Dyn / Izzy + Frenchie. - Tumblr Posts
IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE that this is the same room that had served as a kind of combination prison-slash-torture-chamber for he & ed over those horrible months. in fact, the little nook where they are lounging together now is almost exactly where izzy had lay when his captain had ordered his toes removed, one-by-one. but ed doesn't live here any longer — he's ashore, with stede, where he wants to be — & izzy has a new captain now. & frenchie ( along with wee john & the rest of the crew ) had clearly worked some kind of magic to exorcise the demons from the ship. now, sunlight pools on the floorboards where shadows used to linger. candles burn in every lamp & all the knives & splintered furniture have been removed in favor of more comfortable seating. soon, they will add more color, fill the walls with art again. soon, it will look like an entirely different space.
& he's never before been accused of being an optimist, but izzy only shrugs at it now, softened by the term of endearment frenchie bestows on him. ❝ i don't know, ❞ he admits. ❝ maybe it's the music, or the calm day. maybe it's you. ❞ it's gentle ; far more gentle than he's used to being. he would never say such a thing if there were anyone else around to hear, but there isn't. & even in the midst of the storm, in the arms of the kraken, frenchie has always kept izzy safe. ❝ you want to hear me sing, then you'll have to play something i know. ❞
THE SOFT MELODY WASHED OVER THE CABIN cleansing it of the dark aura which had lingered for so long, well, that and the candles Wee John had lit. "Keep talking like that and people might take you for an optimist." His words blended into the final notes of the song and judging by the look on Izzy's face he hadn't distinguished one from the other.
"Oi, mon rayon de soleil," Frenchie gave Izzy's good leg a gentle poke with his foot, "what's brought this on? You're away with the faeries today." And he wasn't the only one. Frenchie thought this must be what it felt like to be a summers breeze. He caressed the neck of his lute, and as he looked at Izzy he found himself smiling once more. I don't think I've heard you sing. Not even a shanty."
HE COULD BE A HALLUCINATION, a trick of the light, izzy simply seeing what he wants to see instead of what's in front of him. it wouldn't be the first time. when frenchie had been on stage, singing at the open mic as his hands moved gracefully over the neck of a worn guitar, izzy couldn't be certain. but as he approaches the alleged apparition, there are undeniable signs of substance.
the thin, subtle lines at the edges of frenchie's eyes, for example, are proof of lost time that izzy's delusions would never include. & then there's the simple fact that frenchie draws closer to him, opens his arms & pulls izzy into his chest, folding them neatly together. in all his dreams he has where frenchie returns to him, he always disappears before they can touch. so the only explanation is that this is not some spectre that izzy had conjured up out of pure loneliness ; this is real.
& izzy lets out a breath that feels like it's been held in for years, softening instantly at the contact. he allows himself to wrap his arms against the taller man's torso & cling to him tightly. & it feels different than it had before — frenchie's ribs aren't as narrow as the last time izzy had held him, & his skin smells cleaner than it ever did in the wilderness — but also the very same. the way that he fits right under frenchie's chin so that he can lean his head against izzy's is exactly the same; the way his voice sounds when he speaks is exactly the same.
❝ wouldn't be the strangest thing that's happened to us, ❞ he replies flatly, going for a wry attempt at humor. & he gives frenchie one tight squeeze before leaning back — just enough just to see his familiar eyes. ❝ what are you doing here ? i thought you were . . . ❞ he trails off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. the truth was that he had no idea where frenchie had been, or what he had been doing all this time. no one had heard from him since their rescue from the woods, & that had been decades ago. izzy hadn't even known for sure that frenchie was alive, & he certainly hadn't thought he would ever see him again. ❝ i didn't think you'd ever come back here, ❞ he says, settling for a close-enough approximation of what he really wanted to say.
"Am I dreaming or is that really you?" - @musecraft
THE FAMILIARITY of the voice gave him pause, momentarily leaving his guitar case half closed as he righted himself. The odds of- it couldn't be. He of all people wouldn't have been caught dead in a place like this. And yet the voice was too distinct to be anyone else.
Izzy often spoke in a low, hushed tone as if he were hoping not to be heard- ironic given how prone he was to yelling. But he didn't have to yell this time, or even raise his voice. The pub was quiet with all but the most devoted drunks remaining. A grin broke out across his face as he turned around, his free hand outstretched, beckoning him in for a hug.
He was older now- they both were but Izzy wore his like a chewed up dog toy. Had he not said something Frenchie likely wouldn't have recognized him.
The look of uncertainty was all too familiar, as if he thought Frenchie would yell "psyche" and push him to the ground like a schoolyard bully. It was only after Frenchie took another step toward him that Izzy accepted the invitation. He leaned down and, ever a creature of habit Izzy, nestled into the crook of his neck as he had hundreds of times before.
He rested his cheek against the side of Izzy's head. The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey clung to Izzy almost as strongly as the pomade. Same brand he used in high school, if Frenchie had to wager. Were there not decades between them he may have kissed Izzy right there. But it had been far too long for that. "It'd be weird having the same dream, wouldn't it?"