[attr="class","izrigidw"]

Izzy sits up straight and takes three deep breaths, in and out. His whole lungs fill, slowly and deeply; and after those three he consciously breathes for another couple of minutes. He gently coughs, lets out some short, careful breaths, and then continues to breathe deeply for another two minutes. Afterwards, he groans and sinks back down into the couch.[break][break]

Good exercises for broken ribs, yeah right. If anything, this shit hurt more now than it had when he'd first been smacked into that tree. But he kept his exercises going, as he had been told to, every two hours or so. The last thing he wanted was to make the fracture worse or end up collapsing a lung from fucking around too much.[break][break]

Myszko snapped once at his ankle then slithered around a couple stacked, empty ramen cups by the couch. Izzy didn't want to think about them - the apartment was usually unorganised, but in the weeks since he'd had the incident everything had piled up more and more, and he just really didn't want to clean right now.[break][break]

He stands with a whine and goes to the kitchenette part of his box apartment to get a drink. There's no clean glasses in the cupboard, and he groans, instead opting to pick one of the least dirty-looking ones from the sink. Standing for long periods of time sucked, so he hadn't been able to get too many dishes done. He fills his glass and returns to the couch-nest of a couple pillows and an old, moth-bitten blanket that he's lived in for the past week.[break][break]

Between broken ribs and feeling more alone than usual, the usually small, dirty apartment felt even smaller, even dirtier. He sighed and sipped at his drink, scrolling absentmindedly at his phone. The fuck else was there to do?

[attr="class","izrigidw"]

Izzy didn't really like talking to the admins. Hell, he hated talking to anyone who'd been in Rocket longer than he had. There was a weird power balance that made everything feel gross and wrong. He did it, obviously, if he needed to, and he would shut up and put his head down and do whatever they told him to do without question or hesitation.[break][break]

The fact that he did that, though, was what made things so weird. Izzy hated feeling like he was owned by someone else, but the fact of the matter was that he was very much owned by Rocket. It's why he avoided them when he could, didn't speak to or about them if he had a choice.[break][break]

Yet here he was, stood outside of Martín del Mar 's office door, knocking. Delving headfirst into the belly of the beast that he avoided like the plague.[break][break]

It was a clean knock, once - tap, twice - tap. It came from a man on a mission, however much said man wished he could just go curl up at home, instead. Izzy had done his research, both on Mars and on the carrot seeds he'd won at Halloween, and had a conversation he wished to broach.

[attr="class","izrigidw"]

To hear his home tongue spoken back to him is a weird sound, and a strange memory. It remains as the language Izzy thinks to himself in when at home alone, and the gift of name he gives to his pokémon, but the only other people who've ever spoken it to him were his family, and so it comes with a certain bitterness.[break][break]

Nonetheless, she seems excited at being able to converse, and he nods politely in response. "...Dziękuję."[break][break]

The awkward feeling at his bluntness doesn't go unnoticed, and it stabs a little pang of panic into him - he hated conversations for this very reason, that he would always say something wrong and turn people off. But she kept going, which he appreciated. Through her stumbles and stutters, she asks for his number.[break][break]

Izzy flushes a matching pink almost immediately. Was she asking for his number, as in, like, actually asking for his number? He barely had the confidence to remind himself that he was gay, and worried he might explode into flames if he had to tell someone else as much. Luka seemed nice and all, but...[break][break]

"R-right, the carrots, but..." He starts, but trails off long enough for her to mention, uh... imperatives. In his mind he can't help but think, the fuck is an imperative?. But in relief that she wasn't asking him out - at least, not yet - he nods immediately and eagerly, standing and brushing a little dirt from his knees as he awkwardly holds out a hand to help Luka in doing the same.[break][break]

"Yeah, we can do that, sure. I'm not like... I don't really, like, I'm not a super smart kinda guy or anything. But I can speak it. So... if that's useful."[break][break]

Maybe it would be nice to build more happy memories with his native language.

[attr="class","izrigidw"]

Silence lulled for a little while, but more comfortable than silences Izzy had been a part of in the past. In fact, it was kind of nice to be sat quietly while Barnaby wraps his chest, and then cleans his head. In all the hubbub, Izzy hadn't even really realised that he'd been bleeding from around his temple, but Barnaby's damp cloth comes back with those dark brown stains that suggest bleeding, and Izzy continues to think quietly to himself.[break][break]

He notices Bee smile while replying, and raises a brow but leaves it unquestioned - did he say something funny? Izzy could understand, though. He had his own busy rocket duties, plenty of which being things he didn't want someone like Barnaby knowing he did. Bee wasn't stupid, he knew plenty what Rocket did, but it still felt so... dirty. Izzy didn't want people thinking of him that way.[break][break]

"Ah, right, yeah... same."[break][break]

He takes a moment to slowly stand and stretch, feeling an awkwardness in his ribs, despite the tightness pulling them together. It doesn't hurt though, which is the most important thing.[break][break]

"I'm good, yeah. Thanks for all of this, Bee... seriously. I probably would've been dead meat back there if it wasn't for you" It comes with a shy little shrug, but it's heartfelt, at the very least. "I should probably head back, though. I can walk to my place from here"[break][break]

He collects his stuff and heads back to the door, trying to not get distracted once more by the fact that this apartment really is fancy, especially considering it was in the shitty side of town just like Izzy's place was. It raised a few questions, but Izzy knew well enough that some people liked to keep their business to themselves, and he didn't want to pry.[break][break]

He leans awkwardly on the doorframe before he leaves, looking up at Barnaby and then looking away with a blush, only to look back up at him again and then repeat. He's not quite sure what to do, now - to say bye and run off? To thank him profusely, again, for literally saving his life? And, even now, that quiet little screaming voice in the back of his head telling him to just go back inside and take Barnaby to the bedroom? Ugh. Too much to think about.[break][break]

"I'll... see you round sometime." Delving into the backpack, strapped to his back again like it was before this whole thing happened, Izzy pulls out a pen and hesitates for a second before grabbing Barnaby's arm. He scribbles down an address on his partner's skin - his address. "I owe you. Come round for, uh... food or something. If you want. Or whatever. Y'know?"[break][break]

The pen gets shoved into his pocket with one hand while the other lingers on Barnaby's arm for a moment. Seized by some mischievous spirit that wanted Izzy to die of shock and shame, he pushes himself up on his tip-toes and plants a hasty, slightly clumsy kiss on Barnaby's cheek.[break][break]

He flushes a shocking beet-red right away, and chokes out something that might have sounded like "seeya", before hurrying out of the door and not looking back.

[attr="class","izrigidw"]

Izzy would've been lying through his teeth if he said he hadn't wanted more, too - at that point, he probably would've done anything Barnaby asked of him. If he'd asked him to get down on his knees? Hell, he'd figured out how to kiss quickly enough, anything more than that couldn't have been too difficult to learn, either.[break][break]

But here they were, now, peeled apart and, upon remembering Izzy's ribs, Barnaby moved only further away. Internally and hidden, Izzy pouted.[break][break]

I got a little caught up in the moment[break][break]

"Pft. You can say that again..." It's said like he's grumbling about it, but that smile still plays around the corner of his lips, savouring the taste of Barnaby Finch that still lingered there.[break][break]

Izzy pushes himself up to sit straight, despite the creaking displeasure in his side. He watches Bee grab a dressing for his ribcage and it makes him think - how many times has he stumbled home injured, only to do nothing about it? How many times has he crawled into bed with bruises and scrapes, smashed knuckles, a broken nose?[break][break]

As Barnaby gets to work, Izzy thinks silently to himself, chewing on his lip a little in his absentmindedness. Did Barnaby do all of this first aid because of so much care? Did he really think so highly of Izzy to believe he deserved all of this? Or, on the other side of the coin, did Izzy really hate himself so much to not look after himself when he was injured? To what level did he think he deserved it, and to what level does Barnaby believe he doesn't?[break][break]

On top of everything else that had happened in the past few hours, Izzy wasn't in a headspace to think that deeply, so he cuts his mind off and focuses on looking around, and then on Barnaby again.[break][break]

"...This place... it's really swanky, Bee. You live here on your own?"[break][break]

On grunt money?

[attr="class","izrigidw"]

As Barnaby leans in closer to him, pressing his body against Izzy's, he can't help but whine just a little. He feels held on a string, dangling just above what he wants, but he's being held back from it - perhaps by Barnaby, most likely by himself. If he wanted this like his body tells him he does, why couldn't he just say so?[break][break]

I'll stop teasing, then.[break][break]

And stop he does, finally ending the game of cat and mouse with a kiss. A needy, [aggressive kiss that Izzy stares wide-eyed into for the first few milliseconds. Everything in his mind goes off at once, the packed gunpowder of anxiety and stress finally just giving up and exploding, fireworks taking off in the starless skies in his mind. With Barnaby's hand on his neck, there's no way for him to pull away and stop it.[break][break]

But he doesn't want to stop it.[break][break]

Izzy kisses back, testing at first and then harder. The thing about a first kiss is that it's awkward; based on instinct - and watching more than enough relevant videos on the internet - he knows the general gist of what to do, and if he there was room in his mind to stress, Izzy would probably worry that he was doing it wrong. But it felt good, so it can't have been that bad.[break][break]

His hands move to Barnaby's back, gripping at the fabric of his shirt in desperation for something to keep him grounded. Caught up in the heat of the moment, he moans into the kiss.[break][break]

"F-fuck--" It distracts him out his the kiss-drunk state for just long enough to be embarrassed again, pulling back and holding Bee's gaze for a moment.[break][break]

"...Fucking hell" And then, on a day already of so many firsts, Izzy laughs. Just a little bit, a slight chuckle, a body's reaction when it has no fucking clue what's even going on anymore. His first kiss, all the blood in his body beating at once, with Barnaby of all people? It was ridiculous. It was the kind of thing Izzy had never thought would ever be real. He half expected to wake up at home, realising that this was just another one of those dreams.[break][break]

"Sorry, I just... this is so fucking crazy" Ruining the mood? Pulling them out of the situation? Maybe. But he really just couldn't compute the whole thing and had to take his time to calm himself down. The aftermath of the chuckle, a tiny smile played about his face. It felt mostly like... relief. There was still time for Barnaby to call him weird and pathetically horny and desperate, sure, but... was it so wrong to feel happy at kissing a cute guy?[break][break]

"...Also, uh... my ribs." They were so close and pressed together so hungrily, after all, that Izzy had almost forgot that he'd been thrown into a tree at mach speed earlier in the day. If they were going to do this, whatever it was... maybe he needed some healing, first.[break][break]

He realises he's still holding Barnaby's back like his life depends on it and sheepishly loosens his grip.

[attr="class","izrigidw"]

"N-no, that's not... I'm not..."[break][break]

Izzy feels heat across his entire body, like a fire deep within him is burning so hot it might swallow him whole. Here, held under the gaze of the predator, feeling like cornered prey. It was hot as fuck - and the fact that that was his first thought made him want to go feral. But...[break][break]

Did he grab him so hard on purpose? Was it really an attempt to get him off, some give-in to old instincts that don't want the experience of being touched, of being known? The lamb with bite, perhaps. But even still, Izzy startles when Barnaby does, as though he wasn't expecting it.[break][break]

What he really, truly wasn't expecting, though, was Barnaby's reaction. Anger, then, flashed like lightning across his fellow Rocket's face. In one swift, hard movement, Barnaby grabs his wrist and pins him roughly against the back of the couch, leaning so far into his body that they're all-but touching, that uncomfortable body heat pressing against the taller grunt. It wrenched his shoulder back - the unbit one, but still awkwardly connected to those likely-broken ribs, which causes Izzy to grit his teeth hard as he's pushed back.[break][break]

"B-Barnaby..." It's like a whimper. There was no teasing, now, no playful remarks or gentle half-touches specifically to wind him up. If anything was something more, it was this position they'd found themselves in now. His grip on Barnaby's side remains, but all the strength faded when his own wrist was grabbed - now Izzy's hand just rests, testingly, against Barnaby's side. They stare for what feels like an eternity. "Bee..."[break][break]

"...Please." It's not even a mewl, barely even a whisper, and by the time it slides out Barnaby seems to have moved on with a sigh and a gentle relaxing of the vice-grip on his wrist.[break][break]

Izzy doesn't relax when Barnaby's hand does, the whole thing is too embarrassing for all of that. He can't think straight when all he can see in front of him is... him. [break][break]

"...I'm sorry" He chokes it out like rusted parts, unused. In truth, Izzy can't remember the last time he's apologised to someone like this. "And, I..." He looks down for a moment, and snaps his head right back up as he processes exactly how his body has reacted to the situation. Washed over with embarrassment, he on-and-off meets eyes with, and avoids the gaze of, Barnaby. "T-that's not.. I didn't... l-look, Barnaby, don't..."[break][break]

He sighs, bites his lip.[break][break]

"Don't... tease me about this shit..."

[attr="class","izrigidw"]

They had known each other a while, it was true. Izzy didn't often get to know his fellow rockets - he kept that side of his life distinctly separate to the rest of it, and it was easy to just not talk to anyone beyond necessity as each day slid into the next. But Barnaby and Izzy, as the older man had said, had met more than a few times time, been through a decent amount together.[break][break]

Izzy thoughts drifted to Malutki, the orphaned Yamask, back at his apartment. The little one had taken to staying out of his pokéball and cuddling into warm places. Barnaby had been there for that, too. To anybody else, they really would be friends.[break][break]

He can look away when Barnaby speaks, but not for long. A hand takes his chin, soft but decidedly firm. Izzy breathes hard, forced to meet Bee's eyes by his solid grip. He begins to breathe hard and shaky, a ball of stress and worry and something else, heat creeping through his body; reddening his cheeks hot-pink and settling in the depth of his stomach like burning rubber. The sound creeps out before he's able to control it; just one short, embarrassing "Ah--"[break][break]

Something more. Something more. Something more.[break][break]

It echoes emptily around his head and slams against each internal surface, like shaking a jar of marbles. Something more, indeed. Izzy would deny until he was blue in the face that more that he'd thought about. The innocent, being able simply to share a smile with him, or the less-than-innocent, being pinned under his body in the heat of night. He'd be a liar if he said those thoughts hadn't kept him up more than a few nights, but Izzy had been a liar all his life, after all. It came as easy as heartbeats.[break][break]

"N-no, I, we-- that's not-- I-I never said that..." He tries to shake his head as if to shake off the dredges of anxiety that cling to him, to play back into his usual anger and bad temper, but with Barnaby holding his face so tight and still, he can't. In some attempt to save face, he plays half-heartedly through the script he usually runs when he wants someone to leave him alone.[break][break]

"You don't know me, you can... just... f-fuck..." It's hard to keep up when Barnaby's right there staring at him, with that smile that stretches across his face and eyes. Izzy says it so quietly, like he doesn't believe the threats he slings - he never was good at keeping his feelings hidden.[break][break]

"I... don't know what you're talking about!"[break][break]

In self defence, or maybe in submission to his desires, Izzy reaches for and grips Barnaby's side so hard his knuckles turn white, his fingers finding safety dug against the taller man's body.

[attr="class","izrigidw"]

Izzy had a mask, too, in a few ways. He was hardened and serious, cruel, even, sometimes. People got on his bad side easily and stayed there for the rest of eternity, he never let anybody in, he never smiled. It was all things he'd gotten used to growing up in the streets of a big city where nobody cared to know your name. If he was going to be nothing but dirt and dust, something that didn't exist, he would at least strike back in the glinting light of the sun and catch fire.[break][break]

He had refused to let himself burn quietly.[break][break]

He paid for it now, though, sure. Twenty five years of raging against the dying light was a lot for one small man to handle, and like poison it seeped through his every interaction. And now, here he is, still so sick and unable to touch and trust. Someone like Barnaby had everything, to him - a smile and a laugh and a freedom of speech that allowed him to say ridiculous things that Izzy would think impossible.[break][break]

Ridiculous, impossible things like I like you.[break][break]

Izzy stares at him, head whipping around like lightning, like he'd just told him he'd gored Myszko with a crowbar or something.[break][break]

"You--?!" It was unfamiliar to the point of nausea.[break][break]

Barnaby glances towards him like it's nothing, just another day, just another sentence.[break][break]

"F-friendship..." Izzy lets the word sit on his tongue for a moment, tasting all of the sweet and the sour of it. He'd never had a friendship before, nothing more than his bond with his pokémon. In that way, it was nice to hear and to believe it for just a moment. It was also sickening, though - why did just friendship turn like a heavy knot in his gut?[break][break]

"I wouldn't know. I've never... y'know" It's the closest thing he's done to bare his soul. He doesn't hold Barnaby's gaze anymore - too red and shy to, and the stinging at his shoulder is a sweet enough distraction to focus on instead. He sucks in air through his teeth over a particularly painful spot. "I'm not the kind of person people are friends with. You don't have to... do all of this. For me, I-- I mean. I won't get pissy or anything if it was all just..." the last part comes out half-whispered. "...a joke"[break][break]

He feels a lump, golf-ball sized, take up the back of his throat, and his eyes blear just a little bit. The pain from Barnaby's damp pressing on the wounds at his neck, no doubt, bringing that faint unwelcome wetness to his eyes.