Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hollywood and TV make heart attack recovery seem to be a swift and fast recovery. You get hospitalized and then you're fine after you're discharged. In reality, the process is more complicated than that. Izzy himself spends almost three months recovering. By the end of January, he regains most of his strength and speech even though he still stumbles here and there. But his doctor finally permits him to go back to work and that’s great news.

"You're smiling, babe," Frenchie comments when he drives him back home from the hospital.

"Eyes on the road," Izzy chides him.

"I'm looking at the road!" Frenchie argues.

"Then how do you know I'm smiling?"

Frenchie groans. "Ugh, you're worse than my driving instructor."

While Izzy can still drive once he recovers, they both agree that it's probably best for him to stay away from the wheel. Frenchie took the initiative to learn how to drive while Izzy was recovering. Izzy had concerns but Frenchie had managed to prove himself as a decent driver. He’s comfortable letting him drive his car now.

“Are you happy you’re going back to work?” Frenchie asks.

Izzy huffs out a laugh. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“I reckon I do,” Frenchie argues. “You always bother me when I’m working from home.”

“No, I’m trying to help you.”

Frenchie turns to give him a disapproving look. “I’ve never asked you to help me!”

“Eyes on the road, Frenchie,” Izzy reminds him. “I’m fucking bored, ok. All I do is sit on my arse all day long.”

“You’re supposed to be resting, babe,” Frenchie says.

Izzy rolls his eyes. “Resting is fucking boring.”

“It doesn't mean you can disturb me," Frenchie scolds him with a strong annoyance in his voice.

Izzy resists the urge to stick his tongue at Frenchie.

For a moment they don't say anything. Frenchie is busy driving while Izzy is busy writing an email to Edward and HR. He needs to negotiate a new contract to reduce his work time. Edward already agreed to that term but they haven't made any formal agreement.

"You're already working, aren't you?" Frenchie asks.

"Eyes on-"

"The road, yes. I know, babe," Frenchie cuts in. "Are you sure you can work this soon?"

Izzy rolls his eyes. "I'm just writing an email, you twat. It’s nothing too exhausting."

“But babe! Writing business emails is exhausting!” Frenchie argues. “It’s a whole new language. I didn’t know writing ‘duly noted’ means ‘fuck you’ in the business email until Stede told me. I’ve been using it for a long time!”

Izzy rolls his eyes and says nothing. He really doesn’t understand how Frenchie can be so effortlessly suave and charming when he haggles but so awkward in formal encounters.

Their car stops at a red light. Frenchie uses the chance to truly look at Izzy. There's a fond smile on his face. It’s annoying but also endearing.

"What?" Izzy asks, frowning to hide the fact that he’s starting to blush under Frenchie’s gaze.

"You finally sound like yourself," Frenchie replies, his tone full of affection. “Minus the speech impediment thing, of course.”

Izzy frowns. "The fuck that's supposed to mean?"

"Your inner spirit. It's back," Frenchie says. "You're mean and bossy again.” He beams.

Izzy is taken aback by that remark. "You're happy that I'm mean and again?"

"Yeah. It means you're back being you again." Frenchie grins at him. "And I think it's sexy."

Izzy breaks into a small chuckle. This man really has the talent to say the most random thing that always makes him warm inside. "You're weird."

"You love me being weird," Frenchie points out.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't be so smug about it, arsehole," Izzy says.

The car jostles a bit when it moves once more. The traffic in Bristol during this hour is bad so they still have at least fifteen minutes before they're back home. Izzy reread his email twice to ask for a virtual meeting with Edward and HR before he hits the send button.

The car stops again near a red light.

"So, you've recovered, right?" Frenchie asks.

"You were there when the doctor said so," Izzy reminds him.

"That means I can propose, right?"

Izzy puts his phone down and turns to Frenchie. His boyfriend has his eyes glued on the traffic light above them. He restlessly drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Wait, are you… uh… nervous right now?” Izzy asks, amused. 

“Oh gee, thanks for noticing, babe. You’re very observant.”

"Why are you nervous? You already know I'm going to say yes." An idea then sneaks into his brain. “Don’t tell me you want to… do it now.”

“Do what?”

“You know… the… uh…” Izzy struggles with the word. “Asking me to marry you.”

"Propose? Now? What? No! You want the most romantic proposal ever, remember?" Frenchie replies. “It’s hardly romantic if I ask the question in a car.”

Frenchie likes to goof around and do silly stuff - and Izzy does love him for that - so it’s so jarring when he’s being serious. He remembers saying that when he was in his most vulnerable state. Of course, Frenchie takes those words as gospel.

Izzy can't fight the surge of affection in his heart.

"You don't need to make it romantic," Izzy says. "Don't be too stressed over it."

"But babe-"

Izzy notices the light turns green. "Keep driving."

The car moves again but at a slow speed. The traffic is that bad.

"I know I said I want a romantic… that," Izzy begins. "But I'll be happy if you just give me a...” He points at his finger.

Frenchie pursues his lips, deep in thought. “I want to do it right.”

“Frenchie…” Izzy sighs but his smile widens.

“You’ve been through a lot, Iz.” Frenchie turns to him. “You deserve to have the most romantic proposal and wedding.”

The practical side of him wants to argue with that statement. A proposal and wedding cost a lot He won’t be able to work sooner or later. He’ll become financially dependent on Frenchie. It’ll be safer for them both to save for the inevitable future. It’s the right thing to do.

His romantic side agrees with Frenchie. He only has five years to live. Might as well enjoy the ride while he’s still able to do that.

“Fine! Do whatever you want,” Izzy says with an eye roll to mask how eager he actually is. 

“Aww, babe! I know you’d agree with me!” Frenchie laughs. He must have seen through his act. “I’ll give you romance that will make Stede’s romantic gesture for Edward pale in comparison.”

“You also deserve the most romantic shit as well,” he says. “You deserve it.”

The car stops again so Frenchie grabs Izzy’s right hand - the one that is covered with a thick glove - and brings it to his lips. “For us?”

Izzy smiles fondly at him. “For us.”

Izzy goes back to work in the second week of February.

He had two meetings with Edward and the HR manager before that; one virtual and one more in his living room. The visit was a surprise but they told him they wanted him to sign his new contract with Blackbeard Studio as soon as possible. They agreed that he can no longer have the same responsibility as he used to due to his health and speech impediment. It means he’s no longer required to find new clients. He hates talking to people so that works for him.

What surprised him the most during the visit was the new offer Edward brought to him. They made a new offer for Izzy. A fucking good offer he can’t say no to. A new position but without additional responsibilities. He’s going to get more share from the firm’s profit after his new position is finalized. To compensate for all of his hard work and the inadequate rewards he got in return. Reduced work hours, less responsibility, and an increased income? Izzy would be stupid to say no.

“Take it easy today, babe,” Frenchie tells him when he drops him off.

Izzy rolls his eyes. This is the fifth time he says and it’s only 9 AM. Instead of voicing his annoyance, he asks, “How do I look?”

For the first time, Izzy doesn’t wear all-black clothing. He’s still too thin and pale. Wearing black will accentuate how sick he looks. The last thing he wants is to have people flocking to his office and asking him if he’s ok. So that’s why Frenchie and Spriggs bullied him to go shopping. As much as he hates to admit it, Spriggs chose a good set of business attire for him

“You look great, babe. Don’t worry,” Frenchie says, openly admiring him.

Izzy looks down at his clothes; gray windowpane suits with an off-white turtleneck. He wears gloves in both hands for now because it’s still cold. Izzy takes his glasses from his pocket and wears them. He hopes it’s not too weird. Well, he grows his goatee back so his new appearance won’t be shocking.

“Alright, I’m going. Thanks for the ride.” Izzy unbuckles his seatbelt and is ready to go.

“Do I get a kiss?” Frenchie asks with a grin.

Izzy rolls his eyes again but he kisses him. Frenchie looks very pleased with himself after that. “Don’t wreck my car,” he says while giving a little pat on Frenchie’s cheek.

“See you, babe!”

Izzy gets out of the car and watches Frenchie drive away from him. He doesn’t know why the sight warms his heart.

As he expected, people are staring at him when he walks through the lobby. He’s not sure if they’re staring because of his clothes or because of his presence there. The receptionist is too flabbergasted to actually greet him when he clocks in. People in the design team are staring at him like they’re seeing a ghost when strolls past their studios to get to his office. Their building uses a glass partition so everyone sees him and he can see them. It’s really ridiculous so he stops and goes to their studio instead.

“I’ll let you all ask three questions before I go to my office but you’re not allowed to talk about me afterward,” Izzy announces. He has worked with these guys for a long time. He knows how much they like to gossip. It’s better to give them some answers rather than let them make assumptions. 

It seems he’s underestimating their curiosity because he’s not ready for the barrage of questions they ask. They ask about his health, his future in the firm, the project he handled in the past, why he’s stuttering, and of course, his clothes. Another thing that he didn’t expect is how genuine most of them are when they tell him they’re glad to see him. Izzy forgot they were there when he had his heart attack. They probably witnessed Fang giving him CPR and saw the EMS using the AED on him. He even needs to comfort Johnson because he starts crying. Somehow he cries even louder when Izzy hugs him.

“Why the fuck are you crying?” Izzy asks, confused. Isn’t it what people do when someone is crying? Johnson is not letting him go from his embrace as well so what the fuck?

“I’m just glad you’re still alive, sir!” Johnson says. “You’re like my favorite architect and role model and now you’re hugging me!”

Izzy looks around and finds Fang and Ivan standing at the door with his jaw wide open. 

“Fang! A little help?” Izzy calls him.

Fang immediately comes to his rescue and pries Johnson away from him. After he tells everyone to go back to work, Fang escorts him out of the studio. 

“Izzy! So glad to see you in the office once more, Boss!” Fang says and pulls him into a hug.

“Good to be back.” Izzy pats Fang’s back. He turns to Ivan and smiles at him. “Come here you big oaf!”

Ivan lets out a shocked gasp when Izzy hugs him. “Holy shit! Since when do you hug people?!”

“Since I almost died from cardiac arrest,” Izzy deadpans.

Ivan laughs even though he cringes afterward. “Damn, it feels so wrong to laugh at that.”

“You look better!” Fang comments. “And the clothes really suit you. Lucius really has a good fashion sense!”

Izzy snorts. Of course Fang knows about his shopping trip with Spriggs. “How’s Alex coping with me accepting Sprigg’s help instead of theirs?”

“Devastated,” Fang replies. “They have wanted to dress you up since they met you.”

Izzy chuckles at the thought. “Wanna take a picture of me and send it to them?”

Fang gasps. “They’re going to be sad.”

Izzy shrugs. “I know.”

Fang’s lips are tugged into a grin. “They’ll chew Lucius out.”

Izzy grins as well. “ I know .”

Fang takes a picture of him flicking at the phone. The response from Alex is instantaneous and full of despair. It sends Izzy and Fang cackling like maniacs.

“You’re both bloody mental!” Ivan says while laughing out loud with them.

“Shut up, Ivan.” Both he and Fang say at the same time, sending the three of them into a hysterical laugh. Izzy feels like they’re a bunch of mischievous school brats.

“Anyway, you’re going to attend the meeting with the other partners after lunch?” Ivan asks.

“That’s why I’m here now, twat.” 

“Your speech is better now!” Fang says.

“I can’t really say big words without stuttering,” Izzy tells him. “Words like… uh… fa- building’s skin.”

“Facade?” Fang guesses.

“That one,” Izzy says. “Or building’s… skeleton…”

“Structure?” Ivan’s turn to guess.

Izzy groans. He knows it’s going to be frustrating. He’s glad he no longer needs to find new clients. Having an architect who can even say architecture without a stutter is not really convincing.

“You’ll recover soon,” Fang says.

“It’s been three months,” Izzy says. “Might be permanent.”

“Fuck that. It’s only been three months,” Ivan aggressively corrects him. “Besides, we don’t care if it’s permanent or not, alright? As long as we can understand each other then it’s fine. Right, Fang?”

“Yes, Boss,” Fang adds. “I know you still have your genius mind intact. We’re happy to have you here.”

Izzy’s heart swells with warmth. He’s touched by how positive his staff and coworkers are. Maybe he’s more than just their boss. He smiles at them both. “See you later at the meeting, you arseholes.”

“Jesus, of course, you can still fucking curse,” Ivan mumbles. “Oh right, should we congratulate you now? Or are we supposed to know it during the meeting?”

Fang gives him a mischievous grin. "We can pretend we don't know if you want."

Izzy snorts. “Wait for the meeting this noon. Bye!”

Izzy then walks to his office. He’s a little surprised that two people are already standing near his door. One of them wears the building management uniform. The other one is Edward. The building management staff is doing something to his office door.

“What the fuck is happening here?” Izzy asks.

“Oh, hiya, Iz!” Edward greets him. “Damn! You look fucking great in that suit, mate!”

Izzy rolls his eyes. “What’s he doing?”

“Oh, he’s updating the vinyl on your door,” Izzy replies.

Izzy looks at his office door. It’s a glass door with etched vinyl glass that spells his name and position in the firm. It used to say Executive Partner but now it’s been updated to his new role.

“I swear we wanted to do it last week,” Edward tells him.

“Let me guess,” Izzy says, “you forgot.”

Edward grins at him. “You know me so well, Iz.”

Izzy rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“The marketing department has updated your information on our website,” Edward informs him. 

Izzy nods his head. He needs to check their firm website later.

The work on his door is finally done. After the staff excuses himself, Edward says, “Ta-da! Do you like it?”

Izzy snorts. “Fucking finally."

“I’m sorry we didn’t do it sooner,” Edward says. “You’ve been doing more than what an executive partner needs to do. We should have done this since the beginning of our firm.”

“Ed, I was the one who suggested that,” Izzy chides him. “You were just following my idea.”

"That was a stupid fucking idea."

One thing he learned from history and theory of architecture class is that the world is obsessed with legends. They focus on the architect's name instead of where they work and with whom they work with. Selling Edward's name was the key. He was the underdog, an immigrant with big dreams and a genius mind. People love that shit. And just like Izzy predicted, it worked for them.

It was also the thing that broke their friendship. Edward felt alone in the spotlight and it broke him. Izzy felt underappreciated in the hell of his own creation. Maybe Edward is right. It was a stupid idea.

"Better late than never," Izzy comments.

Edward grins at him. “Congrats once again for the promotion, Iz. Now you actually have the power to say no to me.”

Izzy chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Go back to work, Ed."

Edward sticks his tongue before he leaves so Izzy flicks him off. After he’s alone, Izzy takes his time to admire the new vinyl on his glass door. He never thought this time would come but here he is. He has fought tooth and nail for this firm. He destroyed his own heart for Blackbeard Studio. It might be 15 years too late but at least he has the recognition he deserves now.

He traces his fingers over the new letter on his door before he enters his office.

Israel Hands

Principal

BA (Hons), Dip Arch, M.Sc., ARB, RIBA

Here’s the thing about Frenchie; he’s so good at bottling up his problem.

Izzy didn’t know why he was so surprised when he found out about it for the first time, after all, he noticed a small crack here and there on Frenchie when he was too stressed with work. The first information Frenchie gave about himself when they met at the park was that he used to deal with anxiety. But just like himself, Frenchie has his limit and the more he bottles his emotion up, the cracks on his smile show up even more.

“Are you ok?” Izzy asks one night before they go to sleep.

“Hmm?” Frenchie turns to him. He’s smiling but his eyes look tired.

“You’re upset,” Izzy says. “Why?”

“No, I’m not. Why are you saying that?” Frenchie grins.

Izzy frowns at him. “You can’t - uh… - avoid my question like that forever.”

“What do you mean? I told you I’m fine! Let’s just go to sleep, shall we?”

“You do have a morning meeting tomorrow,” Izzy says.

“Yeah…” His smile falters. “It sucks but it can’t be helped.”

Izzy takes a deep sigh. “You’ll tell me if something is bothering you, right?” Izzy asks.

“Sure, babe!” Frenchie pulls the blanket up to his chin.

“You better fucking tell me, ok?” Izzy presses further.

“Babe, I want to sleep. Let’s talk again later.”

Izzy falls asleep almost immediately after he puts his head on the pillows.

Unfortunately, he’s awake not long after he falls asleep.

Izzy wakes up hearing someone's voice. It takes time for his sleepy brain to know it's Frenchie's voice. It's not just any voice. The voice is muffled by the pillow but it's unmistakable. Frenchie is crying.

"Frenchie?"

The voice stops. Izzy cracks his eyes open and turns to Frenchie. It's dark and he can't see Frenchie's face at all but he's sure Frenchie is still lying on the bed with him. He lets his instinct guide his hand. He ends up bumping Frenchie's nose.

"Frenchie…?" He tries again, voice thick with sleep. He moves his fingers to touch Frenchie's cheek. There's a fresh trail of tears on his skin. "Why are you crying?"

"Sorry, babe. I don't mean to wake you."

"Doesn't matter," Izzy murmurs. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm oka-"

"If you say you're okay, I'm going to destroy your guitar," Izzy says.

There's a weak chuckle coming from Frenchie. "I still have two more guitars."

"I'll destroy them too."

Silence. Izzy waits until Frenchie is ready to talk. But instead of saying anything, Frenchie scoots closer and rests his head on his chest. Izzy touches Frenchie's head and gently cards his fingers through his curls when Frenchie starts crying again.

"I'm here," Izzy whispers to him. "I'm here."

Frenchie doesn't say anything but he clings even more to him. Izzy thinks he knows why Frenchie is upset.

"Feel my heartbeat," he says. He offers his wrist to Frenchie. “Feel my pulse.”

Frenchie tilts his face so his ear is right above his heart. He then feels his fingers on Izzy’s wrist. He sighs in contentment when he feels the steady thump of his pulse. He then whines softly as he brings Izzy’s wrist to kiss it.

"I'm still alive," Izzy says. "I'm alive."

"I don't want you to die," Frenchie says between sobs. "Don't leave me."

"I'm here."

"Don't leave me."

Izzy lets him cry. It's the only thing he does. Frenchie doesn't talk much about his struggle as Izzy's caretaker. He does it willingly and without protest. He always smiles, putting a brave front for Izzy's benefit. But Izzy knows deep down Frenchie is still traumatized by the whole event. Watching him dying right in front of his eyes scarred him. Frenchie lost both parents to chronic illness. He's going to lose him too.

Izzy doesn't know how long it takes for Frenchie to finally collect himself. He finally stops crying but he doesn't move. Izzy lets him stay there while massaging Frenchie's scalp to ease the tension. They lie there in the darkness, finding comfort in the intimacy.

At last, Frenchie breaks the silence by saying, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Izzy whispers. "Nightmare?"

Frenchie nods his head.

"Talk to me?" Izzy tries to coax him gently.

Frenchie talks about reliving that night when Izzy had a heart attack. How scary it was to have him dying right in front of his eyes. He was so close to losing him forever. They were lucky Fang was around to give him CPR while they waited for the EMS. But what would have happened if no one was around?

"I'm afraid you'll have a heart attack when you're at home and alone, Iz," Frenchie confesses, his voice trembling with fear and exhaustion.

Izzy has suspected that. Frenchie is always agitated when he leaves for work. They should have talked about this sooner.

"Our home is pretty close to a… a… sick building," Izzy says. Frenchie seems to get what he means so he continues, "The response time is less than 10 minutes. I can confirm this."

"I know…"

"Our neighbors are usually around as well," Izzy reminds him. "That's why you want to get close to them, right? I don't bake them cakes regularly for nothing."

"You make it sound like we're bribing them with cookies," Frenchie says. 

"Frenchie, I’m bribing them with cookies."

A small chuckle escapes Frenchie's lips. It doesn't sound hollow so Frenchie must feel a little bit better.

"I'm sorry, love," Frenchie murmurs.

Izzy snorts. "Why are you sorry, you twat?"

"You're awake because of me."

"So? I don't need to go to work unlike you," Izzy says. "I don't give a shit if you wake me in the middle of the night, you know."

"Sleep is important."

"You're far more important than something stupid like sleeping."

Frenchie gasps in a choked cry. He buries his face in Izzy's chest. He frowns. Did he say something wrong and upset Frenchie?

"Frenchie, you ok?"

"I'm ok," Frenchie says to his chest.

"Are you sure? Did I say something wrong?"

"Gosh, Iz! You can't just say something like that without making me all warm and fuzzy inside!"

Oh. So that's a good thing then. He huffs out a chuckle as he pulls Frenchie closer to him.

"Sleep now," Izzy says, "I'm here."

"Hmm, yeah…" Frenchie mumbles. "I love you."

"Love you too, you twat."

"Your twat,' Frenchie says like 'twat' is the sweetest term of endearment.

"You're weird," Izzy says. "Let's go to sleep."

They fall asleep in each other's arms. Izzy wakes up with an aching arm but it's worth it.

Izzy used to scoff at the thought of therapy. His generation was too busy dealing with the uncertainty of the world when they were young. The economy was in shambles. Tons of unemployment. Too many parents were getting divorced. The job market was shit. They take the brunt of what the previous generation has done while also paving the new way for the next generation. They don’t have time to talk about what’s on your mind or why you’re upset. The world won’t stop for you so you need to press forward.

Izzy considered himself lucky because his family was taken care of by the church. But it’s also the reason why he didn’t talk about things that upset him. God will help you. Just pray harder, his father used to tell his congregation. Ha. Look where it got them. His mother literally went to the psych ward. His father died alone in his depression. He himself was… well.

But he has changed now. He almost died. His heart stopped beating. It was a life-changing moment in the most literal sense. He needs to adjust to a new lifestyle. He needs to understand that he can no longer live like he used to. He needs therapy.

And so he goes to therapy. And since he has too much free time, he goes to group therapy for people with a chronic illness like him. To his own surprise, talking helps to sort the inner turmoil in his head. Hearing others' stories helps as well, making him feel less alone in his struggle. It’s just nice.

He asks Frenchie if he wants to go to therapy for his anxiety. Thankfully, he says yes.

“How’s therapy?” Izzy asks when Frenchie is back from his first session.

“I’m-” Frenchie stops. Izzy knows he wants to say he’s fine. He looks tired and emotionally drained. There’s no way Izzy would buy that lie. “I’m tired.”

Izzy kisses Frenchie’s cheek. “Go take a shower. Dinner will be ready after that.”

Izzy orders the greasiest burger around their home for Frenchie while he makes himself something healthy. Frenchie can have junk food for tonight. It’s his comfort food and all. The gesture is well received because Frenchie immediately kisses him hard when he sees the thick cheeseburger and large chips waiting for him.

They eat mostly in silence because Frenchie is not in the mood to chat. Izzy himself is a bad conversationalist and he doesn’t want to sour the mood even more. Izzy forbids Frenchie to do the dishes afterward and sends him away from the kitchen. Frenchie agrees without any protest.

Later that night, Frenchie clings to him in his sleep.

The same pattern happens again the second time Frenchie goes to therapy. He goes silent and hugs Izzy close to him in his sleep. They don’t talk about his therapy, it’s between Frenchie and his therapist after all. Izzy doesn’t press because Frenchie doesn’t ask him about his own therapy as well. 

After the third time, Frenchie finally says something to him.

“Babe, is it ok if you wait a little bit longer for the proposal?”

They’re watching a silly rom-com on Netflix so Izzy presses the pause button on the remote. As usual, they’re cuddling on the couch with Izzy leaning on Frenchie. Izzy tilts his head up to look him in the eye.

“Does your therapist tell you to wait?” Izzy asks.

“No, no, no! It’s not like that!” Frenchie quickly rebukes that, eyes were blown wide in panic. “I love you! I do want to marry you! But-”

“Sssh.” Izzy puts a finger on his lips. “I didn’t say I’m not on board with that.”

Frenchie takes a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Izzy tries to reassure him. “You don’t do anything wrong.”

Frenchie purses his lips, trying to hold back tears.

“I’ll wait,” Izzy says again. “You don’t need to explain it to me. Ask me when you’re ready.”

“Are you sure?”

Izzy smiles at him. Is it possible to love this man even more than this? “Yeah. You waited for me to recover. Now it’s my turn to wait.” He taps Frenchie’s forehead to drive his point.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The kiss they share after that seals the promise.

Life has been good. Before he knows it, it’s already spring. It’s no longer unbearably cold, which is good for Izzy. No cold to bother him at night so he can go to work relatively pain-free. He really needs to be able to focus because he has a new project to work on with Blackbeard Studio.

True to the architects’ questionable work pace, they’re entering a competition a week before the deadline again. But this competition is different from the Manchester Project. This is an idea competition and Edward is here. Site planning is his jam and this one is an idea competition to revitalize a riverside slum area into a cultural center.

“Don’t you think putting the culture center here will fuck up the circulation?” Edward asks while he points at the drawing shown on the screen.

They’re on day two of working on the projects. Right now, Edward and the partners are gathering to finalize the design concept so their staff can make the final drawings and presentation board.

“Ed, you’re the one who insisted we put that building there,” Izzy reminds him. “You want the uh… that.” Frustrated, Izzy uses his laser pointer to point at the drawing on the board. This thing is really useful when he forgets the name of an object.

“Cultural center,” Vale says.

“Yes, that! You’re the one who wants to place that right there so people can see the river from the inside.”

“Oh, well. That sounds like me,” Edward says.

“Are we sure that it’s a good idea though?” Vale interjects. “Have you seen the pictures of the existing river? It’s hardly beautiful.”

“Fucking awful, isn’t it?” Izzy agrees with her.

“Pretty sure it’s polluted,” she continues.

“They throw their trash into the river. I won’t be surprised if people shit there as well,” Izzy adds.

“Ugh, it’s going to smell bad.”

“Oh, come on! This is just an idea competition!” Edward protests. “Don’t you read the term of reference? We can assume that the river is clean!”

“I’m just stating the obvious, Teach,” Vale says with a shrug.

“Iz, can you back me up on this, please?” Edward turns to Izzy with a pleading look on his face.

Izzy leans forward. He looks straight at Edward’s eyes. “No.”

Oh, it’s so good to see Edward groans in frustration. “But Iz! You’re supposed to stick with me! We’re the principals!”

“Your idea is fucking dumb, Ed. How do you expect me to back you up?” Izzy says with an eye roll.

Vale gives Edward a smirk. “Good thing we have a reasonable principal now.”

Edward yells something about betrayal but Izzy catches him smiling when he has his back turned to them. Izzy enjoys this new dynamic he has with Edward and his staff. He has the same authority as Edward. He has his staff's respect. He has reasonable work hours and a good income. This is great.

Life is indeed good.

Music is an integral part of Frenchie’s life. That’s the reason why Izzy made a music room for him. He plays music in their music room. Izzy joins him most of the time with his piano. Sometimes he harmonizes with Frenchie, sometimes they sing a duet. Singing with Frenchie is his favorite way to spend his free time - and he does have a lot of free time now. There’s just this special spark ignited inside him whenever their eyes meet. Izzy doesn’t have any words to describe the twinkle in Frenchie’s eyes when he sings to him or how it makes his weakening heartbeat in joy. Or how sweet the kiss they share afterward.

That’s why when spring comes, they go busking together.

“Why are your friends here?” Izzy points at the idiots from Gentleman Architects who are flocking around Frenchie’s usual busking spot. It’s Saturday noon so that’s why they’re here.

“They’re here for moral support!” Frenchie replies as he plugs the mic into the amp.

“We want to hear if you’re really a good singer or not,” Spriggs says. “Isn’t that right, guys?”

The bands of idiots yell their agreement although he can see Jimenez is rolling their eyes. They’re probably here because Boodhari drags them here. Much to his surprise, Izzy doesn’t find it annoying or troublesome. He has accepted these chaotic people as a part of his life as long as he has Frenchie.

Izzy notices more people are coming to their spot. It must be because of these loud people.

“That’s a lot of people for my first performance,” Izzy comments. He tests the brand new keyboard they bought for this occasion. They have gotten used to singing with Izzy on the piano, it feels weird to just have a guitar now.

Frenchie chuckles. “Are you nervous?”

He gives Frenchie an unimpressed look. “Frenchie, I sang in a concert hall with a bigger audience before. This is nothing.”

“True…” Frenchie adjusts his guitar strap until he gets comfortable. “But it’s been too long, right? Are you really not nervous at all?”

Izzy looks at the crowd around him. “No.”

“Oh gosh, I really want to have your confidence.”

“I know that we both sound good,” Izzy says. “There’s no need to be worried about it.”

Frenchie leans forward to kiss him. Because Izzy is feeling playful, he kisses him back.

“Stop being gross and sing already!” Roach yells at them.

Izzy laughs at the remark. "Shall we?"

"By all means!"

They sing their first song, a duet between two lovers proclaiming their love. They're the reason for them to keep going. It's easy to sing this song from their hearts because it's true. When he sings about how Frenchie is the reason why he's still breathing, he really means it. When Frenchie sings about climbing every mountain to be with him, he also means it. These past few months have proven how devoted they are to each other and it shows in their songs.

"Oh my god, I want what they have," Spriggs says to his boyfriend when the song ends.

Izzy and Frenchie share quiet laughter before they continue with their set. For the whole 30 minutes, Frenchie's friends from GA stay. Izzy can tell how touched Frenchie is by that.

"I didn't know you could sing that high!" John says at the end of their performance. "I'm glad he has a singing partner now."

They both turn their heads at Frenchie who is talking with Jimenez and their boyfriend.

"You're welcome to join us. Frenchie likes having you around," Izzy says. "You know what? Please keep him away from me if you can do that. He's been stuck with me since December. He needs to have fun with his friends."

"You're ok with that?" John asks.

"Why shouldn't I? You're his best friend," Izzy says.

"I mean with your…" John fidgets, unsure of how to breach the topic. “Heart condition.”

"I'm no longer in a critical condition," Izzy explains. "A night out with friends will be good for him."

John takes his time to think about it. "Can I come to visit him and you as well?"

"You wanna use the music room, don't you?"

John smiles at him. "It's a nice room."

"John, my house is open for you. You can come whenever you like."

John grins widely before he pulls Izzy into a tight hug. "Thanks, Iz. I hope you'll be happy with Frenchie for the rest of your life."

He doesn't know if John knows about his short life expectancy but he appreciates the words nonetheless. "You're welcome."

Over the past few months, Izzy and Stede have become close. He’s not really sure how it comes to that but it just happened. At first, they were just communicating through phone calls. Stede asked him about Edward’s favorite things or how Izzy handled Edward’s low mood in the past. Now Stede picks him up at his house once every two weeks for lunch or brunch.

Right now, they’re having lunch together in a vegetarian pizza restaurant near Stede’s office. They don’t really have any reason to meet aside from enjoying each other's company and eating delicious food. Izzy isn’t obliged to go to the office today so here he is. He listens to Stede ranting about this new client he has and how annoying he is.

“That client is such a male Karen!” Stede ends his rant before he eats his truffle pizza in a very aggressive way.

“What’s a Karen?” Izzy asks.

“Oh! It’s a term young people use these days to describe an entitled person with ludicrous demand,” Stede explains. 

Izzy scowls. “Why Karen?”

“I don’t know. Lucius never told me about that.”

It must be one of those memes. Izzy gives up trying to understand what it is even though Frenchie tries so hard to teach him about that culture. Izzy takes a bite on his pizza. He’s pleased to find out that it tasted good. “This one is good.”

“I know right!” Stede beams with pride. “The moment I tried it with Ed last week I immediately knew you’d like it! Try the burger as well!”

Izzy takes a bite of the restaurant's signature vegetarian burger. He resists the urge to moan in delight. “Jesus, this is so fucking good.”

“Yes! Their garlic mayo is exquisite, isn’t it?”

“I can’t eat too much of this,” Izzy says. “This… uh… what you call it… white sauce… is not good for the heart.”

“Oh, mayo is not good for you? Ah, I didn’t think that through…” Stede says. “I guess it’s impossible to find a healthy burger and pizza joint that’s truly healthy.”

“This place is good enough,” Izzy says. “I can take Frenchie here. He really loves burgers so it kinda sucks we can’t have his favorite food when we’re out on a date.”

Stede making a sweet ‘awww’ sound. He takes his smoothies. “May you have a good date with Frenchie here in the future.”

Izzy eyes the raised glass. “Are you really going to make a toss with a fucking smoothie?”

“C’mon, Iz! Humor me!” Stede insists. “For our good health and may our significant others be healthy as well!”

Izzy rolls his eyes but he takes his teacup. His old self would have recoiled in disgust if he saw this. But Izzy is no longer that man so who cares if it looks stupid? He quite enjoys Stede and his quirky charm. No wonder Edward falls hard for this man.

“May you be less of a twat in the future,” Izzy says.

“Hey!”

They clink their glass and it feels strangely right to do so.

After almost two months of therapy, Frenchie is getting better.

Izzy can tell Frenchie is in a much more stable mood these past few days. His smile looks more genuine and he’s more honest with himself. As far as he knows, Frenchie doesn’t have any more nightmares and he no longer has the haunted look whenever he leaves Izzy alone for work. Izzy really wants to meet with Frenchie’s therapist and shower them with praise.

“Why are you smiling?” Frenchie asks during breakfast.

“Nothing,” Izzy says. “I just find you hot in that outfit.”

Frenchie blushes a good shade of red as he drops his fork. Izzy doesn’t understand why there’s something inherently hot in sitting in your pajamas while your partner is already dressed for work. Here he is with his bed hair and oversized t-shirt while Frenchie looks so dapper in his bright blue slim fit shirt. Months of eating healthy with Izzy really has a positive impact on his physical appearance.

"Makes me want to do stuff to you," Izzy adds just because he can.

"You're a fucking menace, Israel Hands," Frenchie says. 

Izzy chuckles lightly.

Another indicator that confirms his assumption regarding Frenchie's mental health is his sex drive. He's no longer awoken by a crying Frenchie but by Frenchie's morning wood.

"Oh shit, sorry, Iz…" Frenchie says when he notices Izzy is awake. "I want to deal with this but… uh… I don't know how to move without waking you up."

Izzy isn't sure if they went to sleep cuddling last night but here they are. As usual, Izzy is the little spoon. Their current position surely is the main cause of Frenchie's not so little problem. He can't blame the man for getting an erection when he has his dick pressed to his arse all night. 

He's actually glad. The return of his libido means Frenchie's doing better mentally.

"You want me to handle that?" Izzy asks, voice still heavy with sleep.

"No, you don't have to," Frenchie says. "You need to sleep."

Izzy takes a quick glance at the clock. It's 6 in the morning. "It's fine. Besides, it's been a while since we had sex. Are you sure you don't want to?"

"But…" Frenchie let out a moan when Izzy grinds his arse on Frenchie. "Izzy!"

"Are you really sure you don't want to?"

Frenchie answers by sneaking his hands under Izzy's shirt and pinching him.

"Can you get it up?" Frenchie asks. Heart failure and sex don't really get along. They had this talk with his cardiologist before because it can impact intimate relationships in a negative way. Fortunately for them, it doesn't have any real effect on them.

"Not sure…" Izzy says. "Doesn't mean I won't enjoy it though."

"Hmm…" Frenchie starts to leave a wet trail of kisses on his neck. "I like yours hard or soft."

"Cheeky bastard-" Izzy moans when Frenchie starts to grind back. "Well, it's not like I'm the one who does the fucking in this relationship."

Frenchie’s laugh sounds so carefree, relaxed, and happy. It’s the kind of noise Izzy likes the most from him. "I want you to feel good." 

"Then what you're waiting for, you twat? Come and fuck me already."

Frenchie is much happier that day. In fact, he hasn't seen Frenchie that happy after his heart attack. Huh. Maybe something can really be cured by a really good dicking.

Izzy used to fantasize about having a beach vacation with Frenchie for a long time. That’s why when Frenchie asks if he wants to accompany him on a business trip to Bali for three day, Izzy immediately says yes without needing any convincing.

“Why do you need to go to Bali as well?" Izzy asks. "CAD technician is not crucial for site inspection."

"I don't know," Frenchie says. "Stede says I can come."

"Who else is going to go with you?"

"Oluwande and Jimmy."

“And Stede is allowing us to stay in a five-star hotel.”

“It’s a reward for our performance.”

"This is a fucking vacation disguised as work."

"Maybe…?" Frenchie shrugs but he has a mischievous grin on his face. "If you don't want to then I can just go and be the third wheel."

"Who said I don't want to go, you twat. You better help me with packing."

That’s how Izzy finds himself lazily swimming in a five-star hotel swimming pool on one sunny Wednesday morning after he’s back from his morning jog. He’s all alone now, Frenchie and the others are busy doing their actual job while he’s enjoying himself and the hotel’s various spa facilities. The hotel they’re staying at has a lot of pools that offer different views of the beach. Izzy chooses to swim in the one that’s closest to the beach so he doesn’t need to go to the beach to swim. After that, he has a 90 minutes massage followed by a fantastic lunch surrounded by lush tropical plants and a koi pond.

Who says Israel Hands doesn’t know how to relax?

Izzy goes back to his hotel room feeling all relaxed and happy. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, he goes straight to his bed and takes a nap. He wakes up at 5 PM when Frenchie is back from work.

“How you’re doing? You look so relaxed.” Frenchie asks with a small smile on his face. He laughs when Izzy pulls him down for a passionate kiss. “Someone is eager.”

“Must be the scented oil they used,” Izzy comments while nibbling Frenchie’s lower lip.

“It’s not like I- mff!” Frenchie tries to push Izzy away when he starts to kiss him once more. “Babe! We’ve made a plan with Olu and Jim, remember? We want to check the beach!”

“There’s still tomorrow,” Izzy says. “C’mon! I’m in a fucking good mood. When was the last time I made the first move, hmm? Don’t leave me hanging. C’mon!” 

“Well…” 

“I’m not wearing anything under this robe,” Izzy insists.

Frenchie’s eyes travel up and down his body, poorly hidden under the hotel bathrobe. Izzy knows his resolve is faltering now. “I can see that. But Olu-”

Izzy pulls Frenchie to the bed and then goes to straddle him. He then removes his bathrobe, grinding his naked butt on Frenchie’s groin. He smirks at how fast Frenchie’s body is responding to him. He still fucking got it, eh?

“Wait a minute.” Frenchie takes his phone. He furiously types something before he tosses his phone aside. “Ok, Olu and Jim won’t disturb us tonight. Oh shit! Did I pack-”

“Look on your right, Frenchie.”

Frenchie laughs when he sees a bottle of lube and condoms sitting innocently on their nightstand. “Oh, babe. You’re a fucking menace.”

“Only for you, love,” Izzy says. “Only for you.”

Their stay in Bali is magnificent. Now Frenchie and his coworkers don’t need to work, they have all the time to enjoy their vacation. Having Jimenez and Boodhari around is actually enjoyable. Those two are very private and not as chaotic as the rest of Stede’s staff. Together they explore the beach and also what Bali can offer to them. They go swimming at the beach, visit some temples, and also enjoy the nightlife. Well, Izzy doesn't drink but he still has a good time.

On the last day of their stay, Izzy and Frenchie head out to the beach and have a quiet beach picnic to watch the sunset. The orange sky, white sand beach, and the sound of the waves are relaxing. It also reminds him of the time when he met his mother after his heart briefly stopped.

"You look at peace," Frenchie comments.

Izzy sighs and rests his head on Frenchie's shoulder. "I am."

"This is not bad, isn't it?"

Izzy chuckles. "That's an understatement of the century."

They stare at the sky, basking in the warm sunlight.

"Are you happy, Iz?"

"I am." He waits for a beat before he asks, "Are you?"

"Never been happier."

Another silence. It's the kind of silence that brings comfort.

"Hey, Iz," Frenchie says. "You told me you met your mother on the beach, right? Was it like this?"

"I don't really remember," he confesses. "But it was during sunset as well. It was warm and the sky looked like that."

"And your mom told you to be happy."

Izzy smiles at the memory. "Yeah. Yeah, she did."

"Well, in that case…"

Frenchie pulls himself away from Izzy. He's about to ask him where he's going when Frenchie suddenly drops on one knee. He thinks the time stops ticking when Frenchie pulls out a small box from his pocket. He opens the box. 

A beautiful silver ring with emerald stones is sitting in the center of the box.

"Israel Hands, will you marry me?"

Izzy is too stunned to say anything. He looks at the ring, transfixed at how similar the design to the ring his mother used to wear. How does he know?

"The…" Izzy gestures to the ring.

"Sam helped me with the ring," Frenchie admits. "He told me emerald was your mother's stone."

"And the design?"

"We hunted down every photo Sam has with your mother. After that, we made it look more masculine for you."

Izzy can't hold back his tears anymore. He starts to cry. This is too much. Frenchie proposes to him with a ring that resembles his mother's ring. Did Stede arrange the whole business trip and vacation so Frenchie can propose to him here? On the beach during the sunset? Fuck. He's never felt so loved like this before.

"Awe, love. Don't cry…"

"Shut up!"

"Babe, are you ok?"

"Fuck you, Frenchie!" he says instead while sobbing loudly. "Fuck you and your…. Your… Just… fuck you!"

"Uh… Iz? Is this a yes or something else? Babe?"

"It's a fucking yes, you fucking twat!" Izzy says through the tears. "Yes, I'll marry you, you idiotic charming fucking twat!"

Oluwande and Jim - oh they have gotten closer after the vacation - congratulate them when they check out. The ring looks so right on Izzy's finger.

The talk with one smug looking bastard named Sam Bellamy is inevitable. After all, he was the one who helped Frenchie with the ring.

“I also helped with the hotel,” Sam tells him. “You’re welcome.”

That explains how they could have a three days vacation in a five-star resort.

“You also paid for Oluwande and Jim?” Izzy asks.

“It’d be suspicious if it’s just Frenchie and you, right?”

“Hedonistic twat.”

Sam’s smile goes wide. “Again, you’re welcome.”

They’re having lunch together since Sam is in Bristol. As expected, that bastard asks him about Frenchie’s proposal. And as usual, that man manages to scoop out every detail Izzy can give him about the whole trip. Sam is looking pretty pleased with himself at the end of his story.

“You really didn’t need to do all that,” Izzy says.

“Of course, I didn’t need to. I wanted to,” Sam rebukes him. “When you have money to spare, you can just do stuff because you want to.”

Izzy groans. “Have you ever listened to what you’re saying?”

“Of course, I have! I don’t have any communication degree but I do teach public speaking, you know. Most of my wealth comes from my ability to persuade people to invest their money with me.”

“So you’re just saying that to piss me off?”

“Exactly!”

Izzy rolls his eyes and continues eating his lunch. He should have ordered the cheapest food in this restaurant to spite Sam. It’ll drive him mad.

“But seriously, Isra,” Sam says between bites of his steak. “All money spent for your sake is money spent well.”

“I’m not a fucking cha- char-” Izzy stops. Fuck his speech impediment! The word is already on the tip of his tongue! “Pity case!”

“I know. I usually donate more than that to a charity cause.”

Izzy groans again. After four decades of friendship, he still has trouble telling when Sam is being serious or just being a dick.

“You’re my family, Israel,” Sam says. “I don’t have any siblings. You’re my brother. Isn’t it wrong if I want to make sure that you’re happy? You only have a short time to live. It’ll be a short life but please, let me help you to make it a comfortable one.”

Izzy smiles at the thought. That’s what Sam has been doing for him, isn’t it? He always takes care of him. From rival to friend to lover to ex-lover to brother. Sam has watched him grow up from a scrawny unhappy boy to whoever he is right now.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“See? That’s not hard to accept, right?” Sam chuckles.

“You’re still an arsehole though.”

“This arsehole paid for your vacation to Bali, you ungrateful bastard!” Sam says with a grin. 

“Yeah, whatever, twat.”

Sam chuckles but his tone soon grows serious once more. “Hey, Israel. If I can pull some strings - it’s a big if by the way - if I can do that to get you a heart transplant… Will you accept that?”

Izzy has thought about that before. There’s no cure for heart failure and there’s no way to stop his heart from getting weaker. He has died. Another heart attack would probably kill him for good. He’s living on borrowed time and the only way to help him is by getting him a new healthy heart. It’s a dangerous procedure. There’s a risk his body won’t accept the new heart and he’ll die. It’ll be cruel to Frenchie to give him such hope, right? He has watched him die once. Izzy doesn’t want him to go through that again.

“I’d rather have a short meaningful life than lose all that to a risky procedure,” Izzy says.

Sam nods his head. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Sam gives him a small smile. “You’re the bravest bastard I know, Israel.”

Izzy smiles back at him. “And you’re the kindest arsehole I know, Sam.”

Izzy is sure this is how it feels like to have a loving older brother.

Turns out, planning for a wedding is a fucking stressful job. That’s why Frenchie and Stede forbid him to get his hands on the planning. Izzy is not sure how Stede can get involved in his wedding but he’s not going to protest. That man seems like he likes to plan a party. 

So Izzy just needs to do simple tasks for the wedding while the team does the rest. He’s been informed that they have booked a great wedding venue for this august. It’s a coastal wedding venue in Devon. Izzy doesn’t know how they managed to book the venue that soon but it’s probably Sam’s doing. It’s really nice to have a billionaire friend, isn’t it?

So he goes suit fitting while the team is busy finding catering. He decides the menu for their wedding after Stede manages to narrow it down to three menus. Frenchie doesn’t let him choose the decoration because he doesn’t want him to be stressed. Izzy feels guilty leaving all of it to Frenchie but then again, he doesn’t want his health to decline so yeah…

There’s one thing only he can do though.

Izzy takes a deep breath before he enters Edward’s office. Without knocking of course. That’s why Edward looks so surprised when he sees Izzy.

“Hi, Iz! Why the fuck are you here, mate?” Edward asks, confused. “This is still Thursday, right? Not Friday?”

“Yeah, it’s Thursday. No, I’m not here for work.” Izzy takes a seat before Edward tells him to.

“Is everything ok?” Edward asks. “Do you need my help with your wedding, mate? You know, I really want to help but Stede said that I don’t have the focus to do so. He’s fucking rude! I want to help!”

Izzy chuckles. “Yeah, I need your help.”

“Fuck yeah!” Edward looks genuinely thrilled by that. “Anything for you, man. Just tell me. I’ll do anything. You want me to be your driver? Easily done. Want me to help carry stuff around? I can do that.”

“Why would I need you to carry around stuff, you twat?” Izzy laughs.

“I don’t know… Just a guess.” Edward shrugs. “What do you need?”

“You see…” Izzy begins. “I’m not really involved in my own wedding preparation but I do need a best man.”

Edward’s face falls. His eyes go wide in surprise. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yeah, yeah. You wanna be my fucking best man or not?”

“Shit!” Edward exclaims with a big grin plastered on his face. “Are you really sure I can be your best man? It’s the best man. You really want me to be that guy?”

Izzy rolls his eyes. “Ed, I’m not going to be here if I don’t want you.”

“What about Sam Bellamy? He’s your best friend.”

“He’s going to officiate the wedding.”

Edward blinks his eyes. “He what?”

“Yeah, don’t ask me how.” Izzy really can’t explain how that happened.

“Shit…” Edward leans back into his chair. “Oh wow. Mate. You’re really sure about it?”

Izzy takes a deep sigh. “Ed…”

“I mean… after what I did to you?”

“Edward,” Izzy calls him softly. “We agreed to start anew. Stop beating yourself. C’mon. Be my best man, you twat!”

Edward gets up and walks toward him. He then pulls Izzy into a bear hug. “Fuck, mate! I’ll be the bestest best man you’ve ever had.”

“I only plan to get married once so you better fucking behave,” Izzy says.

“Fuck you, man! I’ll fucking behave. You’ll see!”

Izzy pats Edward on his shoulder. “Thanks, Ed.”

“No, thank you, Iz.” Edward’s smile softens. “Thank you for trusting me.”

They hug again. Izzy knows he made the right choice.

With a lot of things to do, both Izzy and Frenchie don’t realize they’re going to get married in three days. Everything has been set and they will go to Devon tomorrow for the final preparation and wedding rehearsal. They use the rare peaceful time to enjoy their time together. And since today is not really hot for a summer day, they decide to go to the park where Frenchie usually busks to enjoy a quiet evening walk.

“I can’t believe we’re going to get married soon,” Frenchie says.

“Yeah,” Izzy murmurs. “And you’re going to take my last name.”

“Francis Hands sound better,” Frenchie reminds him.

“Yeah,” Izzy tries not to sound too sad. “Yeah, it does.”

They had a discussion about that the night before. While it seems very romantic of Frenchie to take Izzy’s last name, the main reason he does that is quite sad. Frenchie is going to outlive Izzy by many years. He wants to have something permanent to remember him by.

“Can you believe we’ve only known each other for a year?” Frenchie asks. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for my whole life.”

Izzy smiles at him. It only took Frenchie less than a year to break through his wall. Frenchie came into his life and dragged him out from the darkness by just being kind and sweet and charming. Now here they are together, deeply in love with each other. Frenchie. His Frenchie.

They stop walking near a bench. Izzy knows why.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Frenchie asks.  

“I was sitting on that bench, crying my eyes out,” Izzy replies. “You were there, singing. You helped me through my panic attack, remember?”

“Then I proceed to make you cry even more.” Frenchie chuckles. “We’ve come so far, haven’t we?”

From a man who was suffering from love to a man who finally attained his happiness through love. Izzy tries to picture himself crying on that bench. His life was in shambles. The man he loved left him in the deepest ditch of despair. He thought he was alone. He couldn’t see past the dark curtains of rage and self-hatred that blinded him for far too long. He was tormented by his past, his father’s voice still haunting him even in his waking moment.

Now look at him. His relationship with Edward has been patched. He knows he can rely on people around him. He has made peace with his father’s ghost. And the most important thing is he has found someone who loves him as much as he does. 

“I actually have a song I want to sing for our wedding reception,” Frenchie says. “I don’t know if it’s good enough. I mean, I’m just rewriting some lyrics of an existing song so it suits our story best. Will you listen to it and give some pointers?”

“Now?”

“Yup. Now!”

“Do you really need to do it now? Fucking twat.” Izzy chuckles. He takes a seat on the same bench he sat on when he first met Frenchie. “Ok. I’m listening.”

“Ah, shit. I don’t have my guitar. But I do record the guitar track on my handphone. Hope it’s good enough.”

Izzy rolls his eyes. “Are you going to sing or not?”

“Ok! Ok! Geez, you’re so impatient.”

Frenchie hits play. It’s hard to pick up the sound of the guitar but somehow it sounds familiar. Izzy knows that song. It’s one of Frenchie’s favorite songs.

It's what my heart just yearns to say

In ways that can't be said

It's what my rotting bones will sing

When the rest of me is dead

It's what's engraved upon my heart

In letters deeply worn

Today, I somehow understand the reason I was born

There’s a smile on Frenchie’s face when he sings that song. Izzy feels like he’s choking with an unnamed emotion that starts to swell deep within him.

Cause outwardly I say, "I try so hard to make you laugh at me"

And you, you do, you laugh

As though you’ve not heard the joke ten thousand times before

And I adore you

I watch you get dressed as though you’re hurtling through time

Oh, darling, please be mine

Frenchie sounds so sweet when he sings this song. Almost playful. His eyes are twinkling with adoration that speaks of his love for him

You promise to fight them all when it all becomes too much

And I, I curse at the world

For leaving me behind, and I’m falling out of touch

And you are stronger than I’ve ever been, I know

You brush your hand through my hair

I’ve got so much fucking hair

And I hold you close, just to keep the world at bay

And when we’re sure no one can hear us 

You’ll turn to me to say, you’ll turn to me and say

Izzy can’t stop his tears from falling now.

"It's not fair, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair, 'cause you make me laugh

When I'm actually really fucking cross at you for something"

Frenchie’s voice hitches when he starts to weep with him as well.

And I’ll say

"Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm standing here,

And I'll stand here

I'll stand here with you"

They have the same happy smile on their face even though they both are crying. Izzy doesn’t care if there’s a passerby who is looking at them right now. All that matters is Frenchie. Only Frenchie.

“See! This is why I want to sing it first before the wedding! I don’t want to cry when I sing it!” Frenchie says.

“What a fucking twat,” Izzy says. “That’s a good song.”

“That’s our song,” Frenchie says while wiping his tears. “It’s really not fair how much you make it easy for me to love you, you know.”

“Really?” Izzy asks. “I wasn’t actually nice.”

“Yeah. But you’re hot.”

Izzy laughs out loud. “God, you’re so fucking weird. Why do I love you so much?”

Frenchie smiles at him. “Does it matter? We’re going to get married soon.”

He used to think the world was unfair. It’s still unfair in some way. He still thinks it’s a bit unfair for Frenchie to be sacked with a dying man like him. But who knows what will happen in the future? Maybe he’ll live longer than five years. Maybe he’ll have a heart transplant. Everyone reaps what they sow in the end. He has suffered too much and now he’s enjoying his reward.

“I think we need to go home now. We need to pack, don’t we?” Frenchie asks.

Izzy smiles at Frenchie. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

Maybe life is not as unfair as he thought it was.