlessly begging him to do the same. And, fuck, Izzy would do anything Ed asks for, so he pulls off his own shirt and settles back down, letting Ed settle against his chest. Izzy can see the top of Ed’s huge fucking ‘TRUST NO ONE’ tattoo (one hell of an overreaction to a fight, Izzy thinks) over where the covers are leaving his upper back bare, and fights back a laugh. He’ll let Ed take the lead here, let him speak when he’s ready to. Izzy knows these moods well, knows when they come on and knows, as best he can, how it feels for Ed to be so fucking afraid of everything that Izzy had to negotiate to go and piss alone when it happened.
“Izzy,” Ed says, quiet, eventually breaking the peaceful silence. His voice is muffled, his mouth pressed up against Izzy’s chest.
“Yeah?” Izzy says. He’s carding his fingers through Ed’s hair absentmindedly, wondering how the fuck it’s not all that tangled after being slept on. One of Edward’s many talents, he supposes. The world really does work in his favour and Izzy still, even after ten years of marriage, can’t quite believe that Ed looked twice at him, let alone chose to spend his life with him.
“What’re we doing today?”
Izzy can’t help but laugh at that, and it sends a warm feeling to his chest. This is their day, isn’t it? Not them passing each other as they attend to separate activities, but both of them, doing everything together.
“Well,” Izzy says, and briefly wonders if he should make something up about a party, to tease Ed with, but remembers past occasions where he tried to do the same, and shuts up. “I wasn’t planning on much. Just gonna get the house in order, empty the bins, put the laundry away, that sort of thing.”
Ed pulls a face. “Boring.”
“I know, but someone needs to do it. Probably also need to get some food in.” He says the last part mostly to himself, but he feels Ed tensing in his arms.
“Don’t wanna go out,” he says.
Izzy cranes his neck down to kiss his head, his face lingering there as he speaks. “I know. But we need to do it, we can’t afford to keep buying takeaways and we’ve both got prescriptions to collect. You’re nearly out.” He gives Ed another kiss. “You can wear my earplugs, I’ll do all the talking.”
Ed doesn’t seem to love the idea, which is why Izzy had been planning on doing all of this himself in the first place, but he feels him nod.
“Eddie,” Izzy says, moments later.
“Mm?”
“You know I love you, yeah?”
A pause, and Izzy’s heart jumps in his chest.
“Mmhm. Love you too.”
They’re up and out of bed not long after, Ed getting dressed and Izzy trying to remember where the fuck he’s put his shaving foam. He heads towards the bathroom for a shower, when he feels Ed’s hand catching his wrist.
He turns around. “Just a shower, Eddie, I’ll be five minutes.”
Ed looks at him with wide eyes.
“I’ll be in the house. You literally know where I’ll be, you’ll be able to hear me in there.”
Ed blinks, and Izzy knows exactly what he wants, and instantly relents.
“You can sit in the bathroom, but you’re not coming in with me.”
“I’ll take it,” Ed says, with a big smile, and Izzy resists the urge to affectionately roll his eyes.
“Izzy,” Ed says, over the sound of the water, “Izzy!”
“What?” Izzy shouts, more focused on actually showering, than whatever Ed is saying.
“Do you think fish ever feel dirty?”
Izzy actually stops washing himself. “Edward, what–”
“Think about it,” Ed says, raising his own voice to match Izzy’s. The shower came with the house, is old and loud as fuck, and needs replacing. “Cause fish live in the water, right? But do they ever feel like they need a wash? Do fish feel grimy?”
“Edward, how the fuck would I know that?”
“I dunno, but do you ever think about it?”
Izzy once had to buy Ed flowers because he’d asked him to clarify what he was actually asking instead of saying yes, when Ed had asked if he’d still love him if he was a worm, so Izzy knows what he needs to do here.
“Never really thought about it,” he says, going back to scrubbing himself, “don’t they forget shit after three seconds anyway? Wouldn’t they just feel grimy forever?”
“You know that’s actually not true,” Ed says, because of course he knows shit like this. Izzy knows he can’t get enough Attenborough documentaries. “They did a whole study, they remember shit for weeks, months, even years! Cool as fuck, right?”
Izzy has to admit it, it is kind of cool. “Well, there you go.”
“Fish are fucking great,” Ed says. “Maybe I should take up fishing? Not to like, catch and eat them, but just to see them up close?”
Izzy thinks of the boxes of exercise equipment in the garage, the stand mixer in the kitchen which gathers dust, the bag of crochet supplies in the lounge, and the folded up easel which he keeps accidentally kicking when he walks past it. “Yeah, maybe,” he says, “maybe get Fang to go with you sometime, saves you buying all the shit and realising you don’t enjoy it.”
There’s silence from Edward for a second, and Izzy can’t see outside the shower to know whether or not he’s just ordered hundreds of pounds’ worth of fishing equipment.
“Would you come, too?”
Izzy’s never had any interest in fishing, but the idea of sitting by a lake somewhere with a couple of beers, in near-silence while they watch the water does sound fucking nice. And more to the point, Ed’s just asked him, and who is he to say no to Ed, especially on one of his bad days?
“Yeah. Sure.”
He switches off the shower not long after and steps out, and Ed jumps up far too fast, given his knee, to hold out a towel for him. Izzy shakes his head, but with all the affection in the world, and lets Ed wrap it around him. He nips at Izzy’s neck, hands all over him, and Izzy has to bat him away because he is not about to take a second fucking shower because Ed has managed to lure him back to bed immediately after. Ed pouts, and Izzy presses a quick, chaste kiss to his lips as an apology for standing his ground.
Izzy decides they should finish their shopping and meds-collecting as soon as possible, so they can get home quickly and Ed won’t have to stress about it. Izzy’s heart fucking aches when he sees Ed’s leg bouncing in the car, and even blasting Ed’s favourite playlist at an honestly offensive volume doesn’t seem to help. When he gets out of the car, Ed grips onto his arm with both hands and Izzy decides to forgo the big shop he wanted to do, and picks up a basket instead.
“Can’t be fucked to fight through the weekend crowd,” Izzy says, even though he usually can. “Pick what you want for dinner, I’ll make whatever, but you have to help with it.”
He says it like it’s a threat, but he knows it’s what Ed needs to hear right now. “Sure thing. Can you do enchiladas, but not too spicy? I know your English arse can’t handle it.”
“I’m half-Welsh, you twat.”
Izzy also distinctly remembers Ed not handling spicy food all that well, but he decides not to mention it. He instead starts gathering up ingredients for enchiladas – not the packet mix, he’s a good fucking cook, the only thing he buys premade are the tortilla wraps – while also tossing in some of the snacks he knows Ed likes. Yoghurt coated raisins, olives with mozzarella, mini crackers, things he knows Ed will eat when he feels all wrong and not able to stomach anything big.
“By the way,” Ed asks, “what was in that other letter? Not the one from Tom, the one you opened before we left?”
“Oh, that?” Izzy says, shrugging, and throwing a carton of oat milk into the basket, “I’ve got fucking jury duty in October. Again .”
“You’ve what?” Ed asks, stopping suddenly in the middle of the aisle.
Izzy turns around, tries to face him as best he can when Ed is clinging to his sleeve. “Jury duty, Edward.”
“But… you’ve already done jury duty, I remember, it was that fucking quadruple murder–”
“I remember,” Izzy says. He’ll never understand Ed’s thing with true crime documentaries. They make Izzy himself feel a bit sick. “You can do it more than once, you know.”
“What the fuck ?” Ed says, letting go of Izzy to throw his hands in the air, only to immediately cling back onto him after. “You get to do it fucking twice? When’s it my turn?”
Izzy wants to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he can’t, because of Ed and the basket. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Fucking should,” Ed mutters.
He’s silent for the rest of their time in the supermarket, and Izzy doesn’t question it. It’s really fucking loud in there, and he misses the earbuds, though he knows Ed needs them more right now. He picks up the ingredients for enchiladas, as well as a dessert that’s both discounted and dairy-free that they can enjoy together later. He swears he sees Ed eye the dessert up, only to look away as soon as he notices Izzy clocking it. Izzy doesn’t think about it, just pays at the register and hauls all their shit back to the car.
“Pharmacy next, then we’ll go back. Can do whatever you want to do,” he says, once they’re out of the car park. When he’s comfortable taking his hand off the wheel, he reaches over and squeezes Ed’s thigh.
Ed doesn’t reply. Izzy tenses, worried that maybe they should’ve just ordered food in, if Ed’s this wound up. Izzy’s never seen these days go like this before. Ed is anxious, sure, but he’s chatty, and they’re out of the busy shop and in an environment he can control.
“Eddie?”
“Not fucking fair,” Ed mutters.
Izzy frowns, though he keeps his eyes on the road. “What’s not fair?”
“You get to do it twice.”
“Get to do what twice?” he asks. “You’re gonna need to give me more to work with, Eddie, I can’t read your mind.”
“Fucking jury duty!” Ed says, and Izzy almost crashes the car because he can’t believe what the fuck he’s hearing. “I’ve never been asked to do it, and you get to do it twice? And the last case you had was so fucking cool, too, it’s not fucking fair.”
Izzy cannot believe what he is fucking hearing.
“Edward, are you fucking upset because I have jury duty?”
“Fucking obviously.”
“Edward, it’s fucking shit. Half these buildings are so old they don’t have good heating or air conditioning, and I know I got a case you were interested in, but most of the time it’s some CEO fiddling the books, you’d be bored out of your brains.”
“You don’t know that,” Ed says, crossing his arms and looking away, “I might get a cool one.”
Izzy sighs through his nose. He loves this man, he loves him so much he sometimes feels like he might burst. “You might, but you probably won’t. We can watch one of your true crime things tonight, yeah?”
“Really?” Ed asks, because he knows Izzy hates those fucking things.
“Yeah, really,” Izzy says, before adding, “as long as you hold me through the whole thing.”
Ed nods and reaches over like he’s about to hug Izzy there and then.
“Edward, I’m fucking driving.”
Collecting their prescriptions is surprisingly easy, and when they’re back at the house, Ed insists on holding Izzy’s hand as they walk to the house, and who the fuck is Izzy to deny him? Ed wraps himself around his back as he puts the groceries away, and doesn’t let go when Izzy tries to take the bin out, either. In fact, he insists on coming with him, holding his hand, lifting the lid up so Izzy can throw the bag in. And Izzy can’t help but feel a swell of so much affection in his chest when Ed does this, when he grips onto his shirt when Izzy needs both hands free, when he whines slightly when Izzy shifts where they’re sitting.
Izzy is worried, of course he is. He’s worried sick about what would happen to Ed if he’s not there to help him when he’s feeling like this. But he’s going to let himself enjoy the moment, and if that moment involves lying on the sofa while Ed clings to him, then so be it. Ed is stressed, Izzy can tell, but he seems content enough, letting Izzy comb through his hair with his fingers with one hand, and holding the other one in his own, playing with it idly.
“Iz?” he asks, suddenly, quietly.
“Yeah?”
“When you say you love me, are you… are you sure?”
Izzy freezes, but then remembers how Ed’s feeling, where this must be going. “Yeah, I’m sure. Why d’you ask?”
“Dunno, I just…” Ed sniffs, quietly, and Izzy frees both his hands to pull him into a hug, to hold him against his chest. “I’m too much, right?”
Izzy shakes his head, holding Ed tight as though he can squeeze all the bad thoughts out of him. “No, Eddie. You could never be too much.”
He can see on Ed’s face that he wants to believe him. “But I… Iz, look at me, I, today, I… I feel like if I can’t see you, I’m gonna fucking lose it. I… almost texted you when you went to piss earlier. That’s not… that’s not good , is it?”
Probably not. Definitely not. It’s something Izzy knows they should address, but this isn’t the time or the place. “Have I ever said that I minded?” he asks instead.
Ed looks at him properly, eyes wet with tears. “No?”
“No,” Izzy confirms. “No. Cause I don’t , Edward. I love you. And if the only person you want to be around is me, then I am fucking flattered, cause you could have anyone, you know that? Look at you. You’re fucking beautiful.”
“I only want you, Iz,” Ed says, so quietly.
“And you have me,” Izzy confirms. “Even if it’s shit. Especially if it’s shit.”
“Thank you,” Ed whispers.