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The bathroom stank of piss and stale beer, the door squeaking as Izzy shouldered it open. He crossed to the little window on the far wall and pushed it open with a shove, bracing one hand on the wall so he could bend over and pant for air.
The rush of air from outside was blessedly cold on his overheated skin, even while the thumping bass from the dancefloor throbbed in time with his headache.
He’d overdone it, the world tilting around him every time he closed his eyes, his breath feeling unfamiliar in his lungs.
But at least that biting pang of anxiety wasn’t bothering him anymore. The alcohol had cleared that from his system, and now he just felt empty and faintly sad.
Or perhaps slightly more than faintly. Now the anxious spikes had gone he felt heavy, like he wanted to sink into the floor and through the tiles, seep back into the earth and lay there for as long as it took him to sober the fuck back up.
It was his own fault, really. He’d agreed to play wingman to Edward tonight, like he always did, and Edward had managed to pull an attractive but irritating blond, an outlier for him, but then again Edward was always on the hunt for something new.
The problem was, it had all happened too fast. There was usually an hour or two of tipsy Edward and Izzy time, where they’d dance and drink and complain, share a smoke together outside…
Someone in one of the cubicles was trying and failing to gasp quietly. The door rattled on its hinges, swinging open slightly every time whoever it was lifted themself off only to be slammed back again.
“You fuckers nearly done in there?” Izzy heard himself say, without even really thinking about it.
That was the problem when Edward left him alone too early. He wasn’t much of a dancer, so all he could really do was drink. Somewhere in the back of his mind where his rational brain was hiding, he winced.
The rattling stopped briefly.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” said a voice.
“Shh babe, just ignore him. Cunt.”
This last word was said nice and loud so Izzy could hear. He rolled his eyes.
“I’m just saying because I need to take a shit, and you’ve gone and taken the middle stall so it’ll be right next to you.”
“Who the fuck is shitting in here?” said the first voice, incredulous.
“I’ve got a fucking bowel problem.”
Izzy shouldered the door open, silently put the lid down to sit on, then lifted one foot and braced it against the door lest anyone try to come in. The stalls hadn’t had locks for years.
“Jesus Christ. You know what, never mind,” said the voice in the stall next to him.
“Oh babe, your dick.”
“Yeah, blame this guy.”
Knuckles rapped loudly on the wall of the toilet stall. Izzy made a show of grunting and straining loudly, which was met with a barrage of swearing but blessedly, the sound of sticky shoes and the slamming cubicle door told him he was finally alone to have his little mental breakdown.
He breathed a sigh of relief for a moment, but then when footsteps quickly approached again lifted both legs, shoving his feet against the cubicle door.
It was a good thing he did, because someone pushed against the door, making it swing in just a fraction.
Then a hand appeared in the gap under the door, and flipped him off.
“Get fucked!” shouted a voice.
Then finally, they left.
Izzy silently counted to ten before he put his legs down, then let his head fall forward into his hands while he breathed, slow and even through his nose.
He’d definitely overdone it. He barely felt like he was still attached to the planet at this point. Every time he closed his eyes he felt like he was spinning out of control, his rational thoughts trapped behind a wall of cotton wool and the pleasant buzz of tipsiness giving way to an awareness that time felt like molasses.
Fucking Edward.
His lower lip trembled and he clamped down hard on it. No, he was in here to get his head right. Having a lonely cry in the toilets was a sight too pathetic even for him right now, and the thought of someone walking in on that and, god forbid, being nice about it was too much to handle.
He looked directly up into the lights and breathed hard, in and out, old cigarettes and cheap toilet cleaner fumes wafting through his lungs.
The feeling passed, and Izzy blinked slowly, leaning forward as a large sharpie rendition of a penis swam into view in front of him. Below it, someone in a ballpoint pen had written the words “remember, you are loved” with a little heart drawn next to it.
The walls were littered with little bits and pieces, inane thoughts from drunk idiots like himself.
Izzy wished he had a pen. He’d write remember to love yourself and replicate it on his arm so he could remember in the morning when his filter was back in place and he was once again incapable of extricating himself from Edward’s side.
Christ, he hadn’t really been properly alone since he was a lad, but he couldn’t ever recall feeling as lonely as he had the last few months.
Fuck, the alcohol was supposed to have made this shit go away.
His eyes wandered over a confession from someone who apparently really wanted to fuck Gilbert Gottfried, and then landed on a phone number.
For a good time, call Roach!
What the fuck kind of a name was Roach?
The fluorescents overhead buzzed and flickered as Izzy squinted at the numbers. Surely this couldn’t be someone looking for phone sex. Not with a name like that.
Nevertheless, a thought occurred to Izzy, one that made him chuckle madly to himself under his breath as he considered it. Well, if Edward was going to find himself a man tonight, perhaps Izzy would find himself a… Roach. Whatever that meant.
He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, grinning to himself while the part of him that made sense looked on, bewildered but not particularly alarmed.
After all, the man had promised a good time. And if there was anything Izzy needed right now, it was that.
He picked up after three rings, his voice a low purr in Izzy’s ear.
“There is only one reason anybody dials this number,” he said, running his tongue along every syllable, drawing it out in a display of eroticism that bordered on comical. He had a light accent Izzy couldn’t quite place, something lilting that made his consonants roll through his mouth.
“Why’s your name Roach, then?”
Izzy grimaced as his voice came out slow and slurred, a dead giveaway that he was drunk off his fucking tits right now.
There was a short pause on the other end. Presumably because Roach was re-evaluating this call.
“Well, darling,” he said, his wicked grin audible in the warmth of his tone, “why does anybody choose a name?”
Lips pressed close enough to the receiver that Izzy could practically feel the hot breath on his ear as Roach exhaled.
“Because I like it, little man.”
Roach sounded like sharp teeth and heat. There was an edge like a knife to his voice as he spoke, something steely that might cut him - and Izzy would thank him for it.
“W-well it’s an odd name,” said Izzy, “but I like it too. Better than Izzy. Or - or Edward.”
“Mmmm, tell me, which one of those names is yours?”
Low and smooth. Roach’s voice practically reverberated in his chest, and Izzy felt heat pool between his legs at the sound of it.
“Izzy,” he breathed.
“Izzy,” said Roach, like he was tasting it, “are you lonely tonight, Izzy? Looking for some company with Roach?”
Lonely. Yes, he was lonely.
Izzy’s breath hitched and then it all came pouring out of him.
“Yes,” he whispered, “yes, I am lonely. I’m so fucking lonely and I have no idea how I even got here, because Edward and I - we always used to be - I mean we weren’t quite, you know, but we were together and that has to count for something, right? But then when we go out he starts asking me, like, hold this drink Izzy! Grab this guy’s number for me Izzy! I’ll see you later Izzy! Going home with another stupid fucking handsome blond bastard, while - while I can just g-go into the toilets and go - go fuck m-myself-”
Hot tears slipped down his cheeks and he whimpered, the sound echoing in a mortifying cadence around the empty bathroom.
“Oh. Oh, sweet little man, do not cry,” cooed Roach, his voice suddenly gentle.
The danger was gone, the dark edge and the purr.
“He sounds like he’s been so terrible to you, this Edward.”
Izzy just nodded and whined in the back of his throat, though it occurred to him that Roach couldn’t actually see him doing that.
“Sweet thing. I am so sorry, you do not deserve this. You are a good man. You deserve to be loved properly.”
Izzy bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. They were words he desperately wanted to hear - no matter how many times he grumbled these things to himself angrily, now matter how he held them in the back of his mind, it was nothing compared to hearing them from someone else, even a stranger.
“Th’nks,” he mumbled.
“I want to hear you say it,” said Roach, “come on, say it. You deserve to be loved properly.”
The bathroom door creaked open, and Izzy froze, the phone still pressed against his ear.
“Well?”
The edge had crept back in again. Roach lowered his voice, brokering no disobedience.
“Say it, Izzy.”
It was two people. They were giggling, the wet sounds of roaming mouths and the thump of a back hitting the wall.
“Izzy.”
“I - I deserve to be loved properly,” said Izzy, as loudly as he dared. his voice wavering dangerously.
The movement outside abruptly stopped.
“Right on,” said a voice, “love yourself, man.”
“Get it,” agreed another.
Izzy huffed out a laugh under his breath, and he heard an incredulous chuckle from the phone line as well.
“Izzy,” said Roach, “are you calling from the bathroom?”
Izzy began to shake with laughter, tears springing into his eyes again but this time tears of mirth.
“M-maybe,” he choked out.
“You were not trying to have phone sex with me while doing a shit?”
“N-no!” howled Izzy, “no! Shit! I was just hiding in here to. Well. Have a cry, mostly.”
“You talking to us?” called the voice in confusion.
“I’m on the bloody phone!”
Roach spluttered with laughter, and Izzy found he was still grinning, feeling far lighter than he had when he’d come in.
“Listen,” he said, “thanks for that. I really needed it. How much, uh, do I owe you?”
A quiet tutting sound. Izzy could practically hear Roach’s smile. He was sure it looked like sunshine.
“This is not the kind of happy ending I usually promise for these kinds of calls,” said Roach, “but I am glad to have helped. This one is on the house.”
“That’s… really sweet of you.”
“Ah, do not mention it.”
Izzy blew a kiss at the phone, and he heard Roach do the same.
“Don’t be a stranger, little man,” said Roach, “if you would like the other kind of ending.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” said Izzy softly, more sincere than he imagined he could have ever been while on a call with a phone sex operator, “maybe when I’m not sat on a toilet seat that’s making my ass go numb.”
“I look forward to it.”
And with that, the call disconnected.
*
The next morning, Edward woke him from a deep, hangover-induced sleep because he wanted to get coffee at Stede’s shop.
Izzy did a very good job of telling Edward that they didn’t have to do everything together and in fact it would kind of suck for him playing third wheel to Stede , apparently the name of the blond from last night that Edward was already doing coffee shop dates with.
But then Edward raised an eyebrow and informed him that they were out of coffee, which was how Izzy found himself bundled into his softest cardigan, sunglasses over his eyes, beanie over his head, scarf over his face as he huddled in the line. It wasn’t even that he was particularly cold, but the noise and the bustle and the lights made cocooning himself necessary, as much as he could manage it.
He was so focused on trying to filter out the noise of the shop and the irritating person behind him stepping on his heels and the flickering overhead lights that he missed the person at the counter calling next enough times that the man was waving both arms at him by the time he noticed.
“Sorry,” muttered Izzy, skittering forward.
The man at the counter towered over him, with dark brown eyes that creased with his smile and curly black hair tied into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. Though he looked cheerful enough, his eyes were visibly clouded with fatigue, and ringed with dark shadows. Like he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep.
“It is no problem,” he said, “what can I get you?”
Izzy stopped breathing. He recognised that voice.
“Uh-”
His gaze fell to the nametag on the man’s apron, which read, of course, Roach.
“Hangover?” said Roach, his eyes crinkling as his smile widened, “I have just the thing. Leave it with me.”
Izzy nodded, lost for words as he fumbled for his wallet.
“Ah, never mind. It is on the house. You look like you need it, and I want to make something fun for once.”
Izzy wanted to tell him that two freebies in the space of twenty four hours was not a sound business model, but there was no way he could open his mouth without immediately telling on himself. He’d always been told he had a unique voice, one way or another.
Meanwhile, Edward had long since wandered out of the line and was now leaning against the counter while Blondie from last night blushed and giggled at some joke of his. Izzy wondered which one Edward had told him. He’d heard them all by now.
He watched as Roach seemed to be making some sort of magic potion in the back, adding seemingly random pumps of syrup and mixtures. He hummed to himself as he worked, wiggling back and forth to whatever music was playing in his head.
He turned to Izzy and held up a carton of oat milk, tilting his head questioningly. Izzy gave him a thumbs up, and Roach nodded, returning to his concoction.
Edward leaned over the counter and he and Stede began to kiss, right beside the line of customers, who all stared resolutely forward as Stede made a particularly enthusiastic sucking sound.
“For fuck’s sake, Edward,” said Izzy, “we’re in public.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, Iz.”
Edward was still talking, but all reality had suddenly fallen out from underneath Izzy as he realised he’d gone and fucking spoken, and worse than that, he’d used their fucking names.
Roach was frozen in place, gaping at him with a too-full blender in his hands.
Izzy gave him an awkward little wave.
He was rewarded for this with a smile, and - he’d been right. It really was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
Roach blended the drink, shook it out into a cup, and then handed it to Izzy - though he didn’t let go.
“Special recipe, just for you,” he said, his smile turning slightly wicked.
Izzy could smell chocolate, cinnamon and hazelnut. It certainly looked delicious, too.
“Thanks,” he said faintly, staring at their hands. Roach’s warm fingers brushed his while his palm turned cold wrapped around the drink.
“I was going to put my number on the cup, you know,” continued Roach.
Izzy tried and failed to conceal a smile.
“And why didn’t you?”
Roach finally let go, crossing his arms as he watched Izzy take a sip. It was, of course, delicious.
“I believe, little man, that you already have it.”