hey street boy, want some style? your dead-end dreams don't make you smile.

by magpiesfics

Summary:

After only a few months in the Barrel, Jesper Fahey finds himself in the company of criminals, not just any criminals, but The Dregs. How will he prove that he was what it takes to become a full-fledged crow and not fall for Brekker's cute demo man along the way?

Or

What if when Jesper joined the Dregs, Wylan was already a crow?

Notes:

alrighty before we go on his crazy ride i wanna preface a few things. this is mostly book complaint, BUT they are all show ages, so eighteen to early twenties. another thing, updates for this fic will be slowish as the chapters are a bit longer than i usually write and im working on another fic and am busy with school. thank you hope you enjoy :)

Chapter 1: I: Jesper

Jesper sprints in the rain down the alley, soaking his pant legs as he stomped through deep puddles. He ran for his damn life, quite literally. The men chasing and yelling after him weren't in the business of pleasure or friendship. Fighting back wasn't an option. His malnourished, scrawny demeanor hardly gave him a chance and the one stolen revolver clutched in his hand was out of ammo. 

He made a hard right, praying to all the Saints he didn't believe in that it wasn't a dead end. As soon as he turns, the thundering footsteps behind him halt and then retreat the other way. Jesper leans up against a wall, clutching his side as he catches his breath. Why had they stopped chasing him? Jesper looks around frantically, squinting in the rain to see what might have made them flee. Should he flee too? After all, there's always a bigger fish.

It’s dark save for a few street lanterns that actually work and silent except for the insistent pitter-patter of the rain. All doors on the street are shut and it’s eerily empty. No drunken or homeless wandering around. Hardly any rubbish in the gutters or overflowing garbage cans. Then he looks overhead and sees the hanging sign of the Crow Club. A horrid realization dawned on him as he took in his surroundings. 

He’s standing in Fifth Harbor. He’s standing in Dregs territory. Well after operating hours. 

The Dregs are feared in the barrel, immensely feared. Jesper is no exception. He might be new to barrel life, but he learned the basics quickly enough. Check for tattoos on the forearm before you cross someone. If they displayed the Dregs symbol- a singular black feather or Saints forbid the crow and cup; you cut your losses, make peace with your God, and beg for forgiveness. Jesper's arm is unmarked, which would hopefully perceive him as less of a threat. Perhaps he could get out of here with a rare case of honesty. He’s new and ignorant to barrel life and simply hadn't realized where he had stumbled before it was too late. 

Before he could turn and flee with his tail between his legs, preferring his chances with the men that want him strung on West Stave for display, he hears the terrifying omen of a cane clicking. 

Kaz Brekker. Dirtyhands. Bastard of the Barrel. A legend in the barrel, an infamous murderer, and leader of the most feared gang in all of Ketterdam. His name seems to be etched into the walls and ooze out of dark alleyways. 

Brekker doesn't like when you scare off the pigeons. 

I heard he made a man cut off his own fingers. 

He’ll make you wish you were dead. 

If you cross him, that cane swinging above your head will be the last thing to grace your eyes. 

The most terrifying rumors are veiled in truth. 

Jesper believes all those rumors to be true, how could he not? He stands there, still panting, nearly frozen in fear as the sound of the cane grows closer. With his fate accepted, he wonders what death is like. The gang leader steps out of the shadows, illuminated by a flickering streetlight. A spotlight just for him. Even though it isn’t loaded, Jesper wisely drops his gun.

Kaz Brekker somehow looks exactly how Jesper imagined, yet completely foreign. Dressed in all black, not a sliver of skin exposed save for his face which held a stony expression. The notorious gold crow-headed cane gleams under the light and he grips it tightly in his gloved hand. His eyes are narrow and as black as coal, staring at him with scrutiny. Foolishly, he found a bit of comfort in the fact that he was taller than the criminal, significantly so, almost a few inches. And preposterously, a fucking ridiculous thought really, he finds him kind of attractive. What really shocks him though is that he is young. Surprisingly young, he looks around Jesper’s age. 

He'd always thought that the Barrel was run by ancient, old bastards. But it seemed vicious, young bastards worked just as well, maybe even better. 

“Jesper Fahey.” The man gave him a once-over. 

All he could do was nod, doing well to keep his posture stiff and his hands where they could be seen. This isn't how he wants to die.

“You’ve caused quite a stir in the barrel. Scared off a few pigeons down at Makkers Wheel.” Brekker pauses and Jesper stews in the unnerving silence, heart beating with trepidation. “From what I’ve heard, you don’t know when to quit.” 

Jesper expected many things from Dirtyhands, his grotesque thoughts nearing a territory he couldn’t stomach. Those rumors were brutal for a reason. However, being… scolded? Reprimanded? Being criticized for his gambling problem wasn’t one of them. 

He nods his confirmation. Lying to Dirtyhands is an easy way to lose your tongue. 

“I’ve also heard of your talents. Never miss a shot, you claim?” 

Jesper has no recollection of saying that, but he can believe that he did. It was true, after all. Perhaps the boast was slurred in drunken conversations while he tried to impress pretty girls and show off for pretty boys. 

“That’s right.” Jesper finally finds his voice, but he internally cringes at the waver.

“Prove it.” 

A revolver is being kicked over to him, sliding against the wet cobbled ground. It flashes in the moonlight and Jesper’s breath catches. It’s a gorgeous, pearl-handled revolver decorated and engraved with vaguely familiar intricate details and patterns. He picks it up with a smile and realizes they’re Zemini made. He spins it around his hand just to get a feel for it and marvels at the weight. 

Jesper looks up at Brekker expectantly but before he can ask what he means by prove it, a gloved hand is flicking a coin into the air. It’s dark, the rain obscures his vision, and the coin flicks high up out of view of the streetlight, but Jesper shoots anyway. His hand quickly flips up and pulls the trigger like it's second nature because it is. He doesn’t need to listen for the impact or watch the coin fall to know he hit it. He lies about plenty, but never about his shooting. Jesper Fahey does not miss. Quicker than he can blink, three more coins are launched into the air, and even quicker, Jesper shoots them all without hesitance. In unison, the coins, now with bullet holes torn through them, fall into a puddle with a splash and steam rises from the heat meeting the water. With a smile, he blows the smoke from the barrel of the gun. 

He looks up again, and Dirtyhands looks thoroughly impressed. At least, that's what Jesper assumes, he did just meet him. 

“Impossible,” Brekker considers him. 

He holds a gloved hand out and Jesper hastily gives him back the gun.

“Improbable,” Jesper corrects him. “No shots impossible for me. I’ve never missed, and I never will.” 

It’s cocky, sure, but Jesper gathered that this was some sort of test. He passed with flying colors, why not bask in the results? Brekker stares at him for a moment. A long moment and Jesper wonders if he should’ve kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“That’s what I’m counting on,” is what he finally says. “Come with me.” 

He’s turning away from Jesper, stalking back the way he came without even checking to see if Jesper follows. Which he does, of course, he doesn’t have a death wish and things seem to be looking up for him. Jesper watches the streets as he follows Brekker, trying to memorize the unfamiliar alleyways, fire escapes, and rooftops as best he can. Quick escapes are a luxury available only to those who know the entirety of the barrel like the back of their hand, and seeing as it was his first time in fifth harbor after hours, he commits as much of it to memory as possible. 

“So,” Jesper begins and Brekker hardly glances at him. “I’m not being walked to my death?” 

“No. You’re being walked to a job.” 

And that makes Jesper shut his mouth and nod his head in acceptance as if he could refuse. A job for Dirtyhands himself meant protection, meant payment, meant food, meant another day of survival. He refuses to talk for the rest of their walk, him and his big mouth are a dangerous duo that would surely sour whatever deal he has going on here, and he can’t afford to lose it. 

After a few minutes of following in tense silence, Brekker stops in front of a tall building and holds a door open for Jesper. He walks in and tries not to flinch when the door is slammed shut behind him. It's surprisingly cozy, well as cozy as you can get in the barrel. The foyer is wide and decorated with stolen paintings and cheap furniture. Various gang members sit around chatting, cleaning knives, cleaning guns, or drinking at the bar. Jesper tries and fails to hide his smile because there's a bar. He can't remember the last time he had decent liquor. 

“Welcome to the slat,” Brekker drawls dryly, walking ahead of Jesper, down a long hallway. 

Jesper follows eagerly, ignoring the eyes on him. Did they not get many newcomers? He falls into step beside Brekker and stares up at the lights as he walks. 

“So, what's the job?” 

“You’ll find out.” Brekker makes a left and pulls out a key to open a door to a large room that Jesper has to squint to see in, candlelight being the only illumination. “Wylan!” He yells. 

Before he can ask who Wylan is, or maybe what a Wylan is, there's a response from somewhere in the room. 

“What do you want now?!” The voice, Wylan, yells back. He sounds annoyed. 

Jesper raises his eyebrows slightly, he never thought he'd hear someone talk to the Bastard of the Barrel like that. But Brekker hardly seems peeved or discouraged. 

“Got a new canvas for you,” Brekker calls, moving closer to where Wylan’s voice is coming from. Jesper follows. 

Brekker stops and Jesper sees who Wylan is. He's hunched over a desk, sketching something roughly with a piece of charcoal under the low light of a lamp. It's only when he looks up do Jesper's eyes widen. Wylan has wide, blue eyes and ruddy, fluffy curls that frame his face perfectly. The freckles on his face entrance Jesper and if this Wylan weren't a gang member, a Dregs member, he would say something ridiculous about how he wants to count them all. Draped over him is a large brown coat that looks like it would be too big even on Jesper. Again, what surprises him the most was that he seems to be around Jesper's age, maybe even younger. 

“You're dripping all over my floor,” He says with a glower. 

Brekker clears his throat and ignores Wylan’s complaint. 

“Meet Wylan. Demolitionist, tattoo artist, resident pretty face, and Crow.” 

Crow? And yes, now that he's looking for it, Wylan’s arm proudly displays the crow and cup. 

Wylan scowls and glares at Brekker when he's called a pretty face but doesn't say anything in protest. Instead, he turns his eyes to Jesper and stares at him, a bit exasperated. Despite towering over him, Jesper feels impossibly small under his gaze. 

“New Dreg?” Wylan asks Brekker, still staring at Jesper. 

Brekker nods. “Give him his feather then take him to my office.” Then he's gone. 

New Dreg. Jesper’s a new Dreg? It feels surreal, impossible even. In less than an hour he's gone from a barrel rat with no steady source of income, knee-deep in debt, living meal to meal, to the newest member of the Dregs. 

Wylan sighs and gestures for Jesper to follow him, mumbling about how Kaz has no respect for my time and it's after hours. Jesper follows but not without taking in his surroundings. The ceiling has multiple lights, a few hanging but none of them are on. Wylan seems to prefer lamps and candles. There's a large table adorned with plenty of beakers, vials, and bottles of various colors along with a distillation kit. In the corner of the room, there's a large bed with multiple blankets that looks so comfortable. He can't remember the last time he's slept on a bed. 

“You live here?” Jesper asks.

“Mhm,” Wylan nods. He points to a long, reclined chair. “Sit.” 

Jesper shucks off his coat does as he's told and watches Wylan fumble around with his equipment on a nearby table. Brekker was not wrong about calling him a pretty face. He worries his lip between his teeth and Jesper can't help but think about how kissable they are. Before his thoughts could get too vivid or lewd, the tattoo gun in Wylan’s hand buzzes to life. He set it on the table and then sat in his own seat, turning back to Jesper. 

“Have you ever gotten a tattoo before?” 

“Nope,” Jesper says, popping the p. He’s thought of it, of course. Even has plenty of ideas just itching to be expressed. Something stupid like his own name in all too fancy font. Something pretty like the flowers that bloomed every spring in his garden growing up. The one he’s most serious about is something sentimental and meaningful. A gorgeous cherry tree on his chest, the roots surrounding his heart. 

Wylan looks warily at him. “Alright. It doesn't hurt, promise.” He takes Jesper's arm and rolls up his shirt sleeve. 

“Pinky promise?” Jesper holds out his pinky with a wink. It's a poor attempt at flirting, one of his worst attempts really, but he's way out of his depth here. 

Wylan isn't just a member of the Dregs, he's a Crow. One of Kaz Brekker’s right hands. And you don't become a Crow with just gorgeous hair and innocent eyes. You need to be someone that Dirtyhands trusts, values, and maybe, just maybe, cares for. Jesper has never flirted with someone that could ask for him dead and get just that without lifting a finger, no questions asked. 

But, miraculously, Wylan links their pinkies together with a small smile and a blush. “Pinky promise.” 

Jesper shivers when Wylan cleans his arm with cold disinfectant but can’t find himself to be embarrassed because Wylan hisses an apology and shoots him an apologetic look. He does his best to keep still when the buzzing needle presses into his skin. The pressure is insistent and sharp, but it doesn't hurt just like Wylan promised. 

“What’s your name?” Wylan tries to make conversation. 

“Jesper. Jesper Fahey.” 

Wylans eyes flash with what might be recognition, but he can't be sure. It makes him wonder. 

“So where'd Kaz finally find you?” Wylan asks as he tattoos Jesper with practiced ease. The strokes are smooth and the drawing already looks beautiful, he can faintly see the various lines forming the feather. 

Finally find?

“I happened to find myself in Fifth Harbor. Then he just kinda showed up.” 

Wylan glances up from his work momentarily, and looks at him like he's stupid. “How do you find yourself in Fifth Harbor? Especially at this hour?” 

“I was being chased!” He throws his free arm up. “I was too busy worrying about what was behind me to see what was in front of me.” 

Wylan’s hands stop and the needle is no longer pressing into his arm. There's something sparkling in those blue eyes and Jesper wants to drown in them. 

“What do you mean you were being chased?” 

“I was on my way back to my Inn, but these two burly gentlemen were waiting for me. I left, they followed, I ran, they ran.” 

Wylan’s frowning now. “And did one of these ‘burly gentlemen’ have an eyepatch?” 

It takes him a second to think back and remember, but yes. One of them sported an eyepatch while the other wore a ridiculous hat that just didn’t complement his head shape. 

“Yeah!” 

Wylan scoffs and he grabs Jesper's arm again and sets back to work, muttering to himself. “I told him not to do that. Why is he like this? He never listens, why do I bother?” 

“You know them? The guys that were after me?” 

“Hardly.” Wylan’s tone is clipped. “They were both very squeamish when they got their feathers. Kaz sent them.” 

“Sent them? After me? Did I do something?” 

“No. Kaz is just a dumbass that doesn't know how to be practical, and does ridiculous things to get what he wants.” 

Jesper gapes at him. “Did you just call the Bastard of the Barrel a dumbass?” He hisses, almost afraid to repeat it. 

Wylan just nods, not seeing the problem. “Well, he is one. And don't call him that in person, it feeds his ego too much.” 

Jesper blinks away his shock. “What do you mean by what he wants?” 

“He's been wanting to recruit you for a while now,” Wylan says through a yawn that makes him look impossibly softer. “I told him to just send for you, but he prefers the dramatic approach.” 

Kaz Brekker wanted to recruit him? He was sought after? If he's built up enough of a reputation to be recruited personally, who's to say other gangs weren't tripping over themselves to have him and Brekker just got there first? He really hopes this doesn't unintentionally piss some strangers off. Or perhaps something else, more terrifying is going to happen. He knows damn well that grisha in Ketterdam fetch good kruger. But why tattoo him if he's going to sell him? Or kill him?

“The dramatic approach being grazing me with bullets and slashing my clothes?” 

Wylan’s face snaps up suddenly and Jesper recoils slightly. Luckily, it didn't ruin his tattoo. 

“They did what?” 

And oh. Wylan’s brows are furrowed, his mouth is set in a firm line, his jaw is clenched, and his eyes are ablaze. Jesper doesn't know much about Wylan, but he knows enough about body language to tell that he's livid. 

“Are you alright? Hurt at all?” Wylan frets over him frantically, examining his arms, hands, and face for any damage. 

Jesper doesn’t answer and just stares stupidly with wide eyes. His head is held in Wylan’s surprisingly soft hands and the tattoo gun lies abandoned on the table beside them, still buzzing away. He feels little sparks of heat on his face under Wylan’s fingertips and he realizes with mortification that he’s flushed. Exactly why he’s blushing at the simple gesture of well-intentioned hands on his face is beyond him. Various nights have been spent with hot, insistent hands roaming his body, and his roaming in return, only to end with cold sheets in the morning. Touch isn’t new to him. Perhaps it’s because the way Wylan handles him is tender and almost sincere. It’s been ages since Jesper has found himself in the company of gentle hands and he finally finds it in the place he would least expect it. Deep in the heart of Dreg territory, from a Crow. Or maybe it's because Wylan is undeniably the most gorgeous person he's ever seen.

Jesper swallows hard and hopes his flush isn’t visible. “No, no. I’m good. Just tore my favorite coat is all.” 

Which is an understatement in of itself because it wasn't just his favorite coat. It's his mother's coat and he's more devastated than pissed that it's ruined. A simple, deep forest green with large brown buttons along with her name, Aditi Hilli stitched into the cuff. Physically, it’s all he has left of her. An ugly, uneven tear runs from the coat’s collar down to the fourth button. 

Wylan nods, his expression softening but his hands stay put. Jesper knows he should clear his throat, drawback, maybe even laugh awkwardly, but all he can do is stare. The curve of Wylan’s nose is adorably perfect and his lips look soft and smooth. Everything about him is soft and smooth. From the slow blink of his long lashes to the angle of his jaw. And the clusters of freckles on his face fascinate him and demand attention. Jesper’s sure even the world’s most skilled and seasoned astronomers would be floored at the breathtaking constellations formed across the expanse of his cheeks.  Somehow, he seems completely immune to the harsh effects the Barrel has on people. He almost looks like he doesn't belong here, but who is Jesper to say that? Only one of them has a consistent bed to sleep in every night. Only one of them is Kaz Brekker’s Crow.

“Is this a part of the tattooing process?” Is what Jesper finally says with a grin. 

Though he wishes he hadn't because then the hands are gone and his face feels cold. It takes an incredible amount of restraint not to frown at the loss.

“I- sorry, that wasn't very appropriate, was it?” Wylan laughs tensely, ducking his head down to finish Jesper's tattoo. 

“No,” Jesper decides it wasn't. Wylan is, for lack of better words, his superior. He isn’t sure how the dynamics within a gang work, but flirting with the leader’s right hand hardly seems wise or practical. Even so, Jesper’s never been one for practicality. “But I'm by no means complaining.” 

Even with his head face down as he draws, Jesper can see the dazzling smile dancing on Wylan's lips. He wants more of that. 

Wylan clears his throat. “I'll see to it that it comes out of their pay. And I can always sew up your coat for you if you'd like.” 

It takes him a second to realize what Wylan is saying. He's willing to cut someone's wages just because they tore his clothing and chased him through the streets of the barrel. Realistically, they did their job, but Wylan doesn't seem to like the way they did it. Not only that, he's offering to fix his coat. His mother's coat.

“I would like.” It's hardly eloquent and it's spoken quickly; rushed out of his mouth before he had a chance to register what he was saying. But Wylan smiles and nods.

All too quickly, Wylan’s hands are off of him completely, and the buzzing stops. Wylan quickly covers his tattoo with a clear cling wrap. Jesper stares at his arm in slight awe. The skin is red and irritated where Wylan was working, but there it is. A perfectly drawn, intricate feather permanently marked into his skin. 

“Welcome to The Dregs, Jesper Fahey,” Wylan says, something undetectable in his voice. “How does it feel?” 

Riveting. The possibilities are endless. Who knows what the future, this future holds for him?

Terrifying. With this singular tattoo, he has gained an unknown amount of people that want him dead just for his affiliation. 

Ludicrous. How did he end up here?

Reckless. How could he let this happen? He didn’t even argue, second guess, or think about it. 

Exciting. He hasn’t felt this alive in ages.

Unreal. Holy shit. He is a member of The Dregs.

“Thrilling.” Is the word he finally settles on. This is the point of no return. Embracing barrel life is one thing, becoming a player in the game of barrel is another. Feuding gangs, social hierarchies he doesn’t understand, and the constant threat of life and death. It’s a gamble, and Jesper isn’t known for backing down from those. So it’s true. It’s thrilling. 

Wylan stands and dusts off his pants. “Well then. Let’s get you to your first job.” 

Right. His first job. Jesper stands and follows Wylan back out into the hall. 

“Any clue what kind of work I’ll be doing?” Jesper asks. 

Wylan shakes his head and Jesper’s eyes follow the movement of his curls flying. “I’m hardly ever outside these walls. My skill set is in-house oriented.” 

“And what skills would those be?” Jesper hadn't tried to sound suggestive, but it would seem that Wylan had that effect on him. He’s utterly delighted when Wylan’s pale face tints pink.

“I tattoo all new members, obviously. All demolition work is done by me. I'm Kaz’s financial advisor. And I deal with an occasional interrogation or two,” Wylan shrugs nonchalantly as he lists off on his fingers and leads Jesper upstairs. 

And wow. That is an impressive portfolio and it only makes Jesper all the more entranced with him. But there is one special skill he can't help but hone in on. 

“Demolition?” Jesper asks. “You mean like the boom, the bang? The flint and the fuss?” 

Wylan laughs, eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking. And if his smile is wonderful, his laugh is life-ruining. Nothing else could ever compare to the lovely sound of that velvety, tenor voice giggling. His laugh delves into Jesper’s ears and finds residence somewhere in his brain where appreciation and addiction are born. 

“If you're asking whether or not I make bombs, the answer is yes.” 

Before Jesper can marvel over the little genius in front of him Wylan is knocking on large double doors and entering without waiting for an answer. 

Inside waits Kaz Brekker looking impossibly intimidating sitting behind that large, mahogany desk. There's a massive, open window behind him and he notices that the rain has stopped. A chilling wind blows in, causing the black curtains to flow and slam the door shut. Involuntarily, Jesper jumps in surprise and a bit of fear. 

“Done,” Wylan says. “Next time don't come to me after hours.” 

Brekker simply dismisses Wylan by tossing him a bag of coin. Wylan catches it easily and then leaves them alone. He's alone with Kaz Brekker. 

Brekker gestures for him to sit with a wave of his hand. Jesper does so carefully, somehow worried that the most simple of movements will offend. The man in front of him stares for a while and Jesper isn't sure if it's an intimidation tactic, but if it is it's working wonders. 

He clears his throat. “Welcome to The Dregs. I trust Wylan gave you a warm welcome?” 

“Yes,” Jesper nods. “He's very kind.” Far kinder than he ever expected any gang member to be. 

Dirtyhands hums in what may be vague agreement and bends down to fetch something from underneath his desk. A fairly large black wooden box is slammed down on the desk in between them. The head of the cane nudges it forward and Brekker raises a brow expectantly. Hesitantly, Jesper opens it and gasps at what lies inside. 

The pearl-handled revolver from before, only now there are two of them. Beside them are smaller pistols, boring and dull in comparison but more practical and easy for concealment. And boxes of bullets. Plenty and plenty of bullets. Finally, a black leather holster that seems to be brand new and it's made to wrap around his entire waist. It has four slots. Jesper feels like a giddy child on his tenth birthday. 

“Are these-” 

“For you,” Brekker nods. “What good is a gunslinger without his guns?” 

Gunslinger. That's it. So that's his preview. He doesn't know that Jesper is blessed. Zowa. 

“Who am I shooting?” Jesper can't help but grin. 

“Hopefully nobody.” He stands with a groan and shuts the window. “Tonight you're with me for intimidation. Look dangerous. Be dangerous if it comes to that.” 

Jesper slips on the holster and is surprised at how snugly it fits around his waist. He's quick to load up all four guns without fumbling, not dropping a single bullet. Once they're slipped into his waistband, he looks up to see he's being watched with calculating eyes. 

“Ready, boss.” Jesper rocks back on his heels and pats his palms against his thighs. An anxious habit. 

Something in Brekker’s stature shifts at the title, but he doesn't look angry or annoyed so Jesper assumes it's okay. He nods then exits and Jesper follows, excitement thrumming in his chest. 

As the cane clicks down the stairwell, the sound and clamor from the foyer dissipate almost immediately. It's incredible how he can command so much respect and obedience. And once they're back out slat and the door shuts, the uproar continues immediately. 

Jesper falls into step beside Brekker as they make their way through the dark, abandoned streets. 

“Who am I intimidating? ‘Cause to me, it seems like you're perfectly capable of that all on your own.” 

Brekker’s lip twitches for a fraction of a second. Jesper convinces himself he imagined it. 

“A new gang that thinks it's fun to step on my toes and set up right in my backyard.” 

“This big enough of a deal for a personal visit?” 

That seemed like something lackeys could be sent to take care of. 

“It became personal when they began loitering in my club and harassing my servers.” 

Oh, yes. The Crow Club servers. Jesper isn't a frequent patron, but he's been to the club a handful of times. The servers were all scantily dressed men and women, all gorgeous with easy smiles and glitter on their eyelids. But if the Crow Club were to have one rule: look all you want, but never touch. Vividly, he remembers a sleazy, drunken old man groping one of the women and the bouncers had him leaving without that hand. 

“What's the gang called?” 

Brekker shrugged. “I don't care.” 

He gives up trying to make conversation after that. 

Jesper should really work on absorbing his surroundings, because suddenly they're in front of a warehouse. It's rundown and in terrible condition with broken windows, crumbling bricks, and chipped paint. Brekker bangs the cane harshly against the door. It creaks open and a meek-looking girl answers. Her eyes grow wide with horror as she realizes who is there. Scared green eyes flick between the cane and Jesper’s guns. 

“H-hello,” she whispers. “How can I help you?” 

“Where is Kit?” Brekker's eyes are hard. 

The girl answers by opening the door further and allowing them inside. The interior looks even worse. Flickering, dim bulbs don't offer much light, pipes steadily dripping water, rats, and mice scurrying around, and various stains littered the floor. They haven't even begun renovating, the entire building is one large room; no walls or doors. However, there is plenty of furniture that looks stolen and picked off the streets. In the center of the room is a shitty desk with a scrawny man sitting at it, laughing with the men standing around him. 

It takes an impressive, but necessary amount of restraint to not flinch when the cane slams down, sending an echo throughout the building. What good will he do for intimidation if he flinched along with everyone else? 

The man sitting, Kit, he assumes, smiles smugly. He stands and walks over to them and claps a hand on Brekker’s back. Jesper's sure he's never seen a stupider son of a bitch. Kit is sprawled on the ground with Brekker’s shoe on his neck and the cane on his knee before anyone can blink. 

Jesper is quickly proven wrong because astonishingly, an even stupider son of a bitch charges toward them with a knife clutched in hand. It's an impulse reaction really. His hand flies to his gun belt and quickly snatched up one of the revolvers. He shoots and the man watches as he falls onto the floor in a heap, bleeding from his knee. Everyone in the room stills and drops their weapons in fear and shock. Weaponry varying from wooden bats, hammers, and kitchen knives clatter to the floor. Not a single firearm, and debatably nothing designed for harm. Saints, these idiots are way out of their depths. 

Brekker doesn't even look up or blink at the man laying in a pool of his own blood. He's sneering down at Kit and Jesper listens as he surveys the room, watching for anyone else that wants to try anything stupid. 

“ You are going to pack up what little shit you have and never show your face anywhere near Fifth Harbor again.” Brekker shatters Kit’s knee with his cane and Kit wails in agony. 

He finally looks up to address the other men in the room. “And if I find out that even one of you lays another hand on my servers, you'll all be strung up on West Stave by your necks.” 

Gruesome. Morbid. Gut-wrenching. Jesper expected all these things, but it somehow still shocks him to the core. Should it worry him that he's excited? That he somehow feels proud and grand to be running with the kinds of people that can make these threats and do well to follow through? That he likes the idea of being feared? Of being known? These people would leave tonight with the tale of Kaz Brekker and his new gunslinger on their tongues. 

Brekker spits on Kit and turns to leave, Jesper follows silently in tow. As they walk out the door Jesper feels something pulse in his blood. It's innate; the way he feels the metal before he sees it or even hears the gunshot. Despite the unspoken rule, he grabs his boss by his hand and shoves harshly at his back, effectively shoving him to the ground not even a second before a bullet zips through the space where his head had just been. Before another shot can be fired Jesper is whipping around and fires before aiming, which doesn’t matter because he hits the target. 

Jesper Fahey never misses.

The man that had dared to shoot at The Bastard of the Barrel falls to the floor unceremoniously with a definitive thud. They crowd around his corpse but not before Jesper can see the hole nestled snugly right between his eyes. As more of an escape than a warning, Jesper fires in quick succession at the five lights in the entire building, plunging them all into darkness save for the moonlight streaming in. Jesper slams the door shut behind him and joins Brekker, whos now picking himself up off the ground. 

Yelling is what he expects. Or maybe that infamous cane swinging towards his head, but he gets neither of those. Brekker stares at him almost appraisingly and if Jesper didn't know better, thankfully. But he does know better. 

“Sorry ‘bout the- y’know.” Jesper gestures to the ground where he had just shoved him down.

“You saved my life.” It isn’t said with awe or astonishment or even gratitude. He says it like it's a fact as common as the sky is blue. 

“Well that’s part of my job isn’t it, boss?” Jesper simpers. 

He pauses, considering. “Kaz is fine.” Then he’s turning away, heading back to the Slat. 

Jesper follows rather ungracefully, almost tripping over his own feet because what. He’s now on a first-name basis with Dirtyhands, The Bastard of the Barrel. He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the walk back because he’s certain if he opens his mouth the giddiness would all blurt out and make a fool of him. Instead, he spends it absorbing what he’s just done and who he’s just become. 

He’s killed before, but only when absolutely necessary. A woman pulling him into a dark alley demanding all his kruger, which he couldn’t even give if he wanted to because he had lost it all at Makker’s. A man waiting for him in his room at the cheapest inn he could find that had refused to take no for an answer and tried to drag him to bed. A trio cornering him, saying he’d do well in a brothel. All kills, but all necessary.

Easily, so easily he could have spared that man’s life. Shot in the shoulder, leg, chest, foot, anywhere really. Or he could have shot the gun out of his hand. But he shot at his head and hit. Of course, he did. Jesper Fahey does not misfire. Wherever he wants a bullet to end up, he’ll find a way to ensure it's lodged there. Any impossible shot he makes normally, he can do just as easily blindfolded or bound. Mastering angles, timing, and ricochets are things he prides himself in. He’s certain in saying he’s the best shot in Ketterdam. 

But now his skills weren’t just being used for self-defense, to keep himself alive in a world that insists on death. He’s a lackey, a weapon, a sharpshooter. He’s Kaz Brekker’s gunsliger. And it feels magnificent. 

They’re back in front of the Slat and Jesper enters after Kaz. He tells Jesper to follow him with a nod of his head towards the long hallway from before. For a second he thinks they’re going to see Wylan again and he presses his lips together to contain his smile. But to his disappointment, he stops in front of the door across from Wylan’s. He watches Kaz pick the lock and wonders why he would need to pick a lock in his own damned building, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because the door opens. 

It’s a simple, quaint room, much smaller than Wylan’s but it’s nice. Nicer than anything he’s ever had in the barrel. There’s a small bed in the corner and a few dressers along with a desk. The one window in the room is shut with the curtains drawn shut. 

“This will be your room,” Kaz says. “Anything in here is yours. I’ll get you a key in the morning.” Then he’s gone before Jesper can ask any questions or even say thank you. 

His room? He has a room all to himself? Kaz Brekker’s gunslinger indeed. 

Jesper shuts the door and makes himself further acquainted with his room. His new home. Half-hazardly, he tosses his holster, guns still holstered, onto the bed. A closet he didn’t notice upon first inspection rests against the wall. Throwing it open, he’s pleased to find a few soft cotton shirts hanging from rough wire clothes hangers. He changes into one and migrates over to one of the dressers which holds some casual pants. They’re not soft enough to be considered evening attire, but they are certainly much softer than what he’s currently wearing so he slips them on. It feels nice to be out of the clothes he’s been wearing for days, especially since they grew damp and rank from all of the rain and sweat. He places his previous clothing on top of the dresser and decides to keep his shoes on. Who knows what could be littering the floors of the Slat. 

He leaves his room and makes his way back down the hall, but not without sparing a glance at Wylan’s door. What did Wylan do to get his room? 

Jesper makes his way to the bar and slides into an empty stool. Thankfully, most of the Slat residents have turned in for the night so he doesn’t have to deal with the staring. He smiles at the bartender and asks for a cup of whiskey. As he sips slowly on his drink, a girl around his age slides into the seat next to him. 

“You Jesper? The new one?” She asks, sounding bored.

He nods. 

“Your pay.” She slides over an impressive stack of kruger and his eyes widen. 

That’s more money than he’s ever won and lost combined. He picks it up and appreciates the weight of it in his hand. His blood thrills at the thought of all the dens and tables waiting for him. Poker, roulette, blackjack, baccarat. Any and all are possible with this amount of cash. Momentarily, he thinks of his father and their farm, but it’s quickly overrun with the alluring promise of the gamble he’s come to love.

“Thanks,” Jesper says, pocketing it quickly. 

She flags down the bartender and asks for a shot of vodka. “Spend it in moderation. Brekker doesn’t give you anything besides housing.” 

Jesper nods in acknowledgment. “What's your name?” He asks as she downs her shot quickly. 

“Anika.” She asks for another. 

“How long have you been a Dreg?” 

“Two years? Maybe three?” She shrugs like she can’t remember. 

Jesper is pleasantly buzzed at this point. Partly from the strong, aged whiskey and partly from the high he’s still riding of being here. He blames his stupid question on his buzz. 

“What can you tell me about Wylan?” 

Anika smirks dangerously and raises a single brow. “Why, you interested?” 

Jesper keeps his mouth shut, unsure if that’s a question he’s meant to answer. 

She laughs lightly and throws back another shot. “Listen, you’re new so I suppose I’ll be the one to give you the warning.” 

“The warning?” He echos. 

“Wylan. He’s off-limits.” 

“Off-limits?” He repeats dumbly. 

“Brekker’s fond of him and that means anyone who lays a finger on his curled head is as good as dead. For instance, months ago some new recruit snuck into Wylan’s bed hoping to seduce him. Wylan shoved acid down his throat and when that didn’t kill him, Brekker ripped his throat out,” Anika recalls fondly like it’s a memory akin to a childhood summer. 

Jesper must look truly disturbed and thoroughly warned because she leaves him with a pat on the back and a small cackle. He finishes his drink quickly with a shiver and resists the urge to touch his fingers to his throat. 

Brekker’s fond of him. 

He barely remembers to thank the bartender as he stands and pushes in his stool. Sleepily, he returns to his room and shuts the door softly behind him. Jesper slips off his shoes and places his guns carefully on his nightstand before his thoughts can reach the dangerous territory of self-deprecation or the urges for gambling grow too strong. But something stops him in his tracks before he can slip into his new bed. 

There, on the pillows lays his mother's coat, perfectly mended. Saints, he completely forgot that he had left it in Wylan’s room. He has to squint, really squint to see the stitch work on it and even then it looks incredible. The colors are an exact match and the buttons are even polished. His throat catches with gratitude as he glances at his shut door. Carefully, he hangs the coat in his nearly empty closet and then maneuvers his way under the covers of his bed. Sleep doesn’t come easy, for one thing insists on occupying his mind. 

Wylan. He’s off-limits.

Chapter 2: II: Wylan

Wylan shuts Jesper’s door softly behind him and quickly makes his way back to his own room. When Kaz and Jesper were gone on their job he had noticed the coat left behind and decided to mend it for him. It’s a beautiful coat and Wylan had felt a bit nervous while he fixed it up, worried he would miss a stitch or tear it further. But, he sewed it nicely and was thankful for the distraction, something to keep him busy and his mind from wandering. He left it on Jesper’s bed as soon as he was done, thankful he didn’t run into the sharpshooter. And maybe, just maybe he used it as an excuse to snoop through the room a little. Wylan wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find, as Jesper had only just moved in, but he snooped anyways and found nothing but his revolvers. He isn’t sure if it should be a relief or a worry that he found nothing suspicious. Either he really has no ulterior motives, or he's good at hiding them. 

When he first saw the man Kaz brought into his lab, his room, he was completely floored. A dozen words came to mind the second he laid eyes on Jesper Fahey. Gorgeous, handsome, stunning, pretty, the list could go on and on. Even while he was dripping with rainwater he looked beautiful. Deep, gray eyes that Wylan could absolutely get lost in and not complain about it, flawless, Zemini dark skin, and the most perfect lips he’s ever seen. Then Jesper had flirted with him and Wylan had blushed and reciprocated. The way Jesper’s skin felt under his fingers, his lovely smile, and his undeniable charisma left Wylan completely enamored. 

He wasn’t exactly sure why, though. Plenty of new recruits had flirted with him, most plenty more vulgar and crude than Jesper. Not to mention that cocky idiot from a few months ago who nearly gave Wylan a damned heart attack by sneaking into his bed and insisting that there was something between them. And when he couldn’t seem to take no or fuck off for an answer, he shoved an open vial of acid down his throat. The garbled screams had woken the entire Slat. Kaz had burst into Wylan’s room looking the most murderous he’s ever seen him; Kaz was quick to make an example out of him in front of the audience that formed in his room. The next morning Kaz installed locks on his door that took even him a while to pick. 

After he had gotten over how attractive Jesper was, his mind was plagued with the familiar paranoia that crept back around every time there was a new recruit. What if his father sent them? What if they had made it past Kaz’s thorough background checks? What if they snuck into his room late at night and finished what his father started years ago? The name Jesper Fahey first started off a few months ago as a no-good gambler that doesn’t know how to quit. Hot gossip of a reckless gambler had soon turned to tense gossip of a skilled sharpshooter that left only fatal shots. Kaz’s interest had been piqued along with Wylan’s fear. For, the first time he heard Jesper’s name was the same day he received a letter addressed to him at the Slat with his family’s crest on it. It’s been months and he’s almost certain there's been more that Kaz is keeping from him. Jan Van Eck is nothing if not persistent. 

Wylan cringes every time he remembers how he introduced himself to Kaz by his full name when they first met, fresh out of the canal dripping water with handprints still bruised on his neck. Looking back now, it was a bit funny how Kaz’s eyes rounded with opportunity and immediately jumped at the chance to use him as a hostage. He barely managed to tell him the story of his attempted murder through his shock, but now, he’s Wylan Hendricks. Kaz had gotten him falsified papers as soon as he joined the Dregs. 

Very quickly, Kaz had taken note of his paranoia and anxiety, his constant flinching, his apprehension to meet new Dregs, and the way he picks at his nails. This resulted in jobs that seldom required him to leave the safety of the Slat. Initially, Kaz only used him for financial advice, seeing as it was one of the only tutored subjects he excelled at. It worked well because Wylan can read and understand graphs and numbers in a way Kaz’s lack of Kerch education would never allow. Eagerly, he had used his wages to fund his interest in chemistry. Nothing too dangerous or riveting, just experimenting with thermite reactions and colored fire. Apparently, he wasn’t discreet about his hobby because Kaz had his chemistry skills immediately put to use. Between tonics that offered pain relief and bombs that could level an entire building, he had more than earned his keep. Then he was quickly given the additional role of tattoo artist after Kaz caught him sketching one day. At first, he claimed it was purely because of his art skills and steady hand but when they grew closer he told him it was because he thought Wylan was a good judge of character. 

You find the good in people I don’t bother to look for.  

Wylan stares at his bed and decides against sleep for now. It would be nearly impossible, with racing thoughts of paranoia surrounding his father and Jesper. Wanting company, he locks his door and makes his way to Kaz’s office, knowing he would still be awake. Both Wylan and Kaz would rather work until they drop rather than lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling. As he passes the bar to reach the stairs, he catches a glimpse of Jesper drinking with Anika. Jesper’s face is obscured from view but he can see Anika smiling. He hastens his way up the stairs before they can see him.

The door to Kaz’s office opens easily and Kaz doesn’t even look up from his paperwork. It's dimly lit, moonlight streaming in and candle flames flickering, creating dancing shadows on the walls. Wylan takes note of his ungloved hands gripping a pen. Honestly, he can’t remember the last time he knocked and he can’t remember the last time Kaz complained about it. What he does remember though, is seeing Kaz without his gloves for the first time. It was months ago, almost a year now, when Kaz came into his room late at night as he prepared for bed. Nervous is a word that should never be used to describe Kaz Brekker, but that's how he had looked when he asked Wylan for a tattoo. A bit dizzy with fatigue and the need for sleep, Wylan had agreed. It was a small tattoo. A name scrawled across the expanse of his left wrist. Kaz had given him a stencil of incomprehensible swoops and lines. Only after the tattoo was done did Kaz tell him what it said. 

Jordie. 

He had never heard Kaz mention a Jordie before and knew better than to ask. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Wylan had never been more careful with anything than with tattooing Kaz Brekker. Not with his delicate process of making bombs, not with his piano or flute playing, not with his intricate drawings, not with his words. Only after a thorough search through his kit did he find some latex gloves to slip on, terrified of touching Kaz more than strictly necessary. Kaz had thanked him sincerely and never had a problem with Wylan seeing him without gloves after that. 

“Merchling,” Kaz greets without looking up. 

Wylan rolls his eyes at the name as he takes his seat. All of the seats in Kaz’s office are dreadfully uncomfortable, even Kaz’s own. He suspects the pins and needles that nestle and shoot pain up their spines are meant to keep them alert and awake. 

“How’d the job go?” Wylan asks, staring out the window with the curtains drawn. The moon is full and large, but the smog of the city obscures his view and turns what should be alarming bright moonlight dull.

“Well. Jesper will be a good addition.” His tone is critical, thoughtful even. As if his mind is currently constructing millions of different impossible schemes to which Jesper would somehow be applied. 

Wylan hums something noncommittal. “Why Jesper specifically?” 

“I need a gunslinger.” Kaz hands Wylan the paper he's been working on. 

“Rotty can shoot just fine.” Wylan takes it from him and runs his eyes over it briefly. 

It's their finances for the month. Where the money will come from and where it'll go. Wylan can read numbers just fine, so there are Kaz’s little drawings, and symbols representing each dreg so Wylan can understand everyone's wages. A little star for Anika, a small smiley face for Rotty, a rock for Muzzen, and so on and so forth. Wylan’s symbol is an eight-note with a fermata. He assumes the poorly doodled gun is Jesper and his eyes widen slightly at the amount he's being paid. 

“I can find fine anywhere. I need the best.” 

Wylan looks up. “And is he?” 

Kaz raises a brow in a slight question. 

“The best?” He clarifies. 

“Jury's still out.” Kaz pauses as if debating whether or not to continue. “But he's pretty damn good.” 

“Good enough to get five thousand kruger on his first paycheck?” He places the paper back on the desk between them. 

Kaz shrugs. “How much do you think narrowly saving my life is worth?”

It takes all of his restraint to not scream, yell, or shake the man in front of him by his lapels. Too often he wonders if he suffers from high blood pressure.

“What ?!” He hisses. “You said it was an easy job. A safe job.” 

“There's no safety in the Barrel, merchling.” Kaz’s face betrays no emotions, but Wylan considers himself proficient in deciphering the Bastard of the Barrel’s tone. He’s a little guilty, just a smidge, and it assuages him a bit. 

“You know that's not what I mean. You took a newbie that we can trust as far as we can throw on a life-or-death job?” 

“This is why I didn't tell you.” 

This is why I didn't tell you. Ghezen’s Hand, Kaz’s self-depreciation rivals his own. He acts like it's an absurd concept for Wylan to worry about him, while he doesn't allow Wylan to leave the Slat without company. The coddling is certainly belittling and anything but favorable, but it appeases Kaz. Not like he leaves the Slat much, anyways. 

“You said narrowly,” Wylan continues. “How narrow?” 

“Narrow enough.” 

Wylan does his best imitation of Kaz’s glare. Clenched jaw, lips pressed into a thin line, narrowed eyes, and furrowed brows. Either it works or he looks ridiculous and Kaz wants him to stop. 

“Narrow enough for me to be more careful next time,” He concedes with a slight frown of annoyance.

“Thank you.” 

He wouldn't know what he would do, or who he would be if he lost Kaz. Kaz saved his life. Gave Wylan a home, a real home, a purpose, and safety. There's no safety in the Barrel. This is true, of course, but with Kaz he comes pretty damn close. His dependency on Kaz is a dangerous thing. A dangerous thing he’s not brave enough to confront.

Kaz just grunts the way he does whenever Wylan gets sentimental. For instance, Kaz looked incredibly awkward and uncomfortable when Wylan thanked him for the extra blankets after he complained about the cold.

“Need help sorting out rations?” Wylan asks after a few moments of comfortable silence. 

The silence continues but Kaz hands Wylan all of his papers and a pen. Wylan scoots his chair closer to the desk. Looking over everything, he recognizes the symbols representing the men that went after Jesper. To be frank, he never bothered to learn their names, they'll always be triangle and circle in his mind. Promptly, he cuts their wages just like he told Jesper he would. Not that anyone would hold him to his vague promise, but he wanted to keep his word. They sit like that for maybe an hour. Two hours? Comfortable silence as they work under the warm light of flickering candles. The only noise being their quiet murmurs as they count stacks upon stacks of kruger, dividing them accordingly. Bills. Wages. Liquor for the club. Liquor for the Slat. Demolition expenses. New poker chips. New light bulbs. Boxes of ammo. Replacements for knives that have gone dull. It seems endless.  

Continuing onto profits, he notices the Crow Club has been attracting fewer and fewer tourists. Unfortunately, out-of-country pigeons flying into Kerch for a taste of city life are their main source of income. Ever since the Kaelish Prince opened right outside the harbor where ships dock, they've all been funneling there. Bringing this up to Kaz would be futile; he already knows, and he's been bitter about it for the past week. Despite their relationship and how differently Kaz treats Wylan compared to the rest of the Dregs, he's not sure why he hates Pekka Rollins. Sure, the Dregs and Dime Lions are fierce rivals and the Crow Club and Kaelish Prince compete for tourist attraction, but it runs deeper than that. The fire blazing in his eyes and the acid with which he spits his name couldn't possibly be mistaken for anything other than loathing. Unbridled, unaltered loathing. 

There is an obvious, easy solution that Wylan hesitates before suggesting. He's brought it up before, but Kaz had always shot down the idea immediately. 

“The Crow Club could always offer commissions,” Wylan breaks the silence. 

Decent tattoos are hard to come by in the barrel. Most of them are done somewhere filthy with an even filthier needle. Wylan doing commissions at the club would rack in a lot of profit, and they both know it. He already does personal tattoos for a lot of the Dregs wanting something meaningful, or something stupid with them permanently. Pim wanted his mother’s birthday across the expanse of his back, while Specht wanted an anchor on his bicep to remember his time in the Navy.

Between the amount of drunken tattoos desired and the tourists wanting something to remember their exciting trip to Ketterdam by, it's an untapped market. Untapped markets are Kaz’s felicity, but he seems anything but eager to seize the opportunity. And Wylan knows it's all because it would put him in a more vulnerable position. They both suspect that his father has hitmen still roaming the barrel for any sign of him. 

“No,” Kaz says immediately, just like he knew he would. 

“It’d be safe,” Wylan argues. “Nobody is stupid enough to try and harm a Crow in the Crow Club. And Muzzen could even be in the room the whole time.” 

Muzzen’s their muscle. Bouncer, bodyguard, security, really anything that requires the intimidating stature of a man built like a mountain. Sometimes the threat of a dagger or gun strapped to the waist wasn’t enough.

“You don't know how stupid people can be,” Kaz mutters. 

Before Wylan can continue to argue and try to appeal to Kaz’s greed, there's a knock on the door. Kaz doesn't even look up as he begins to slide his gloves back on, unwilling to let anyone else see his hands bare. 

Wylan sighs, knowing Kaz won't answer. “Who is it?” 

“Anika.” 

Wylan looks at Kaz expectantly, his gloves are on so he nods. 

“Come in!” 

Anika enters and Wylan can see that she's pleasantly buzzed. She wears an easy smile, upturning her flushed cheeks and swaying slightly in the doorway. He wonders what she and Jesper talked about at the bar. Did Jesper ask about him? Does he want Jesper to have asked about him?

“What business?” Kaz finally acknowledges her. 

“Muzzen spotted a Dime Lion in the club today,” she yawns, pulling up a seat next to Wylan. 

Kaz’s eyes flash momentarily. “And I’m just now hearing of this?” 

Anika throws her hands up in mock surrender, seemingly accustomed to Kaz’s misdirected anger at this point. “Don't shoot the messenger. He just got back. I also just found out.” 

While Kaz stews silently in his fury at the news of a Dime Lion in his territory, Anika hands Wylan a slip of paper. It held familiar symbols with times and dates beside them. More Dregs that wanted personal tattoos. 

Only a handful of Dregs know that he can't read, Anika being one of them. When he confided in her, she assured him that she didn't care. At first, he thought she was being kind and telling him it was nothing to be ashamed of, but she just really did not care. Illiteracy is a common occurrence in the barrel, he has come to realize. Even though there are plenty of other Dregs that have trouble with reading and writing, they still manage well enough. Far better than what Wylan is capable of, so his shame still burns hot. 

Kaz stands and leaves suddenly without bothering to excuse himself or offer an explanation. Though an explanation isn't needed, he knows Kaz has gone to drill Muzzen for more information. Wylan moves to stand as well, ready to turn in for the night, but Anika says something that stops him. 

“He was asking about you.” 

Wylan doesn't need to ask who, but he does anyway. “Who?” 

“The new one, Jesper.” 

His fear spikes drastically and a wave of paranoia slams into him. 

“What did he ask?” 

Anika shrugs. “Just what I know about you, he seems interested.” 

Despite himself, he blushes. It feels stupid to blush over a stranger, it’s times like these he considers his blood a traitor. Never mind his heritage, his blood rushing to his pale face is the ultimate betrayal. “And what did you tell him?” 

“The usual.” 

Wylan nods in acceptance and a bit of relief. The usual, of course being the warning. He has no qualms with the warning and even appreciates it at times. It's diminishing the number of winks and stares at his ass he receives. 

“Goodnight, Hendricks,” she pats him on the shoulder and leaves. 

Wylan sighs and stands with a small yawn. He’s not sure what time Kaz will return, so he resigns himself to not seeing him for the rest of the evening. A chill runs through him as a massive gust of freezing wind blows in. Shivering, he shuts the window, knowing cold temperatures are bad for Kaz’s knee. On his way out of the office, he trips on Kaz’s overflowing rubbish bin. Silently cursing Kaz and his habits, he takes the bin in his hands and brings it downstairs to dump out back. When he passes the bar, he sees that Jesper had turned in for the night. 

When he pushes open the back door, his teeth immediately begin chattering. Wylan is not made for cold temperatures, he despises Kerch winters. The metal bin under his fingers has turned impossibly cold and it almost hurts to hold as he dumps the contents into their dumpster. The wind blows harshly again, sending a stray paper flying to the floor. He drops the bin with a clunk and bends down to grab the paper. Wylan should be surprised at what he sees, but his suspicions prepared him for this revelation. It's a letter with the Van Eck family crest. He had figured that Kaz was hiding more letters from him, but it still hurts to know that he is. Bitterly, he crumbles it up and tosses it. The bin is so cold that Wylan can see frost forming on it, so he kicks it back inside the Slat rather than picking it up again. 

Finally feeling the tendrils of exhaustion seep into his body, he makes his way to his room, longing for the plethora of blankets waiting. But he stops halfway down the long hall when he sees Jesper leaving his own room, shutting his door carefully. Wylan stands there stupidly, waiting for Jesper to notice him, even though he could easily just walk past him or greet him himself. Thankfully, Jesper looks up and his eyes widen slightly when he sees Wylan. 

“Saints, how long have you been standing there?” Jesper asks with a light laugh. 

“Not long. I was just-” He gestures to his door lamely. 

Jesper nods and comes closer and now that he's under more adequate light, Wylan’s mouth waters. All Saints, Jesper Fahey in night attire does not leave much to the imagination. The loose v-neck shirt hangs slightly off his shoulder and gives Wylan a nice view of his chest. His eyes flick down to Jesper’s pants and the tightness of them allows him to eye his bulge without subtly. Wylan’s senses flood back into him when Jesper shifts slightly. He forces his gaze back up and sees Jesper looking at him with a small smirk. Wylan speaks before Jesper can call him out on his staring. 

“What are you doing up?” Wylan forces himself to maintain eye contact. 

Jesper thankfully lets it go. “I kept waking up, thought some tea would help me sleep.” 

“Oh. Well, you won't find any tea in the kitchen, sadly.” Wylan offers a sympathetic smile. 

Jesper’s lip twitches down into an almost minuscule frown. “Oh, that's too bad. I'll just keep counting sheep I guess.” 

Jesper starts to turn back to his room and the words are out of Wylan’s mouth before he even registers them. 

“I have some tea. In my room, I could get some for you. I mean, if you'd like.” It's a bit of an embarrassing ramble that leaves him flushed. 

Jesper looks surprised at the offer for a moment before his small frown quirks up into a confused smile. “If you're sure?” 

Jesper’s giving him an out. The easiest out ever. He should just change his mind and say goodnight. But he does have the tea, and perhaps it wouldn't be such a horrible idea for him to indulge as well. Sleep never comes easily, if at all. And maybe it would ease his fears of a new person in the Slat, right across the hall from him, if he spent a little time with Jesper. 

“Yes, it's no problem,” Wylan nods. “I’ll go get it now.” 

“Alright. I’ll wait in the kitchen?” 

Wylan nods shortly and quickly sidesteps around Jesper to get to his room. He fumbles with his key, finally managing to unlock his door after about a minute. The warmth of his room immediately wraps him in an embrace that tries to drag him to bed; he has to wretch out of it in order to go find the tea. Riffling through the several boxes that litter his desk, he curses his organization skills. His chemicals are organized just fine, perfectly even, but anything else he owns he kind of just stuffs into whatever box or container he can find. Finally, at the bottom of a wooden box, he finds some tea bags carefully wrapped in a cloth napkin. Wylans breath hitches when he pulls them out. 

It's his mother's blend. As a child, he had trouble falling asleep so his mother would blend and brew tea with sleep-inducing properties. On his last night at home, his last day waking up in his childhood bed, he had packed it last minute. He had worries about whether or not he would be able to fall asleep once he was in Belendt. Of course, whether or not he has tea for his insomnia became the least of his worries regarding his trip to Belendt. Quickly, he blinks his tears away and wonders if he should brew these or spend more time looking for other tea bags. There are only a few left, and he's given up on trying to replicate it ages ago. He reserves it for the especially awful nights. Panic attacks, nightmares, unbearable paranoia, things like that. Maybe Jesper’s having an especially awful night? Sleeping in a new environment can be stressful, especially in a building with seasoned killers and criminals that he’s just expected to trust. Much like how Wylan felt his first night in the Slat.

With a sigh, he takes two of the tea bags, leaving only four left. On his way out the door, he grabs two mugs and his kettle from his cluttered desk. Though, when he’s in the doorway he turns back and quickly shoves a spare phosphorus bomb in his pocket before he leaves to join Jesper in the kitchen. Can never be too safe in the barrel. He pads to the kitchen, walking incredibly soft and trying not to clink the mugs and kettle together. He stops in his tracks and nearly drops them when he sees Jesper. 

Jesper’s sitting at the island spinning and twirling one of his revolvers around his hand with practiced ease. How did Wylan not notice he was armed when they talked in the hall? Maybe because you were too busy checking him out, his mind unhelpfully supplies. In the Slat, it's more common than not to be armed, but he doesn’t know Jesper. He could shoot him right now and flee into the night before anyone, before Kaz could investigate the sound of a gunshot. His hand inches toward the pocket that holds his phosphorus bomb. Commotion overtakes his mind, as fight or flight have a fierce argument, each demanding dominance. Should he throw the bomb and fight? Should he run?

Before he can make up his mind, Jesper looks up and notices him with a smile. 

“Oh, hey! Did you get the tea?” 

Wylan can’t nod, eyes refusing to leave the revolver dancing between Jesper’s fingers. Jesper notices his gaze. 

“Don’t worry it’s not loaded,” he says with a chuckle.

And rather than putting the gun down, or opening the chamber to show Wylan the lack of bullets, he presses the gun to his temple and squeezes the trigger. The click rings out throughout the room, but Jesper’s still there, no bullet through his skull. Wylan exhales. Never did he consider it possible, but he thinks he might’ve actually met someone crazier than Kaz Brekker. He shakes his head in disbelief as he finally walks over to join Jesper in the kitchen. 

“Sorry, about that, I’m just jittery I guess,” Wylan laughs awkwardly, back turned to Jesper and facing the sink. He quickly fills up the kettle and places it on the burner, lighting the stove. When he turns back around he sees Jesper is smiling at him. 

“It’s fine.” Jesper waves away his apology and finally places the gun down on the counter. “I never got to thank you earlier. For the gorgeous tattoo and the warm welcome.” 

Nobody has ever thanked him for a tattoo. To be fair, he never expects a thank you. He’s just doing his job. 

“You’re welcome,” he smiles. “How’d it go? With Kaz, I mean. He likes to spare details.” 

“I think it went well!” Jesper grins proudly, radiantly. “Though, I don’t have much to compare it to.” 

“One thing Kaz did say, is that you’re a pretty damn good shot.” He leans forward, resting his shoulders on the counter. “That’s high praise from him.”

“Well, of course, it is! Best shot in the damned country, darling,” Jesper winks. 

Darling.

Wylan doesn’t mind his blush so much this time. “Okay, best shot in the country, where’d you learn to shoot?” 

“Best shot in the damned country,” he corrects with a sly smile. “My mother taught me,” Jesper sighs wistfully, but his smile stays plastered. 

Before Wylan can ask more, Jesper jolts suddenly, as if remembering something. 

“Oh, Saints, I completely forgot! Thank you so much for fixing my coat! You have no idea how much it means.” He takes Wylan’s hand in his own. 

Wylan’s eyes widen both at the abrupt change in subject and the contact. Jesper’s hand in his own feels… odd. Odd, but good. Nice, he decides. It’s nice. Contact like this is rare in the Slat, in the barrel, even. Sure, there are plenty of eager, sleazy hands out there willing to jump at any opportunity for crude intimacy, but nobody out there offers this. Something as simple as holding someone’s hand, a stranger’s hand, Jesper’s hand leaves him feeling serene. He never wants to let go.

“Of course.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off their interlinked hands. “It’s a beautiful coat, I’ve never seen anything like it here.” 

“It was made back in Novyi Zem. Belonged to her, to my mother.” Jesper sounds sad, and Wylan can understand the context well enough. 

It’s not an uncommon thing in the barrel, in fact, it’s more common than not. People without a mother, without a father, without either. Perhaps it’s a bit morbid and horrible of him to immediately water down Jesper’s sadness over his dead mother to something as trivial as a part of barrel life. 

“Novyi Zem,” Wylan repeats with interest and finally looks back up to Jesper. “What’s it like out there?” 

“Oh, it’s breathtaking out there.” Jesper’s gray eyes shine with longing and Wylan loses himself in them. “Enormous jurda fields everywhere, long rivers, gorgeous seas with clean, clear water. And the sun, Saints it shines so bright there, I didn’t even know what smog was before I arrived here. It’s nothing like Kerch, nothing at all.” 

Jesper’s description of his home country is so vivid, so earnest, Wylan swears he can feel the countryside sun fill his body with warmth. He’s had the privilege to travel and see the world when his father would take him along on business trips. Fjerda, Ravka, Shu Han. All fascinating and charming in their own way, but never Novyi Zem. Studying the country had been one of the few highlights of his tutoring growing up. A culture that celebrates people's blessings and all the wonderful things they can do, rather than detest the things they can’t. To Wylan, that concept seems impossible. 

“It sounds perfect,” Wylan murmurs. 

Jesper nods. “I miss it like crazy, but I don’t think I’d go back. Not now.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Something about this life, the chaos,” Jesper shrugs. “It’s electrifying.” 

Suddenly, the kettle whistles high and sharp. Wylan turns away to take it off the burner and despises how his hand feels unattached to Jesper’s. Methodically, he places the tea bags in their mugs and pours the boiler water in. He sighs in contentment when the steam from the water rises up and blows in his face. Carefully carrying the mugs in steady hands, he walks around the island and sits beside Jesper, and hands him his mug. Together, they watch the steam rise from their cups as they wait for the tea to steep. 

It’s comfortable and warm. Too domestic of a scene for who they are, and where they are. A Crow and a Dreg. Gang members, murderers, and criminals. Though it seems even killers need to sit down for a cup of tea every once in a while. Wylan enjoys silences and is content to spend the rest of the evening like this, but it’s clear Jesper does not feel the same. 

“What’s it like?” He asks quietly. “Being a Crow? Having that status?” 

“Honestly?” 

Jesper nods. 

“Tedious. Not as exciting as you would think, at least not for me. There are tattoos, then bombs, then finances. I go to bed and wake up to do it all again in the morning,” Wylan answers. 

“That sounds like busywork,” Jesper says. 

It’s a bit too amusing that Jesper sounds terrified at the prospect of it, but he understands. From everything he’s gathered about Jesper thus far, he isn’t someone that can remain stagnant. He’s restless and eager for whatever his new, dangerous life has to offer him. Wylan finds it endearing.

“Don’t worry,” Wylan laughs softly. “I don’t imagine Kaz sticking you at a desk. I like it though, the routine. I like being busy.” 

Wylan finally raises his mug to his lips and sips slowly, relishing in and savoring the comforting flavor. Jesper does the same and it takes all of Wylan’s self-control to not react when he groans into the mug. 

“Saints, Wylan this is amazing.” Jesper takes another sip. “What’s in it?” 

“I’m not exactly sure, it was my mother’s recipe. I can taste the chamomile and lavender, but that’s about it,” He shrugs. 

“And those help? With insomnia?” 

Wylan nods as he drinks. “Apigenin is a flavonoid, or a chemical compound in chamomile. It induces sleepiness and reduces stress and anxiety by binding to the receptors in the brain responsible, the benzodiazepines. They calm, or sedate the mind,” he explains between sips. “As for lavender, the potent chemicals also act as anxiety relievers. Linalool, linalyl acetate, and camphor all interact with the brain in ways that discourage restlessness.” 

Wylan takes a long sip. 

“Wow.”

He looks up to Jesper, and he’s looking at Wylan with such awe and amazement, it makes him feel vulnerable in a way he’s never had before. 

“What?” 

“You just know all that? Like, that’s all stored up in your brilliant little brain?” 

Wylan’s cheeks heat up. “I- yes? It’s just chemistry. And a bit of psychological science. S’not that impressive.” 

“ A bit of psychological science,” Jesper repeats incredulously and squints at him. “You want to know what a bit of psychological science really is? I get a big ol’ dopamine release whenever I’m down at Makker’s.” Jesper laughs. “Wylan, you’re brilliant, that is wildly impressive. I didn’t even know half the words you said!” 

Wylan’s not sure how to react, but his cheeks feel like they’ve been set ablaze. 

Wylan, you’re brilliant.  

Has he ever heard those words before? Anything even vaguely similar? No, not that he can recall. Growing up, insults and words of degradation have loomed over him. He doesn’t know how to handle compliments, his relationship with flattery is abysmal. Words of “praise” had always been delivered with mockery. Even though he knows, he knows that Jesper is being sincere in his admiration, he can’t help but shy away from it, feeling unworthy of it. 

“Thank you,” he barely manages, speaking softly into his mug. Jesper smiles at him. 

They finish their tea without further conversation, but it’s not silent. Jesper drums his fingers on the counter, hums, spins his revolver around some more, yawns loudly. Anything to eliminate the quiet, Wylan assumes. Once they’re both done; mugs empty, eyelids heavy, and movement sluggish, they stand. Wylan grabs his kettle and Jesper grabs his revolver, they both carry their mugs.

Slowly, they make their way back down the hall, to their rooms. When they reach the adjacent doors, they pause, unsure. Wylan decides to be the one to break the silence. 

“I never thanked you. For saving Kaz’s life,” his voice is clouded with fatigue. 

Jesper nods. “Part of the job, isn’t it?” 

“Still. Thank you, really.” 

“Of course. Thank you for the tea,” Jesper smiles sleepily, and it might just be Wylan’s favorite of all his smiles. 

Jesper holds his mug out for Wylan to take back. 

“No,” Wylan shakes his head. “You can keep it. Your room’s a bit empty, it could use some decoration.” 

He hardly considers a mug decoration, but he wants Jesper to keep it. Maybe to remember this night by. Wylan knows he will, whenever he sees his mug, he’ll think back to tonight. 

“Alright. Goodnight, Wylan. Sweet dreams.” 

“Goodnight, Jesper.” 

Wylan turns away first and goes into his room, beyond ready for rest.

Notes:

Hey, thank you so much for reading and thank you so so much for all of the positive feedback on this story! Real quick note, I’ve been wondering if I should leave the smut implied in the writing or just write it explicitly (writing it in detail would change the fic rating from mature to explicit). That is ways away, but I just wanted some feedback on that so please let me know :)

Chapter 3: III: Wylan

Notes:

Sorry this is so late, I've been the busiest I've ever been in a long time and finals kicked my ass. So enjoy 8k+ words this chapter :)

Wylan wakes up to the sounds of the Slat. The disruption of Anika and Keeg stomping around upstairs and dishes clattering in the kitchen. It's later than he usually wakes up, he can tell from how much sunlight streams in through his window. Though he isn't too upset about it, he hasn't slept that well in ages. 

Sleepily, he pads over to his wardrobe and picks out his clothes. A simple white button-up with brown pants and a mauve overcoat with plain brown shoes to finish it off. He dresses quickly, eager to start his day. As he finishes dressing, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the full-length mirror attached to his wardrobe on his way out the door. His hair is tousled from sleep and needs to be combed and the bags under his eyes are still there but less prominent. 

Walking into the kitchen, he sees Kaz reading at the table with an irritated expression. Of course, the origin of the expression being Jesper sitting beside him, still in his sleepwear, speaking rapidly. His hands wave and swing around every which way and he speaks very, very loudly. Horrifyingly, Wylan sees that Jesper is nursing a large cup of coffee. The last thing that man needs is caffeine. 

Kaz looks up at Wylan momentarily before returning to his document. However, Jesper lights up like a firefly on the first evening of summer and somehow his energy is renewed with vigor. 

“Good morning, Wylan!” 

Wylan is both envious and hates his morning ardor. He hasn't met a morning person in years . Most people are just dull and irritable throughout the entire day, every day. 

“Morning,” he yawns and pours himself a cup of coffee. He sips on it slowly and savors the bitter taste and the strong smell of the grounds that invade his senses. 

Kaz hands Jesper a note and tells him to run it up to Anika in her room. Jesper takes it with a nod and a smile and practically dashes up the stairs. Wylan and Kaz both watched him with incredulity. 

“Wylan.” 

Wylan looks back to Kaz and raises his eyebrows in question, still sipping on his coffee. 

“I'll need fifty fireworks for tomorrow.” 

“Fifty?” Wylan frowns into his cup. “I’ll need to go out for more supplies,” he takes a seat across from Kaz. “And what's tomorrow?” 

“You’ll know tonight, I'll need your help tomorrow.” Kaz slides him a stack of kruger to pay for the supplies he needs across the filthy table that nobody bothers to clean. “If you're going out, bring Fahey.” 

He presses his lips together and takes the kruger. “I don’t need to be babysat,” Wylan says, a bit offended.

“Of course not,” Kaz says easily. “Jesper does. To be frank with you Wylan, I’m about this close to punching him in the jaw to make him shut up.” He pinches his gloved fingers together with a minuscule gap for emphasis. 

Wylan snorts. “He’s a bit enthusiastic, isn't he?” 

As if an answer to his question, Jesper bounds, no, sprints down the stairs and practically flies off of the last step to join them back in the kitchen. He's not even panting. 

“Get dressed,” Kaz snaps to Jesper before he can open his mouth. But he does anyway. 

“Why?” 

Behind Jesper, Wylan can see Kaz pressing his fingers together harshly while staring at the back of the sharpshooter's head. Wylan decides to save him before Kaz can break his jaw. 

“We’re going shopping,” Wylan drawls without mirth, partly muffled into his quickly draining cup. 

Jesper seems absolutely delighted at the prospect and is immediately setting down the hall to his room. Wylan’s sure his boundless energy alone would be enough to power all of Geldstraat. Crudely, he wonders how long it'll take the barbarity of the barrel to snuff out Jesper’s flame of enthusiasm. A few days? A couple of weeks? Several more months? 

“Don't let him handle the money. Not a single bill,” Kaz says seriously and Wylan turns back to him. “Last thing I need is to fish him out of a gambling den.” 

Ah, yes. Jesper Fahey the notorious gambler that doesn’t know when or how to quit. Wylan’s heard various rumors between him betting money he doesn’t have to betting the clothes on his back.

“And if he wanders off on his own?” 

“You're the babysitter, remember?” Kaz answers mockingly as he stands with his papers. “Be back by the sixth bell. No later.” Then he heads upstairs, presumably to his office. 

Wylan scoffs into his now empty cup and sets it down on the table harshly. He does not frequent the streets of the barrel often, despite his current occupation. It’s not the chaos, crime, or even the bodies he often sees in the gutters that he has a problem with. Not to say that he finds those aspects of the barrel pleasing or acceptable, but he hardly bats an eye at it all now. No, his problem is with the permanent fear of who might be out there. Still out there, waiting to finish what his father commissioned. In here, he was as safe as he could possibly be. In a building with seasoned killers who would fight tooth and nail for him, behind his locked door that even Kaz had trouble picking, and surrounded by enough explosives to turn his father’s house to ashes. 

So, needless to say, Wylan does not enjoy spending time out and about. Jesper, however, seems the type to parade around the grimy city. Window shopping, chatting up vendors, stopping to watch street performers, anything that usually excites tourists. As endearing as he finds Jesper’s excitement, he knows his trip for gunpowder is bound to take many, many, detours. 

He puts his cup in the pile of dishes in the sink. Who's turn is it to do the dishes? Keeg’s? Muzzen? Before he can continue to wonder about the incomplete chore, Jesper is back in the kitchen. Wylan’s eyes widen almost comically. 

Jesper's dressed absolutely atrociously. Or it would be atrocious, should anyone else be the one to wear it, he's sure. Because on Jesper? On Jesper, it somehow looks stunning. 

He's wearing a muted purple and pastel orange, checkered coat overtop a beige button-up shirt that isn't even buttoned all the way. Which doesn't sound too awful, until you take into account the navy blue pleated pants. It's a horrible outfit, really. The colors clash violently and should flush Jesper out completely. But they don't, and the outfit is impeccable on him. All of it, even down to his leather dress shoes and his holsters where the twin revolvers rest snugly.

Jesper’s guns suddenly make Wylan’s pockets feel barren. 

“Ready to go, darling?” Jesper smiles at his stare. 

“Just need to grab something. Stay here.” Wylan quickly walks back to his room. 

His flash bombs. He should bring flash bombs with him. Not to say he doesn't have faith in Jesper and his abilities, but he’s also learned to have faith in himself. Quickly, he unlocks his door and makes a beeline for his desk where dozens of flash bombs lay scattered. He grabs five and shoves them into his satchel, probably a bit too carelessly before slipping it on over his shoulder. On his way out, the glint of something catches his eye and he pauses. It's the knife Kaz gifted him. 

It's long, with a dark black handle and a shiny blade that he polishes often despite it never being used. The knife isn't elegant by any means, and Kaz probably stole it from a nice restaurant ages ago. He looks around for the sheath and slides it in easily. Should he bring it? He doesn't know how to use it, not really. Sure, he knows enough to give himself a chance to run or where to strike to kill. How to stab, where to stab, whether or not to leave the knife in, pull it out, yank it out with a slash. In that regard, he trusts his efficiency. However, he's hardly skilled; throwing the knife he wouldn't dare and fighting with a knife he'd be sure to stab himself. 

With a sigh, he slides the sheathed blade snugly into his belt and covers it with his coat. Looking in the mirror, he's glad that his large coat conceals it. 

After locking his door behind him, he returns to the kitchen to find Jesper looking out the dirty, smudged window and having a very animated conversation with a bird. The bird can't hear him, and he can't hear the bird, which is the least bizarre thing about it. But Jesper nods along as if he understands the muted tweets and chirps with perfect clarity. The pigeon just tilts its head and scratches its beak. 

“Jesper, what are you doing?” Wylan asks because he can't not ask. 

Jesper spins around and doesn't even look embarrassed or ashamed for a moment at the fact that he's been caught conversing with a bird. In fact, he almost looks upset at being interrupted. 

“Chatting with Molly, of course,” He says like Wylan is the weird one. Which he is a weird one, just not weird enough to talk with pigeons through glass. 

Wylan decides to leave it at that, never mind the fact that he named the damned bird. He's met crazier people. Shaking his head, he goes to the door and waits for Jesper to follow. Jesper bids the bird, Molly, goodbye with a wave then jogs over to Wylan. 

As they walk out of the slat, his senses are immediately overwhelmed. The bright sun shines in his eyes and forces him to squint as he walks. The pungent smell of gutters and broken sewer lines attack his nose and he scrunches it up as if it would help. Already, he wishes he had put on a thicker coat because it is cold and the wind blows harshly. 

Jesper notices right away. 

“Would you like my coat, darling? Or we could turn back and you can grab your own?” Jesper asks him with a charming smile. 

Wylan considers it. On one hand, he really, really wants to wear Jesper's coat. It's big, looks warm, and not to mention the fact that wearing something of Jesper’s would make him feel some type of way. A good type of way, he's certain. On the other hand, it's a hideous coat that he knows he can't pull off. Not that people judge in the barrel. Countless people wander the streets in tattered, torn, and bloody attire. Either way, he clings to what little pride he has left. 

“I'm fine, thank you, though. Let's just go.” His teeth chatter as he talks, but they both ignore it and set off toward the city. 

They walk side by side, Jesper's hands resting at his side, leaving his guns perfectly accessible. Wylan clutches his coat to himself as tightly as possible, which makes him look impossibly small. Apparently, Jesper has had enough of his shaking and shivering, because Wylan finds himself with a coat draped over his shoulders. He wants to protest and shove it back into Jesper’s arms, but his body instantly feels warmer. So he slides his arms into the large sleeves and pointedly ignores Jesper’s gaze. 

Their walk isn't silent by any means. As they exit Fifth Harbor, there's screaming, shouting, laughing, and just various sounds filling the streets. But it feels quiet and awkward as Jesper just follows Wylan, who hasn't offered any explanation or insight on where they're going. 

“So…” Jesper draws out. “What're we shopping for?” 

“Gunpowder. Kaz wants fireworks.” 

“Really?” Jesper frowns. “Nothing exciting?” 

Before Wylan can argue that fireworks are plenty exciting, Jesper is grabbing Wylan’s shoulder and points eagerly at a stroopwafel stand. 

“Wylan, look! I haven't had those in ages.” Jesper’s practically vibrating with excitement. 

Even though Jesper isn't looking at him, Wylan swallows his smile. They have plenty of time until the sixth bell. 

“Would you like some?” He asks and cringes a little when the vendor notices Jesper’s excitement and grins like a shark. They are going to be completely overcharged. 

“Yes,” Jesper nods his head firmly and grasps Wylan’s hand to drag him over. 

Wylan trips over his feet a bit as he tries to keep up. Hopefully, the redness of his face can be attributed to the short run rather than his infatuation with holding Jesper’s hand. 

“How many?” The woman at the stand asks with a smile that isn't at all kind. 

“Two!” Jesper smiles. 

The vendor pauses and hums, as if considering. “Thirty kruger.” 

Wylan's jaw drops at the sheer audacity. But Jesper is already reaching into his pocket to pay her. Wylan catches Jesper’s wrist before he can hand her the bills. 

“Fifteen kruger,” Wylan snaps. It's still far too high, but he plans to haggle to the point they're practically robbing her. 

Her eyes narrow as she turns her complete attention toward Wylan. “Twenty,” she sneers. 

Wylan’s face remains steady as he glares. He can feel Jesper beside him, shifting almost nervously. The woman’s cart is old and splintering. Behind her, the stroopwafels lay individually packaged, he can tell that they're old as well and she doesn't bother to keep them heated. They won't taste great and will be cold, warm at best, but Jesper wants them. So he grins when he catches sight of the red-colored license sticker plastered on the floor of her cart, peeking out from under her foot. 

“You'll give us ten for eight kruger, and I won't report you to the Stadwatch for an expired license,” Wylan smiles smugly. 

Various expressions cross her face. Pale-white fear at the threat of her seemingly only source of income being seized by the Stadwatch. Furious-red anger at the fact that she's been bartered, no, blackmailed into giving away stroopwafels for less than a single bill of kruger each. Wylan doesn't feel bad. She tried to con them first. 

Begrudgingly, she packages ten stroopwafels in a large paper bag and hands it to Wylan with a glare. He takes it with a fake smile and finally lets go of Jesper’s wrist, watching carefully to make sure he pays no more than eight kruger. She snatches it and snarls at them to leave. They do, and Wylan bites into one of the sweet treats before handing the bag to Jesper. 

“How'd you do that? And why'd you do that?” Jesper asks with a wild grin, looking a bit amazed.

Wylan scoffs. “Her license was expired by three years, it should have been a blue sticker. Not to mention, paying thirty kruger for stale stroopwafels is more criminal than our occupation.” He spares a glance and can't help his smile at Jesper’s caramel-covered face. “And I'm Kerch. Haggling, bartering, bargaining, whatever you want to call it, is a sacred thing.” 

“Sacred?” Jesper asks through a mouthful. 

“ Sacred is Ghezen, and in commerce, we see His hand,” Wylan recites. 

It's a Kerch prayer he recites every night. Not for himself. No God, Saint, or divine power has ever helped him. He attributes his survival to nobody but himself (and maybe Kaz, but that's neither here nor there). He recites that prayer every night with hands clasped for his mother. Marya Hendricks was a very religious woman, and in his youth, they would pray together every night, even if he didn't understand her faith. So, no, he doesn't believe in Ghezen as a God or a deity, but as a representation of Kerch culture. 

“I've heard people say that— Ghezen, a lot. What's it mean?” Jesper sounds curious and Wylan is happy to answer. 

“Ghezen is the God of industry, trade, and commerce. People pray to him and worship him every minute of every day. Work is prayer and charity is honor,” Wylan explains as he finishes his first stroopwafel and reaches into the bag for another. 

“ Charity is honor,” Jesper repeats, amused. “Not many honorable people in the barrel, are there?” He grins with something dangerous in his eye. 

“Now you're getting it,” Wylan laughs lightly. “If you ever find yourself in a less than ideal situation, swearing your innocence on Ghezen’s Hand usually works.” 

“Ghezen’s hand. Now that one, I’ve heard used as a swear.” 

“Guilty.” Wylan shrugs with a sheepish smile, but he doesn't feel guilty at all. 

“Think I'd be any good at haggling?” Jesper wipes at his face and he looks like he's itching to try. 

Wylan appraises him. On one hand, Jesper doesn't seem to know the appropriate price to pay for anything or how to spot a scam. On the other hand, Jesper has enough charisma to get practically anything he could ever want. A handsome smile and a subtle wink from that face would surely drive a harder bargain than Wylan could ever pull off. 

“Yeah, you'd manage.” 

Jesper lights up and smiles widely, as if elated to earn Wylan’s praise. They continue walking while they enjoy their waffles, Jesper talking aimlessly whenever he's not chewing, and Wylan nodding along with mild interest and occasionally chiming in. This is leagues better than what he expected. He doesn't mind being out and about anymore, so long as Jesper is pointing to every pigeon they see and claiming that Molly followed them. And as the sun continues its journey west, signaling noon, he doesn't feel too cold anymore. But he still keeps Jesper’s coat on. So if he leads Jesper the long way to his usual chemist's shop, that's only for him to know. 

He walks into the familiar shop and finds comfort in the bell chiming, immediately walking over to the shopkeep. They've never told Wylan their name, and he prefers it that way; they don't know Wylan’s name either. Jesper is looking around the store with wonder, eyes flickering between the various blueprints on the walls and the bubbling beakers over burners. Wylan is quick to tell him not to touch anything. 

“What'll it be, little red?” They ask him while leaning over on the counter, resting on their arms. 

Wylan’s given up on fighting the nickname ages ago. Instead, he gave them one too. 

“Hey, Flint. Just some black powder today.” Wylan thought it was a pretty fitting name for someone that provided him with most of his demolition supplies. 

They turn and begin packing Wylan’s order. “How much?” 

“Boss wants me to make fifty fireworks.” 

He trusts Flint enough to give him the appropriate amount. They only vaguely know what Wylan does for work, both of them understanding that certain things are better left unsaid. So Flint never asks. Just as Wylan never asks where they get all of this. Flint gets their money, and Wylan gets his gunpowder. 

Flint places his order down on the table between them carefully. “Three thousand.” 

Wylan hands them the kruger Kaz gave him that morning. He hasn't bothered to count it, but he can see it's certainly more than three thousand. Oh well, Flint deserves the tip, and he doesn't know how much business this place gets other than himself. Slowly, Wylan lowers it into his satchel’s most secure, padded pocket. 

“Remember,” Flint starts, “though it's rare, gunpowder can activate from—” 

“Friction, so don't be stupid. Yeah, thanks, Flint,” Wylan smiles. They give the same warning every single time. 

“So, will I be seeing a light show anytime soon?” Flint asks. 

“Not sure,” Wylan says because he isn't. Who knows what newest scheme Kaz could have possibly conjured that needs fifty fireworks. “I’ll see you!” 

They wave and turn back to whatever they were working on before. Wylan turns to leave and quickly looks around for Jesper and finds him near a shelf. He’s staring closely at a very bring pink bottle with his hands behind his back, not touching. 

“Wylan, what's this?” Jesper asks him as soon as he walks over, his voice filled with curiosity. 

Wylan presses his lips together to keep from laughing. “That's dye.” 

Jesper deflates a little. “Oh.” 

Wylan breaks and laughs, pulling Jesper along to the door. “What did you think it was?” 

“I don't know! Something cool!” 

The bell dings against the door as they exit back into the filthy streets. Great, now they could head back to the slat. Gunpowder secured, fireworks to make, and a bag of leftover stroopwafels. As Wylan began to turn the block, Jesper put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. His heart stills and he looks around frantically, wondering what Jesper stopped them for. He isn’t sure if he should feel relieved or exasperated when he sees Jesper staring at a coat displayed in a window. 

“I need that coat, Wylan.” 

“I'm sure you have plenty of coats.” He wasn’t sure, but it felt like a safe assumption. 

“Of course I do,” Jesper scoffs, already moving his feet towards the shop. “I just don't have that one.” 

It's beautiful, really. Wylan can hardly blame Jesper’s fixation on it. It's a knee-length coat in a deep shade of yellow, almost gold-looking, especially now as the sun shines on it perfectly. The large buttons made of polished metal reflect in the sunlight. It hangs sleekly on the mannequin, creating an elegant silhouette and there's no doubt in his mind that Jesper could pull it off with ease. As they get closer, Wylan can tell that it's wool with a soft and smooth texture that compliments the long, fitted, and slightly flared sleeves wonderfully. Wylan makes good kruger working for Kaz, but even his wallet hurts at the sight of it. 

Jesper pushes open the doors and makes a beeline for the coat. The store owner makes her way over to them with a smile and Wylan just barely has enough time to hiss at Jesper. 

“Stop looking so eager. She'll overcharge you,” he whispers through a smile and she gets closer. 

Jesper schools his expression and plasters on an indifferent face, assessing the coat almost lazily. 

“Hello, welcome!” The owner greets them. “How can I help you?” 

It's polite service, which Wylan doesn't find too surprising. This is one of the nicest business establishments he's seen in the barrel. The paint isn't peeling, the roof isn't leaking, and there aren't any cracks in the floor. As he continues to look around, he's impressed when his eyes fall on the security camera tucked neatly into the corner of the ceiling. 

“What can you tell me about this coat?” Jesper asks with a bored tone. 

“Oh! That's one of our newest, imported straight from Ravka. It's one of a kind, really. It goes for about four thousand kruger if you're interested.” She took the coat off the mannequin so Jesper could get a better look at it. 

Wylan suppressed a low whistle at the steep price. It seemed reasonable, if what she said about the coat was true, but hardly anyone in the barrel has that kind of money to throw around. No wonder this place is empty. Wylan expected Jesper to turn and cut his losses, but he glances at him and sees a dangerous glint in his eyes. Saints above, Jesper's going to try to haggle. 

Jesper runs his fingers over the smooth wool, his thumb rising over the buttons. “Four thousand is pretty steep for a coat, don't you think?” 

She smiles politely, but her tone betrays her annoyance. “I'm afraid that's the price, sir. Non-negotiable.” 

“Oh, I’m sure we can come to a compromise,” Jesper says flirtatiously, giving her an easy smile. 

Her smile falters and she flushes a bit. “Well, I—” she clears her throat. “What did you have in mind?” 

And when Jesper leans in further to smirk dangerously at her and brush a bit of her blonde hair out of the way, Wylan can tell she's done for. Not that he blames her. 

“Favors for favors?” Jesper murmurs. Wylan feels himself blush alongside her, even though the words aren't directed toward him. “Sweeten the deal, and maybe I’ll come visit you tonight. What time do you close?” 

Wylan watches all of her blood rush to her face as she stammers out an answer. 

“I suppose I could part with twenty-five hundred.” She swallows. “And I close at six bells.” 

Jesper whispers something else that Wylan can't hear and then she's taking the coat and walking to the register. Jesper turns around and gives Wylan a huge grin and two thumbs up before he follows her. He shakes his head in disbelief. Jesper managed to bargain a gorgeous coat down to almost half the price with his charm alone. Wylan exits the shop and waits by the door. He can't help but wonder if Jesper would make good on his promise to meet the shop owner later tonight. 

He also wonders why he cares. They’re barely friends, and even that's a generous term. Having known him for about a day, he wrecks his brain for a reason why he could possibly be upset. Briefly, he considers this as a poor display of babysitting, but Jesper didn't flirt his way into a gambling den so he considers it alright. Wylan kicks a pebble around as he waits for Jesper to return. 

When he does, he's proudly wearing his new coat. It looks perfect on him, just like Wylan knew it would. 

“So how'd I do?” Jesper grins. 

Wylan starts walking. “Hm?” 

“I believe you said, and I quote, that I’d manage .” Jesper trails after him. 

“I’d call getting a coat half off and a date managing, wouldn't you?” 

“And when I don't go to visit her tonight? Is it called robbery?” 

Wylan finally turns around. “You're not coming back to her?” 

“Saints, no,” Jesper laughs. 

“Why not? She seemed into you.” 

Why does he care?

“Plenty of people are, it's hard not to be,” Jesper winks. “What use are my charming good looks if I can't exploit them?” 

Wylan isn't sure how to respond to that. 

“Well, it looks nice on you.” He turns back around and continues walking. 

Jesper drags Wylan into a side hug as they walk together and leans down to whisper in his ear. 

“I'm sure it'd look even nicer on your floor.” 

Wylan’s cheeks flush scarlet at the implication and he shoves Jesper away with a bit too much force to be considered playful or friendly. Jesper just laughs and easily falls into step beside him, undeterred. 

“Sorry, sorry!” He throws his hands up. “I've just always wanted to use that line.” 

Wylan’s face is still unbelievably hot. “Are you always like this?” 

“Like what? Charming? Hilarious? Talented? Devilishly handsome?” 

Yes, yes, yes, and yes to all of those. 

“Insufferable.” 

Suddenly, Wylan’s hand is being held by Jesper’s and he's being dragged down the street. 

“Would someone insufferable take you out to lunch, my treat?” Jesper asks with a smile over his shoulder. 

Wylan feels a small grin grace his face and it only grows when he sees Jesper's eyes fixate on it. 

“We just had stroopwafels,” he protests weakly. 

“That's hardly a meal.” Jesper fully turns around and takes his other hand, still leading Wylan while walking backward, masterfully weaving through crowds and avoiding bumping into people. “Besides, I need to show off my new coat.” 

Wylan looks down at their intertwined hands before meeting Jesper’s gaze again. “I suppose I could be convinced.” 

“Great! I know this place that has the best hutspot.” Jesper squeezes Wylan’s hands before letting go and it takes everything Wylan has not to snatch them right back. 

Wylan follows Jesper for a few blocks and he does his best to keep his head down. Thankfully, Jesper clears a way so Wylan doesn't get caught behind people or drawn away by vendors. Finally, they make it to the restaurant and wait to be seated. 

It's a quaint little place, not too filthy or crowded, and a strong smell of warm spices fills the air. A hostess comes by and leads them to a table with two seats across from each other. They take their seats and Wylan freezes momentarily when he’s handed a menu. He doesn't even bother to look down at it, knowing he'd either cry of embarrassment or frustration. Or both. 

“What are you getting?” Wylan asks quickly. 

Jesper doesn't look up from the menu when he answers, flicking through it with ease. Wylan can't help but feel a pang of envy and resentment. 

“I know I talked up the hutspot, but I’m thinking of getting the stamppot. Seriously, it's like heaven in a bowl.” Jesper closes the menu. “What about you?” 

“I'll get whatever you're getting,” Wylan says in a way he hopes doesn't betray his anxiety. 

Jesper just smiles softly and Wylan thinks it's his favorite of all his smiles. “We could always share.” 

Wylan blinks a few times to process what Jesper said. “That sounds good.” 

Jesper flags down a waiter and places their order, along with two cups of water. They're given their water quickly and Wylan takes a sip before he notices Jesper staring, resting his chin on his palm.

“What?” Wylan asks. 

“I ‘dunno,” Jesper shrugs. “You're just nice to look at.” 

Wylan flushes. 

“Especially when you do that,” Jesper smiles then takes a sip of his own water. 

Their waiter bringing them their food saves Wylan from responding, which he is immensely grateful for. He's sure his brain turned to mush at Jesper's words and his calculating gray eyes. Sure, he's been flirted with before, but it was usually crude comments about his ass or how his pale skin would bruise easily. 

Wylan takes a bite and looks back to Jesper. It's good, really good, but he wants to vomit. Because the table behind Jesper is being seated, which isn't a problem in and of itself, but it's who's sitting there. 

Miggson and Prior. 

He swallows his spoonful of food along with bile. 

“Jesper,” Wylan whispers, voice wavering. “We need to leave now .” 

“What? Why?” 

It takes an enormous amount of restraint not to yell at him. “ Now, Jesper .” Wylan’s eyes flick behind Jesper. 

Saints. 

Prior is staring at him with scrutiny, pitch-black eyes narrow like he's trying to remember where he knows Wylan’s face from. It’s been years and Wylan's face was younger back then. Maybe he wouldn't remember or recognize him. However, fate in all her cruelty, has other plans. 

Prior’s eyes widen comically then he smacks Miggson’s arm, who's looking at the menu. Wylan doesn't need to see anymore. 

He reaches across the table to grab Jesper’s hand to run out of the restaurant with him, though not before flipping their table in the narrow walkway. Hopefully, it will buy them some time. 

Wylan just runs. Runs faster than he's ever run in his life, dragging Jesper along right behind him. He weaves and bobs around crowds and various people telling them to watch it. His hand clutches the strap of his satchel while his other holds onto Jesper with a death grip. Vaguely, he can hear Jesper talking, no yelling, behind him, probably wondering what the hell is going on. 

“Are we dining and dashing? I think that's illegal, Wylan! Also, we barely dined!” Jesper is panting and heaving, but he still somehow manages to run his damned mouth. 

“You are a criminal for a living, shut the fuck up,” Wylan heaves, lungs threatening to fail. 

A gunshot rings out. 

Jesper finally seems to understand the situation because his legs move faster than Wylan’s and soon enough Wylan is the one being dragged along. They can't make it back to the slat or the Crow Club. Neither of them has the stamina. Not to mention, Wylan isn't too keen on showing Miggson and Prior where he spends most of his time. 

Another shot. Jesper’s still running. 

They make a turn that causes the sunlight to blare in his face, effectively blinding him. Wylan trips and tumbles to the ground, gathering all kinds of scrapes and bruises on the way. Jesper’s hand is gone. His eyes are clenched shut to avoid the sun and he winces at the gravel that presses into his palms, but he digs through his satchel anyways. The pounding footsteps get closer. His hands close around a flash bomb and he throws it behind him quickly, eyes still shut. 

Jesper’s hand is back. He’s being hauled up painfully and then they’re setting off again. His eyes open slowly Wylan can just barely make out the street they’re on. There's an alley nearby that they can duck into. If only to catch their breath and make a plan. Ghezen, Wylan needs to catch his breath.

Another shot. Jesper’s still running.

Wylan yanks on Jesper’s hand hard enough to break his momentum. They both stumble into the alley and press up against the wall. Jesper’s hands twirl around his revolvers as he watches the alley while Wylan clutches his aching side to help ease his breathing. They stand like that for a few minutes until Jesper finally turns to Wylan, guns still drawn. 

“Who were those guys?” 

The lie comes easily. “Dime lions.” 

Jesper nods his acceptance before his eyes widen with panic. 

“Wylan,” he exhales. 

“What?” Why can’t he catch his breath? 

“You’re bleeding.” 

Wylan looks down and pulls his hand away from his side. No wonder it aches, he’s been shot. It bleeds profusely and now that Jesper’s pointed it out, the shock and adrenaline wear off so the pain slams into Wylan with full force. His knees buckle and he would have collapsed onto the filthy alleyway ground if Jesper wasn’t there to catch him and guide him down to sit slowly. 

With labored breaths, Wylan slips off his satchel and unbuttons the coat and his shirt to get a better look. He lets out a strangled cry when the fabric of his shirt chafes against the wound when he pulls it back. Jesper kneels beside him, alternating between watching the alley entrance and Wylan. When he finally looks at the wound, he wants to cry with relief. It’s just a graze. But that doesn’t mean he still isn’t dripping blood like a broken faucet. It slowly starts to pool beneath him into a puddle on the ground. 

“Je-Jesper,” he gasps harshly. 

“We need to get you back to the slat.” Jesper’s voice is laced with panic. 

Wylan swallows hard and rests his head back against the alley wall. “I can’t walk like this.” 

“Okay, okay,” Jesper drops his revolvers and his shaking hands hover around Wylan. “Just tell me what needs to happen, what should I do?” 

Another pulse of pain washes over him and he blinks away the tears. “Pressure,” he manages through gritted teeth. 

Jesper quickly shrugs off his new coat and before Wylan can protest, it’s been pressed up against his side. He watches the beautiful golden wool become tainted as it soaks up his blood. Momentarily, he feels awful and guilty for ruining Jesper’s brand-new coat that he was so happy to have bartered for, but it’s quickly replaced with pain when the first tear slides down his cheek. Wylan weakly pushes Jesper’s hands away and clutches the coat firmly to his bleeding graze. 

“Jes-” he swallows a sob, “in my satchel. Find the thread, needle, and brandy.” 

Jesper says something that doesn’t quite register with Wylan’s ears, but the buckle of his satchel opening does, so he assumes Jesper’s doing what he asked. He fixes his gaze on clouds above that now cover the sun and desperately tries to make a shape out of them. Anything to keep his eyes from fluttering shut. Then Jesper’s hands are back and trying to take the ruined coat away. 

Wylan shakes his head slowly and regrets it immediately because his crown clenches with a throb. “Bleeding needs to stop first.” His mouth feels hot.

“Okay.” Jesper reaches his hand out to push Wylan’s hair up, removing it from the adhesive sweat of his forehead. 

Wylan’s hands are shaking terribly now. “You hold it, Jes’er, please.” 

Jesper’s hands gently move Wylan’s away and the pressure lets up when Jesper takes over. It feels better, not having the coat shoved harshly against his bleeding, gaping wound, but it won’t do him any good if it’s just resting there. 

“ Pressure,” Wylan hisses. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jesper says, applying a bit more pressure, but not nearly enough. 

“I’m already hurting. Just fucking press harder,” Wylan grits out. 

The coat is pressed up against him impossibly harder and a low groan of pain punches out of Wylan’s throat. His hand quickly shoots up to cover his mouth. Time may seem to have stopped for them, but Miggson and Prior are still out there.

“How long do I need to do this?” Jesper whispers and he sounds strained. Wylan can’t be sure why, his eyes are still clenched shut. 

“Five minutes,” he says, voice, stretched thin. “At least. It’s still bleeding.” 

Jesper applies more pressure, even harder and more insistent. It’s good, it’s what he should be doing, but more tears spill over. 

“How can I make this better?” Jesper asks. He sounds desperate. 

“Talk. Distract me.” 

“Okay. Okay, shit. I can do that. I’m great at talking,” Jesper says all in one breath. “Have you ever learned about Sankta Maradi? You taught me about Ghezen, I’ll teach you about her. Maradi lived near the shore of a bay on the coast of Novyi Zem…” 

Wylan listens as best he can to Jesper tell the tale of his homeland’s Saint. Something about her parting clouds and allowing moonlight to shine the way for two lovers to find each other so they could run away together. It’s a wonderful story that Jesper tells beautifully, and it makes Wylan’s ambiguous faith in Ghezen fall flat in comparison to a powerful, selfless Etherealki. His entire body pulses with heat as his spilling blood slows and throbs with pain as the pressure doesn’t let up. Eventually, Jesper’s rambling stops momentarily and Wylan can vaguely make out that he’s mumbling to himself, trying to figure out what to talk about next. 

“Jesper,” Wylan interrupts. “I think it stopped.” 

Jesper goes silent and slowly pulls his bloodied coat away from Wylan’s side. Wylan grimaces at the sight of it. It’s fairly deep, large, and gaping. His pale skin is colored an irritated pink and burning red around the wound. Wylan was right, the bleeding has stopped, but serous fluid still oozes out, and crystalline bits of yellow and red cling to the edges of it. The entirety of his side is a deep maroon, covered with his own dried blood, and has even started to flake in some places. 

Jesper gags then quickly covers his mouth and continues to retch into his palm. Realization and annoyance dawn on Wylan. 

“Are you fucking squeamish?” 

Jesper swallows harshly and turns his gaze away. 

Ghezen’s Hand, he’s going to have to do this himself.

“Of course you are,” Wylan mutters, seething both in pain and disbelief. “Just give me the shit.” He waves his hand at the supplies he had Jesper fish out of his satchel. 

Wylan tries to get his breathing under control as he watches Jesper screw open the brandy. He takes it with shaking hands and takes a large swig both for the pain and the nerves. His eyes flutter shut, only for a moment, as he welcomes the dull burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat and resting comfortably in his gut. When he opens his eyes again, Jesper is holding out the threaded needle to him and he has the decency to look ashamed. 

His fingers continue to tremble as he takes the needle but significantly less. The needle is a bit hot to the touch which means Jesper probably sterilized it when he wasn’t looking, but the scorching metal pales in comparison to his side. He shoves the brandy back in Jesper’s hands. 

“Pour,” Wylan says. 

“What?” 

“The brandy. Pour it over.” 

Wylan watches Jesper’s throat constrict. “I don’t- I don’t think I can do that, Wylan.” 

Wylan has never wanted to throttle someone more. And he’s known Kaz for years.

“ Fahey,” he snaps. “You do what I say or I swear to All Saints that you’ll find yourself out of the slat and back on the streets.” 

He doesn’t mean it, not really. Alright, maybe a little and he could most definitely make it happen, but it’s an empty threat either way. It just baffles him that Wylan is the one with the blisteringly painful wound, Wylan is the one talking Jesper through everything, and Wylan is the one about to stitch himself up. And Jesper has done nothing but gag, apply the pressure, and hesitate to pour the alcohol over his wound. 

“It’ll hurt,” Jesper protests weakly. 

“No shit,” Wylan barks, and he’s truly angry now. 

Jesper doesn’t say anything, but he stands. Before Wylan can ask what the fuck he’s doing, Jesper unbuckles and unloops his belt and folds it over. Through the haze of pain and teetering sobriety, Wylan understands. His jaw falls open and Jesper nestles the belt between his teeth. Wylan bites down unprompted and shuts his eyes shut with enough force to see spots. 

A shout shoots up out of his throat and muffles around the belt and gets caught behind his teeth. It burns, Saints, it burns like nothing he’s ever felt before. He pants, chest heaving up and down violently as the pain quells and settles into a permanent, dull ache. His mouth falls back open and the belt falls unceremoniously from his lips; his teeth marks are indented into the leather and it’s slick with saliva. 

Then Jesper is beside him, running fingers through his hair and it helps. Slowly but surely, he calms down and evens out his broken breathing to the point his tremors ease out into small, manageable vibrations. He grabs the brandy and swallows another swig as he brings the needle closer to the wound. Staring at it intently makes him remember how he got it. 

“Wat-watch the alley.” 

Jesper doesn’t reply, but soon enough the fingers aren’t tangled in his hair any longer, and he can hear two revolvers being picked up off the ground. 

He keeps bringing the needle impossibly closer to the wound, then yanks it away as soon as he anticipates the pain. Tears of pain quickly turn way to tears of frustration and desperation. In through his nose, out through his mouth, over and over until he feels the settles nicely with a faint buzz in his swimming head and his extremities tingle pleasantly. Right between aware enough to sew himself together and dull enough to not mind the pain as much as he would sober. He tries again. 

With his free hand, he fits his fist into his mouth to keep from screaming on the first pass of the needle and thread through his clammy skin. He wants to look away, and jerk away from the pain but he makes a broken, keening sound as he keeps going. In and out, up the expanse of the wound, as the thread wills it to shut. His entire body is taut with agony and concentration. At last, he makes the final stitch and his body slumps. Tears roll freely down his cheeks and mingle with his sweat, but he’s not done. Somehow he finds the strength to snip the thread and tie the sutures off. He tosses the bloody needle away, content to leave it in the filthy alley. 

Weakly, he reaches out and smacks Jesper’s thigh to get his attention. “Jesper,” he whimpers. 

Jesper is at his side in an instant. Buttoning up his shirt for him and carefully helping him to his feet. He gathers up the ruined coat in his arms and watches Jesper sling his satchel over his left shoulder while supporting most of Wylan’s weight on his right. Together, they stumble out of the alley, Jesper looking around frantically with paranoia, digits closed around his revolvers. They move with as much discretion as possible as Wylan directs Jesper to the Crow Club.

Before his mind can register what’s happening, Jesper is shooting at something, someone probably and he urges Wylan to walk faster with him. The shot rings in his ears and he doesn’t even bother with trying to run, he knows he can’t. In his peripheral, he sees Miggson drop and hears Prior shout. He jostles and hisses with pain when Jesper’s arms swoop under his legs and lifts him up. Jesper runs like that, carrying Wylan bridal style while Wylan buries his swimming head in the crook of Jesper’s neck to avoid the light. 

He shouldn’t fall asleep, he knows that. He’ll just rest for a while. Jesper will take care of him, he’s got this. Wylan clocks out, filtering in and out of consciousness as Jesper runs with him in his arms then he startles harshly when Jesper stills suddenly and slams his back up against a wall. Beneath him, Jesper’s chest is heaving and he pants desperately. 

Tentatively, he lifts his head up and sees that they’ve taken refuge around the corner of yet another alley. Gently, Jesper pushes his head back down and Wylan can’t find it in himself to protest. Jesper shifts him around so that he’s being held up with one arm then another shot rings out. He hears the definitive thud of a body falling to the ground and he assumes it’s Prior. He hopes it's Prior. 

“Okay, Wy,” Jesper wheezes out, low on air. “Do you know where we are?” 

His eyes blink open and he takes in their surroundings. Momentarily his eyes flick to the body. Hope has never done much for him, but he’s grateful for it today. 

“Go straight. Make two lefts then a right, we’ll be back in Fifth Harbor.” 

Jesper mumbles something that might be a thanks and then they’re moving again. It’s not a sprint this time, but Jesper does move quickly. He keeps his eyes open and aware for the rest of the journey, but as soon as he recognizes the streets of Fifth Harbor, he allows them to flutter shut. Back in Dreg’s territory, he’ll be fine and Jesper can navigate himself from here. 

When they arrive at the Crow Club, he can hear Jesper explain the events to a very concerned Muzzen. Muzzen tells them that Kaz is his back office, so Jesper sets off. 

Jesper pats Wylan’s cheek lightly. “Look alive, darling.” 

Wylan groans and lifts his head as they walk into the office. Kaz looks up from his work and his eyes widen at the sight of them. Both of them sweaty and panting, Jesper clutching and carrying Wylan in his arms, and Wylan even more pale than usual, holding on tightly to a bloodied coat. 

“What happened?” Kaz demands, making their way over to them. 

“Dime lions,” Jesper says, repeating Wylan’s lie.

Kaz’s eyes flash with unbridled rage.

Wylan knows he’ll need to explain soon or a needless war would break out between the two gangs. He gives Kaz a frantic look and a minuscule shake of his head. Kaz fixes him with a gaze that says he understands. 

Kaz orders Jesper to lay Wylan down on the couch in his office then go back to the slat and fetch Pim, their resident ‘medic’. Jesper obeys, setting Wylan down gently and then he’s gone, running out the door. Wylan knows better than to ask him to stay. Kaz brings his office chair around to the couch and sits beside Wylan, taking the coat out of his hands. 

“Show me,” Kaz sighs. 

Wylan shifts around with a wince and unbuttons his shirt to show Kaz the wound. “It’s just a graze.” 

Kaz hums as he inspects Wylan’s stitching. “Who?” 

“Miggson and Prior.” 

Kaz’s eyes flash with a wave of anger greater than when he thought dime lions did this to him. “Where are they now?” 

Wylan’s learned not to flinch away from his livid tone a long time ago. 

“Dead. Bodies left in the street.” 

Kaz nods shortly, clearly dissatisfied with the deaths they received. “I’ll have Keeg take care of it.” 

Wylan nods weakly and lets his head rest back against Kaz’s surprisingly comfortable couch and closes his eyes. He jerks violently when something cold and metal presses against his neck. 

“No sleeping yet, merchling,” Kaz murmurs, holding the head of his cane against Wylan’s skin. 

Wylan whines in protest but keeps his eyes open. “I got the gunpowder,” he offers. 

“That’s great, thank you,” Kaz says. “You still can’t sleep.” 

Pim and Jesper burst into the room. Pim rushes over to him and inspects the wound, bombarding Wylan with questions. He watches Kaz and Jesper leave the room, talking lowly, seriously, as he answers Pim’s questions. Pim asks more, senseless questions as he works to keep Wylan conscious. It only works for about another minute before he succumbs to exhaustion.

Notes:

it was finals week so i shot wylan, i'm sure you understand.

again, thank you all so much for the kind words and feedback on this fic, it's really kind and motivating :) <3

Chapter 4: IV: Jesper

Notes:

an update can you believe it i sure cant

Jesper follows Kaz out of the room, giving Wylan one more sparing glance. He looks so pale lying there, shifting and wincing under Pim’s hands. He hasn’t really met Pim but if Kaz clearly trusts him, Jesper has no right not to. They walk in relative silence, save for the cane, out of the Crow Club and into its back alley, and for a second Jesper wonders if this is how he dies. But then Kaz turns around and fixes Jesper with a withering, unimpressed look that does well to make Jesper feel small and incompetent. 

“Explain,” Kaz says coldly. “And spare no details.” 

Jesper forces himself to look Kaz in the eyes as he talks. He explains everything, recounting their entire day from the stroopwafels and now bloodied coat to the gunpowder and sprinting away from the restaurant. His boss listens intently and silently, leaving Jesper wondering what’s in store for him; his face betrays no emotions. Finally, he speaks again. 

“If I’m understanding correctly, which I often do, Wylan stitched himself up in an alley while you… what? Watched?” Kaz sounds so disapproving and unimpressed and it makes him feel small.

Any respect, favor, or goodwill he's earned from Kaz after that first night, his first job feels eviscerated. 

It makes shame burn hot inside Jesper. Because, no. He didn't even manage to watch. He didn't watch, didn’t offer Wylan any encouragement aside from shoving his belt between his teeth, and when he did help, Wylan had to threaten him to get him to do it. 

“Yes,” Jesper nods, because what else is he supposed to say? 

Sorry I wasn't more help, I was too squeamish and was trying not to vomit. 

Sorry, I didn't remember the way back to Fifth Harbor and had to rely on the man actively bleeding out in my arms. 

Sorry, I didn't protect h—

Should he have? Was that the expectation? Is that the expectation? To protect Wylan? 

In his mind, his selfish, shame-ridden mind he argues that it should be the other way around. Jesper is the new member, the amateur to being shot at simply for a tattoo, the foal thrust into a new life learning to walk. But Wylan is a crow . Self-sufficient, formidable, and clearly knows how to survive gang life. He stitched himself up in an alley. 

Jesper thinks he'll never stop being in awe of it. 

So, shouldn't it have been Wylan protecting him? Shouldn't Kaz be relieved that his newest member, whom he personally sought out, is alright? 

No. 

Because there is an expectation, an unspoken one to be sure. Kaz likes Wylan. Kaz values Wylan. Kaz views Wylan as indispensable. Wylan is everyone’s priority. In his short, short time here, he's picked up that much. He's seen it in the way Anika talked about Wylan, like some sort of cryptic, like the only thing anyone knows about him is that he outranks them. He's seen it in the way that Wylan’s name is conveniently left out of the chore chart Keeg had shown him. (Though to be fair, any of them can wash the dishes or mop blood out of the floor. Only Wylan can make such high-quality explosives).   

The expectation is to put Wylan before yourself, keep Wylan safe, and keep Wylan alive. He’s almost certain the expectation also applies to Kaz himself. 

Kaz glares at him, disappointment reflected in those calculating eyes. He prepares himself for yelling, more scolding, degradation, anything. But before any of those can transpire, Kaz’s eyes flick behind him and his angry expression falters into one of subtle worry. Jesper turns to see and it's Pim. 

“Boss,” Pim pants, clearly having sprinted to the alley. “Wylan’s unconscious.” 

Guilt slams into Jesper with such force that he feels winded. 

Kaz’s brows furrow and he nods shortly. “I'll be right there,” he dismisses Pim, who spins around on his heel and runs back to the Crow Club. Kaz fixes his gaze on Jesper again. “Since Pim seems to be occupied today, you'll do his chores.” It's not exactly a snap, but it's close; enough to make Jesper resist a flinch.  

As Kaz leaves, Jesper swallows his protests, his desire to see Wylan and make sure he'll be alright. He's not exactly sure how fatal a graze can be; he's only ever delivered clean shots after all. But he’s certain if he returned Wylan to Kaz with a fatal wound, he’d receive a much worse punishment than doing the dishes. 

Jesper waits until Pim and Kaz disappear back inside the Crow Club before he starts his trek back to the slat. As he makes his way back, his mind can’t help but wander back to his poor performance. Never mind the fact that he got them both out of there alive. He can’t stop thinking about the way Wylan snapped at him, threatened him, and called him Fahey . Which he’s not sure he can fault him for; Wylan was the one steadily bleeding and Jesper was the one outwardly complaining about the pain. 

One thing that's clear; he has yet to earn trust. From anyone in the Dregs, he assumes. Especially not from Kaz, he knows. Perhaps he had it for a fleeting moment when he saved his life, but endangering Wylan’s seems to hold much more significance and sway. Jesper’s not sure he’s ever had Wylan’s. Though he assumes he was building his way up to it steadily. Well, until Wylan was shot. And now it feels like he’s lost any chance of obtaining it. 

It feels like he’s lost any chance. 

Jesper feels… a certain way for Wylan that he can’t precisely place. His attraction for Wylan is a separate thing altogether; it is undoubtable. Not only is Wylan appealing to the eye, but also intriguing to the mind. Jesper wants to know everything about him, and he’s known him for about a day. 

Admittedly, not particular things one would want to know when faced with the most attractive person they’ve ever seen. Trivial things like favorite colors, childhood dreams, birthdays, aspirations, or anything of the like. Instead, he wants to understand Wylan. He wants to understand what happened today. 

Now, Wylan’s explanation was all good and well. On-sight gang rivalries are notorious in the barrel, so no wonder a Dime Lion would want to kill one of Brekker’s Crows. Brekker’s only Crow. But Jesper has eyes, very keen ones in fact. He saw the pure, crazed hatred in the eyes of the men chasing them, chasing Wylan . It was a look of loathing and vengeance. What could Wylan have possibly done to procure such a look? Not to mention, Jesper never caught a glimpse of the Dime Lion tattoo on either of their bodies, but it does seem like the most logical explanation. 

And back at the restaurant, Wylan seemed to recognize them immediately; he had dragged Jesper out of there so fast he was surprised he didn’t end up with whiplash. Wylan knew them. They knew Wylan. They shot Wylan. Jesper shot them. 

They’re dead. Bodies left unceremoniously in the street for gawking barrel residents and terrified tourists alike. Killing people isn’t easy. He’s not sure it ever will be. He hates it, that two lives just ended because he had the will to do so. Jesper tries to justify every kill, because not only did he have the will, he had the means to kill them. Wylan and himself, or two random strangers shooting at them that he’s never met? Kill or be killed. 

Simple philosophy with horrific repercussions. 

Now that he’s walking back on his own, adrenaline dying down, it’s too quiet. The sound of his feet on the pavement, occasionally splashing in a puddle left behind from rain the night before isn’t enough to drown out the sound of the bodies falling to the ground. It replays and rings in his ears over and over. And when he blinks he catches flashes of the damage he did, of the people he murdered . Visions of blood seeping out of their bodies and into the street, their eyes going wide with pure shock and maybe a bit of terror before they died. 

Jesper hopes it was painless and quick, at least. Fatal shots only for a reason; the moment they realize they’ve been shot at, they’re dead not even a second later.  He doesn’t like the idea of someone choking on their blood, lying there in agony because of him. His mind is dangerous when he’s unoccupied, and he just wants it all to stop. He wants to gamble. He’s itching for it.

As he enters the slat, he rushes to the kitchen and half-asses the dishes. Jesper is absolutely no stranger to chores, having grown up on a farm, but he does the dishes so poorly he’s sure both his mother and father wouldn’t let him shoot for weeks if they were there. Once he’s done he makes his way to his room, thankful he doesn’t run into anyone. 

Where did he stash his spare kruger? He checks under his pillow, under his uncomfortable mattress, inside the pillowcase, in between the sheets, behind the bed, and he can't find it anywhere. Frustrated, he rifles through his desk. Not even here a week and he's already managed to lose the little amount of kruger he's earned. It takes searching through his nearly empty closet to remember. 

His coat. Not the coat, not the one currently drenched in Wylan’s blood, but his coat. The one that Jesper had draped over Wylan when he saw that the little stubborn demolitionist was cold. Now that he's thinking about it, that coat also most likely has Wylan’s blood on it. His itch outweighs his guilt. 

Without even locking his room, he quickly leaves the slat and makes his way back to the Crow Club. He enters through the front doors, giving Muzzen a polite nod. The door to Kaz’s office is slightly ajar and Jesper peeks into the room, hoping to try and catch a glimpse of the coat, and with it his kruger. 

But Kaz Brekker must be some omniscient maniac, Jesper is sure of it, because as soon as he slips into the office, a cane slams the door shut. And now that he's in the room, not staring through a crack in the door, he sees that Wylan is awake, barely sitting up on the couch. All of his guilt comes flooding back. 

Wylan is pale, more than usual, the only color gracing his face being his freckles. He gives Jesper a quick glance when the door slams then turns back to Pim, whos giving Wylan meticulous instructions for his recovery. Jesper stares for a few more seconds before he forces his gaze away. It doesn’t take long to find the coat strewn over Kaz’s desk chair. Before he can grab it and leave, Kaz pulls him aside, looking less than pleased. 

The end of the cane presses against his chest, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to emphasize its presence. “If,” Kaz starts, low, threatening, and all kinds of intimidating, “I catch you gambling amidst Wylan’s recovery, you are done , Jesper. Out on your ass. And I’d cut your feather out of your arm if Wylan weren't so against it.” 

The part of his arm that’s still tender from his new tattoo starts to flair up with discomfort all over again. Suddenly, gambling is the last thing he wants to do; he's certain it would be the last thing he will do. Kaz Brekker’s threats outweigh his itch. 

Jesper isn't stupid enough to deny, to lie. “How did you-” 

“I've housed countless gamblers,” Kaz said with a wry expression. “The record is two months before getting kicked out. Let's see if you can set a new one.” 

It's mocking, it's mean, but Jesper holds his tongue and shifts his attention to Wylan. Wylan is swaying slightly, trying to stand up. Jesper makes a small movement towards him to try and help him up, but Pim is there first, a polite hand supporting the small of his back. 

Kaz demands his attention again when he shoves his coat into his arms, the one he came here for. “Do not gamble,” he huffs out. 

Jesper nods quickly and immediately rifles through the pockets, delighted to find his kruger still there. “Don't gamble,” he repeats, mouth feeling dry because he's not eager to find out if Kaz Brekker makes empty threats. 

“Right,” Kaz says dryly like he doesn't believe him. “Now get Wylan back to the slat.” He shot a quick look at his demo man. “He can barely stand.”

Jesper slips his coat on and walks over to Wylan. Wylan stares at him with what could be classified as a glare if it wasn't for the pitiful droop in his exhausted eyes. Wylan tries to take a step on his own but he immediately stumbles and latches onto Jesper before Jesper can react. Jesper wraps an arm around him, careful not to touch the wound, and tries not to enjoy the way Wylan leans into him. Wylan grasps his hand for better support and pushes himself up so he’s more standing than leaning. 

As they start to slowly walk towards the alleyway door, Jesper can feel Kaz’s eyes on them and he’s not sure what to make of it. Then as soon as they’re outside, a door slams and he assumes Kaz went back onto the floor of his club. 

“We’ll walk nice and slow, alright darling?” Jesper asks Wylan because it’s too quiet, even now that they’re outside. It’s the odd time of night when the crickets and owls aren’t yet chirping and hooting, but people have already begun to turn in and head home. 

“Mhm,” Wylan hums and adjusts his grip on Jesper's hand for a better hold. 

They take each step carefully, Jesper mindful of Wylan's injury, and Wylan relying on Jesper for support. After about a minute of walking in silence, Wylan pauses momentarily to clutch at his side with a wince. Jesper knows it wasn't his fault that Wylan got shot, but his guilt is undeniable. 

“Want me to carry you?” Jesper offers carefully.

“No,” Wylan shakes his head. “No, I'm fine to keep walking. Just– I just need a second.” 

Wylan shuts his eyes and rests his head against Jesper's shoulder and he can see the discomfort, exhaustion, and pain painted all over Wylan’s face. Before he can think, he reaches out and tucks one of Wylan’s curls behind his ear. Wylan’s cheeks dust pink slightly, but he keeps his eyes closed. 

“I really don't mind carrying you,” Jesper says softly. “It'll take us at least fifteen minutes at this rate.” 

“I'm sorry my gunshot wound is an inconvenience to you,” Wylan mutters and takes a deep breath before weakly pushing off of Jesper, straightening up again. “But I don't want to be carried.”  

Jesper doesn't know how to respond to that so he just nods and they start their slow walk again. Now, Jesper isn't a docile person. Part of him wants to open his mouth and start arguing because it's obvious that's not what he meant. He's not the asshole that he assumes Wylan thinks he is. But the greater part of him tells him to keep his mouth shut. Wylan's been shot, he can be harsh all he wants. If he doesn't want to be carried, he won't be carried. 

The night air hangs heavy with tension as they walk and as they make their way through the dimly lit streets, Jesper can’t help but steal glances at Wylan. His pale face is flushed with the effort of walking with his head held high. Jesper assumes he doesn't want to seem dependent, but he keeps his arm firmly around Wylan’s waist anyway. Wylan doesn’t say anything.

As they approach a narrow alleyway, Jesper spots a dim street lamp flickering above them, casting shadows that dance around their figures. He debates again whether he should say something to Wylan, to apologize, but the fear of making things worse keeps him silent.

Wylan's voice breaks the silence instead. “Kaz was serious, you know,” he says softly as they walk. It feels like a peace offering.“About the gambling.” 

“I know,” Jesper replies, grateful for the conversation. “Is he ever anything but serious?” 

“I'm not sure. Not that I've seen.” Wylan tries to shrug but then immediately winces from the effort. “Just don't gamble, or do anything stupid. Kaz is on edge and he's looking for someone to take it out on.”

Jesper nods, unsure if he should feel thankful or belittled by the advice. “On edge? Why?” 

Wylan sighs. “Things are… changing around the Barrel. Kaz doesn't like change. And now that I'm… out of commission for a while,” he chooses his words carefully. “Some of his plans have been halted.” 

“Changing how?” Jesper’s brows furrow. 

“That's an explanation I don't have the energy for at the moment. Just be careful, okay? Stick to the slat and keep your nose clean.” 

As they reach the entrance to the slat, Wylan finally gives in to his exhaustion, leaning on Jesper more heavily. Jesper supports him, guiding Wylan inside and taking him to his room, but Wylan stops him. 

“No,” Wylan says, placing a hand on Jesper's arm and his skin feels warm under Wylan’s palm. “Pim said I need to eat first.” 

“Alright.” Jesper starts supporting him to the kitchen instead, making sure he doesn’t fall. “What do you want to eat?” 

“Don't care.” Wylan sounds like he's trying not to yawn. “There's probably a can of beans in the pantry. Anything anti-inflammatory will be best.” 

Jesper just nods, like he knows what that means. Sure, he went to university, but he doesn't know anybody who would learn which foods are anti-inflammatory or if they would even have classes for that. It wasn't necessarily a nice, high-end university, so lectures on proper diets were scarce. It was the type of university that housed more barrel-scum trying to make their way out than true academics and scholars. So what kind of education did Wylan get? Or is that what Pim specifically told him?

He helps Wylan settle down into one of the rickety stools in the kitchen and walks over to the pantry and tries to find a can of beans that isn't dented or expired by over a month. Once he finds one he goes back into the kitchen and looks around for a can opener and a pot to heat up the food. After looking through half the cabinets and drawers he just asks. 

“Where are the pots?” He asks.

Wylan's blinks are growing heavier by the second, he looks like he’s fighting to stay awake. “In the sink maybe? I think it's Pim’s day to do the dishes but he was helping me all day.” 

Oh, that’s right. The dishes that Kaz told him to do. That he half-assed and didn't even bother to put away. That are definitely still dirty and shouldn't be used to cook or eat anything. 

“It's fine,” Wylan says. “I’ll eat it cold, just get me a spoon.” 

Jesper frowns for a moment but then supposes there are worse things to eat. He's certainly eaten worse. He hands Wylan the can and a spoon and continues his search. “Is there a can opener?” He asks. 

“Probably not.” 

He looks over and sees Wylan using the heel of a knife to pry open the can. “Where did you get that?” 

“I've had it on me,” he replies through a spoonful of beans. 

Jesper just turns back to the sink and decides to re-do the dishes properly. The last thing he wants is to be kicked out by Kaz because he can't do simple chores. It takes him about twenty minutes to get them all washed and dried then figure out where they go in the kitchen. Once he's done he turns back and sees that Wylan's asleep, face down on the table and spoon loosely gripped in his hand. 

He plucks the spoon from Wylan’s hand and puts the half-empty can of beans by the sink. Then carefully, he slides his arms under Wylan's body, lifting him up with ease despite the fatigue in his own limbs. Wylan stirs slightly in his sleep, but he doesn't fully wake up, his head lulling against Jesper’s shoulder. Jesper takes this as a good sign and continues to cradle him as he carries him down the long hallway to his room.

When he reaches the door he shifts Wylan in his arms so he can support him with only one and tries the knob with the other, but it's locked. Jesper doesn't even consider himself an amateur lock-picker, but the lock that Wylan has on his door is ridiculous. 

For a brief moment, he considers waking Wylan up and for an even briefer moment, he considers finding and asking Kaz. But Wylan clearly needs his rest and Jesper likes the idea of having a permanent bed and room. The idea of searching Wylan’s pockets for a key also crosses his mind, but he doesn’t want Wylan waking up and thinking Jesper was groping him.

With a sigh, he turns around to his door and enters his own room. He lays Wylan down on his bed and secures the blanket over him before he places Wylan’s knife on the bedside table. He thinks about changing Wylan into something more comfortable but that would just be creepy and probably get him killed or kicked out if Wylan took it the wrong way and told Kaz or something. 

Quickly and quietly, he opens his closet and changes as fast as he can, throwing glances over his shoulder to make sure Wylan hasn’t woken up. Once he’s dressed comfortably enough he silently leaves the room and resigns himself to sleeping on the ratty couch in the slat’s makeshift living room. Slipping into bed beside Wylan is out of the question; he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable or overstep. Also, the bed isn’t that large. 

Laying on the couch is a bit cold; he only has one blanket in his room and it's currently draped over Wylan. He closes his eyes and shifts around to try and get as comfortable as possible. Then as he feels himself starting to succumb to sleep, vision growing even blacker behind his eyelids, something rings in his ears. He jerks up and his eyes open. It takes him a second to recognize what his subconscious played back to him, but he recognizes it eventually. 

Wylan’s scream, Wylan’s cry, Wylan’sー just Wylan. When Jesper poured the brandy over his open flesh wound when he had stitched himself up. Every time he closes his eyes he hears faint whispers of Wylan’s distressed voice and it’s awful . He curls up on the couch, bringing his knees to his chest and just lays there listening, until he eventually slumps from pure exhaustion. 

 

 

*~*

 

 

“Jesper,” someone says softly. 

He stirs slightly, shoving his face further into the shitty couch. He wants to sleep longer. 

“Jesper.” Someone shakes his shoulder gently. 

Jesper groans and slowly opens his eyes, squinting at the dim light filtering through the slat's windows. He blinks a few times, trying to adjust to his surroundings, and then realizes that it's Wylan standing over him. His curls are tousled and matted, and he looks a bit more rested than before, though still pale and tired with very prominent eye bags. Jesper can't help but think it's adorable. 

“Why was I in your bed?” Wylan asks. 

“What?” Jesper yawns, still groggy from sleep. 

“Your bed,” he repeats. “I woke up in your bed. Why?” 

“Oh,” Jesper blinks dumbly and finally sits up. “Uh, you fell asleep last night in the kitchen and your door was locked so I put you in my room.” 

He would have missed Wylan’s sudden faint flush if it wasn't for the sunlight streaming in from the window. 

“And you slept out here all night?” Wylan frowns. 

Jesper nods. “It's fine, I don't mind. You needed the rest.” 

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “You didn't have to do that.” Wylan sits beside him. 

“I don't mind,” Jesper reiterates. 

Wylan gives him a tentative smile and then gets back up, but not with ease. It's clear his wound is still taking a toll on him. “I'll see you later.” He turns and goes down the hall, presumably to his own room. 

Jesper waits until he hears Wylan’s door shut before he goes down the hall himself and promptly flops on his bed when he gets to his room. He forces himself to get dressed before he can even consider sleeping the rest of the day away. Once he’s dressed he heads to the kitchen and sees Pim at the table eating a muffin. He makes an impulsive decision. 

“What are you doing today?” He asks Pim. 

Pim gives him a once over then turns back to his muffin. “Not interested.” 

Jesper nods and takes a seat beside him. “That is very much not what I meant.” Though he can't say that he's not slightly offended.

“Then what did you mean?” 

“Are you doing any more med work today?” He asks and Pim looks at him again. “I don’t really know anything about… any of that. And I think it wouldn’t hurt to learn more.” 

In truth, he felt guilty that all he could do for Wylan while he was quite literally stitching himself up was turn away and try not to gag. 

“Fine. You can shadow me.” Pim gets up and throws away his muffin wrapper. “But Wylan told me how squeamish you are so if you vomit, you’re done.” 

So that’s how he spends his day. Following Pim around, helping when he’s permitted, and watching all the while. They alternate between staying at the slat and helping out any of the dregs who come home injured and heading to the Crow Club to tend to the bouncers and guards after a particularly rowdy scene. 

He sees a plethora of injuries and learns a decent amount. Anika had come back to the slat halfway through the day searching for Pim because she had torn her stitches so Jesper watched Pim sew her back up and then helped redress her wound. He’s proud of himself for only managing to gag once. At the Crow Club, he helped bandage Muzzen’s knuckles and then watched Pim set his nose. They finished the day by helping one of the bartenders pick shattered glass out of their foot after they dropped a bottle of vodka. Jesper and Pim left before they could see Kaz’s reaction to his profit being shattered all over the floor. 

When he finally gets back to the slat he makes a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing a can of peaches from the pantry. He was excited when he picked up the can, finding it decently heavy, but it turned out to be mostly overly-sweet syrup with only three slices of peaches. But he eats the peaches anyways and sips on the syrup until he swears he can feel his teeth hurt. 

After he tosses the can, he finally retires to his room, giddy at the prospect of sleeping in his bed. Granted, it’s not an unbelievably comfortable bed, but after sleeping on the couch, his entire back felt dull and stiff. But when he walks into his bedroom, he stops. 

There, lying on the bed is his coat. His bright, gorgeous, obnoxious, yellow coat is lying on his bed. It’s no longer soaked in blood, Wylan’s blood. And it somehow looks even nicer and brighter than when he first bought it. He picks it up and runs the fabric under his thumb, and marvels at the fact that it’s also softer somehow. With it still in his hands, he leaves his room and goes across the hall. 

Softly, he knocks on Wylan’s door and waits patiently. Underneath the door, he can see that the lights are on and then he hears shuffling and finally footsteps coming towards him. The door opens and Wylan stands there leaning against the doorframe. Jesper watches his cheeks dust as his eyes land on the coat in his arms. 

“You fixed my coat. Again,” Jesper says, unable to hide his smile.

“I did,” Wylan nods with a small smile of his own. “But it didn’t really need fixing, just needed my blood out of it.”

“Thank you.” 

Wylan just nods again and it’s awkward for a moment. Jesper hones in on Wylan’s stance. He’s hunched over a bit as he leans on the doorframe, clutching his side gently, and he still looks weak and impossibly pale. 

“Have you slept yet?” Jesper asks. 

“No. Kaz wants his fireworks. I’m almost finished though,” Wylan yawns. “You could… keep me company until I’m done?” He asks hesitantly. “It gets lonely.”

Jesper has to stop himself from seeming too eager. “Yeah, sure,” he says with a smile. 

Wylan shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Could you uhm,” he gestures behind him, “help me back to my desk too? It still hurts a bit.” 

Jesper’s heart flutters with a mix of concern and delight at the opportunity to spend more time with Wylan. “Of course, I’ll help you,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within him. He slips the coat on to free his hands.

Wylan steps aside, allowing Jesper to enter his room. The space is cluttered with various beakers and bottles holding substances Jesper couldn’t name or identify for the life of him. He carefully leads Wylan back to his desk, letting him rest against it as he eases himself into the chair. 

“Thanks,” Wylann mumbles, looking up at Jesper with tired eyes. 

“You’re welcome,” Jesper replies, trying not to stare too much at Wylan's soft features and the way his curls frame his face. “So, what are you working on?” 

Wylan’s lips curl into a small smile at Jesper’s interest in his work. “Just the last few of them. Kaz wants these ones to be green.” 

He watches Wylan work and tinker with the tiny explosives, the meticulous way he handles each piece, but Wylan makes it seem so easy. He even yawns while he works, which can obviously be attributed to his lack of sleep, but Jesper also thinks it’s because Wylan probably doesn’t need to think much with work like this. 

Jesper pulls up a nearby chair. “How do you get them green?” 

Wylan grins and it’s obvious he likes talking about his work. “Well, coloring fireworks is just chemistry, really. Green ones require barium salts; I’m just using barium chloride, barium is extremely reactive so I only ever use it for insignificant things like this. I’ve never made an actual explosive with it, at least not in my room,” he shrugs. 

Jesper nods along like he understands. He finds himself doing that a lot with Wylan, and he also finds that he doesn’t mind too much. “What other colors have you made?” 

“Just red and purple,” he says through another yawn. “Red requires strontium salts and purple needs a mixture of strontium and copper; it’s just mixing what makes red and what makes blue.” 

Jesper asks more and more questions about fireworks and listens to Wylan’s eager explanations with captivated eyes and a fond smile. He’s convinced that Wylan is a genius. Finally, as the last firework is completed, Wylan leans back in his chair, exhaustion prevalent on his face. It’s quiet now without the sound of their conversation and Wylan’s tinkering, but it doesn’t last long. 

“I’m sorry if I was rude to you yesterday,” Wylan says, keeping his eyes trained on his hands, picking at his nails. 

“It’s alright, Wylan.” 

“No, it isn’t. You were just trying to help.” 

“Wy, you literally got shot. I don’t blame you for yelling at me, really. And let’s be honest, I wasn’t much help,” Jesper tries to joke. 

Wylan finally looks up at him. “You kept me alive, Jesper,” he says softly. “If you weren’t there I probably would’ve passed out in that alley after the last stitch, let alone make it to the alley in the first place.” 

Jesper’s heart swells with a mixture of emotions at Wylan’s words. He hadn’t realized the extent of Wylan’s appreciation, and he feels a newfound sense of responsibility and longing towards him. It’s validation he didn’t know he needed until now. “Well, I’m glad I was there then,” Jesper replies, trying to keep his voice light to ease any tension. 

Wylan smiles faintly. “Me too.” 

Their eyes remain locked for a swift moment before Jesper stands up. “You should get some rest.” 

Wylan nods, not having taken his eyes off of Jesper. “I will soon. I just need to redress my wound before bed.” 

“I can help.” The words are out of his mouth before he can even process them. “I mean if you want.”

Wylan’s eyes widen slightly. “Are you sure? Do you know how?” 

Jesper nods, figuring it’s too late to withdraw his offer. He also doesn’t want to withdraw his offer. “I spent the day with Pim. I learned.” 

“Oh.” Wylan blinks. “Alright then, uh, my first aid kit is around here somewhere. Can you find it while I go sit down?” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Jesper agrees easily and helps Wylan stand up before he searches for the kit. 

Jesper quickly locates the first aid kit in one of the cluttered drawers near the desk. As he retrieves it, he can’t help but be awed at the organized chaos of Wylan’s workspace. Bottles, chemicals, and scraps of paper are scattered everywhere, Jesper can’t understand it, but he suspects that Wylan knows where everything is. He returns to where Wylan is now sitting on the edge of his bed. The first thing he notices is that Wylan’s bed is much larger than his, and also very neatly made, it’s frustratingly endearing. Jesper sits beside him and opens the kit, taking out the bandages and antiseptic. 

“Alright, let’s take a look at it,” Jesper says gently, trying to be as reassuring as possible. Wylan hesitates for a moment before lifting his shirt, revealing the bandages covering his wound. The area is red and clearly swollen, but thankfully no fresh bleeding. 

Jesper carefully removes the old bandages, and they both wince as they stick to Wylan’s skin and he needs to use a bit of force to completely remove them. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. 

“It’s okay,” Wylan whispers. 

Jesper grabs a cotton ball and dips it in the antiseptic before gently cleaning the wound and Wylan winces slightly again. He can feel Wylan’s gaze on him whether it’s out of apprehension that Jesper knows what he’s doing, trust that Jesper knows what he’s doing, or something else entirely. Once he’s cleaned around the wound, he carefully wraps it up again with fresh bandages, making sure it’s not too tight. He keeps his eyes trained on his task. Even when he’s done and putting the supplies back in the kit, he doesn’t look up. 

“Thank you,” Wylan says softly. 

“Of course,” Jesper nods. He still doesn’t look at him. 

He gathers the soiled bandages and used cotton balls to throw them away because he suddenly feels like they’re too close and he’s eternally grateful that his dark complexion can hide his flush. 

Wylan catches his arm before he can stand. “Jesper, can you look at me, please?” 

Jesper caves immediately and looks at Wylan and he can tell that their proximity has done something to Wylan as well. His eyes are blown wide and a delicate blush covers his face. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Wylan whispers. “And… listening to me.” 

“Anytime,” Jesper whispers back and he truly, earnestly, means it. Anytime at all. “I like listening to you.” 

Wylan smiles and blushes radiantly before turning his head to hide it and mumbling a quick goodnight . 

Jesper tells Wylan to have sweet dreams and goes back to his own room, locking Wylan’s door on his way out in case Wylan forgot. Sleep comes much easier that night; he falls asleep with a smile as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Notes:

Apologies for the delay on this one, I haven’t been doing or feeling that well lately. I am starting to feel better though so hopefully a somewhat normal schedule is underway, thank you for your patience and kind comments as always! :)

Chapter 5: V: Wylan

Notes:

this one is definitely the shortest chapter but it has plot so I decide that makes up for it

It's been about a week since he's been shot, and now he's finally fully healed thanks to the medik that demanded a hefty sum of kruger.  Wylan feels guilty for the stress he placed upon Kaz; despite his own insistence, Kaz spent most of his time trying to track down a healer. Typically, grisha prefer to stay hidden in the Barrel, and only a few people know where to look, the Bastard of the Barrel for example. Usually, it wouldn't be a problem, maybe a day or two, but this time it took Kaz an entire week to find not just a decent, but any Corporalki. Wylan likes to think he can read Kaz pretty well, and his gut tells him that something is wrong because Kaz is jumpy and anxious. And when Kaz Brekker is on edge, something is seriously fucking wrong. 

So now he sits in Kaz’s office, waiting for him to finish up at the Crow Club. His shirt is lifted up and he's staring at the patch of skin where his wound once was. Not even a scar is left. He runs the tips of his fingers over it, a bit obsessed with the softness of it. It's softer than the rest of his skin, the healer having left it in pristine condition. The skin surrounding it is dry and rough, the after-effects of adjusting to life in the Barrel. 

When he hears steps approach the door he lets his shirt fall and straightens up. But his paranoid mind picks up on the fact that those aren't Kaz’s footsteps; they're uneven like Kaz’s, but very clearly lacking the thump of the cane. Growing up, he's gotten pretty good at recognizing footsteps, the difference between the housekeeper’s and his father's, whether he should pretend to be reading or pretend to be sleeping to avoid a scolding or something worse. He's recognized and memorized everyone's footsteps in the slat, but he can't place this one. 

There's a knock. “Uh, Kaz? Boss?” 

Oh. They were Jesper's footsteps. 

He's happy that Jesper is still here, with the Dregs. He was worried that Kaz would have to make good on his threat, but Jesper has been doing pleasantly well, keeping away from the tables. And as much as he appreciates Jesper's company, he doesn't see himself sticking his neck out to try and save him if he did end up gambling or doing anything else stupid.

After the night when Jesper helped him, Wylan isn't as wary of him anymore. He also doesn't see Jesper as much as he'd like to. Because Wylan works from the slat, in his room, and Jesper works… well wherever Kaz tells him to. Simply, Jesper's been busy and absent, out all day every day this week and Wylan only sees him at night when he goes to his room. Wylan assumes it's good for him, to be distracted and occupied like that. He's not sure. 

Wylan slides out of his chair and walks over to the door, opening it to find Jesper standing there anxiously. 

“Kaz isn't here… yet,” Wylan says. “Is something wrong?” 

Jesper looks visibly relieved to see Wylan. “I don't think so. I hope not,” he mutters, digging through his coat pockets and then pulling out a slip of paper. “Uh, Kaz left this note on my bed, and said he wants me in his office as soon as possible.” He hands the note to Wylan. 

Wylan takes it slowly, even looking down at it, but he isn't sure why. The only thing he gets out of it is the recognition of Kaz’s handwriting. 

“Well, he's still at the club as far as I know, but you can wait here with me.” Wylan hands the note back. “He asked to see me too.”

Jesper gives him a grateful smile and enters the office, taking what was Wylans seat. Wylan doesn't say anything though, and opts to sit on Kaz’s desk instead, careful not to sit on any papers or documents. 

“Am I in trouble?” Jesper asks, anxiously tapping his fingers on his guns. 

“I'm— I don't know?” Wylan answers, unsure. “Did you do something that would get you in trouble?” 

“I hope not,” Jesper exhales shakily. “I mean, I did bring a girl back to my room the other night, but Kaz has never said anything that led me to believe that wasn’t allowed.” He looks around the office, continuing to tap on his guns. 

Wylan feels something in his chest at the mention of Jesper having someone in his room, but he quickly dismisses it. “No, you wouldn’t get in trouble for that,” Wylan says slowly. “Anika has people over all the time.” 

Jesper’s fingers continue their nervous rhythm, and Wylan watches him for a moment. It’s almost endearing, the way Jesper seems to be endlessly on edge, fidgeting and glancing around as if expecting Kaz to appear out of thin air any second.

“Alright, well that’s a little reassuring,” Jesper says with an over-dramatic sigh. “Why does he want to see you ?” 

Suddenly Jesper’s mischievous, bright, gray eyes are trained on him, waiting patiently for an answer. Wylan shifts on the desk, feeling a bit self-conscious under Jesper's gaze. He's not used to being the center of attention, and he's certainly not used to someone like Jesper looking at him that way. He clears his throat before answering.

“I don’t know,” Wylan admits, his fingers unconsciously toying with the edge of a paper on Kaz’s desk. “I’m assuming- well hoping that it’s about the fireworks that I made for him. The red, purple, and green ones,” he offers as a reminder, wondering if Jesper forgot about that night in his room. Wylan hasn’t. “He hasn’t used them yet, and I want to know what they’re for.” 

“And he would tell you?” Jesper asks, not condescendingly, but genuinely curious. It’s been apparent to Wylan that Jesper is… intrigued? Confused? Interested in Wylan’s relationship with Kaz. 

And yes, Wylan admits that his affiliation with the heartless Bastard of the Barrel isn’t conventional and hardly makes sense, to Wylan himself especially. He doesn’t understand it, but he knows that he’s Kaz’s favorite, that he gets special treatment, the biggest room in the slat, the least amount of chores, is never sent on dangerous or life-threatening jobs, and he knows he could go on and on. But it’s nice to be appreciated, to be valued, so he doesn’t read too much into it and enjoys being the favorite. 

“He tells me most things.” Wylan knows that statement isn’t entirely true. Kaz only lets people know what he wants them to know, and everyone knows that Kaz Brekker loves his secrets. “Especially when my explosives are involved,” Wylan shrugs. “That was our deal when I first started working for him. If he wants me to make something particularly dangerous, he tells me what he’s going to use it for.” 

There’s a moment of quiet between them for a minute and Wylan tries not to squirm under Jesper’s intense gaze. The air is tinged with undeniable tension and something else that Wylan can’t quite identify. He wants to say something witty or clever to break said tension or just to get Jesper to stop staring at him like that. But as he thinks of what to say, he hears a cane thumping down the hall towards them and he straightens up, neatly stacking the papers on Kaz’s desk that he was fiddling with. 

Then, the door to the office opens quickly, narrowly slamming into the wall, and Kaz walks in. Jesper corrects his posture immediately and rests his hands on his knees. Wylan watches Kaz’s gaze flick between them and the tension in the room only thickens. Kaz looks at them like he’s trying to decipher everything that could have happened in the few minutes he wasn’t here. Kaz doesn’t like not knowing. 

“Wylan,” Kaz says finally, making his way over to his desk. “Is there any particular reason that you’re sitting on my desk?” 

Wylan watches Kaz take a seat and his eyes focus on the new bloodstains on the gloves. “You don’t have many chairs in here,” he says petulantly but slides off the desk anyway and moves to stand beside Jesper. 

Kaz signals for Jesper to close the door and he does. “What I’m going to tell you two is for your ears only,” Kaz says lowly in the ominous way he does. Wylan often thinks that in another life, Kaz would be great in theatre because he even pauses for dramatic effect. Only after Wylan and Jesper nod their understanding does Kaz continue. “There’s new business in the Barrel. Slavers, or something of the like.” Kaz wipes his bloodied gloves off on a handkerchief. 

Wylan shifts uncomfortably. “You mean like the people selling to pleasure houses? That’s not really… new, Kaz.” 

“No. People are going missing, being taken.” 

“Not that that isn’t awful,” Wylan furrows his brows, “but is that really Dregs business?” 

“Specific people are being taken. Plucked from their homes in the dead of night, dragged out of establishments in broad daylight, and the Staadwatch is curiously indifferent towards it.” Kaz neatly folds his blood-stained handkerchief. “Grisha are being taken.” 

Jesper stiffens beside him. 

“Taken?” Wylan repeats, feeling disturbed. 

Kaz nods. “One of our regulars at the club, Oona, was nearly dragged out. Luckily, Muzzen is good at his job.” 

Wylan’s heart beats rapidly. He’s only met Oona a handful of times, but someone only had to spend about a minute with her to figure out that she’s a tailor. She shows it off like a party trick; anything from changing the color of her eyes to fixing her chipped tooth after she gets into bar fights. 

Jesper opens his mouth for the first time in a while. “The person who tried to take her… were they drüskelle ?” 

“I didn’t have a chance to question him,” Kaz mutters, clearly displeased. “He had a cyanide pill. Bit into it almost as soon as he was apprehended. Though I doubt it, he didn’t have the build of a Fjerdan. Too skinny.”

“No tattoo on him?” Wylan asks, truly unnerved now.

Kaz shakes his head. “No clear affiliation.” 

Wylan understands the weight of Kaz’s revelation and it leaves him feeling so perturbed that he envies Jesper’s chair. His legs feel weak. The fact that grisha are being targeted and abducted is profoundly dangerous. He wants to assume that they aren’t being killed or massacred, he wouldn’t see the point in the effort of taking people just to slaughter them. Clearly, the kidnappers are bold enough to do it in broad daylight and willing to die for it, why wouldn’t they just kill grisha as soon as they find them? 

These innocent people could possibly be enslaved and weaponized. And it’s clear that whoever is behind it has enough influence that the Staadwatch turns a blind eye. The selfish part of him wonders how it will change his life. Employing grisha can be useful, mediks especially, and this must be why it took Kaz nearly a week to find a decent one. 

The silence hangs heavy in the room and Wylan can’t stand it. 

“You’re telling us this for a reason; we’re getting involved somehow,” Wylan says sharply, uneager to be roped into this. “Why?” Kaz doesn’t do things out of the goodness of his heart.

“Wrong question,” Kaz says, making it clear that they’re not permitted to know why yet.

Wylan takes a shuddering breath and fights the urge to roll his eyes. He may undoubtedly be Kaz’s favorite, but nobody is spared from his enigmatic behaviors. 

“How?” Wylan amends. “How are we getting involved?” 

Kaz leans back in his chair, his gloved hands steepled beneath his chin, a gesture that exudes both control and consideration. “Nothing too serious yet. I just need you two to figure out what you can. Be discreet, don’t get involved.” 

Jesper clears his throat. “No offense, boss, but I’m not a spy.” 

“Yes, and you’re also the furthest thing from discreet,” Kaz dismisses quickly. “I’m working on acquiring a spy, but for now you two will do.” 

“Why us?” Wylan demands. 

“Jesper is newer, most people don’t associate him with me or the Dregs just yet. And you are hardly ever out of the slat, people don’t know what you look like.” 

“You don’t want whoever is behind this to know you’re looking into it,” Jesper says, understanding before Wylan does. 

Wylan feels a mix of unease and a strange sense of responsibility settle over him. Being tasked with investigating something so serious and dangerous feels far beyond his capabilities. He never does work for Kaz that involves… well leaving the comfort of his room. Yet, he can’t deny the logic in Kaz’s choice—Jesper’s relative anonymity and Wylan’s low profile could give them an advantage, let them stay off the radar. 

Jesper’s fingers pick up their tapping rhythm again. He shifts in his seat and then lets out a low sigh. “Alright, I’m in. But just to be clear, I won’t be sneaking around corners or crawling through vents or whatever spy stuff you’re thinking.” 

Kaz's lips twitch with something that just might pass for a sliver of amusement. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Fahey.” 

“So… you want us to snoop around?” Wylan asks tentatively. 

“Not necessarily,” Kaz shrugs. “People talk. If you know where to listen you’ll learn plenty.” He sighs and stands, which Wylan knows means that the meeting is coming to an end. “Frequent popular bars and clubs, walk through dark alleys at night, stay a night or two at an inn. You’ll hear something eventually. You start tomorrow.”

Kaz walks over and holds the door open for them, silently telling them to get out. Jesper leaves first, looking almost eager to get out of the room. Wylan waits until he can’t hear Jesper’s footsteps anymore before he turns to Kaz. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asks. “I’m just not sure if I’m the best option for something like this.” 

“You’ll be fine, merchling,” Kaz says, but not unkindly. “I wouldn’t put my most valuable Crow on a suicide mission. Just keep an eye on Jesper, he’ll be there too.” 

Wylan understands the words that aren’t said. 

You’ll be fine. I expect Jesper to keep you safe, I’m going to pull him aside later and tell him to protect you and then we’ll both pretend you don’t know about it. 

Wylan doesn’t like nor appreciate the coddling. The constant treatment that he isn’t capable, that Kaz usually keeps him at the slat for a reason, and puts the value of every other Dreg’s life below his own. He’s sick of it, it makes him feel guilty and awful. He wants to tell Kaz as much. 

“I’m your only Crow,” he says instead, with a slight smile. 

“Exactly.” 

*~*

When Wylan gets to the hallway that leads down to his and Jesper’s room, he sees that Jesper’s door is wide open and the lights are on. Wylan hesitates for a moment, then walks toward Jesper’s room. He doesn’t know why he feels the urge to check on Jesper, but the anxiety in the air from the meeting has left him on edge, and Jesper himself seemed particularly disturbed by the news. 

Wylan pushes the door to Jesper’s room further open and finds him sitting on his bed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his coat. The coat that Wylan had stitched for him that first day. He looks up when Wylan enters, a soft smile forming on his lips as if he’s genuinely glad to see him. 

“Hey, Wylan,” Jesper says, his voice carrying a mix of warmth and lingering anxiety. 

“Hi,” Wylan responds softly, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him. He watches Jesper for a moment, the lamplight casting a warm glow on his face, but the haunted look in Jesper’s eyes doesn’t let Wylan enjoy the flattering lighting. “Are you… alright? You left pretty quickly.” 

Jesper lets out a sigh and pats the space next to him on the bed. Wylan hesitates only for a moment before he moves to sit with Jesper, keeping a respectful distance between them. The bed creaks slightly under their combined weight. The first thing he notices is Jesper’s trembling hands. 

“I really want to gamble right now.” Is what Jesper says instead of answering his question. “Is the Crow Club still open?” 

“Muzzen won’t let you play there,” Wylan mumbles because he’s not exactly sure what to say. How is he meant to comfort or help someone who is seemingly on the cusp of a relapse? Is relapse the appropriate word? 

“I just need to be distracted right now.” Jesper’s hands rest on his knees, flexing and unflexing his knuckles. 

“Does shooting distract you?” Wylan asks hopefully. “There’s probably some old cans or bottles to set up somewhere.” 

Jesper agrees and Wylan finds himself tagging along, helping Jesper find empty bottles and rifle through the pantry for dented cans that nobody will miss. They go around to the back and set them up on a short brick wall near the slat’s dumpster. 

As the sun sets over the Barrel, casting long shadows across the alley, Wylan watches Jesper take aim at the makeshift targets they’ve set up. The clinking of bottles, the sharp cracks of bullets hitting their mark, and the scent of gunpowder fill the air. For a while, the rhythmic sound of Jesper’s shooting seems to calm both of them, pushing back the anxiety and uncertainty that had loomed in the air after Kaz’s meeting. 

Wylan can’t help but admire Jesper’s skills with his guns. It’s clear that Jesper has spent countless hours practicing or perhaps he’s just a natural. He shoots like the revolvers are an extension of himself, a part of his arm. His accuracy is almost terrifying and now that he gets to just watch him shoot, he understands why Kaz wanted to recruit him so badly. Each shot is deliberate and controlled, and despite the lingering tension in his posture, there is a gracefulness to the way he moves. 

“You’re really good at this,” Wylan says, timing his words in between shots so he knows he’ll be heard. 

Jesper flips the safety on his revolvers and comes to sit beside him on the filthy floor. “Thanks.” He offers the butt of one of the guns to Wylan and holsters the other. “You want a go?” 

Wylan brows raise in surprise and stares. “Uhm, I’ve never really shot before,” he admits sheepishly. 

Well, he supposes that's not entirely true. Growing up he would shoot skeet with his father before things got bad. He wasn't awful at it; he was a better shot than his father, but neither of them was particularly good. But how different are clay pigeons launched in the air from still cans and bottles really? Still, he'd rather not explain. 

“I could teach you?” Jesper offers excitedly with a genuine smile. 

Wylan feels a strange flutter in his chest at Jesper’s offer, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity. “If you're sure,” he offers a smile back and reaches his hand out, tentatively grasping the gun. 

“I did say I needed a distraction,” Jesper says with a mischievous grin. “And trust me when I say that you are very distracting.” 

Wylan is internally grateful that Jesper leaves to set up new cans because a delicate flush creeps up the back of his neck and settles on his face. He stands and moves to where Jesper was standing before, getting accustomed to the weight of the revolver as he waits for Jesper to finish setting up new targets. 

Jesper comes back over to stand behind him, reaching around to adjust Wylan’s grip on the gun with his own hands. Jesper’s body warmth seems to envelop him, and he can feel the subtle brush of Jesper’s chest against his back every time he moves. 

“You right-handed?” Jesper asks, his voice is low and close to his ear. 

“Left,” Wylan answers, forcing his voice to come out as more than a whisper. 

“Alright, switch hands then.” Wylan did as he was told, switching the gun to his dominant hand. “Good, now make sure the is safety off.” 

Wylan nods, nimble fingers fumbling a bit as he locates the safety switch and clicks it off. 

“Stance is important,” Jesper continues, his breath tickling the back of Wylan’s neck. “Keep your feet shoulder-width apart and your knees a little bent. It’ll give you a nice, stable base.” 

Wylan swallows hard and tries to adjust his posture according to Jesper’s instructions. “You don’t stand like this when you shoot,” he mutters, trying to ease his nerves at having Jesper so close. 

That makes Jesper laugh. “Fair point. But you should learn properly. Do as I say, not as I do type of thing.” 

Then Jesper’s hands come around his waist, his fingers gently guiding Wylan’s hips and shoulders into the correct alignment. He’s convinced that Jesper can hear his heart pounding. 

“Do-” Wylan takes a silent breath. “Do you have to stand this close?” 

Jesper laughs again and Wylan is only a bit obsessed with the sound of it. “Revolvers have a decent amount of recoil, Wy. I’m just here to keep you steady; wouldn’t want you to stumble or fall on your ass.” But he moves back just slightly, granting Wylan more space, but still not letting go. “Why? Do I make you nervous?” 

Wylan can feel his cheeks heat up slightly at Jesper's question. “I’m not nervous,” he insists, though the quiver in his voice says otherwise. 

Jesper, however, seems to enjoy teasing him. “You sure about that?” He says, a mischievous lilt to his voice. “Because you're blushing like a debutante at her first ball.”

Part of Wylan doesn't know how to respond to that and the other part of him refuses to respond to that, so he just focuses on the revolver in his hands. Jesper's hands are still very much on him and he's very acutely aware of every point of contact between them. 

“Alright, alright,” Jesper relents, adopting a more serious tone. “Just keep a steady grip and focus on your target.” He takes a deep breath and Wylan finds himself mimicking it, tension leaving his body on the exhale. “Now, just squeeze the trigger gently, don’t jerk it. It’s all about control.” 

With a gentle squeeze of the trigger, he fires. Just like Jesper said, the recoil pushes him back a tad but Jesper’s hands keep him steady. The loud crack of the gunshot rings in his ears, and he watches as one of the cans topples over, a bullet hole right through it. 

Jesper lets out a low, approving whistle. 

Wylan can’t keep the smile off of his voice or the joy out of his voice. “I actually hit it!” He has enough forethought to quickly flick the safety back on before he turns to look at Jesper. 

Jesper’s eyes glitter with genuine enthusiasm. “Hell yeah, you did! Not bad for a beginner,” he says with a delighted smile. 

As the evening sun dips below the horizon, casting the Barrel into a veil of darkness, Wylan and Jesper continue their impromptu shooting lesson. The elation of nailing his first shot dies down as Wylan misses a good handful of them as they go on. But Jesper remains steadfast in his encouragement and advice, pointing out that Wylan ends up hitting more than he’s missing. 

Eventually, they run out of mock targets and decide to head back inside. Wylan follows Jesper back to his room because it just feels like the right thing to do. Jesper doesn’t protest. Wylanw watches Jesper unload his guns and then put them under his pillow. They take their spots back on the bed, Wylan still sitting a respectable distance away. 

“Thanks for that, Wylan,” Jesper says, lying down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. “I forgot how fun shooting can be when I’m not being shot at.” 

“You’re welcome,” Wylan smiles. “I had fun too.” 

“You know,” Jesper starts, and Wylan can hear his grin. “I feel now that it’s only fair you teach me something.” 

Wylan raises a brow. “Teach you something? Like what?” 

“I dunno.” Jesper rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes hold a playful glint as he gazes at Wylan. “You’re smart. Teach me something smart.” 

Wylan snorts. “Something smart?” He repeats with dry amusement. 

“Yeah! Teach me how to make a bomb or something.” 

“No chance of that happening.” Wylan pulls his knees to his chest. “But if you’d like, I’ll teach you how to use my tattoo gun sometime.” 

Jesper sits up, eager now. “Can I tattoo something on you?” 

“No.” 

They laugh together for a while, Jesper insisting that he wouldn’t draw anything bad and Wylan refusing each time. After some time they run out of things to laugh about, and their minds inevitably wander back to what Kaz had told them earlier. 

“Wylan?” Jesper asks softly. They’re sitting beside each other now, both staring at the floor. 

“Yes?” 

“What do you think… is happening? To the missing people?” 

Wylan turns Jesper’s question over in his mind, his fingers absently tracing the stitch pattern of his pant leg. The gravity of the situation has been settling over him like a dark cloud, especially after seeing Jesper’s uneasiness. He can see the concern etched into Jesper’s features, the furrowed brow, and the slight crease at the corner of his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “I just hope whatever it is, whether they’ve been killed or not, they haven’t suffered.” 

“Has this happened before? In Ketterdam, I mean? Is it usually this unsafe for grisha?” 

Suddenly, Wylan remembers that Jesper is Zemeni, truly Zemeni; he grew up there and lived there for the majority of his life. Novyi Zem is a safe place for grisha, or zowa he recalls from his tutoring. Grisha there are considered to be blessed and gifted. They’re trained there just to cherish such a gift. Not like in Ravka where grisha are trained from youth to be sent into the midst of a war like nothing more than weapons or tools. No wonder Jesper is so disturbed by this. 

“No. Nothing ever like this.” 

He wants to comfort Jesper somehow, but he’s not sure what to do or say. 

“Are any of The Dregs grisha?” Jesper asks. 

“No… not that I know of,” Wylan admits. “Most people in the Barrel like to keep it hidden unless they can find a way to make money with their talents.” 

There are a few more moments of tense silence. 

Jesper shifts towards him. “Can you promise me something, Wylan?” 

Wylan looks at him, anticipation fluttering in his gut. “What?” 

Jesper cups his cheek with one hand and Wylan can’t even enjoy staring into those gray eyes because they’re full of fear and anxiety. “Promise me that whatever we learn tomorrow, or the next day or the next. It stays between us. We agree on what to tell Kaz and what not to tell him.” 

The anticipation in his gut slowly morphs into unease. Withholding information? From Kaz?

Jesper must sense Wylan’s internal struggle. “At least until he tells us why we’re doing this,” Jesper continues, sounding desperate. “These are people's lives, and I don’t think it’s too outlandish to assume that Kaz would take whichever side produces the most profit.” 

Wylan wants to defend Kaz, saying that Kaz would never barter with people’s lives, endangered by prejudice and hate. That Kaz isn’t that heartless and wouldn’t support, with what little they know, could be a genocide. But he can’t because he’s not sure he would believe himself. Kaz may be somewhat kind to him (it’s quite a low bar already), but Kaz isn’t kind. And there must be a reason that Kaz was so adamant about not telling them why.

“Alright, I promise,” Wylan whispers. “And when he tells us why?” 

If he tells us why.  

“Depending on his reason, I’m in or out. Out of all of it,” Jesper says, voice unwavering. 

“You’d leave?” Wylan isn’t sure why he’s so upset at the idea. He’s only known Jesper for a little over a week. 

“Yes. And if he won't let me, I’d happily die trying.” 

“That-” Wylan has to stop himself from calling Jesper ridiculous. “Why are you so insistent about this?” 

Jesper presses his lips together before parting them hesitantly. “My Ma was zowa. I won’t be a part of anything that would have taken her too.” 

Wylan nods and removes Jesper’s hand from his face. “I understand. Promise me something.” 

“What?” 

“If you ever feel like gambling again, like you did tonight, come find me.” 

“Why?” 

“If you’re going to leave The Dregs, it better be for something worthwhile. Like your Ma.” He offers Jesper a small smile and Jesper responds with a bigger one. 

“Okay,” he breathes, “I promise.”

Chapter 6: VI: Jesper

Notes:

Okay so I was right about feeling better, but I just didn’t anticipate how hectic life would get and how busy I am now. But I will finish this fic even if it's currently taking more than a month per chapter (im sorry!!).

This chapter is literally just Jesper yearning. And some plot. Can’t forget the plot.

Jesper tries to keep his eyes off of Wylan and keep his ears working, to focus on the job. But his entire mind zeros in on Wylan and only Wylan. Wylan in this expensive, luxurious lighting, Wylan in that ridiculous fancy outfit that compliments him so well and somehow makes his eyes brighter, Wylan who is doing a much better job at staying on task than Jesper is. 

He’s not quite sure that obsessed is the right word. He doesn’t particularly like that word; he feels as if it makes him sound predatory and desperate and creepy. But ever since their makeshift shooting lesson a few nights ago, since their talk, since he had confided in Wylan, Jesper has begun to see him in a completely different, gorgeous, reverent light. 

Now, he’s always found Wylan pretty, unfairly attractive really, but now he finds Wylan utterly and completely bewitching. 

Maybe smitten is the right word, but he doesn’t particularly like that word either. It makes him sound hopeless and in love and adoring. He doesn’t think that he’s any of those things, he's certainly never been any of those things, but he definitely is falling. It’s an odd sensation. Jesper Fahey has never fallen for anyone before and now that he is, he’s not sure what to make of it. 

When he stares at Wylan like he’s doing now, he’s overwhelmed with want. Jesper wants to say something witty and clever for the sole purpose of seeing Wylan smile and maybe even laugh. Jesper wants to ask Wylan questions just to see his eyes light up before babbling on about something he’s especially passionate about. Jesper wants to run his fingers through Wylan’s hair because nothing in the Barrel should ever look that soft. Jesper wants to keep Wylan safe and close and protected from all of the harsh, cruel, violence of the barrel. But he's already failed, having seen Wylan shot, and he knows that Wylan is more than capable of handling his own.

Worse than the wanting, there is the needing. He needs to find excuses to be around Wylan, to be close to him. He needs to think of him, to talk to him, to have him. Never in a possessive, controlling way, no. But in a way that if he does have him, he'll thank the Saints every morning and every night for the privilege of it. Embarrassingly enough, he has stayed up at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what it would be like to kiss Wylan amongst other things. Mainly kiss, though, which is an odd change for Jesper but not an unwelcome one. 

Whenever he finds himself attracted to someone, which is quite frequently, usually in a shitty bar with decisively unsober eyes, lust clouds his mind and he thinks of all the ways he could have a fun night with them. His first, most insistent thought whenever he thinks of someone he's attracted to is definitely never: I’d like to kiss them. But that's how it is with Wylan. 

Jesper wants to kiss Wylan, to cradle his face in his hands, to run his fingers through those curls, to hold him close, to talk with him for hours, to listen to him for hours, to have him in his bed at night just so he can wake up beside him in the morning. He's not quite sure what to do about it. 

Jesper Fahey knows how to go about flirting someone into his bed, but he is inexperienced in flirting with someone who makes him weak in the knees and warm in his heart. 

It’s a craving that lingers at the edge of his thoughts, a constant pull that he can’t shake. There’s the yearning for Wylan and then there's the itch to gamble. Both make his current predicament less than ideal. 

Right now, they’re at Club Cumulus. The most luxurious, high-end gambling den in Ketterdam. Surprisingly, Jesper has never been here before and he’s having trouble keeping his ass in his seat at the bar. Kaz’s connections along with Wylan’s endearing Kerch manners had gotten them in through the door. It also helped that Kaz gave them the kruger to splurge on well-fitting, classy clothing. 

Unsurprisingly, Kaz had been explicitly clear about the fact that they were not to gamble and Wylan was fruitless in his concern for Jesper. On the entire way over, he asked if he’d be alright in there, that he could convince Kaz that Jesper didn’t need to come along if he didn’t want to, that they could leave whenever he needed. As soon as they entered the club, Wylan had taken Jesper’s hand in his own and dragged him straight to the bar. 

They’re here on a job, or rather, the job. They’re not here to gamble or get drunk. They’re here to eavesdrop and snoop. Surely whoever is in the business of slave trading or abducting people and can stay above the radar of the law, can afford, or at least have the status to frequent opulent establishments like Club Cumulus. 

So Jesper and Wylan sit at the bar, sip on their expensive water, and listen. The problem is that they’re the only ones at the bar, save for the bartenders, and everyone who could look like a possible mark is at the tables. 

Jesper quickly downs his water and immediately regrets it because the bartender refills it before he can even swallow. He is going to be charged for that. 

“Can you hear anything?” Jesper murmurs to Wylan. 

They aren’t facing each other, but rather sitting side by side, staring out at the tables. Wylan stares with something that Jesper assumes with scrutiny in his eyes. Jesper stares with longing. 

Wylan shakes his head. “My hearing isn’t the greatest, to be honest. Consequences of working with explosives.” He takes a sip of his water.

Jesper smiles faintly. “I get it. Shooting isn't great for the ears either. Unless we get closer we won't catch a thing.” 

Wylan finally turns to him. “The game at table seven is almost over. Once it is, they'll all come over to the bar before the next one.”

Jesper isn't sure how he hadn't noticed or thought of that, but he's grateful Wylan did. 

“Shall we keep ourselves entertained until then?” Jesper asks with a grin. 

“What'd you have in mind?” 

Jesper regrettably takes his eyes off Wylan’s gorgeous face in gorgeous lighting and turns his gaze back to the tables. “People-watching, of course,” he says as if it was obvious. 

Wylan turns too. “People-watching?” He repeats, sounding both amused and confused. 

“Table five,” Jesper murmurs. “The man in the absurdly tall hat is most definitely playing footsie under the table with the short gentleman across from him.” 

Wylan looks and has to muffle a snort behind his hand. “For the record, you are in no business to be calling anybody else's hat absurd.” Wylan stares for a moment more. “Do you think they know each other?” 

“Well, I'd bloody hope so!” Jesper exclaims under his breath. “Maybe they're on a date. Not sure about you, but footsie under the table is very romantic.” 

“The very pinnacle of romance,” Wylan nods solemnly. 

They laugh together quietly, both needing to cover their mouths to do so. Once they've caught their breath, Jesper nudges Wylan gently. 

“Alright, your turn. Point someone out.” 

Wylan scans the tables for a minute before his eyes widen almost comically and a slight flush settles on his face. Jesper cannot wait to hear about what he saw. 

Wylan clears his throat and scoots the tiniest bit closer. “Table two. See the woman sitting beside the man with his head thrown back looking like he's praying to Ghezen?” 

Jesper nods. 

“Her hand is, uh, moving rather rapidly under the table.” 

It takes physical restraint to keep his mouth shut and not to shove Wylan’s arm in disbelief. He looks closer at table two and sure enough. 

“Wylan, that man is not currently receiving a handjob. Tell me it isn't so.” 

“I’m fairly certain it is so.” Wylan sounds like he's not trying to laugh. “He hasn't looked at his cards in a long while. So unless he finds the ceiling fascinating, he's getting jerked off under the table.” 

“And I thought you Kerch were civilized,” Jesper mutters in mock outrage. 

Wylan finally laughs and it sounds like liquid gold, like molten mirth. “You've known Kaz for over a week and you still hold that sentiment?” 

“Kaz doesn't count. He’s something else entirely.” 

“And what about me?” Wylan asks. “I'm fully Kerch, you know.” 

“Well, I’m not sure it's accurate to call a demolitionist civilized, but you're definitely proper.” 

“Proper?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Jesper nods. “Out of everyone I've met in Ketterdam, you definitely stand out.” 

Wylan’s brow furrows in what might be hurt or confusion, but Jesper doesn't like either of those options so he's quick to clarify what he meant. 

“I mean, you're just so nice and sweet to me,” Jesper says quickly. “You've got great manners, you're always so considerate, you're obscenely brilliant, you clean up really really well, and you've got that perfectly posh accent and I don't know…” he trails off before he accidentally confesses his undying infatuation. “You're just great, Wylan. Probably the best part of all this.” 

Wylan’s eyes widen in surprise, his cheeks dusting with a soft, rosy hue. He looks away momentarily, clearly taken aback by Jesper's candid compliment and flagrant flattery. When he finally meets Jesper’s gaze again, there's a genuine warmth in his eyes that could melt the canal in winter.

“Jesper, that’s probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me,” Wylan admits, his voice carrying genuine gratitude and something else entirely that Jesper is nearly itching to unpack. “I… I don't know what to say.” 

“You don't have to say anything,” Jesper says softly, taking his hand. “Just know you're appreciated.” 

Wylan’s lower lip trembles and Jesper worries that he's made him cry, but then the trembling stops and his mouth curves into a small smile. 

Wylan squeezes his hand. “Thank you. You make all of this easier too.” 

Before Jesper can say anything in response, the players at table seven all rise and make their way over to the bar. Jesper and Wylan are quick to turn back around toward the bar and regrettably let go of each other's hands. As the newcomers settle at the bar, a buzz of conversation swells around them and Jesper tries not to cough at the thick cloud of expensive perfume and cologne that suddenly surrounds him. 

Jesper orders another water and unbuttons his coat just to appear busy. He’s not really sure how to eavesdrop; he doesn’t know if just sitting idly staring at the bar’s countertop would make him suspicious. But he finds some comfort in the fact that everyone around him, besides Wylan, seems too intoxicated and restless to get back to the tables to pay him any mind. 

So he sips slowly on his new water and listens. 

He picks up on a man with a brash laugh talking loudly with an older woman. 

“...ready to ship them out. It’s been a while since I’ve sailed, but the kruger they offered was too much to pass up. The only hard part is keeping them in line. It’s hard to find people willing to do this kind of work, but I know how to take my money and mind my business.” 

Jesper’s heart quickens and he feels Wylan shift closer to him. He’s listening too. 

The woman snorts and downs her drink before responding. “You’re damn lucky that the Staadwatch is paid off. The spike in Shu Han’s economy could tip off any smart economist as to what’s happening to those people. It’s no secret that the Merchant Council has noticed.”

The man waves away her concerns. “You worry too much. Everyone that matters is involved, and if they aren’t they know well enough to keep their mouths shut.” 

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “People have started to send in false reports. Claiming an ordinary person to be grisha just to be rid of them.” 

“Hardly my problem,” he laughs. “All I know is at this rate I’ll be able to retire early.”

Jesper feels ill and he throws a desperate glance at Wylan to find that Wylan’s already staring at him. Silently, they agree. Jesper calls over the bartender and closes out their overly expensive tab considering it consists of only five waters. They wait for the players from table seven to finish at the bar before they rise with them, quickly leaving out the door. 

The sunlight assaults his eyes and he squints but he doesn’t get to dwell on it for long because Wylan is grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the direction of what he assumes to be the slat. Once Jesper gets his bearings, he notices that Wylan’s grip on his hand is way too tight. 

“Wylan, are you alright?” Jesper asks and it feels like a stupid question because Wylan is shaking beside him, practically vibrating. “I mean I know that was upsetting to hear, but—” 

Wylan rounds on him. “They're taking grisha to Shu Han, Jesper!” Wylan screams at him, red in the face. 

“I know, Wy, I know,” Jesper says calmly.

Jesper looks around because they're in broad daylight in the middle of a busy street on the high-end part of Ketterdam. This is not the place for this conversation. Now he’s the one dragging Wylan, looking for an alley to duck into. 

They rush through the bustling streets, their footsteps hardly making a sound off of the cobblestones compared to the chaos of the city. Jesper's mind races, trying to process the gravity of what they've just overheard. 

If people are lying about people being grisha, what are the odds of him just being snatched up because someone wanted to be rid of him and they made a lucky guess? 

How could people discuss trafficking so openly, so brazenly as if they were talking about the weather? 

If nobody seems to truly care, much less the Staadwatch, what change could they make? What could they possibly do? 

Finally, they find a narrow alley shied away from the prying eyes and ears of passersby. Jesper releases his grip on Wylan’s hand, but the tension in Wylan’s posture remains. 

“Take a deep breath,” Jesper urges gently, taking in a huge puff of air, following his own advice. “I know this is a lot to take in.” 

Wylan inhales shakily a few times, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He runs a trembling hand through his ruddy curls, blue eyes wide with what Jesper could only describe as fear. 

“Why are you not infuriated right now?” Wylan demands and it takes Jesper aback. 

Jesper thinks that's a fucking unfair question to ask. Sure, he's mad, livid, furious, but he's also scared. He's so fucking terrified and he doesn't have the luxury to prioritize his anger. Because he's grisha. He’s one of the people who would be shipped off like cargo and then discussed over drinks at a bar as if he were nothing. 

But Wylan would have no way of knowing that. So he takes a few deep breaths and swallows down his fear that tastes suspiciously like bile. 

“I’m infuriated, Wylan,” he says. “Alright? I’m infuriated more than you can imagine.” 

This does little to appease Wylan, who's still shaking and trembling and looks like he's about to cry. He suspects they're both a mess of emotions right now. 

“Do you know what happens in Shu Han?” He whispers. “What they do to grisha?”

“Of course I know!” Jesper is eerily calm, trying his best not to snap or panic. 

Of course, he knows that typically happens to grisha in Shu Han. He learned from his Da after his Ma died when he started insisting Jesper kept his abilities hidden. Jesper doesn't want to say that his father was fear-mongering him, but whenever he was caught making rings out of spoons it would turn into a lecture about all of the science experiments and inhumane things done to grisha in Shu Han. That it could be him if he wasn't careful. 

Wylan takes a deep, shuddering breath and repeats until he's stopped shaking. He takes Jesper’s hand again and Jesper slightly hates himself for feeling something soft and tender at the simple action. It isn't the time for that. 

“I'm sorry for yelling at you,” Wylan says. 

Jesper's voice softens, his eyes fixed on Wylan’s. “Don't apologize. I'm glad at least one of us had an appropriate reaction.” 

He squeezes Wylan’s hand reassuringly and Wylan responds by running the pad of his thumb over Jesper's knuckles. Jesper thinks he's going to lose his mind. 

“Okay,” Wylan sighs. “So what do you want to do?” 

Jesper's brows furrow. Is it up to him? He has no idea where to even begin. 

“What?” 

Wylan looks up at him. “We said that we'd agree on what we would tell Kaz and what we wouldn't,” he reminds him. “What do you want to do?” 

Suddenly Jesper's chest feels tight with emotion. For all the time he spent thinking about that night they talked in his room, he had completely forgotten about their agreement. The one that he had prompted but the one that Wylan has remembered and upheld. This is the very first lead they've had and Wylan’s willing to keep it from Kaz just because he respects Jesper's want of a choice. 

“I— yeah, yeah, we can tell Kaz.” Jesper sounds so choked up that he can't stop staring at Wylan with adoring eyes but doesn't care. “We should tell him.” 

It doesn't seem like information that could topple this whole trafficking empire going on, and he's not sure what Kaz could do with it. He reasons that if he and Wylan overheard it at a bar, Kaz in all of his resources could find this out himself if he truly desired. They'd also have to be smart about withholding information. 

Kaz Brekker isn't a fool, and anybody who dares to take him for one doesn't deserve the skin on their back. If he and Wylan routinely report no information to Kaz, he would deem them useless or see through them and deem them traitors. He's not sure which is worse in the eyes of Dirtyhands. 

“Okay,” Wylan nods. “Let's head back.” 

They rush back to the slat in silence, still hand in hand. 

When they finally make it back, they head immediately to Kaz’s office. Not bothering to knock (Jesper lets Wylan open the door), they walk in to find Kaz standing hunched over his desk staring down at papers that cover the surface with disdain, lips moving as he reads silently to himself. 

Kaz looks up, his sharp gaze fixing on them. “Back so soon?” 

Wylan takes a step forward, resting his hands on the chair rather than taking a seat. Somehow, he keeps his voice steady. “We overheard something.” 

Kaz’s eyes narrow, a spark of interest flickering in them. He straightens his posture, dragging his eyes away from the papers on his desk and giving Jesper and Wylan his full attention. “Go on.” 

As they recount what they heard at Club Cumulus, Jesper can practically see the gears turning Kaz’s mind, yet his face still betrays nothing. Always enigmatic, never readable. The silence that follows their revelation is heavy, filled with the weight of their newfound knowledge. Jesper fidgets, anxious to hear what Kaz has to say; if this changes things if they could do something now. 

“Good work,” Kaz says finally. 

Jesper sees a small smile spread across Wylan’s face and he can feel one creeping on his own. He’s not sure why they’re smiling; there’s nothing about this worth smiling for. Maybe they’re smiling out of relief; the affirmation and praise from Kaz that they did good work. Until he heard those words from the Barrel Boss’ mouth he hadn’t realized how anxious he had been. Afraid of failure. Eager to please. 

“Take the rest of your days off,” Kaz says, returning to studying the papers strewn across his desk. It’s very clearly a dismissal, so they turn to go, but Kaz adds something else before they can walk out the door. “Stay nearby though. I might need both of you later tonight for something.”  

Jesper thinks about pressing for more information because the knowledge that Kaz may or may not have a job for them later tonight doesn’t mingle well with all the anxiety already thrumming through his veins. But then Wylan nods and leaves out the door and Jesper can’t do anything but shut the door to Kaz’s office and follow him down the hall. 

“Wylan,” Jesper says. 

Wylan stops and turns to look at him with those wide, blue eyes of his and Jesper wants to dive in and never resurface. “Yes?” 

“I need a distraction,” Jesper says quickly. 

For a moment, Wylan’s face remains unchanged, as if processing. Jesper presses his lips together for a moment, refusing to stir in this silence. 

“I mean- you just said that if I ever needed a distraction to-”

“Oh!” Wylan’s face changes all at once, suddenly remembering, and he looks at him with what Jesper hopes is fondness and not pity. “I did say that,” he smiles, at him then it immediately falters. “Though, I’m not sure what I could do to distract us from… today.” 

Jesper’s mouth has always been quicker than his mind. “Just being with you helps,” he says honestly, perhaps too honestly. “Unless you want to be alone, of course, I completely understand-”

“Jesper,” Wylan interrupted gently, imploring him to stop talking. “Why would I want to be alone when I could be with you instead?” 

Heat rises to Jesper’s face and he’s never been so grateful for his dark complexion and the darkness of this hallway because of the shitty, dim, single lightbulb above them. Before he can respond, Kaz emerges from his office, tightly clutching the papers from earlier in his gloved hands. 

Kaz stops as soon as he steps foot out of the door and stares at them. Jesper would categorize such a look as a glare, but Kaz looks more confused than angry. Finally, he says, “Why are you two loitering outside my office?” 

Jesper is still reeling from what Wylan said to him, so he doesn’t answer. Thankfully, Wylan does. 

“We were just trying to ascertain the best way to fix the light,” Wylan says, pointing up to the lightbulb above the three of them. “I think just getting a new one would be best.” 

Kaz fixes them with a look that says he doesn’t believe them but he also doesn’t care enough to challenge their lie. He hands Wylan a slip of paper from his pocket. “I’m going out. Give this to Anika and only Anika.” 

Wylan takes the paper and folds it neatly, not even glancing down at it. Jesper marvels at the restraint it takes him not to immediately read it, to snoop, hungry for any information, especially information that he isn’t permitted to know. Or perhaps it takes no restraint for Wylan at all. 

Because they are nothing alike. While Wylan tucks the slip of paper away and seems content to never know the contents of it, Jesper is practically itching to take it from him and hungrily digest whatever’s being kept from him. Because they are nothing alike and Kaz entrusted the paper to Wylan when Jesper was closer. They are nothing alike and a sudden, odd, uncomfortable, feeling replaces the happy, fuzzy feeling left over from Wylan’s words. 

He is dragged out of his thoughts by Wylan’s wonderful voice. 

“Where are you going?” Wylan asks. 

Kaz looks like he’s contemplating whether or not to answer. His gaze flicks down to the papers in his hand before he does. “West Stave.” 

Wylan makes an incredulous face which Jesper completely understands because what business could Dirtyhands possibly have in the pleasure district? However, Kaz offers no further explanation and steps around them to leave. Jesper and Wylan watch him go with furrowed brows. 

“He is so…” Jesper trails off, hoping Wylan would provide him with the word or words he’s looking for. 

Wylan snorts. “Do not get me started. I could go on for ages about all the things Kaz Brekker is,” he mutters before grasping Jesper’s hand and guiding him out of the hallway. 

Jesper glances down at their linked hands and the odd feeling fades away. He smiles. “I believe I was promised a distraction.” 

Wylan laughs. “Well, I don’t have much to offer,-”

That is a statement that Jesper wholeheartedly disagrees with.

“-but I suppose I could teach you how to use my tattoo gun.” 

Jesper doesn’t know how else to channel the pure excitement coursing through him so he just squeezes Wylan’s hand. Not just because he’ll learn to use a tattoo gun because he very much likes guns, but because he adores when Wylan teaches him things. 

It’s not that he particularly enjoys learning because he’s certain that if it were anyone else, he would fall asleep learning about how fireworks are made, or most recently, learning how to sew because Wylan had taught him a few days ago after he tore his mother’s coat again. But that’s the thing; it’s not anybody else. It’s Wylan.  

He’d listen to someone describe the sight of white paint drying on an already white wall so long as that someone was Wylan. He gets to be around him and just listen, just adore. Adore the way Wylan’s hands move around frantically whether he’s explaining something simple or something complex. It doesn’t matter because those hands will move and it’s so endearing. Adore the way Wylan will look at him in the middle of talking just to make sure that he’s still listening, and especially adore the way Wylan’s face lights up when he realizes that Jesper is still listening with rapt attention. 

“Do I get to tattoo something on you?” Jesper asks excitedly as they walk to Wylan’s room. 

“No,” Wylan says in a way that tells Jesper he was expecting that exact question. “You get to practice on fruit. Or on yourself if you want.” 

“Is that how you learned? On fruit?” 

Wylan’s cheeks tinge pink and he turns away from Jesper to unlock his door. “No. I uh… may or may not have a lot of tattoos on my thighs.”

Jesper literally bites his tongue to stop himself from asking if he can see them. 

Wylan holds the door open for Jesper, saying he’s just going to run the note over to Anika’s room and then come right back. Jesper nods and tries not to say something ridiculous like hurry back. He enters Wylan’s room and wanders over to where he remembers Wylan keeps his tattoo station. 

Jesper, despite wanting to, refrains from snooping around and just sits down on the long chair. Wylan seems like the type of person who values his space and privacy, given what Jesper knows about him thus far. So for Wylan to leave Jesper alone in his room feels like a profound display of growing trust that he refuses to break. 

His fingers tap patterns onto the chairs and his eyes gaze around the room. It seems like there are constantly candles burning which seems like a massive fire hazard in Jesper’s opinion, especially considering the types of things Wylan keeps in his room. But part of him reasons that Wylan is too smart to start an accidental, candle-induced fire. 

After about a minute of looking around, he hears the door open and close, then Wylan’s soft footsteps padding over to him. Wylan apologizes for keeping him waiting and Jesper assures him that it’s fine. That earns Jesper a soft, genuine smile before Wylan turns around and begins fiddling with things on the table closest to them.

“What was the first thing you’ve ever tattooed?” Jesper asks while Wylan sets up. 

“Well, I didn’t have a tattoo gun until I joined the Dregs so my feather, I guess. Sorry, it’s not more exciting,” Wylan shrugs. 

Wylan hands him a grapefruit and Jesper takes it, not really understanding. Wylan joins Jesper on the chair, sitting cross-legged across from him. The tattoo gun buzzes to life and Jesper watches Wylan draw a small smiley-face on the grapefruit. 

“The skin of the fruit is similar enough to skin,” Wylan explains, carefully handing over the tattoo gun. “Right now, you just want to get used to the weight of the gun. Draw lines and shapes; nothing too intricate.” 

Jesper takes the gun and is surprised by the weight behind it; though he isn’t sure why. It’s metal and metal is heavy. He follows Wylan’s instructions and just draws some squiggles on the grapefruit, and the smell of the pierced citrus tickles his nose. Foolishly, he inhales the acidity from the skin of the fruit and sneezes. 

His hand jerks forward with the force of the sneeze, veering the tattoo gun’s needle off of the fruit’s skin and towards Wylan. Wylan quickly scoots back to avoid the gun but he scoots back too far and loses his balance, his hips hanging over the edge of the seat they were sharing. 

Jesper blinks away his sneeze and reaches out with his free hand to steady Wylan so he doesn’t fall off of the seat and onto his ass. His hand rests snugly on the dip of Wylan’s waist to pull him closer and Wylan gently holds onto Jesper’s coat sleeve to regain his balance. Jesper opens his mouth to apologize but before he can, Wylan starts to laugh in such a delicate, light way that Jesper could only describe as a giggle. 

“Sorry, I should have asked if you were allergic to citrus,” Wylan says. 

Jesper stares and stares at Wylan’s, a bit engrossed in the particular sight of his face flushed with mirth before he remembers he should respond. 

“Not allergic. Just a sensitive nose, I guess.” 

There’s a silence between them, save for the tattoo gun still buzzing away, but it’s not uncomfortable. At least, Jesper doesn’t find it uncomfortable and he can only hope Wylan doesn’t either. 

He hasn’t removed his hand from Wylan’s waist and Wylan hasn’t removed his hand from Jesper’s arm. Wylan shifts closer and reaches between them with his free hand to shut off the tattoo gun. Their eyes lock onto each other and neither of them dare to look away. Neither of them want to. 

“Wylan,” Jesper murmurs, “you’ll tell me if I ever make you uncomfortable, right?” 

Wylan’s fingers trace absent patterns on Jesper’s arm, the gentle touches sending shivers down Jesper’s spine. “Yes,” he whispers, but Jesper still hesitates. 

As if sensing Jesper’s apprehension, Wylan’s fingers move from Jesper’s arm to cup his cheek gently. This touch is even more electric, sending warmth coursing through Jesper’s veins. Wylan’s thumb tentatively brushes over Jesper’s cheekbone. His gaze never wavers. 

Their faces draw closer, and Jesper can feel Wylan’s warm breath on his lips. They’re so close that Jesper can count the freckles that dust Wylan’s nose and cheeks; which is something he’s always wanted to do. And he would, if there wasn’t something else he wanted to do much more. The world around them narrows down to this moment, their shared space, and the tension between them. 

Jesper leans in first and rather than pulling back or waiting for Jesper’s lips to reach his, Wylan meets him halfway. The kiss is soft and uncertain as if they’re both afraid to shatter the intimate bubble around them that they’ve created together. It’s over far too quickly in Jesper’s opinion because Wylan gently separates their lips and rests his forehead against Jesper’s. 

But never mind the length of the kiss, because Jesper is soaring and can hardly believe what just happened. He looks into Wylan’s eyes seeking reassurance. 

“Jesper,” Wylan says softly. “I don’t… I mean I know you… get around,” he finally flushes, “and there’s nothing wrong with that,” he hastily adds. “I just mean that if you feel what I feel between us, I don’t want to be a passing fancy.” 

Jesper is momentarily taken aback by Wylan’s words, not because of what he said, but because of the honesty and vulnerability in his voice. 

“Wylan,” Jesper begins, his voice just as soft, “It’s true that I’ve been with a lot of people, but I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. How could I ever pass you by? I want… a relationship with you if you’ll have me.” 

Wylan’s eyes search Jesper’s, looking for any sign of insincerity or deceit, but he finds nothing but genuine affection and yearning. A small smile creeps onto his lips and Jesper can’t help but mirror it. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind Wylan’s ear. 

“I want a relationship with you too,” Wylan says. 

Their faces draw close again, and this time the kiss is different. It’s no longer soft and uncertain; it’s exploratory and fervent, a silent agreement that something between them has shifted. The kiss deepens, and Wylan’s hands find their way to Jesper’s shoulders, while Jesper’s fingers trace the contours of Wylan’s waist, subtly drawing him in closer. 

Jesper wants so, so badly to intensify the kiss. To slip his tongue into Wylan’s mouth, tangle his fingers in his curls, and pull him up onto his lap. But he wants Wylan to feel as cherished and treasured as he is. So he takes it slow because slow is just as wonderful and follows Wylan’s lead. 

The moment is broken by Wylan’s door opening harshly; it’s not quite a slam, but it’s loud enough for them to hear and jump apart from each other. Again, Wylan almost falls off the seat and Jesper tightens his hold on his waist. 

They look over to the door to see Kaz standing there with an unreadable expression on his face; which for once, Jesper is grateful for. Because Jesper can read angry and Kaz doesn’t look angry, which is all he can hope for. He’s been given warnings upon warnings about how Wylan is off-limits and has seen first-hand how Wylan is Kaz’s favorite. 

But Jesper is blessedly still alive and Dirtyhands hasn’t made an example out of him for getting together with Wylan so he assumes all is well. He casts a look at Wylan who is blushing more violently than Jesper has ever seen him. His face is an impressive and worrying shade of red. 

Kaz clears his throat. “Please make yourselves… presentable, then come back up to my office. Be quick about it.” 

Then he’s gone, shutting the door with much less force than he opened it with.

Notes:

I know it seems like they got together super fast, but this story is more of exploring all of the intricacies and nuances of Wylan and Jesper’s relationship, especially with all of the changes this AU brings, than it is a story of how they get together.

Chapter 7: Wylan

Notes:

boys kissing

Wylan tries to smooth the wrinkles out of his clothes even though he and Jesper haven't been doing anything that would make him look too unpresentable or rumpled. They only shared a kiss. A wonderful, breathtaking, earth-shattering kiss that had made Wylan feel like he was drowning all over again but coming up for air was the absolute last thing he wanted. His lips are still tingling with the phantom warmth of Jesper's mouth against his. He almost touches his fingertips to his lips just to try and replicate the sensation. What a cliche.

“Ready to face the music, darling?” 

He turns to look at Jesper and almost says no. The way Jesper is looking at him makes Wylan want to do nothing else but shove back onto that chair and settle right back into his lap. Why would he want to be anywhere else when he has Jesper right here in his room? He doesn't want to go anywhere, least of all go see Kaz. Especially not after Kaz walked in on them. 

He's positive he's never been more mortified. Privacy is scarce in the barrel, but Wylan is a pretty private person. He’s not one to kiss and tell and he refused to show his face or leave his cushy room when that rumor about him and his tutor started circulating in the tabloids.

His father had been livid, claiming it was ridiculous for Wylan to be involved in gossip in a well-respected newspaper that he couldn't even read. And despite Wylan's insistence that it wasn't true (it was), he went without dinner that night and the only thing he was allowed for entertainment was the newspaper. 

So he's never shared much of anything with anyone. Realistically, he knows that Kaz would have found out eventually. It's nearly impossible to keep anything from Kaz, not with how perceptive he is. Kaz yearns for information the way a sunflower yearns for the sun. 

Wylan’s not even sure why he doesn't want Kaz to know. There isn't much that Kaz doesn't know about him. He and Kaz trust each other to some degree and he genuinely believes that Kaz would never use anything against him. 

Maybe he just wants something to hold close to his chest, his heart. Something or someone dear to him who is just for him. Something private, secret, and special. Wylan wants to learn all the nuances of Jesper's heart, mind, and soul and he wants to be the only one to know those things. 

He wants to know ridiculous things about Jesper that would be insignificant to anyone but them. How does Jesper take his tea? Does Jesper snore and is he a blanket hog? Would Jesper be the big spoon or the little spoon? How would Jesper kiss him if they had all the time in the world? 

“Wylan?” Jesper asks, his brows furrowed with a gentle worry. 

Oh. He was staring. 

“Yes, sorry,” Wylan smiles. “Let's go see what Kaz needs.” 

Jesper's calloused hand slips into his own and as if on instinct, they lock their fingers together immediately. Tentatively, Jesper gently tugs him forward and Wylan goes willingly, eagerly. Their chests are almost touching. With his free hand, Jesper reaches up to cup Wylan’s face. Wylan can't do anything but lean into it, lean in closer. 

“We’ll talk after, yeah?” Jesper murmurs. 

Wylan nods. “Yeah.” 

Jesper draws him in like a siren song until their lips meet. It’s a soft, sweet, kiss much like their first, and just as wonderful. But Wylan can feel something stirring between them; too much potential energy waiting to be released. Water behind a slowly cracking dam. 

Wylan wills himself to pull away, but not too far. “Don't start something, Jes,” he whispers with a smile. 

Jesper grins and hums. “You're just as guilty, Wy.” 

Reluctantly, yet hand in hand, they make their way to Kaz’s office. Wylan knocks and after Kaz tells them to come in he lets go of Jesper's hand. He hopes it doesn't give off the wrong impression. 

They enter and see Kaz laboring over paperwork again, muttering. He looks up and beckons them in. Jesper closes the door. 

“Meet Inej,” Kaz says. 

For a moment, Wylan is confused. He looks around the room and doesn't see who he's meant to be meeting. Suddenly a woman is standing beside Kaz, as if she emerged from the shadows themselves. Materialized from her own will. Kaz is the only one unphased by her sudden appearance. Kaz turns to meet her eye subtly and there’s something incomprehensible in his eyes. A glint Wylan's never seen. 

Jesper jumps. “Saints!” 

In the dim lighting of Kaz’s office, Wylan can make out the appearance of a young Suli woman with impressively long hair. She's shorter than Wylan, which he also finds impressive. Inej looks at him and Jesper with wariness, as if she would flee out of Kaz’s open window any moment. She's not exactly hiding behind Kaz, but it's clear she's much less wary of the Bastard of the Barrel than she is of Wylan and Jesper. It makes Wylan feel odd; after years spent alongside Kaz, he's never been the most intimidating one in the room. 

Wylan smiles and he hopes it's welcoming. “I’m Wylan.” 

Inej nods at him. 

“Jesper,” Jesper introduces himself and holds out a hand for her to shake. 

Inej stares at Jesper's outstretched hand for a long, awkward moment before she steps forward and shakes. 

“It's nice to meet you both,” she says and Wylan can't quite place her tone. Her voice is quiet, but not scared or intimidated or shy, she sounds reserved and observant, like she's not sure what to make of them. 

Kaz clears his throat. “Inej is our new spider.” 

“Spider?” Jesper asks. 

“Like a spy,” Wylan supplies. “Gathering intel, that sort of thing.” 

“Well thank the Saints we’ve got a professional for that now. No offense, Wy, but we were awful at that.” 

Wylan laughs lightly and can't help but agree. “Welcome to the Dregs, Inej, we'll sure you'll be a great addition,” Wylan says warmly. “Do you want to come down and get your tattoo now?” 

Kaz looks up from his desk and opens his mouth to respond, but Inej beats him to it. 

“That won't be necessary,” she replies. “I'm not too keen on being… branded.” 

Wylan expects Kaz to protest because nobody has ever joined the Dregs and not received the tattoo— the feather. He's seen people refuse and then Kaz promptly kicks them out of the slat and tells them to stay away. But Kaz just nods slightly and returns to his paperwork. 

“You’ll be seeing much more of each other. Play nice, get acquainted,” Kaz says with a wave of his hand. “That will be all.” 

It's a clear dismissal, but Wylan isn't sure for whom. Then Kaz looks up at him and Jesper expectantly and gestures to the door. They awkwardly shuffle out, a bit off-put by the briefness of their summons but grateful for it. They have a lot to talk about. 

Both of them feel the tension tension between them, the conversation itching to be had. Quickly, they rush away from Kaz’s office, both silently agreeing to head to Wylan’s room. They enter his room and Wylan remembers to lock it behind them this time. 

He turns away from the door and is immediately met with the sensation of Jesper cupping his face and gently tugging him in for a kiss. It's a remarkable sensation, really. One that Wylan’s positive he’ll never grow tired of. Easily, he melts into it and steps closer until the tips of their noses and the tips of their shoes are touching. 

Wylan doesn't have much experience kissing people he actually fancies so he's not quite sure what to do with himself. Should he close his eyes? Right now, they're open, gazing softly at Jesper who has closed his eyes . It doesn't feel odd to have them open, but maybe that's because Jesper's aren't also open. Greedily, he tries to commit the sight of Jesper's face and its serene expression to memory. He likes to be able to stare at the little scrunch between Jesper's brows because they're slightly turned up in bliss. He likes to study the curve of Jesper's lashes against his cheek. 

Their lips part slightly, Jesper pulling away for air, but Wylan draws him back in quickly, reconnecting their mouths. He knows they should be talking, that it's what they came in here for, but this is so, so much better. A wiser way to use their mouths, in Wylan’s opinion. 

He decides to close his eyes this time. Already, he misses the sight of Jesper's gorgeous face, but this is lovely too. With a contented sigh, rests his hands on Jesper's hips and squeezes lightly. The reaction is instantaneous. Jesper makes a small, almost desperate sound against his lips and the tips of his fingers curl where they're cradling Wylan’s face. 

So, naturally, Wylan squeezes tighter and this time it earns him a groan. Jesper's tongue prods at the seam of Wylan’s lips and Wylan eagerly parts them like water. The first slide of Jesper's tongue against his own is nothing short of electric. The taste of Jesper on his tongue is sweet, a mix of something uniquely him, and Wylan can't get enough of it. 

The room fills with the soft sounds of their shared breaths and the quiet hum of anticipation. Their kiss deepens and Jesper’s hands move from Wylan’s face, sliding down to rest on his waist and the space of his lower back, just above his buttocks. The feel of Jesper's hands on him, on his body, gently resting on places nobody has ever held him, emboldens Wylan. He tightens his grip on Jesper's hips, pulling him even closer. 

Again, Jesper is the one to break the kiss, his lips hovering just above Wylan’s. “Wy,” he whispers, his voice husky and low. 

Wylan’s eyes flutter open and he meets Jesper's heated gaze. “Hm?” 

“We need to talk,” Jesper says, his words a gentle reminder of the reality outside their bubble of shared kisses and caresses. 

Wylan nods and reluctantly pulls away. “I know.” 

They move to sit on Wylan's bed, their hands finding each other naturally. They're sitting pretty far away from each other, too far for Wylan's liking, despite them being on the same bed. As he shifts around trying both to get comfortable and subtly shift closer to Jesper, Wylan feels something like paper crinkle beneath him. 

He fishes out the piece of paper from beneath his legs and his breath catches in his throat. On the paper is his family seal, the Van Eck family seal, and a little doodle of two pearl-handled revolvers which Wylan can only assume is meant to represent Jesper. The only thing that lets Wylan know this isn't a threat from his father or that someone else in the Dregs has discovered his secret is the recognizable scrawl of Kaz’s signature. He can't read it, but after countless nights spent with Kaz in his office, he can recognize his handwriting. 

What is Kaz trying to tell him?  

Wylan fights to keep his breathing even and wills his hands not to tremble. Does Kaz want Wylan to tell Jesper his real last name? Is this some sort of courtesy call? Is he being given the opportunity to tell Jesper before Kaz tells him himself? Is Kaz telling him that Jesper already knows? He wants to sprint out of this room to Kaz’s office and leave Jesper alone on his bed. 

“Wylan?” Jesper says softly. “Are you okay, darling? You're shaking a little.” 

Only now he notices the slight tremor in his hands and the way the paper moves with it. He drops the paper like it's burnt him. 

“I’m– I need to tell you something. Right now,” Wylan forces the words out before he can run away. 

“Okay,” Jesper says slowly, clearly confused by Wylan’s sudden shift in demeanor. 

“And you can't— well it's not that you can't be mad or upset, I just want you to listen and let me say everything I need to say before you—” 

Mercifully, Jesper cuts off Wylan’s rambling by placing his hand on Wylan’s. “Wylan,” he implores, eyes meeting his, “it's alright, just relax, yeah? Of course, I'll listen.” 

Wylan nods and takes a deep breath. Then another. Then he starts talking, spewing out everything he's never told anyone. Releasing all of the things he's always wanted to say. 

“My name isn't Wylan Hendricks,” Wylan starts softly and Jesper's eyebrows furrow, but he continues to listen. “Well, my name is Wylan, but my last name isn't Hendricks. It's Van Eck.” 

A myriad of emotions, mostly surprise, flash across Jesper's face. He opens his mouth to say something, but Wylan fixes him with a pleading look, eyes wide and earnest and begging. He closes his mouth. 

Wylan continues. “And no, it's not a coincidence. Councilman Jan Van Eck is… is my father.” It takes a considerable amount of effort to say and just speaking that truth sends a full-body shiver through him. “Kaz is the only other one who knows, he knew the day I met him. It's… I like to keep it a secret for some obvious and not-so-obvious reasons. But if we're going to have something together, I figured I should tell you.” 

Jesper continues to stare at him. At least his jaw hasn’t dropped. At least he hasn’t left. At least he hasn’t reacted in anger. 

“You can ask questions now,” Wylan mumbles. 

Jesper blinks a few times, processing the revelation and trying to gather his thoughts and questions. His grip on Wylan’s hand tightens in a subtle, silent, promise of support. It makes Wylan breathe a bit easier. 

“Jan Van Eck? As in the filthy-rich councilman Jan Van Eck?” Jesper’s words are careful, his tone measured. 

Wylan winces but manages to keep looking at Jesper. “Yeah. That’s the one.” 

Jesper’s thumb gently runs over Wylan’s knuckles. “Not that I’m not happy to have you here, with me… but why are you here then? A cushy mansion on the Geldstratt seems like a better deal. Why leave?” 

Wylan’s response is immediate, snapping like a viper. “I didn’t leave.” 

Jesper’s thumb stills. 

Wylan recovers quickly and his hand covers his mouth, shocked at his reaction. “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, Jesper, really. I guess I never realized how much talking about this affects me.” 

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” Jesper says. “So you didn’t leave. What happened?” 

Wylan purses his lips and mulls over how to answer. “My father… did things no father should ever do. He thought— he thinks something is wrong with me and was determined to fix me. Eventually, he grew tired of trying and just wanted to be rid of me.” 

Jesper’s voice is so soft, so careful when he speaks his next words, and it alleviates some of the ache in Wylan’s chest. “He… did he abuse you?” 

Wylan flinches at Jesper’s choice of words. He’s never really thought of what he endured as abuse, but that’s objectively what happened. His father abused him in a plethora of ways and even now when Wylan is away from him, he’s still taunted and tortured by the monthly letters. 

Wylan nods. “Yes.” 

Jesper’s expression darkens, a mixture of anger and concern etched across his face. “That son of a bitch,” he mutters, this thumb rubbing soothing circles on Wylan’s hand. “And when you say ‘be rid of you’...?” 

Wylan figures Jesper couldn’t get any more angry. 

“He tried to have me killed,” Wylan whispers.

He was wrong. 

Jesper’s face contorts with shock and rage. The room is silent for a moment, the only sound being the muffled crackling of candles and their intertwined breaths. He clenches his jaw, visibly grappling with the weight of Wylan’s words.

“That’s… that’s insane,” Jesper finally utters, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s fucking insane.” His grip on Wylan’s hand tightens, not in anger towards him but as a grounding force, a connection in this sea of revelation. 

Wylan nods, feeling the weight of the truth finally unburdening itself. 

Jesper pulls him into a hug and Wylan melts into it easily. He’s been proud of himself for maintaining eye contact thus far, but he’s not sure how much longer he could’ve gone through that conversation looking Jesper in the eyes. 

“Can… I still have another question,” Jesper says while he wraps his arms around Wylan’s trembling frame.

Wylan just nods again as permission. 

“What did he think was so wrong with you?” Jesper’s voice is still clipped, barely restraining his fury. “Was it… did he find out you were gay?”

Wylan huffs out a humorless laugh. “No, he knew about that, I honestly don’t think he gave a damn.” He takes a deep breath. This is the part of the conversation he’s been dreading. “The only thing important to him was an heir; someone who could take his place in the Merchant Council and keep his name living. He had no use for an idiot son that can’t read.” 

Jesper doesn’t pull away from the hug; if anything, his grip tightens as if he’s holding onto Wylan for both of their sakes. “You can't read?” Jesper doesn’t sound disgusted or off-put or amused. He says it like it’s as ordinary as the sky and Wylan’s father is the odd one. It lifts an immeasurable weight off of Wylan’s shoulders. “He tried to kill you because you can’t read?” Jesper’s disbelief is evident in his tone. 

Wylan leans back slightly to look at Jesper, searching for any sign of judgment or disgust. Instead, he finds a fierce determination in Jesper’s gaze, a protective fire that warms him from the inside out. “Jes I—”

“No,” Jesper interrupts, shaking his head. “You don’t have to explain anything. Your father’s a piece of shit.” 

Wylan chuckles weakly, but it quickly devolves into pitiful sobs that wrack his body as he falls back into Jesper’s open arms. When was the last time he had talked about it? 

“I’m sorry, Wy, I’m so sorry,” Jesper whispers into their embrace, rubbing a comforting hand up and down the expanse of Wylan’s back. “You didn’t deserve that, you didn’t deserve any of it.” 

Jesper holds Wylan tightly as the tremors course through him. He presses soft kisses into Wylan’s hair, an attempt to offer comfort, to assure him that he is safe now. 

“Wylan,” Jesper whispers, his voice a soothing murmur. “You’re strong, you know that? You’re so strong and so unbelievably brilliant. You survived that bastard and now you’re here.” 

Wylan sniffles, pulling back slightly to look at Jesper. “I… I never told anyone all of that,” Wylan admits, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. “Not like this. And that… that wasn’t everything. I think I’d like to tell you it all, one day.” 

Jesper cups Wylan’s face, his thumbs brushing away any remaining tears. “Thank you for trusting me with this,” Jesper says sincerely. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore. You tell me as much as you need to.” 

Wylan nods as Jesper’s fingers trace soothing patterns on his back, an unspoken promise that he would be there. After a while, Wylan wipes away the last of his tears and looks up at Jesper. 

“I’m sorry I kinda took up all the talking in our talk,” he mumbles. 

Jesper laughs lightly and squeezes him affectionately. “We can still talk if you want. I mean, I know we both agreed to a relationship, but does that mean I get to call you my boyfriend?” 

Wylan blushes a delicate pink. “Yes. I’d like that… I want that.” 

Jesper smiles radiantly and Wylan is helpless to do anything else but lean up and connect their mouths in a chaste press of lips. 

“And do I get to let other people know that you’re my boyfriend?” Jesper murmurs into the space between them. “You seemed a little upset when Kaz walked in on us.” 

Wylan smiles at Jesper’s thoughtfulness and the fact that he noticed his discomfort earlier. “I don’t mind people knowing. I just wish we had to ourselves for a little while.” 

“I get that. But I promise that you have many, many uninterrupted moments to look forward to in the future.” 

Wylan hums in delight and leans up to kiss him quickly again. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about? Or do I have an uninterrupted moment in my near future?” 

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.” Jesper flexes his fingers which Wylan has noticed is a nervous habit of his. “I’ve never been in a serious relationship before, and that’s what I want with you. I want to be a good boyfriend, a good partner, but I’m… not sure I know how to.” 

Wylan reaches up to cup Jesper’s face. “Jes, I don’t really know what I’m doing either. I have no grand expectations for you going into this, just that you’ll try and hold me to the same standards. We’ll figure it out together.” 

Jesper leans into Wylan’s hand. “I think I want to take this slow. I don’t want to have sex right away. I want to take you on dates and adore you and treat you the way you deserve to be treated. And maybe be able to tattoo something on you.” 

Wylan stares at Jesper, his lips slightly parted and his heart thrumming against his ribcage. 

Jesper cringes at Wylan’s silence and pulls away slightly. “I’m being too cheesy, aren’t I?” 

Wylan quickly draws Jesper back in, regaining the distance they lost. “No! No, not cheesy. You’re being perfect. You’re so much more than what I thought I could ever have.” He smiles and grabs both of Jesper’s hands. “Taking it slow sounds lovely.” 

Blessedly, Jesper leans in and kisses him eagerly. Wylan lets go of Jesper’s hands so he can wrap his arms around Jesper’s shoulders. They share multiple kisses in quick succession, pressing their smiling lips together briefly before pulling back for a slight intake of air and then diving right back in. It’s so wonderfully sublime; Wylan loves it. 

However, once again, they’ve interrupted. By a knock at Wylan’s door this time. Jesper sighs against his lips and reluctantly pulls away which makes Wylan laugh. They disentangle themselves and then Wylan calls, “Come in!” 

Kaz opens the door and walks in without his cane, oddly enough. He had the decency to knock this time, much to Wylan’s delight. Kaz doesn’t enter the room much further than the doorway, his eyes landing on the pair on Wylan’s bed. 

“Wylan,” Kaz says, “my office. Jesper, please go with Inej down to the Crow Club. Introduce her to Muzzen, show her around, that sort of thing.” Kaz waves his gloved hand around in a so-so motion. 

Wylan and Jesper both rise from the bed, making their way over to Kaz. 

“I’m sorry,” Jesper says incredulously as they walk over, “Kaz, did you just say please ? Did you ask me to please do something and not just tell me to do it?” There’s undeniable humor in his voice and Wylan can’t help but smile at his boyfriend’s antics. He’s been poking fun at Kaz recently and has remarkably kept his head. 

Kaz glares, but Wylan knows him well enough to recognize a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. 

“I can get Anika to do it,” is all Kaz says. 

Jesper quickens his pace to the door. “Nope! No, all good, I’ll do it.” Jesper is almost out the door before he halts and turns back around. He strides back over to Wylan and plants a firm kiss on his lips. Jesper bids him goodbye with a quick, “See you tonight, love!” Then he’s out the door. 

Wylan wishes he could wipe the insistent blush and the stupid smile off of his face because they felt ridiculous under Kaz’s gaze. Kaz’s lips upturn slightly, just a minuscule curl before he turns and makes his way back up to his office. Wylan follows. 

Once they arrive in Kaz’s office, Wylan shuts the door behind him and takes his usual seat across from Kaz. He’s learned that he should always start the conversation if he ever wants Kaz to talk about what he wants to talk about. 

“Did you leave that paper on my bed?” Wylan asks. 

Kaz retrieves a pen from his desk drawer and begins fiddling with it, practicing his disappearing magic trick. As a man of science, Wylan hates when he does that; because it’s “magic” and definitely not because he doesn’t understand how Kaz does it. 

Kaz shrugs. “I put the message on it. Inej left it on your bed.” 

Wylan sits up slightly. “She— but the only time I was out of my room was when I met Inej!” 

Frankly, he’s disturbed by how stealthy this woman must be if she managed to place that paper on Wylan’s bed in the short amount of time it took him to go to Kaz’s office initially. Disturbed and immensely impressed. 

Kaz just shrugs again. “She’s good at what she does. I only hire the best.” 

Wylan slumps back down and sighs. “So, what was the message meant to be?” 

“How did you interpret it?” 

Wylan thinks he hates him sometimes. 

“I told him. About my father and my illiteracy.” 

Kaz finally looks away from his stupid magic pen. 

“And I assume it went well? If his goodbye to you was anything to go by.” 

Wylan flushes. “Yes, it went really well. We’re… taking it slow. I really like him, Kaz.” 

Kaz grants Wylan with one of his rare, genuine smiles. It doesn’t look quite right on his face; out of place, like a horse in the ocean, but Wylan appreciates it nonetheless. 

“He seems… good for you,” Kaz says with an effort that Wylan will always appreciate. “Just tell me when it gets to the point I can start renting out his room.”

“Ways away, Kaz,” Wylan mutters. What has he done in his life that led up to him being teased about his relationship by the Bastard of the Barrel? “Is there any particular reason you wanted me to tell him?” 

Kaz places the pen down. “He would have found out soon. I have a job for us.” 

Wylan shifts in his chair, unease settling around him like a fog. “What kind of job?” 

“Me, you, Jesper, and Inej,” Kaz says. “Quick heist, nothing too complicated.” 

“I feel like you’re lying to me.” 

“We’re stealing a DeKappel painting from your father’s mansion.” 

Wylan’s certain now. He hates Kaz most of the time. 

Notes:

if you saw the updated character tag before you read the chapter no you didn't

don't worry next chapter will have lots of inej! mostly inej and jesper getting to know each other :)

Chapter 8: Jesper

Notes:

I'm just going to put this here and act like I haven't been gone for like half a year.

“How do you do that?” Jesper asks. 

He and Inej are on their way to the Crow Club, as per Kaz’s request. Inej insisted they take the long way—something about becoming more familiar with alleyways and the layout of Fifth Harbor. 

Inej hasn't been talking much, in which she hasn't been initiating any conversation. However, she's been very attentive about responding whenever Jesper asks her a question or makes an off-handed comment about what it's like working for Kaz. 

“Do what?” Inej responds, glancing at him while they walk. 

“When you walk, your feet make no sound. How do you make walking on gravel sound like walking on cotton?” 

Inej smiles, appreciating Jesper’s compliment. “Practice, I suppose. I grew up doing acrobatics.” She glances down at Jesper’s feet. “It also helps to wear lighter shoes.”

Jesper looks down at his own steel-toed boots with scrutiny. The paint on them is peeling and the soles of them have completely smoothed out and worn down from years of use. 

He shrugs. “Nope. Too attached. These go with too many outfits and match nearly all my hats.” 

Amusement glints in Inej’s eyes. “I'm glad you have your priorities straight, Jesper.” 

He laughs as he holds the door open for her, ushering her into the Crow Club and nodding at Muzzen as they enter. Inej looks around the club with mild interest, eyes flicking over the myriad of drinkers, gamblers, and workers. 

“It's still early,” she comments. “Does it get busier at night?” 

“Oh yeah,” Jesper huffs a laugh as he leads Inej to the bar. “You'd think weekends would be busiest, but most people get their paychecks Monday morning, so by Monday evening their hard work is gambled off.” 

Inej hums as she silently slides into the seat beside Jesper. He orders them both a glass of water and a shot of whiskey. 

“Is this Kaz’s only business?” she asks after thanking the bartender. 

Jesper downs his shot quickly. “That I know of,” he shrugs. “Wylan would know if Kaz had other businesses, but I doubt he does. Hell, Kaz has got a twenty percent house advantage on roulette alone; I doubt he needs another business.” 

Inej decides to sip on her water instead. “So nothing more… lucrative?” 

Jesper turns to look at her. “Well, he's involved in some shady stuff, I'm sure, but he's rarely in the pleasure district if that's what you're asking.” 

The tension in Inej’s shoulder seems to melt away at Jesper's words and she finally picks up her shot glass with her dainty fingers and downs it in one smooth motion. “Good.” 

Jesper hardly likes to make assumptions about people, but it’s hard not to, considering his residency in the barrel. He’d be a fool to not watch his back and over-analyze everyone he meets. In the short amount of time that he’s known Inej, he’s developed some theories about her, about her story. Everyone has a story. 

As soon as they met, Jesper could tell Inej was skittish, cautious, and wary; no matter what he called it, it was clear that Inej was constantly putting herself first. When he and Wylan had introduced themselves to her, she looked ready to bolt. Which he’s certain are good survival instincts, but she would do well to hide it better. But he’s not sure a fear like that could ever be concealed, not truly. 

Kaz had gone down to West Stave--the pleasure district--with a stack of papers and most likely two stacks of kruger beneath his feet (simply keeping your money concealed isn’t enough to stop even the untalented pick-pockets, stuffing cash in your shoes is a sure way to keep your wealth) and hours later returned and introduced them to Inej. Inej has a tattoo on the inside of her wrist and has refused to be tattooed by Wylan. And Kaz had allowed it. 

His educated guess is that Inej is or was an indentured at a brothel. Which one, he’s not sure; he’s only been around West Stave once, when he was new to Ketterdam and didn’t know his way around. Kaz surely offered her a deal to work for him, maybe a singular job, maybe to join, and maybe he made a dent in Inej’s likely steep contract. Or paid it off, hopefully. 

Or he could be wrong, who knows? He was wrong about Wylan’s story. 

When he met Wylan, he didn’t have much in his mind besides survival, fear, and the tattoo artist with the pretty blue eyes . 

Then he went on his quick trial-run job with Kaz and shot a man dead. Sure, it got him into Kaz's good graces but it also kept him up that night. But he didn't want to stay up tossing and turning thinking about the life he ended, so he started thinking about Wylan instead. 

Wylan’s proper accent told him that he was Kerch through and through, so there was no speculating there. People don’t typically go around the barrel advertising their origins, shortcomings, or upbringings. Because surely, if you’re in the barrel, you’ve not grown up with much. But Wylan had confused him. 

He dresses well, as well as one can living in the slums and being in a gang quite literally called The Dregs . He seems used to pleasantries, or rather, unused to the absence of them. He offers Jesper tea; and delicately and carefully stitches up Jesper’s coat; he makes his bed and fluffs his pillows; Jesper has seen him shine his shoes. How does someone living in grime and grit pick up such ornate and meticulous habits? 

Then Wylan had told him what happened to him. His upbringing. His father. His illiteracy. His attempted murder. Then everything fell into place. From Wylan’s unreasonably vast vocabulary to his subtle flinches at sudden movements. It makes Jesper’s heart ache with every beat because he can’t stop thinking about it. 

He can't stop thinking about a young, baby-faced Wylan cowering in fear in what should have been the safety of his own home. When Jesper’s Ma died, his small farmhouse had felt huge. A chasm gaping with her loss. She lived in those walls of their modest family home, even after her death. Sometimes he woke up to the sound of her laughter or caught a scent of her perfume even though his Da had put all of her belongings in a box that is now buried beneath that cherry tree along with her. He can't imagine the terror and ghosts that haunt the Van Eck Mansion. Did the scent of his father’s torment linger in the air like damp wallpaper? Would the floorboards creak with the sound of Wylan’s cries? 

Jesper brings his focus back to Inej and decides to hurry along her tour of the Crow Club. He wants to see Wylan. Just to hold him in his arms and feel his hair gliding between his fingertips is all he wants. A part of him thinks that it's all he’ll ever want. Ages ago the thought of such intimacy and simple pleasures would have terrified him, but now it comforts him. 

Jesper clears his throat and stands. “Right, well, there’s just the back room, also known as Kaz’s second office, to show you then we should be on our way,” he says cheerfully. 

Inej nods and slides out of her seat silently, waiting for him to show her the way. Jesper waves through tables, waiters, and drunk patrons with ease and Inej dutifully follows behind. They enter the backroom, but not before he says hello to Anika, who is guarding it. It feels a bit unceremonious when they arrive; there isn’t much to show. It’s a small room with a cardboard box for a desk and a leaky ceiling. 

Jesper finds Inej’s attempt at politeness endearing. She smiles politely and nods, looking around the room. 

“It’s… nice,” she tries. 

“It’s a shithole,” Jesper corrects her. “I don’t know why Kaz wanted me to show you around. S’not hard to figure out.”

Inej looks at him curiously. “He wanted to get you out of the slat so that he could talk to Wylan alone,” she says plainly as if it were obvious. 

Something stirs in Jesper’s gut. “He tell you that?”

“No. It's just what I think,” she says gently, as if afraid of angering him. “But I do know that he has something planned.”

Jesper is heading for the door before he can even think or breathe. His hand reaches for the doorknob, but before he can grasp it, the door pushes open. Wylan stands there, eyes widening a bit in surprise to see Jesper so close to the door. 

“Oh! I was just coming to get you two,” Wylan smiles up at him. 

All of Jesper's worries melt away at the sight of Wylan looking up at him with that smile. What was he worried about? That Kaz would hurt Wylan? In retrospect, it's a ridiculous thought. He can't imagine Kaz ever hurting Wylan, at least not intentionally. 

“Are you okay?” Jesper asks, taking Wylan's hand. 

Wylan smiles quizzically at him and nods. “Everything’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jesper smiles back. “Just missing you.”

They continue to smile at each other for a moment until Inej clears her throat quietly. 

“Should we go?” she asks politely. 

Wylan startles with a flush before recovering quickly and leading them outside. The walk back to the slat is quiet and uneventful. Jesper believes Wylan when he says he’s alright, but he can see that Wylan is restless. A kind of restlessness and nervousness that Jesper has only ever seen in himself. Without a word, he takes Wylan’s hand in his own as they walk. Wylan tenses for a moment before relaxing and squeezing Jesper’s hand in thanks. 

When they return to the slat, Anika is there to greet them, saying Kaz is waiting for the three of them in his office. Jesper thanks her before they head upstairs. Kaz barely looks up from his desk when they enter, vaguely gesturing for Wylan to shut the door. Wylan stands by the door while Jesper and Inej take a seat. It’s painfully clear that Wylan knows what this impromptu meeting is about. 

“We’re leaving for a job tonight,” Kaz cuts to the chase. “It’s a simple heist and we’ll be stealing a painting along with some documents. Besides the four of us, only Anika knows where we’ll be, in case things somehow go awry.” 

“And where will we be?” Inej asks. 

“The Geldstraat. Van Eck Mansion,” Kaz says simply. 

Jesper goes still and has to restrain himself from turning around and shooting a worried glance at Wylan. He doesn’t know if Inej knows, and Wylan has been very secretive about his heritage. But Inej shifts in her chair to glance at Wylan with a raised brow before turning back to look at Kaz. Right. Inej is their spy. He’s not sure if Wylan or Kaz told her or if she just figured it out. 

Now that it seems everyone in the room knows, Jesper stands and makes his way over to Wylan, placing a comforting hand on his back. Wylan leans entirely into Jesper’s touch. Jesper turns to Kaz and opens his mouth to demand what the hell is wrong with him, but Wylan stops him with a frown. 

“It's fine, Jes,” he murmurs. “Don't make a big deal out of it.” 

“But—”

“Not now, Jesper.” Wylan’s eyes are pleading and his voice is tired. “We can talk later,” he adds quietly. 

Wylan’s face is flushed and Jesper thinks it's out of anger before he realizes that Wylan is embarrassed. Inej is staring at them curiously as if she's trying to dissect the entirety of their minds. Kaz’s hardened gaze fixes on the both of them, recognizing Wylan's and Jesper's relationship as more than just the initial amusement he felt. He recognizes them as a potential problem. 

Jesper turns back to Wylan and tucks one of Wylan’s curls behind his ear to help compose himself. Wylan's eyes soften as he looks up at him. He takes a deep breath before asking. “So when do we leave?” 

Kaz stares for a moment longer before answering. “Tonight at six bells. All of you in my office at the Crow Club. Don't be late.”  

Wylan is the first one out the door and Jesper is quick to follow him. Silently, they make their way to Wylan’s room. They both prefer it to Jesper's; it's more spacious and has plenty of trinkets lying around that they can both distract themselves with. 

“Are you upset with me?” Jesper asks as he closes the door behind them. 

“No. Of course not,” Wylan says genuinely as he goes to lie on his bed. “Come lay with me?”

Jesper hesitates for a moment, his mind still racing with worry and anxiety about their upcoming heist. But Wylan’s gentle voice and the warmth in his eyes pull him closer, dispelling the tension in his shoulders. He joins Wylan on the bed, lying down beside him. Their fingers find each other naturally, intertwining in a silent promise of comfort and support. 

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Jesper murmurs, his voice filled with concern.

Wylan smiles at the sentiment. ‘That’s a nice thought,” he says, “but this job is practically a non-starter without me there.”

“But you don’t want to go?”

“Of course I don’t. But I hope it won’t be too bad. Kaz timed it well, my father is out of the country at the moment.” Wylan turns his head to look at Jesper, his expression a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude. “Besides, you’ll be there.” 

Jesper smiles at that, put a bit at ease by Wylan’s optimism. “I’ll be there,” he repeats softly. 

Wylan shifts slightly, turning to face Jesper more fully. His eyes search Jesper’s face more fully and Jesper feels thoroughly perceived, as if Wylan can see right through him. 

“Jes,” Wylan begins softly, “I know you’re worried. I can see it in your eyes. But I don’t want you to feel like you need to protect me all the time.” He squeezes Jesper’s hand. “You’ve been… fretting over me,” he chooses his words carefully. 

Jesper’s gaze meets Wylan’s, filled with a mix of guilt and affection. “I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I can’t help it. Knowing what you’ve been through… It just makes me want to keep you from any more pain. And just the thought of you back in that house…” 

Wylan’s eyes soften and he shifts to lay his head on Jesper’s chest. “This pain will always be here, I think. I still get nightmares. Whenever I see a boy with his father, I feel an ache in my chest that might be envy or sorrow.” Jesper wraps his arms around him and tugs Wylan close so that his head is now resting in the crook of Jesper’s neck. “There’s nothing you or anyone else can do to make me… move on. But I’m sure stealing from my father will help just a bit.” 

Jesper smiles despite himself. “I mean, if you also wanted to blow up a few things I don’t think anyone would blame you,” he says with a grin. 

Wylan snorts then laughs and something inside of Jesper’s chest comes alive. “I’m sure Kaz would,” he says lightly. “But we have a few hours until tonight, and I don’t want to spend them wallowing or thinking of Kaz.” 

Jesper hums and pulls Wylan impossibly closer. “And how do you want to spend them?” 

Wylan looks at him, eyes full of mirth before promptly giving Jesper a quick peck on the lips then retreating off of the bed before Jesper can even reciprocate. “Wait here, I have something for you,” Wylan says excitedly, then he’s off, moving around his room with an endearing amount of energy. 

Jesper watches Wylan with fond eyes. As much as his heart aches with worry for Wylan and tonight, it also feels full to bursting with affection and a sickening amount of fondness. Wylan continues to run around the room, obviously having misplaced what he has for Jesper. He looks back briefly, and tells Jesper no peeking ! 

Laughing, Jesper obliges and covers his eyes with his hands. He doesn’t consider himself the sentimental type, but when he finds himself lying in his boyfriend’s bed, covering his eyes and waiting for a gift with the giddiness of a schoolboy, he can’t help but reminisce on how he got here. 

If only his parents could see him now. He doesn’t like to think of his father and the disappointment that he could somehow feel from oceans away. Especially now. Guilty gnaws at his guts, churning his intestines, and instilling a deep ache in his bones. Ever since Jesper found out about Wylan’s relationship with his father, thinking of his own Da makes Jesper feel ill . 

How ungrateful can he be? 

His Da wanted Jesper to stay home with him, to not leave him alone with the farm and the home that was haunted by the presence of his mother. But Jesper had wanted to leave, a chance in the city, an education. So his Da saved up funds and sent Jesper on his merry way, a sad, yet proud look in his eyes. 

His son, the scholar. His son, whom he loved and believed in. And who is he really? His son, the drop-out who can’t be damned to send his worried father a letter. His son, the gang member. His son, the murderer . 

Jesper has thought of telling Wylan about his upbringing, about the farm, and his Da. But how could Wylan possibly react? Jesper has a caring father, more than what he feels he deserves, and he’s thrown it away. 

Wylan wouldn’t understand how someone could heartlessly toss away the one thing he’d wanted since the first bruise marred his face. A loving father. 

His mother’s coat resting on his shoulders suddenly feels heavier than a sack of rocks. 

“Found it!” Wylan’s voice snaps Jesper out of his self-loathing.

Jesper swallows the taste of bile and wills the ache and guilt to fade away. “Can I look now?” 

“No,” Wylan says. The bed dips under Wylan’s weight as he re-joins Jesper back on the bed. “Now you can look.” Jesper can hear the smile in Wylan’s voice and it’s enough for one to creep onto his face. 

He uncovers his eyes and sees Wylan holding something with outstretched hands. In his hands is a patch of the crow-and-cup tattoo. Just by looking at it, Jesper can tell it’s been sewn and embroidered with meticulous attention to detail. 

“It’s for your coat!” Wylan says happily. “Well for one of them, I could make more for all of your coats if you’d like.” Wylan’s gorgeous blue eyes stare up at him with such an earnest, expectant expression and it makes Jesper melt . 

“You made this for me?” Jesper smiles softly. 

“Of course,” Wylan says. “I know Kaz sees the crow-and-cup as a privilege or whatever, but you’re crow enough to me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And between us, I’ve heard Kaz accidentally refer to you as a crow before,” he murmurs.

Wylan leans in and gives Jesper another peck on the lips, but Jesper catches him just before he can pull away too quickly this time. His hands cradle Wylan’s face, the precious thing it is, and kiss him earnestly.  They linger like that for a long moment before Jesper wills himself to pull away. 

“Thank you,” Jesper murmurs. 

“You’re welcome, treasure,” Wylan whispers. 

Saints . A full-body shiver runs through Jesper at the endearment and his face warms under Wylan’s gaze. Jesper never really saw the appeal of Kerch terms of endearments before; they always seemed too intimate, too possessive for his liking. 

Precious. Priceless. Cherished. Expensive. Treasure . He’s heard plenty, if not all of them from his time in gambling dens, hearing down-on-their-luck gambles trying to sweet talk their way into the dealer’s good graces. 

He’s never once appreciated them until now. Not until hearing the word treasure being caressed by Wylan’s soft, intoxicating voice. Not until hearing the word t reasure being formed by Wylan’s kiss-swollen lips. It’s exciting, it’s thrilling. He feels wanted and truly, utterly, treasured.

Jesper quickly composes himself. “So how does it work?” he asks, gesturing to the patch still held in Wylan’s hand. “You just sew it on?” 

Wylan hums in affirmation. “Quick and easy. Do you want it on this coat?” His delicate fingers come up to lightly touch the coat Jesper is wearing. His mother’s coat. 

The significance of this choice is not lost on him. It would be so easy to just tell Wylan no and quickly grab a spare coat from his room instead. It’s what he should do. Why is he hesitating? A part of him wants to ask if it could ever be removed and then made to look like it was never there. Of course, it’s an awful thing to ask about someone’s gift, let alone your boyfriend’s gift, so he doesn’t. 

He looks down at his mother’s coat and realizes how much of a patchwork it is. It’s an old coat, certainly older than Jesper and it shows. Only one of the buttons is original, all of the others have been replaced over the years, a mix-match of color. A few are buttons clumsily sewn on by his Da. One is a rather ugly-looking button that Jesper fabricated himself out of a spoon. The rest are from a trip to the tailor’s. Then there's the stitching from where Wylan fixed it for him. It’s still almost indiscernible to the eye, but Jesper can always find it when he looks for it. Jesper hopes his mother would be happy, seeing how much life has been breathed into her coat. 

“Yeah,” Jesper confirms, voice thick. “Left sleeve.” 

Wylan smiles and quickly gets up to fetch a spool of thread. He sits back on the bed and Jesper slips the coat off, handing it to him. Wylan drapes it over his lap and starts working. Jesper just watches him silently, fondly, for a few minutes and then it's done. 

“Done!” Wylan says with a flourish, presenting the coat with a grin. 

“It’s perfect,” Jesper says, taking the coat from him. 

They kiss quickly before pulling away. Jesper is quite frankly impressed with his self-restraint. The only thing he wants to do at this moment is lay Wylan down on this bed and show Wylan exactly how he feels. But they want to take things slow. And they don't have enough time for everything Jesper wants to do to him.

“We should probably start getting ready,” Wylan sighs, getting off of the bed. 

Jesper reluctantly hums his assent and stands as well. “See you at six bells?”

Wylan smiles and nods. “See you at six bells.”

Jesper resists the urge to lean down and kiss Wylan again and makes his way to the door. He crosses the hall to his room and shuts the door behind him. He flops down on the bed and glances over to his bedside clock. He has a little under two hours until he needs to head over to the Crow Club. 

A part of him just wants to nap the time away, but he doesn’t trust himself to wake up on time. So he resigns himself to cleaning his guns and using leather polish on his holster. He doesn’t imagine he’ll need them tonight, but Jesper isn’t a fool. This heist could easily be done without him, unless things go awry. Kaz likes to have him in case it comes down to shooting their way out of a situation. 

As he holsters his second gun he hears a knock at his window. He turns and sees Inej perched there. After getting over his initial shock, Jesper walks over and lifts open the window for her. She enters gracefully and silently. 

“I had to peek in three rooms before I found yours,” Inej says. 

Jesper smiles slightly. “Well, you found me.” He sits down on his bed. “Did you… need something?” 

“I wanted to ask you something.” 

It began to rain outside, the droplets softly pattering against the window.

“Sure,” Jesper says easily, but unease lingers in his mind. 

“Has Kaz ever brought you on a job like this?” 

“No.  Never,” Jesper said, not mentioning that he is just as new as Inej, all things considered. “First time for everything I guess. Why? Are you nervous?”

“Yes, frankly,” Inej confessed. “I'm not sure what to expect.” 

“I’m sure Kaz has planned everything. We don't need to worry.” Jesper tries to be reassuring but he can't shake the worry that clings to him. He can't stop thinking of Wylan. 

As if he could sense Jesper's distress, Wylan knocks before opening the door. “Are you ready to— oh! Hello, Inej,” Wylan smiles kindly. He’s dressed in more subtle clothing and his satchel is slung across his body. “I think Kaz and Anika are waiting with the carriage, we should get going.”

The walk to the Crow Club is silent. Kaz is indeed waiting for them, albeit impatiently. Anika sits with. bored look on her face, ready to steer the carriage. Wylan slides into the carriage and Jesper is quick to follow. Through the window, he can see Inej and Kaz talking. 

Kaz hands Inej a knife, holding out the hilt to her. “Here,” he says shortly. 

Inej takes it cautiously. “I don't know how to use this,” she admits. 

“I’ll have to teach you then.” A ghost of a smile graces Kaz’s lips. “But for now, it's better than nothing.” 

Jesper turns away before he's caught looking and listening. He turns to Wylan. Wylan is looking out the other window, his fingers weaving and tangling together nervously. Jesper reaches out to take his hand. 

Wylan turns to him with an appreciative smile. Their fingers link together and suddenly Jesper feels a wave of calm wash over him. 

“We're going to be fine tonight,” Jesper says softly. 

There's a glint in Wylan's eye and he squeezes Jesper's hand. “Right,” he murmurs. “Just fine.” 

They lean in and kiss briefly before Inej and Kaz slide into the carriage across from them. 

“Please refrain from… that ,” Kaz tells them, his lip curled in slight discomfort. 

Jesper flushes and Wylan returns to gazing out the window. Their hands stay intertwined. 

Inej smiles but doesn't say anything. 

Anika comes around to shut all the doors and then moments later the carriage lurches and begins to move. Wylan leans into Jesper and he wraps his arm around him. 

They're going to be fine.

Notes:

hiiiii :)

Chapter 9: Wylan

Notes:

so it's been a minute....

Wylan’s mind remains pleasantly and shockingly blank for the duration of the ride to his father's house. Jesper comforts him the entire time, his hands rubbing his back soothingly, holding him close, and squeezing his arm in support. Kaz’s gaze lingers on him frequently, while Inej’s flick to him occasionally. But he is fine. 

The fear he expected is absent, a sort of weightless feeling overcoming him. Perhaps he hasn't fully processed it yet. Where he's going, what he's doing. He's felt so detached from his father for so long (Kaz’s interception of the letters has helped) and now that he tries to conjure the fear that he expects, all he finds is a cold resentment. He is not afraid nor is he excited. 

To him, this feels like some inconsequential obligation, a chore. Just another thing Kaz needs from him to which he obliges with begrudging compliance. If he thinks of it this way, it makes it easier. But easier is not easy . 

He eyes the blueprints of the mansion clutched in Kaz’s hands. Wylan had drawn them up ages ago, when he had first joined the Dregs. Neither of them knew how accurate it was anymore, how much his father had changed the house. Did he giddily re-decorate and refurnish in Wylan’s absence? Did he tear down and rebuild the walls just so he could have ones that Wylan never lived in? Who could say?

Wylan can tell that Jesper wants to speak to him, but doesn't want Kaz or Inej to hear whatever he wants to say. He is tapping his foot and tracing the seam of his pants in the way that he does when he is nervous or restless. Wylan reaches out to take his hand. 

He needs to remind himself that Jesper's nerves may be much more plentiful than his own. Perhaps the reality of what it means to be in a gang, to be A Dreg is crashing down on him. Or maybe it already crashed after he killed for the first time. And now they are going to steal from Wylan’s father. A heist that's realistically low on the spectrum of criminality, but could land them in Hellgate simply if Jan Van Eck desired to. A mere fraction of the mercher’s equity could buy him anything he wanted. It bought him hitmen to murder his son. 

The carriage slows and Anika dutifully opens the doors for them. Kaz and Inej step out first and before Wylan can follow them out, Jesper grabs his arm. He turns and Jesper’s lips are on his, and Jesper’s hand is cradling his cheek. Wylan smiles and kisses back softly, uncaring of Anika’s gaze. 

“It’ll be alright, Jes,” Wylan says with slight amusement. Jesper is so endearing when he is nervous. 

Jesper nods and they exit the carriage. 

The Van Eck mansion stands tall and imposing before them, and for a moment, the ground beneath Wylan disappears. It is disarming to be here again. How many times has he walked up that driveway? And when did that excited, childlike trot turn into a dreaded dragging of the feet? The roses are still immaculately trimmed, not a petal out of place. 

“Tight schedule, remember?” Kaz asks, lightly whacking Wylan with the rolled-up blueprints. 

“Right,” Wylan nods. 

He spends about five minutes re-explaining the plans and the layout of the blueprints he hopes are still accurate. The rooms, regardless of the function he knew them for before he left, should be located in the same areas. Unless his father was so joyous in his absence he decided to tear down a few walls. 

After Wylan finishes, Kaz rehashes the plan and they split up accordingly. 

The three of them stay back behind the concealment of the finely trimmed bushes and watch Inej go in first through a second-story window. Wylan and Jesper hold hands tightly as they wait for her return. Kaz watches anxiously. Soon enough, Inej is beside them without any of them noticing her approach and Jesper slaps his hand over his mouth to muffle his surprised yelp. 

“Kaz’s intel was right. Van Eck and his wife aren’t here, only the house staff,” Inej said quietly. 

“Good. Wylan, be quick.” Kaz gives him an encouraging pat with the head of his cane. 

Very awkward and endearing. Very Kaz. Wylan smiles as he heads off, giving Jesper’s hand a quick squeeze before he does. Wylan goes to the basement to find the fuse box and cut the lights, hopefully disarming any security measures powered by the house, and incapacitating any generators which would power the rest. He isn’t a technician by any means, but they all agreed he is the most qualified to at least try without electrocuting himself or blowing them all up. 

Once the lights are off he returns to the group and they all set off towards the house. As they get closer, Wylan can hear the house staff clamoring about, all of them wondering and complaining about the lights. Inej scales her way back up to the window and disappears inside. 

Kaz and Jesper follow Wylan to a window on the side of the mansion and keep a lookout as he carefully and quietly hoists it up. They all slip inside, Jesper softly closing it behind them. It’s not pitch black inside, but the darkness makes it hard to navigate. 

Off of muscle memory, Wylan makes his way towards the stairs with Kaz and Jesper in toe. Kaz fits his cane under his arm to minimize the noise. His limp is awkward, but thankfully silent. Wylan remembers exactly which floorboards creak and which don’t; years of abuse and the faintest sound triggering his father taught him to be careful. 

Ascending the stairs is something Wylan does with bated breath. If they run into a member of the staff on the way, there’s nowhere to hide. Wylan doesn’t want any of them to get hurt, even if nearly all of them turned a blind eye to every blooming bruise across his fair skin. He knows if they’re seen Kaz wouldn’t hesitate to silence them. 

Inej is waiting for them at the top with a worried expression. 

“What’s wrong?” Kaz asks. 

“All of the staff have left out of the back. I’m not sure if it's procedure for a power outage or if they know something is amiss. They could have called the Staadwatch.” 

Kaz curses under his breath. “We’ll have to be quicker than planned. Wylan, take us to the office.” 

“I’m going to see if I can find anything out,” Inej says before melting back into the shadows. 

Wylan heads for the office, uncaring of his gait now that he knows the house is empty. Kaz quickly picks the lock and gets the door open in under a minute. Quite a slow time for Kaz, but Wylan knows that it's a true testament to his skills; his father has never once skimped on security, especially for something as basic as a door. 

They flood inside and Wylan almost sighs in relief at the sight of the DeKappel hanging above his father’s desk. A part of him was worried that it was moved or locked away in a safe. Wylan waits anxiously by the door as Kaz and Jesper get the painting off of the wall, revealing a safe behind it. Wylan’s breath hitches at the sight of it.

“Okay,” Jesper says, holding the million-Kruger painting securely in his arms. “All good? Time to go?’ 

“No. Wylan, give me the vial of acid,” Kaz says shortly. 

Wylan comes over. “What? What for?”

“The safe.” 

No.

“You said we were only here for the painting,” Wylan says quickly.

“Yes, well, I didn’t know there was a safe the size of a window behind it. I’m nothing if not opportunistic, you know that.” Kaz holds his hand out impatiently for the vial. 

“Just crack it if you want to know what's in it so bad. A giant gaping hole burnt through the safe isn’t exactly discreet!” 

Wylan hopes to all saints above that if there is no safe Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, cannot crack, it's this one.

“Oh, and stealing a painting right off of the wall is?” 

“I’m saying,” Wylan stresses impatiently. “That doing something that ridiculous will only make it easier for my father to have an investigation done. Anyone can steal a painting and leave through a window. How many people in the Barrel can melt through metal?” 

“He’ll think it’s a durast,” Kaz retorts.

“You can’t control the flow of the acid, Kaz. What durast’s work would ever look so messy?” 

“Guys?” Jesper cuts in. “Shouldn’t we be going soon? Are we cracking the safe or what?” 

“Yes.” 

“No. Kaz, don’t be ridiculous. You’ve gotten what you’ve come for, let's just go,” Wylan urges, keeping the desperation out of his voice.

Kaz’s eyes flash and Wylan immediately braces himself for whatever cruel thing he is about to say. 

“What? You don’t want your dear old dad to be out a couple million more? Are you really protecting him after all he’s done to you?” 

“Stop it,” Wylan snaps. “You know better than anyone where my loyalty lies. And now I’m being reminded of where yours are.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Kaz hissed.

“You’re loyal to you. You don’t care about anybody but yourself. We’re all a means to an end for you. Admit it.” 

Kaz’s voice is low and dangerous. “Give me the vial or I’ll take it from you.” 

Jesper steps between them, placing a protective hand on Wylan’s shoulder. 

“Try, and I’ll smash it in your face. You’re due for a new scar.”

They both know Wylan isn’t bluffing. Even Jesper is tense. 

Kaz’s eyes bore into him and Wylan cannot bear the disappointment, anger, and betrayal in them. 

“Fine,” Kaz says finally. “I’ll crack it.” He doesn’t turn towards the safe. He continues to watch Wylan. 

“Don’t open it,” Wylan whispers, all bravado abandoned. He is desperate and how Kaz knows it. 

“What’s inside?” Kaz demands. 

Years of terror within this hollow excuse for a home have attuned Wylan to every little nuance. He turns at the nearly imperceptible sound of a squeaking floorboard. He isn’t afraid, because he thinks it is Inej and has finally learned to listen for her. 

Jesper and Kaz crumple to the ground, both of them clutching their chests. Kaz lands hard on his bad knee. The painting drops to the floor with a loud clatter. Wylan’s heart drums in his ears. He can hear the beat, hear it slowing. A heartrender. 

Weakly, he fumbles forward, swaying and reaching for the door through blurred eyes. He just needs to close it. He doesn’t know how he is still standing while Jesper and Kaz writhe on the floor beside him. He doesn’t know if they’re dying. The heartrender must realize what Wylan is reaching for because as soon as his hand lands on the knob, he too falls to the floor. He isn’t in great pain, just too weak to stand. The door stays ajar. 

A woman steps into the room. Her light brown hair falls in waves and the moonlight shines on her green eyes just right. Her hands are raised in front of her, effortlessly orchestrating the agony of the three men on the floor. 

“Wylan Van Eck?” The surprise in her voice is clear. “Saints, I’ve only seen portraits of you. I thought I was going crazy when I saw you in that doorway. Your father said you were dead.” 

Wylan doesn’t respond. He can’t. 

His father hired a Heartrender? Well, directly stopping his heart would be a much more effective way to kill him. 

Kaz and Jesper must be lucid enough to hear and understand her because they begin to struggle anew. They’re both desperate to reach Wylan, to save him from this unseemly fate. This was supposed to be an easy heist. 

“Please,” Wylan croaks. 

The Heartrender twitches her fingers slightly and the pressure in his chest lightens but doesn’t vanish completely. She opens her mouth to reply but is then hit in the back of her head with the blunt edge of a knife and collapses.

Relief floods through Wylan and he feels all of the blood in his body return to where it should be. Kaz groans loudly somewhere on the floor beside him. Jesper crawls to him, weakly gathering Wylan in his arms. 

“Wylan,” Jesper whimpers. 

Wylan is still staring at the ceiling, trying his hardest to catch his breath. He aimlessly reaches out and returns Jesper's embrace. He reaches up and enjoys the texture of Jesper's hair beneath his tingling fingers. 

“Are you all alright?” Inej asks. 

Kaz manages to be the first of them to stand, leaning heavily on his cane. “Inej, grab the painting. Let's go.” 

Blissfully, he seems over the safe, but Wylan knows he won't forget about it. 

Jesper and Wylan help each other up. Jesper is shaking and Wylan gently kisses his hands, silently telling him not to worry. 

“Kaz. We can't leave her,” Wylan says, looking at the unconscious Heartrender. “She knows who I am. She’ll tell my father.” 

Kaz’s eyes soften, but there are remains of the anger he felt towards Wylan. “We both know your father knows you're alive. If he's had a Heartrender under his thumb for Saints know how long, he would've sent her after you whenever he wanted. Jan Van Eck is content with sending you letters for now, let's be thankful for that.” 

The words are a small comfort, but Wylan can appreciate the effort to calm him. 

“You don't know him like I do. Knowing that I'm still alive irritates him, but if he found out I had the gall to come here and steal from him? He would find a way to send the Black Heretic himself after me.” 

“Fine. Then let's kill her.”  

“No!” Jesper and Inej both protest. 

Wylan shifts uncomfortably. 

Kaz groans impatiently and takes the painting from Inej. “Fine. Bind her hands and drag her to the carriage. But if you're not down in five minutes I'm leaving all of you.”

Kaz leaves the room and Wylan watches him weakly descend the stairs. 

Inej cuts some fabric from the curtain and expertly ties the Heartrender’s hands, prohibiting the practice of her craft. It takes the three of them just about five minutes to carefully carry the woman down the stairs. Anika is waiting for them and doesn’t ask any questions as she helps them load an unconscious woman into the carriage. 

The ride back is silent. Kaz stares stubbornly out of the window, but his gaze sometimes lingers on the painting in his lap. Inej sits next to him and leans back to rest her eyes, looking nearly asleep. 

Wylan and Jesper curl into each other, the unconscious woman dozing beside them. Wylan nestles his head against Jesper’s chest. The soothing motion of Jesper’s fingers brushing through his loose curls and the soft jostling of the carriage lull Wylan into a state of calm. He breathes deeply, trying to prepare himself for the onslaught of problems that await him. 

It’s been ages since Wylan has been on Kaz’s shit list and he did not miss how it feels. He can tell that Jesper is worried and wants to speak to him alone. 

Once they arrive, Kaz is the first to get out and gestures for them to all follow. On the way to his office, Kaz stops and tells Specht and Muzzen to fetch the woman they left in the carriage. Kaz hangs the stolen painting behind his desk, but there is no satisfaction on his face. 

He turns to face them. “You said the house was empty,” he accuses Inej. 

She raises her chin. “I didn’t see her. You didn’t tell me Jan Van Eck hired a Heartrender.” 

Kaz clenches his jaw. ‘I didn’t know,” he grits out. 

“And so things went wrong,” Inej says. “It was your intelligence we were operating under.” She left without another word, softly shutting the door behind her. 

Kaz’s eyes were alight with fury. Wylan doesn’t think he was upset with Inej, no, Wylan sees how he looks at Inej. Kaz had missed something that ruined his plans and it infuriates him. His gaze turns to Jesper. 

“You did fine,” he says gruffly, dismissively. “Get out.” 

“But-”

“Out .” 

Jesper hesitates and Wylan quickly takes his hand. “I won’t be long,” Wylan says comfortingly. He fishes around in his pocket and then hands Jesper a key to his room. “Go wait for me, I’ll be right there.” 

Jesper’s eyes linger on Kaz and Wylan can see that he is afraid for him. Finally, he nods and squeezes Wylan’s hand before leaving the office. 

“What was that?” Kaz demands. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t do that with me. Why didn’t you want me to open that safe?” 

Wylan feels his throat tighten. “You wouldn’t have wanted what was in it anyway.”

“That’s not for you to decide!”

“Yes, it is! There was nothing in there for you. You had no right!” 

“I thought you trusted me.” 

“And I thought you trusted me.” 

Kaz’s eyes soften just slightly and his brow furrows. “Wylan,” he said carefully. “What was in the safe?” 

Wylan collapses into a chair and drops his head into his hands. His shoulders shake. Kaz comes beside him. 

“Wylan? You… you can tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll leave it if you want me to.” 

Wylan speaks, uncaring that his words are muffled behind his hands. “It's… my mother. He told me her ashes, her urn, are in there.” 

Kaz sounds a delicate mix of compassionate (as compassionate as Kaz can be) and confused. “I wouldn’t have stolen your mother’s urn, Wylan.” 

Despite himself, Wylan snorts. “I know. I just didn’t want you to open it.” 

“You didn’t want to see her?” 

Wylan lifts his head. “I didn’t want the truth,” he whispered. “He only ever told me she died. One day I just… stopped seeing her and he said she died of a heart attack. He kept her ashes locked away from me to punish me. She could be out there, alive for all I know. Maybe he did something awful to her, or maybe she just doesn’t want to find me.” Wylan furiously wipes at his tears. “It’s easier if she's dead.”

They sit in silence for a while. If Kaz were a normal person, this would be the time he would hug Wylan, comfort him, offer empty words of solace, and maybe even apologize. But Kaz Brekker doesn’t apologize. 

Instead: “Thank you, for telling me.” 

Wylan nods absentmindedly. 

There’s a knock at the door and Kaz calls them in.

It’s Specht. “Uh, that person you kidnapped is awake.”

“We didn’t kidnap her, it was self-defense,” Kaz mutters as he follows Specht out of the room. 

Wylan stands and follows too, grateful for a distraction. “Inej knocking her out was self-defense. Tying her up, putting her in our carriage, and then taking her here is kidnapping.” 

Kaz waves a hand. “Specifics.” 

The Dregs don’t interrogate people nearly enough to warrant an interrogation room, but it feels wholly unprofessional to have the Heartrender tied to a chair in the kitchen. She’s glaring at everyone in the room and she doesn’t look afraid, which is a dangerous thing. 

Inej is waiting for them and Specht is standing awkwardly beside the sink. Jesper must still be in his room. 

“I trust you’ve got this handled?” Wylan asks, eager to escape into Jesper’s warm embrace.

Kaz nods and carefully takes a knife from Inej. “Tell Jesper not to worry if he hears screaming.” 

The Heartrender jerks at that. Kaz isn’t above torture, but Wylan thinks he only said that because he was unsatisfied with the lack of fear radiating from their captive. Wylan nods and leaves them to it, hurrying to his room. 

Jesper left his door slightly ajar and the warm light seeping through the crack and it eases the deep ache in his bones. Quietly, he closes the door behind him and sees Jesper lounging on his bed, flipping through one of Wylan’s sketchbooks. 

Jesper looks up, a stellar smile brightening his face. “There you are,” he murmurs, setting the book aside. 

“Here I am,” Wylan can’t help but grin as he crawls into bed with him. 

Jesper wraps his arms around him and tugs him down on top of him. Wylan laughs in delight. 

“How are you feeling?” Jesper asks, his hands resting lightly on Wylan’s waist.

Wylan wants to lie and say he’s fine. To ignore his problems and emotions and just enjoy the sight of Jesper in his bed sprawled out beneath him. But he knows that Jesper is asking because he cares and genuinely wants an answer, not just to be polite. He wants Jesper to know everything. 

“I’ve been better,” Wylan says weakly. 

He settles against Jesper’s side and they cuddle while Wylan tells him everything about his mother. From how wonderful and gorgeous and patient she was up until she just disappeared from his life. He tells Jesper that he hopes she really is dead because that would hurt less. Sometimes he feels resentment towards her even though it’s all his father’s fault and he knows that, but he just can’t help it. Sometimes he feels guilty because in those last years with her, she always defended him and it got her hit too. His parents stopped sleeping in the same room. They stopped eating dinner as a family. 

Wylan has started to cry again and Jesper’s shirt is growing damp. Jesper doesn’t seem to mind; he just pulls Wylan closer and holds him tighter. 

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he murmured. “I can’t imagine how you feel, but please don’t feel guilty. None of it was your fault, please understand that.” 

“But-”

“None of it,” he said again. “Your father is not who he is because of you, Wylan. Some people are just awful and there's nothing we can do to change them. And that’s not your fault.” 

Wylan snuggles closer and Jesper pulls a blanket over them. 

“Thank you,” Wylan whispers hoarsely. 

“Always. You can always tell me anything. Don’t ever think that I won’t want to hear it.”

Wylan smiles. “I’ve told you a lot of things. More than I’ve ever told anyone.”

Jesper kisses the top of his head. “I’m honored.”

Now that Wylan thinks about it, he doesn’t know too much about Jesper. Maybe he wants to distance himself from the life he led before. Keeping his family and home life separate from his gang life. 

“What about your mother?” Wylan asks. “Tell me about her.”

Jesper stiffens slightly and Wylan worries that he overstepped. 

“Well… she was zowa and taught me to shoot, you know that, but she was everything to me,” he says softly. “She was bright and wonderful. In my mind she and the sun were the same thing,” he laughs sadly. “She passed when I was seven.” 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan says, taking Jesper’s hand. 

“No, this is nice. I haven’t talked about her in ages. The way my Da tells it, he had to court her for a year before she gave him the time of day. My father isn’t one for small gestures and he bought her a jurda farm as a wedding present,” he recalls fondly. “Saints, I love that farm. Sometimes I can’t believe I left. It’s all I picture whenever I hear the word home.

She taught me how to ride a horse and never gave up on me no matter how many times I fell on my ass. She also taught me how to gut and clean a fish, not that that's come in handy recently. No offense to you and your Kerch-ness darling, but there's not enough rivers here.” 

Wylan smiled faintly. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen a river.” 

“We’ll have to change that someday. I’ll take you to Novyi Zem so you can see a proper one. The clearest water you’ll ever see.” 

Wylan’s heart feels full to bursting. “I can’t wait.” 

“I’ll take you to the farm. Then you can meet her.” 

“Meet her?” Wylan asks gently. 

Jesper smiles and it doesn’t look sad. “She’s buried beneath a cherry tree on the farm,” he explained. “I would spend hours talking to her.” 

“That sounds wonderful, Jesper. I’d love to meet her.” 

“Yeah, I think she’ll like you.” 

Wylan blushes and Jesper smiles wider. Jesper cups his cheek and brushes his thumb over his blush before drawing him in for a kiss. He smiles against Jesper’s lips and cuddles closer, nearly pulling himself up onto Jesper’s lap. His hand comes up to cup Jesper’s cheek in return and he can feel the drying tear stains beneath his thumb. 

They pull away after a long while that didn’t feel nearly long enough. Holding each other tightly, they settle into the bed together, wrapping the blanket around them impossibly tight. They cuddle for a while, enjoying the simple rise and fall of each other’s chests. 

Wylan can hardly believe all that Jesper makes him feel. Not even an hour ago, the anxiety he was feeling in the carriage was insurmountable, always vulnerable to Kaz’s anger. Now he’s laying safe and nestled in Jesper’s arms and all he feels is calm. All he feels is loved.  

He’s not quite sure what it means to be in love and he can hardly remember being loved, but he thinks Jesper could be it. Maybe this is just the honeymoon phase of their new relationship, but he’s going to enjoy it nonetheless. He’s happy with Jesper. He laughs with him. He can tell Jesper about his childhood and doesn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed. He kisses Jesper and gets the best high of his life. Sometimes he sees Jesper in his bed and wants to jump his bones; other times he just wants to hold him and be held like they’re doing right now. 

Jesper’s breathing begins to slow and Wylan can tell he’s getting tired. He peeks up at him and sees that his eyes are closed.

“We’re still in our heist clothes,” Wylan points out. 

“Don’t care. Cozy.” 

Wylan giggles. “We haven’t brushed our teeth.” 

“Cozy.” 

“If you go to bed without brushing your teeth, I won’t kiss you tomorrow,” Wylan says, getting up and stretching. 

Jesper grumbles and starts to stir. “That’s not fair.” 

Wylan is laying out some sleepwear on the bed for them when Inej comes in. 

“Sorry to disturb, but Kaz needs you two for a moment,” she says. 

Wylan sighs and Jesper groans. 

They follow Inej back to the kitchen where the Heartrender is still bound. Thankfully, she appears unharmed. Just very irritated. 

“This is Nina,” Kaz says to them in greeting. 

“I’m capable of introducing myself,” Nina snaps. 

Kaz ignores her and looks at Wylan. “According to her, she knew nothing about your estrangement. Your father hired her for extra security. Detecting heartbeats is invaluable when catching thieves,” he says bitterly.

“Typically, yes,” Nina says. “But I didn’t detect her,” she jerks her head towards Inej, “at all.” 

“Thank Saints for that,” Jesper mutters. 

“Wylan,” Kaz says. “While in your father’s office, I read some papers on his desk. Does jurda parem mean anything to you?”

Wylan frowns and shakes his head. “No. It just sounds like a crop, right? A new economic venture?” 

“No,” Jesper cuts in. “I grew up on a jurda farm. I know every variant of jurda there is and I’ve never heard of that.” 

“It’s a drug,” Nina says hoarsely. 

All eyes turn to her. Her eyes look haunted. 

“What kind of drug?” Kaz demands. 

Nina glares at him. “If I tell you, you let me go.” 

“Depends if I’m satisfied with what you have to say.” 

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment before she speaks. 

“I’ve only heard rumors of it; it made everyone in Little Palace… jumpy. Jurda parem is a drug that enhances grisha abilities. Squallers can fly. Durasts can turn dirt into gold. Heartrenders can control minds. They eventually get addicted and it deteriorates their body until they die,” she said coldly. 

Jesper leaves the room.

Wylan feels ill. “Kaz, what exactly did the papers say?” 

Kaz is oddly still and paler than usual. “They were documenting the arrival of jurda parem samples to the Merchant Council. Letters about possible test subjects. ” His eyes land on Nina. “He was going to use you. He was planning to drug and kill you.” 

“I’ve gathered that much,” she says bitterly. 

“Why did you take the job?” Wylan asks. “You’re obviously very skilled. Trained in the Second Army. It seems beneath you.” 

“It is. I was desperate. He was paying me five thousand kruger a week.” 

“What do you need the money for?” Kaz asks. 

“At some point, anyone can be bought. And I need to get someone out of Hellgate.” 

Wylan’s eyes widen. 

“People don’t get out of Hellgate,” Kaz says gruffly. 

Nina scoffs. “We both know that’s not true. I can be done and it has been done.” 

“Well, good luck with that,” he says as he unties her. 

“Wait!” Nina says. “We can help each other.” 

“And how's that?” 

“I’m not stupid, Brekker, I know who you are,” Nina says. “If anyone can free someone from Hellgate it’s you. Help me and I’ll help you, join you whatever. You said it yourself: having a Heartrender is very useful.” 

Kaz considers only for a moment. Always a man of profit. 

“Welcome to the Dregs, Nina,” he says coldly. 

They talk and arrange for her to get her tattoo done tomorrow. 

Wylan goes to find Jesper. He finds him in his own room, curled up in his bed clutching a coat to his chest. Wylan recognizes it as the coat he mended for him. 

“So this is where you disappeared to,” Wylan smiles softly, sitting beside him. “And you still haven’t changed out of your heist clothes,” he teases. 

Jesper doesn’t respond. He continues to lie on his side, staring at the wall. Wylan’s heart clenches with worry. 

“Jesper? Treasure, what’s the matter?” 

“I’m terrified, Wylan,” he whispers. “Aren’t you scared?” 

Wylan kneels beside him. “Yes, Jesper, of course, I am. Jurda parem sounds horrifying,” he says softly. 

“Do you think that’s what's happening to all of those people being abducted?” he asks brokenly. “Drugged, suffering an addiction, then destroyed by their own body? Human experiments?” 

The fear in Jesper’s voice rattles Wylan. “I don’t think it's a coincidence,” he admits. He places his palm on Jesper’s forehead and gently brushes his hair back. 

A sob escapes Jesper’s lips and then can’t stop. Wylan’s heart breaks. He settles down beside Jesper and pulls him into his arms. Jesper curls into him, crying openly into Wylan’s chest. 

Wylan just holds him and continues to pet his hair. “Lots of crying today. Not sure either of us are hydrated enough for it,” he muses softly, hoping to make Jesper laugh. He feels Jesper’s lips curve for just a moment and takes it as a win. “What’s wrong, treasure? You know you can tell me anything too,” he urges. 

Jesper continues to cry and Wylan can feel him trying to compose himself, becoming a sniffing, sniveling mess. “Shh, take your time, treasure. I’m not going anywhere.” 

After a few more minutes Jesper speaks hoarsely. “Wylan, I’m a grisha,” he whispers as if he’s afraid of the very words. 

“Oh, treasure,” he murmurs and pulls Jesper impossibly closer. 

Notes:

i am so sorry! i've been wanting to upload an author's note to make it clear that this work isn't abandoned, but I know the feeling of getting excited for a new update only for it to be an A/N and didn't want to do that to anyone! :(

none of my works are abandoned. i still have a lot of fic ideas for this fandom. life gets hectic and busy so between school, work, and working on a novella (which takes up most of my desire to write), it's hard to find time for this. so i wont give any empty promises about consistency that i can't keep. just know i will finish this no matter how long it takes and thank you all so much for sticking with it and if this is your first time reading this, welcome, i hope you enjoy!

Chapter 10: Jesper

Jesper's heart is going to beat out of his chest. It's out there. His secret is said and done, a secret no more. Wylan knows. Wylan is everything to him. Wylan is holding him in his arms and playing with his hair. Wylan is silent. 

“Are you upset?” Jesper whispers. 

It takes a moment for Wylan to respond. It feels like an eternity. 

“I'm upset that you're upset,” he says finally. “I'm upset that you're so scared.”

Jesper sniffs. “Wylan, you know what I mean.” 

“I'm not upset with you, Jesper,” he says firmly and Jesper can hear the frown in his voice. “I don't know exactly how you feel… but I know what you're doing. You're upset with yourself because you feel guilty keeping this from me and you want me to be upset with you so there's an external anger that you can use to justify that guilt.” 

Jesper's chest loosens and his next breath comes easier. His face flames a bit with embarrassment, being read to filth so easily, but mostly he's relieved. He hadn't even realized what he had been doing. Of course he doesn't want Wylan to be upset with him, so why did he try so hard to get Wylan to say he is? How is it that Wylan can disarm him entirely, strip him bare, and yet leave him feeling the safest he's ever felt? 

“You're right, I'm sorry,” Jesper murmurs, relaxing further into Wylan's embrace. 

“Don't be sorry.” Wylan kisses his temple and then his lips as Jesper tilts his head up. 

Jesper lets himself be held for a while longer. “You don’t seem… surprised.”

Wylan has the decency to blush. “I had an inkling.” 

Jesper sits up abruptly, tearing himself from Wylan’s arms. “You knew?”

“I didn’t say that! I just… had a strong presumption. I mean, you sterilized the needle with heat when I got shot, and I’ve never seen you with a lighter. You always seemed deeply affected by this whole situation, and Saints, the way you speak about your mother, Jes.” 

He’s rambling now and Jesper can only stare with a heavy feeling in his chest. 

“You knew,” Jesper says again. 

“Jesper,” Wylan says softly. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. Nobody is ever supposed to know.” 

Wylan takes his hand, but Jesper’s fingers wont relax. “But you just told me. You were ready for me to know, and now I do. I only… thought you were before.” 

“No,” Jesper reiterates. “You knew. The needle. You’ve known I’m a durast this whole time.” He wretched his hand away. “Did you tell Kaz?” 

“Ghezen, Jesper, of course not! How could you think I would do that to you?” 

Jesper tries to stand, but Wylan’s hand tightens around him. “Jesper, please, sit with me.”

Jesper sits and forces himself to look Wylan in the eyes. The kindness he finds there, the earnestness, quells the fear in his chest and breathing slowly becomes easy once again. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s alright,” Wylan says. “Thank you for telling me. I shouldn’t have reacted in such a dismissive way. I know you’re afraid.” 

Jesper lets out a watery laugh. “Wylan, I am terrified. And I need you to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone.” 

Wylan’s kind eyes turn very serious. “Of course,” he says instantly. “I will never betray your trust like that.” 

Jesper believes the earnestness in Wylan’s voice, but he’s unsure how to convey his fear without flatly telling Wylan his word isn’t good enough. How can he convey to Wylan his perception of Kaz? His perception of Wylan beside Kaz? That together, they seem an impenetrable force, something an outsider could never hope to be a part of. 

He is not enough of a fool to think Kaz could ever care about him to any capacity near what he cares for Wylan. 

“If you do, you’ll never see me again.” 

Jesper isn’t sure if he means that. He doesn’t want to mean it. All he wants is to emphasize his terror.

“Jesper. I know you’re afraid,” he says again and it makes Jesper’s blood feel hot. 

Wylan can never know just how afraid he is. Jesper needs to make Wylan understand that before he grows angry and says something he’ll regret. 

“No, you don’t,” Jesper says as calmly as possible, which isn’t very calm at all. He is shaking. His jaw is so tense it hurts. His heart is going to fly out of his chest. 

Wylan stares at him for a moment before breathing deeply. “Alright. Then tell me everything you’re feeling. Everything you’re afraid of. Even how right now, you’re a little afraid of me.” 

Jesper desperately wants to refute that last point but he can’t. He is afraid of Wylan and he is afraid of himself. Where did that courage come from, to tell Wylan? Nobody besides his parents has ever known he is zowa. He had grown up watching his father’s fear and grief surrounding his gift and learned to adopt it as his own. The only person in the world to ever treat what he could do, what they could do, with reverence was his Ma. Look where it got her. 

“I don’t know why I told you. Though I guess it doesn’t matter because you already knew,” Jesper laughs bitterly. “I was never supposed to tell anyone. I’m never supposed to use my powers.” 

“Why not?” Wylan asks gently. 

“To keep me safe.” 

“This is to keep you safe, Jesper. Do you understand me?” Colm asked sternly, his hands resting on Jesper’s small, lithe shoulders. 

 

Ma had been dead for about a week. Da buried her all by himself, not allowing Jesper to help during the process. He only brought Jesper over to shovel the last pile of dirt onto the mound. Now they were outside, visiting her like they did everyday. 

 

More mourners came by to offer their condolences earlier that day. One of them, an elderly gentleman, had made a comment about being glad that Jesper was blessed and could continue all the invaluable work that Aditi did for their community. Colm had kindly yet firmly turned everyone away with forced thanks. 

 

His Da never liked their magic, their blessing . Jesper always thought that it was because his Da was sad to be left out, that he and Ma had something that it was just for them. One day while he and Ma were outside turning rocks into cute, intricate paperweights to sell at the market, he asked why Da didn’t like it. Ma had said that many men fear things they don’t understand and that men who live with that fear are always better than men who try to eliminate the cause of it. 

 

“Yes, Da. I understand. No more magic.”

 

Colm nodded, satisfied, and went inside to fix dinner, leaving Jesper alone beneath the cherry blossom tree. The wind was harsh, sending pink petals down to rest upon the fresh grave. The air smelled like rain, the freshly turned Earth beneath him, and her perfume. 

 

Jesper sat beside his mother and numbly stared at his hands, his vessels of creation. His link to her. The magic that was just for them. 

 

He had told his Da he understood, and he did, but it wasn’t until Colm found his ring collection made of spoons months later and made him promise that Jesper truly stopped and truly lost her. But for now, he picked up the vibrant pink petals around him and drained the color from them until they were ghostly pale. 

 

His Ma hadn’t taught him that trick — he learned it from a girl in town, a girl he would never see again because his Da was isolating them from their community — and he was sure Ma wouldn’t have liked it, depriving the world of something so beautiful. Using his gift to take instead of give. But this gift had already taken everything. Jesper thought the world deserved to feel how he felt: dull. The world deserved to be what his Ma was: lifeless. 

 

All of the drained, colorless petals were blown away by the time Jesper went inside to wash up for supper. He didn’t notice that the water flowing over his hands was scalding hot until his Da yanked him away from the sink. 

Wylan’s voice brings him back to reality. To the present. “Keep you safe from who?” 

Jesper shrugs, because there is no who. It was always just a vague idea of the world having it out for him because of something he couldn’t control.

As a kid, he never thought of someone coming to him for help the way that desperate mother came to his, but his father seem convinced that it would happen. He knew of grisha children being sent to Ravka to train in the army and even though that would never happen to any citizens of Novyi Zem, he was taught to fear it. But now he is here in Ketterdam where grisha are being abducted, drugged, and killed. All of his unjustified childhood fear which was lying dormant roar to life and seek to control him. 

And he knows it is ridiculous, that all of this horrible human trafficking shit would have happened with or without him, but he feels some sort of cosmic responsibility. His life was fine on the farm and then he left for university. He started to gamble and used his rusty abilities once or twice to turn an awful loss into a meager loss and scrape his way out of life-ending debt; he’d never be stupid enough to use his powers to win. Then his bad decisions dragged him from safe and posh Ketterdam to the Barrel and he was forced to commit unsavory acts to survive, even before he joined the Dregs. He got his hands on a gun the power seemed to ooze from his fingertips, guiding his bullets where he wished. 

He feels like he’s brought this on, breaking his promise to his Da. As soon as he uses his powers, just a bit, its as if the world needs to punish him. 

“Just… safe,” is all Jesper can say. “My Ma died using her power, saving a girl from poison. The poison had to go somewhere. If I keep it a secret, I’ll never be put in a position like that, is what my Da said. Nobody could use me. Nobody could exploit me.” 

Wylan’s lip trembles. “Jes, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.” He takes his hand. “I know you say I don’t understand, and you’re right that I can’t exactly. But I do know what it’s like to keep secrets for the sake of survival. Even if surviving feels selfish sometimes.” 

Jesper hugs him again, but they are both tense and stiff. “I want to trust you. I will. Again,” Jesper whispers. “Please don’t think that I feel differently about you. I just can’t control how scared I am.” 

“I know. Our minds can never truly follow our hearts. I wanted to feel safe those first few years, to believe I’ve finally outrun my father. But even though there is physical distance between us despite the letters he sends, I’ll never outrun what he’s done to me and how it’s made me who I am.” Wylan rubs his back comfortingly. “You can put as much distance as you want between yourself and your powers. Yourself and your Ma, but it will never change the fact that both of them have made you who you are. We will never be able to change how the world wants to punish anyone living authentically. All we can do is choose whether or not we allowed ourselves to be scared into living artificially. It took me a long time to live in spite of my fears and shames rather than with them. I hope you can reach that point too.”

“I hope you’ll remember all of that word for word because I’ll need to here it again and again,” Jesper says with an attempt at humor, though there isn’t a drop of mirth in his body. 

Wylan laughs anyway and kisses his cheek. “I’ll try my best. I’ll tell you as often as you need to hear it.” 

They maneuver themselves down onto the bed and beneath the sheets without separating from each other. It’s warm and perfect, offering them temporary protection from the world out there. 

“How are you so good at saying all the right things?” Jesper asks. “I want to be hysterical and I want to panic, but I just… can’t. Not when you hold me like this and make me feel as understood as I can be,” he says, words muffled into Wylan’s chest. 

Wylan smells like gunpowder, minty aftershave, and the clean, powdery-sweet shampoo he uses that makes his curls so soft and shiny. It’s so different from the smell of jurda blossoms, cherry blossoms, and orris root: the smells he once thought synonymous with home. But in this moment, home smells just like Wylan. 

Wylan holds him closer and even though it is almost restricting Jesper’s airflow, it’s not close enough. Wylan sighs so quietly, Jesper only knows he did because he felt the rise and fall of his chest. 

“I just… wanted to tell you all of the things I needed to hear once,” he says softly. 

Jesper cries himself to sleep in Wylan’s arms, welcoming the dark embrace of sleep. Blissful with the absence of dreams.

Notes:

Hi! I've already said this, but I just want to reiterate, that this work, just like my other WIP is not abandoned and never will be. It may take me a very long time to even update, but I am committed to finishing all of my fics.

Moving on, I don't know if posting this will give me momentum so I won't try to guess how soon the next chapter will be out. I know this chapter is so much shorter than all of the others, but once I reached the end it just felt complete and like a good place to end it. I am sorry this took a while. As I've begun to work on writing my personal projects separate from fan fiction, imposters syndrome has hit hard and it has unfortunately changed my relationship with consciously writing for an audience, which is something I used to have no trouble with. I've been getting better, which is why I felt ready to come back to this fic, but my personal project(s) are still my priority as a writer, so updates, while still upcoming, will still be slow.

I also want to say that those of you who leave all of the sweet, long, and thoughtful comments are greatly appreciated. I have read every single one of them and they really do help; I reread them so often. My imposters syndrome has also stunted my ability/willingness to interact with readers, which is why I have not responded to any of them. Within the next few weeks, I will slowly try to reply to all of your lovely comments which I've left unacknowledged. Just know that I did read them and I do appreciate the time you took to leave them as well as your kind words.

Thank you for reading this chapter and still being here!

(side note: thinking of changing the title. thoughts?)

Chapter 11: Wylan

Notes:

wow, look at me updating and shit. 5k+ words no less.

Wylan does not want to leave Jesper alone, but he knows he needs to get up. He's been awake for a few hours now, just silently basking in Jesper's embrace. He needs a moment to himself and his shower is calling his name. He reeks of his father’s house. Of wealth, nightmares, and childhood memories he thought he’d manage to forget. But being back there brought it all back. Thankfully, he was too occupied with yelling at Kaz while they were there to break down. 

Carefully, he removes himself from Jesper’s embrace. Jesper’s lips are parted with sleep, his hands resting limply against the sheets now that he did not have Wylan to hold onto. His cheeks are streaked with tear stains, but other than that he seems more relaxed than Wylan has seen him in a while. Wylan leans down and presses his lips to Jesper’s temple before padding off to the washroom, trying not to wake him.

Wylan still misses the luxury of hot water, but has grown used to the water in the Slat which only ever grew warm during the hottest month of the year. He knows better than to ask Kaz to revisit the budget for something as trivial as hot water so he washes himself quickly, gooseflesh crawling up his arms from the cold. He assaults his curls with a towel, uncaring of the frizz he’s creating. Once he's dry and dressed, he spares Jesper one more glance before heading out to the kitchen. 

He thinks Jesper would like some tea when he wakes up so he digs through the pantry for the spot where he’s hid his mother’s blend. Wylan doesn’t drink it that often, and when he’s down to the last steep he doesn’t think he ever will again. He knows its foolish, but he wants to save it. To hold onto her. But this seems like a worthy occasion. 

After filling the kettle, he turns to place it on the stove and is met with Inej. It takes an incredible amount of restraint not to drop it, let alone scream. Inej smiles apologetically, but says nothing. Wylan stands there uncomfortably for a moment before stepping around her to place the kettle on the stove and turning on the heat. 

“Hello, Inej. How are you?” He asks.

“I’m well. Thank you, Wylan.” 

A beat of silence passes between them awkwardly.

“Did you… need something? Can I make you some tea?” Wylan moves for the pantry again for a different blend. 

“No, thank you.” She puts out a hand to stop him. “I want to ask you something.”

“Oh. Alright.” 

“How long have you worked for Kaz?”

Wylan leans against the counter. “Four years now, I think? I haven’t really been counting; its gone by so fast. Why?”

“Nina has her reservations about Kaz, and I must admit that I do too.” 

Wylan isn’t surprised. In fact, he laughs. “Everyone still has reservations about Kaz. Honestly, in the time I’ve known him I think I’ve gained more. He can be as cruel as the rumors say, but I’ve learned to recognize it in survival. I’m not telling you to feel a certain way, but all of our instincts manifest in different ways. His just happens to be cruelty.” 

“What made him that way?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. The back of his mind vaguely recalls the tattoo he did for Kaz, that name: Jordie. “Why are you asking me this? Did he do something?” 

Inej shakes her head slowly. “No, he’s been… agreeable. I just don’t know if I want to stay here. With the Dregs.” 

“I don’t blame you.”

Inej looks slightly surprised at this. “But we both need each other at the moment. What I’m trying to ask is, will he let me leave? Once our deal is finished?”

The kettle sings but Wylan stays put. “I don’t know what deal you’ve made, but Kaz is true to his word. Just… make sure you’re sure what that word is. Deals are best when they’re cut and dry.”

“I made sure there was no room for vagueness.” 

“He should honor it. And you have my word that I’ll help you if he doesn’t.” 

Inej visibly relaxes and finally graces him with her smile. Its soft, but not yet trusting despite its desire to be. “Thank you, Wylan.” 

He smiles in return and finally silences the kettle, steeping the tea. “So, Nina is staying?”

“Kaz has enlisted her help, yes. She’s staying at an inn a few blocks away. I’m going to go see her now.”

Wylan still doesn’t know where Inej is staying and he feels it better not to ask. He is glad he came to her, that there is a tiny amount of kinship between them, but he can respect her wanting to be recluse. If she’s obviously planning to leave the Dregs, why bother getting close with anyone? 

“I’m glad he worked something out.” He’s glad Kaz didn’t kill her. “Is Kaz here?” 

Inej nods. “In his office.” She turns to leave, but looks him in the eyes before she goes. “Also, talk with Nina if you get a chance. She seems very apologetic for having worked for your father.” 

Wylan doesn’t like the idea of both Inej and Nina knowing even vaguely about his past, but he thanks her before taking the mug of tea back to his room. He sips it as he quietly opens the door, checking to see if it’s too hot. The tip of his tongue burns so he blows on it as he walks to the bed. 

Wylan knows how exhausting crying can be, so he had let Jesper sleep for a while, cuddling with him. Now Jesper has taken a very different sleep position, snoring and sprawled out on his stomach as if he'd fallen from a building. Wylan can't help but snicker as he sets the mug down on the nightstand. He gets back into bed with Jesper, knees resting on either side of him. 

“Jes,” he whispers, gently touching his shoulder. Jesper shifts slightly and stops snoring, but his eyes remain closed. “Jes,” he says again, louder this time. “Treasure, wake up.”

Jesper groans below him and Wylan knows he's awake but he still doesn't move. Before Wylan can shake his shoulder again, Jesper flips around and gathers him in his arms, bringing their chests flush together. Wylan doesn't even try to fight it and just melts on top of him like wax, burying his face in Jesper’s neck. He laughs as Jesper presses kiss after kiss into his still-damp hair. 

“I love when you call me that,” Jesper says between kisses, his voice coarse and rough with sleep. It makes Wylan’s heart flutter. 

“Call you what?” Wylan asks coyly. 

A hand feels its way up Wylan's chest, lightly passing over his neck before delicately grasping his jaw and tilting his head up. Wylan doesn’t even bother looking into his eyes, staring at his lips shamelessly.

“Treasure,” Jesper says before drawing Wylan's lips to his. 

They kiss languidly, neither of them in a rush. One of Wylan's hands rests on Jesper's chest just over his heart while the other cups his face, his thumb softly tracing his cheek, rubbing away the faint tear stains. 

Wylan pulls away for a moment. “How are you feeling?” 

“Much better.” 

Wylan's heart stutters when Jesper pulls him back in with a gently guiding hand tangled in his curls. Jesper's lips are careful against his and Wylan is helpless. Jesper is always careful with him, his lips always sweet. When their tongues meet, he's reminded of the taste buds he's burned off. 

Wylan pulls back only to be met with Jesper's pouting face. He quickly pecks his plush lips before he can complain. “Your tea is going to get cold,” Wylan murmurs. 

Jesper's eyes sparkle as he looks up at him. “You brought me tea?” He asks, sitting up on his elbows. 

“Mhm,” Wylan hums, reaching over for the mug. His shirt rides up and when he feels Jesper's hands grip his bare waist, he nearly spills the tea on the floor. “My mama’s blend.”

“You're so good to me, darling,” Jesper says, his thumbs tracing dangerous patterns on Wylan’s warm skin. “Thank you.”

For once, Wylan doesn’t mind the flush on his cheeks, not when Jesper is looking up at him like he’s the world. He takes one of Jesper’s hands, linking their fingers together fleetingly before he gives him the mug of tea. 

“It may be too hot still,” Wylan warns.

Instead of blowing, Jesper cups the mug with both hands and Wylan misses the feeling of them on his waist. He watches Jesper’s brows furrow with concentration, his hands tense around the mug before he gingerly lifts it to Wylan’s lips, inviting him to drink. Now Jesper is flushed, biting his lip nervously and watching Wylan carefully. Confused, Wylan cautiously takes a sip, not wanting to burn his tongue again. It’s the perfect temperature. 

It only takes Wylan a few seconds to realize what Jesper did. “Jesper, you—”

“Is it cool enough?” Jesper asks quickly. 

Wylan stares at the mug still in Jesper’s cupped palms. The same palms that hold magic within them. “It’s perfect. Jesper, you’re perfect. How do you know how to do that?” He can barely restrain the eagerness and curiosity in his voice. 

The last thing he wants is to make Jesper feel scrutinized over his gift, like some kind of experiment. Jesper is willingly using his powers in front of him and he doesn’t want to scare him. 

Jesper smiles bashfully. “I’m rusty, but it’s one of the first things my Ma taught me. We always had to make sure the milk was the perfectly warm for the baby goats.” He drinks the tea and Wylan can see that he’s so clearly pleased with himself for remembering how to use his ability. For sharing it with him. For impressing him. 

Wylan is certain his eyes are full of pure adoration, but he wants Jesper to see it. They must be full of something else too, because Jesper laughs at him once he finishes the tea, placing the mug back on the nightstand. 

“Go ahead,” Jesper says, endeared. 

“Go ahead what?” Wylan tilts his head in confusion. 

Jesper snorts. “You want to ask me a million questions.” 

Wylan kisses him. “Do you want to answer a million questions?” 

Jesper smiles against his lips. “No, not particularly. Maybe a few.” 

A few questions. He can do a few questions. Wylan pulls back just as quickly as the words escape his lips. 

“Did you change the temperature of the tea or the mug?” 

“The mug. Liquids are too intangible. Solids are easier to work with.”

Wylan reaches for the mug and sure enough, it’s cold to the touch, perfect to cool the hot tea within. “Jesper, that’s incredible. What does it feel like?” 

“What?”

“Your hands. Your body. You. What does it feel like to use your ability?” 

“It’s exhausting, draining in a way, but that’s because I’m out of practice. In the best way, it feels… right. I feel like I can breathe easier and a calmness washes over me. Like, for once, my brain listens to me. I tell it what to do, what I need. It… goes quiet.” Jesper’s voice is right here in front of him, but Wylan knows his tone is far away. 

It’s been so long since Jesper has confronted what being zowa is for him other than fear. Wylan cups Jesper’s cheeks, handling him like the precious, treasured thing he is. Tears shine in Jesper’s eyes but Wylan is assured by the smile on his lips, as wobbly as it is. 

“I’m so sorry you’re afraid of this, Jesper,” Wylan whispers. 

“I don’t want to be,” he chokes out. 

Wylan wipes his tears away. “I know, treasure. I’ll help you however I can, but I’m not going to tell you you’re fears aren’t justified. These are scary times.” 

Jesper gives a watery laugh. “Aren’t they always?”

Jesper crushes him to his chest again and Wylan would be content to spend the rest of his life there with him, but unfortunately life comes knocking at the door. They both compose themselves and kiss quickly before Wylan shouts for them to come in. 

It’s Kaz. Of course it’s Kaz. 

“What, Kaz?” 

“I need your help with something in my office,” he says dryly, looking between them. 

“Right now?” 

“It’s not pressing, but yes, I’d rather get it over with.” 

Wylan huffs before climbing off of Jesper’s lap. “Fine.” 

Kaz rolls his eyes. “Jesper can come too, I don’t care.” 

Wylan turns to look at Jesper, hopeful, but Jesper gives him a regretful smile. “I think I’m gonna go shower, darling.” He lifts Wylan’s hands to his lips and presses a kiss to his palm. They both pretend not to hear Kaz’s fake gag. “I’ll come by when I’m done, okay?” 

Wylan nods and turns to leave with Kaz. On the way to his office, Wylan lightly flicks the head of Kaz’s cane. It doesn’t budge, but that isn’t the point. 

“You’re such an ass,” Wylan says. 

“Mhm. Tell me when you move in together so I can give Jesper’s room to someone else.” 

Kaz closes the door behind him and Wylan sits in the chair across from Kaz’s. 

“What do you need help with?” 

Kaz sits and gestures for Wylan to stand. “Bring your chair over here, we need to look at this together.” 

Wylan does, curious now, but it’s only a blank piece of parchment paper laid out on Kaz’s desk. 

“Look at what?” 

“Have you ever been to the Ice Court?” 

He shifts in his seat. “Twice, with my father.” 

Kaz nods and hands him a pencil. “I need you to draw me blueprints. Whatever you can remember.” 

Wylan drops it. “What the fuck for?” 

“I’m interested in Fjerdan architecture,” Kaz snaps. “There is a person of interest in the prison sector. The chemist who allegedly created jurda parem.”

Wylan decides that Kaz wanting to go to the Ice Court is a problem for another day. If Kaz wants to kidnap a chemist, Wylan doesn’t want to hear it right now. He picks up the pencil and tentatively begins to draw. “You’re insane,” he mutters. 

Kaz hums, rifling through a pile of mail on his desk. “Don’t worry about labeling anything. I’ll have someone else do that.” 

“Who?” Wylan asks incredulously. Nobody else in the Dregs has been to the Ice Court as far as he knows.

“You’ll meet him shortly. We’re breaking him out of Hellgate tomorrow.” 

“Of course we are,” Wylan sighs, worrying over a circle he can’t get perfectly round.

“I’m being serious.”

Wylan knows he is and wants to laugh because he’s never heard Kaz say those words before. Kaz is always serious, never having to defend himself. Especially not with such a petulant voice. 

“I know,” he relents. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Some Fjerdan Nina wants him out in exchange for her services and if he can be useful, all the better.” 

After a few minutes of silence, Kaz interrupts Wylan’s drawing by handing him a stack of torn open envelopes. Wylan instinctively reaches to toss them into the trash, but they’re missing the Van Eck family crest seal.

“What are these?” 

“Jesper is finally getting his mail here. Apparently they’ve been gathering dust in the mail room at the University.” 

“You read his mail?” Wylan asks, annoyed. 

“They’re all letters from his father. A mister Colm Fahey.”

Wylan feels ill. The pencil snaps in his hand. “And you read them.”

“Wylan,” Kaz says uncharacteristically gently. “It’s nothing like the letters you receive, if that’s what you’re thinking. From what I can tell.” 

“You couldn’t tell from my father’s letters either,” he says weakly. 

“Do you want me to read them to you?” 

“No. I don’t want to invade his privacy.” 

“Well, does Jesper ever talk about his father?”

Wylan bites his lip. “Only ever in relation to his mother.” And being zowa is left unsaid.

There’s a knock at the door. 

“Come in,” Kaz says. 

It’s Inej. Wylan notices how Kaz sits up straighter when she walks in. How Kaz’s eyes snap to hers immediately, staring, for once, with something softer than indifference. If Wylan were in a better mood, he’d tease him about it. 

“Wylan. Kaz,” she greets them with a nod of her head. “Nina says she’ll have everything ready for tomorrow.” 

Kaz nods. “Good. I’ll have a meeting tonight to debrief everyone, but I need you to do something else for me.” 

“Whats that?” 

He scrawls something onto a piece of paper and hands it to her. Wylan sees their fingertips brush, but Kaz doesn’t flinch. Inej reads it quickly then takes off again without saying anything. 

“What should I do, Kaz?” Wylan asks. 

Kaz looks at him, annoyance plain on his face. “Ask him.” 

“Ask who what?” A voice says from the open doorway. 

Wylan turns and sees Jesper standing there, fresh and glowing after his shower. His hair is damp, but not dripping or Kaz would kill him for getting water on his hardwood floor. From where hes sitting, Wylan can smell that Jesper used his shampoo. Sweet, powdery, vanilla. It’s expensive shampoo, one of the few luxuries Wylan still lets himself indulge in, but he finds he’s not made that Jesper used it.

Kaz speaks again before Wylan can get a word in. 

“Ask you about your father.” 

“Oh,” Jesper says, bemused. “What about him?”

“He’s been sending you letters for months.” 

Jesper comes into the office to sit in the last available chair across from them, closing the door behind him. “He has?” Jesper asks excitedly. 

The tension melts from Wylan’s body. Excited. Jesper is excited to hear from his father. So excited that the smile split across his face looks painful, blindingly beaming. He holds the envelopes out to Jesper who takes them happily. 

“You have a good relationship with your father?” He asks quietly. 

“Relatively,” Jesper shrugs, fishing out the letter from the first envelope. “Saints, I haven’t heard from him in a while.” 

“The letters have been sitting unclaimed in Ketterdam University’s mailroom,” Kaz says unimpressed. “Apparently word has spread about Jesper Fahey’s new residency.” 

Jesper cringes and flushes with shame. Wylan takes his chair back to the other side, sitting beside him to place a supportive hand on Jesper’s arm. “Why are they open?” He asks. 

“I read them,” Kaz admits without shame before standing. “Don’t touch anything,” he warns before leaving them alone in his office. 

Jesper unfolds the first letter, but his eyes are on Wylan. The air is warm between them, despite Kaz’s lingering presence. 

“Are you okay?” Jesper asks softly. 

Wylan smiles weakly. “I can’t pretend that this doesn’t bring back memories.” 

Jesper frowns as he realizes. “I promise my Da isn’t like yours,” he says before abruptly stopping. “Saints, that sounds awful, I’m not trying to say I have it better—”

Wylan shuts him up with a quick kiss. “I know, Jes. But you do, and I’m glad you do, really, I’m not upset. I was just worried.” 

Jesper responds with a kiss of his own. “Do you want me to read them out loud?”

Wylan nods shyly. “If you don’t mind.” 

Jesper smiles and takes his hand before clearing his throat and beginning to read the oldest letter. 

“Dear, Jesper, 

I hope you’re enjoying University and doing well in your classes. I know you’re worried about still not deciding your major, but I want to remind you that you have time to figure it out and I’m always a letter away if you need advice (not that I went to college, but theres a certain amount of wisdom every father is allotted for these things). I want you to have fun, make some friends, and enjoy Ketterdam. I’ve covered your first semester already, but please send me a letter if anything comes up and do not ignore your advisor or the bursar. Everything is going well here on the farm, the harvest isn’t nearly as easy without you, but I’m managing. The only one who I think misses you more than me is Bale, but I’ve been sure to keep him company and take him out for rides. I’m so proud of you Jesper and I know you’ll do great. Your mother would be proud of you too. I love you very much. Write back soon. 

Love, Dad.”

Jesper spends nearly an hour reading and Wylan could listen to him forever, his head resting on Jesper’s shoulder. All of the letters are more or less the same: Jesper’s da checking in, wishing him well, sending love, and updating him about whats going on at the farm. Bale, Jesper’s mare, had a foal and Colm had named him Fir. One of their chickens laid six double-yolked eggs. Mercy, their guardian dog, had a litter of puppies of which Colm kept two best to train, giving the others away to friends. 

Wylan can’t help but smile as Jesper reads, despite the clench of longing in his own heart. Jesper pauses when he gets to one of the more recent letters, only two months old. 

“Shit,” Jesper curses, eyes falling across the page. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Jesper,

You’re worrying me. Scaring me, even. I haven’t heard from you in three months, and my letters to the university are met with a reply saying you’re no longer a student. I’ve been sending you money, Jes. Where is it going if not to school? If I don’t get a letter back by next month, I’m getting on the first boat to Ketterdam and finding you. I want to know that you’re okay. I want to help you, please. Whatever's happened, we can do it together. You’re not alone.”

Wylan sits up. “You haven’t written to him in months? Haven’t even gone to the university to check if he’s been writing?” 

“What was I supposed to tell him? ‘Hey, Da, I’m dropping out of university because I’m failing all of my classes and I’ve been using the money you're sending me to gamble and now I have a gambling addiction!’?” Jesper scoffs, leg bouncing wildly.

“Yes! How could you just leave him in the dark?” 

“I don’t want to disappoint him, Wylan, you don’t know what thats like and—”

Wylan stands so quickly his chair falls over. “Excuse me?”

Horror washes over Jesper’s face as he stands too, taking Wylan’s hands. Wylan wants to snatch them away, but can’t bring himself to. “Shit, Wylan, I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have said that to you. Of course you—”

“No, you’re right I don’t know what it’s like. I don’t know what its like to take a loving father for granted.” 

Jesper swallows. “That’s not fair.” 

“No, it isn’t. He loves you Jesper and you can’t be decent enough to answer a Saintsforsaken letter? He probably thinks you’re dead!” 

It feels ridiculous, arguing while they hold hands. Neither of them are yelling, but Wylan is still buzzing with nerves. He had thought he got better with confrontation, but he feels moments away from crying, face burning hot, pressure building behind his nose. Saints, he knows he shouldn’t be upset, projecting what his father did to him onto Jesper’s own father-issues, but it hurts. It hurts to know that Jesper had everything he ever wanted and would throw it away just like that. 

What Wylan wouldn’t do to hear a sincere I love you from his father. To know that he was cared about, that his father wanted to help him. To be told you’re not alone. He cannot fathom the idea of having all of that and just… not wanting it. Deciding that anything else could ever possibly be better, let alone this life. Running, hiding, meager wages, and killing. 

Wylan can imagine himself in Jesper’s shoes and it nearly makes him dizzy with envy and despair. He imagines himself at university, happily attending all of his classes. Making friends. Spending late nights at the chemistry lab, returning to his dorm room to find his loving father waiting for him, asking about his day. He can’t imagine choosing this life over that one. Ever. 

“Wylan, I’m sorry,” Jesper says, choked up. 

“Why are you apologizing to me?”

They’re both on the verge of tears, hands still glued together. 

“Because I made you upset! What do you want me to do?” 

“I’m not upset.”

Jesper in disbelief laughs at the sheer audacity of Wylan’s lie. “Yes, you are. You’re upset with me and I’m sorry, but don’t you think I feel guilty enough everyday?”

Wylan finally takes his hands away. “I’m not only upset with you. I’m livid with you. I don’t think you feel guilty enough, or you would’ve done something about it! You would’ve written him back! I’m upset with myself because I’m jealous and I can’t do anything about it. Because you’re father tried his best to give you everything and you still ended up here!” 

Jesper stares at him. “Don’t make this about you,” he says quietly. “I’m not going to have some sort of trauma-competition with you, Wylan. You don’t know how I felt, when I first started gambling. I don’t even know how I felt, it’s all a fucking blur. We’re both varying degrees of fucked, and yes, you had it worse if that’s what you want to hear, but I’m happy that I ended up here, because you’re here. I thought you were happy to have me too.” 

Wylan feels sick. Of course he’s happy that Jesper is here with him. To have met him. To have him. We wants to speak, to tell him all that and more, but his tongue feels like lead in his mouth. His eyes blur with tears, and it’s a blessing to not have to look at Jesper’s miserable expression. He wants to reach out and take Jesper’s hand again, but he’s completely frozen. 

The door creaks open and Wylan quickly turns away, embarrassed and ashamed. He blinks rapidly, trying to dismiss his steadily building tears. 

“Kaz asked me to give this to you.” Wylan hears Inej say to Jesper. 

He glances and sees Inej hand Jesper a note. Jesper reads it quickly before swearing like a sailor under his breath. He doesn’t say anything to Wylan before he leaves, but he presses a fleeting kiss, as if he was unsure he’s allowed, to Wylan’s forehead before running out of the door. 

“Are you okay?” Inej asks after a few moments, placing a gentle hand on Wylan’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine. Thank you.” He walks past her, retreating to his room. 

It’s only when Wylan closes his bedroom door behind him and sees that Jesper made his bed does he finally let himself sob. He curls up in bed and cries for what feels like hours. He always loses track of time when he cries, always has since he was a child. His hand covers his mouth, unable to dismiss the mindset that if he needs to cry, he needs to do it quietly. He can’t be loud, can’t be a nuisance. Even after years away from that house, he can’t stop thinking like he still is. 

He was fooling himself, convincing himself that he was over it and moved on. How stupid could he be, thinking that just because he throws away his fathers letters without an ounce of fear or regret, that he’s free? It always looms over him like a shadow. The way he flinches at sudden movements. The way he can’t stand the sight of his back in the mirror, marred with white scars, covering his freckled back like roots. The way he couldn’t handle hearing Jesper talk about his own father without thinking about his.

Wylan wipes his tears away, feeling like he doesn’t even deserve to cry. He clenches his hands and stares up at the ceiling. He needs to apologize. Jesper was so patient, comforting, and understanding when Wylan told him about his father, why couldn’t Wylan just return the favor? It was far from the same situation, he knew that, but Jesper was clearly ashamed, and Wylan berated him. His thumbnails dig into the meat of his palms. 

Where did Jesper even go? Why didn’t he ask? Saints, is Jesper leaving the Dregs? Leaving him? His temple felt scorched where Jesper had kissed him before departing. What if it was a kiss goodbye? 

A hesitant knock at the door saves Wylan from his spiraling. He bolts up, hoping its Jesper. 

“Come in!” He calls, voice weak and hoarse. 

Nina walks into his room. She looks around his room curiously as he she walks over to his bed, occasionally pausing to run her finger across a dusty surface. 

“Oh. It’s you,” Wylan sniffs, wiping at his nose. 

She smiles. “Sorry to disappoint."

“No, you didn’t—” 

Nina laughs, sitting next to him. “You’re heart was practically aflutter when I knocked. Sorry I’m not him.” She gave him a knowing glance. 

Wylan flushes. Right. Heartrender. 

“Yes, well, it’s nice to officially meet you.” Wylan finally unclenches his hands holds one out for her to shake. 

Instead of obliging, Nina takes his hand and turns his palm up, a furrow between her brow. His palm has a multitude of crescent-shaped imprints embedded. Deep, prominent, and bleeding. 

“Likewise,” she says before placing both of his hands on the bed, bloody palms facing up. 

Wylan watches with awe as she works, methodical and precise fingers moving above his hands, making the imprints vanish right before his eyes. The dried blood remains, but in a matter of minutes the self-inflicted wounds are gone. 

“I didn’t know you were a healer,” Wylan breathes out. 

Nina shrugs. “I’m a very talented woman,” she says with a wink. “But I’m really not, only small things like that. So don’t go off breaking bones or severing limbs.” 

Wylan nods mutely as he squeezes his hands, marveling at the magic. 

Nina clears her throat. “Well, I came to talk to you about my… previous employment, but now I feel it would be impolite to ask you anything other than whats wrong.” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Wylan, for future reference, I can literally tell when you’re lying.” 

The scientist in him loved that and wanted to ask her to describe it to him, but the love-sickness in him hated that. 

“I fucked up,” he admitted. “I’m worried he hates me now.” 

She places a hand on his knee. “From my limited impression of Jesper, I don’t think he can ever hate you. His heart goes berserk when he looks at you. And he looks at you a lot.” 

Wylan couldn’t help but smile, cheeks pink. 

“And for what it’s worth,” Nina adds. “I fucked up too with someone I care about. Like, I got him arrested fucked up.” 

“Oh.”

She snorts. “Yeah, I bet your thing feels much more manageable now, doesn’t it?” 

He laughs. “Yes, much.” 

“Good.”

“Is that who we’re breaking out of Hellgate.” 

Nina heaves a big sigh and flops back onto the bed, arms sprawled. “Yep.” She turns her head to look at him. “Hey, I forgot to ask Kaz, but theres no other grisha in the Dregs, are there?”

Wylan’s mouth goes dry. I can literally tell when you’re lying. 

“I… can’t tell you that,” is what he decides on. 

“It’s fine if its a secret,” she shrugs, “better, honestly. Matthias, who we’re breaking out, is kind of… sort of… drüskelle,” she says with a wince. “He knows I’m a Heartrender, so I’ll be ready for his comments and whatnot, but I don’t want him to harass anyone else.” 

“We’re breaking out a drüskelle?” Wylan asks incredulously. 

Nina bites her lip. “He isn’t all bad. I mean, he did capture me for trial, but we’ve bonded since then and he seemed to be coming around. It’s all indoctrination, you know.”

“And then you got him arrested?” Wylan supplies. 

She nods miserably. “That might’ve changed his mind about me again, but I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow night.” 

Wylan looks down at his hands, twisting them nervously before his gaze wanders over to the mug on the nightstand. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” 

“What’s it like being grisha? Using your powers, I mean?” 

Nina thinks for a moment, looks back at the ceiling. “For me, it’s second nature, almost like breathing. Sometimes I don’t even notice that I’m listening to heartbeats. I’m just used to the world being alive all around me.” 

“You enjoy it?” 

Nina hums. “In a way. I was raised feeling like I needed it. Told that I was better than other kids because I could do this. It’s weird, having such an intrinsic part of your identity be treated like a weapon your entire childhood.” 

Wylan remembers learning about this when he was young, when his father still had faith in him and continued to pay for tutors. “You weren’t afraid to be tested? To be taken away to train?” 

“No. It’s incredible what Ravkan propaganda can do,” she laughs. “But some people didn’t feed into it. Hid their kids, forbade them from using their abilities. Poor kids.”

“You think they shouldn’t hide?” 

“I don’t think they should be suppressed, even if that unfortunately means being sent to the Little Palace. Its dangerous to repress our abilities. It can have consequences.” 

Wylan thinks of Jesper. 

In the best way, it feels… right. I feel like I can breathe easier and a calmness washes over me.

“What kind of consequences?” 

Nina shrugs. “I’ve heard it’s different for everyone. Sometimes it’s just sickness, indiscernible from a fever. It can manifest in self-harm, anxiety, addiction, depression…” 

Wylan stops listening after Nina says addiction. Addiction. Addiction. Addiction. Repressed grisha abilities can lead to addiction. 

Before he can begin crying again, Kaz comes to his room and tells them its time for the meeting in his office. Jesper still isn’t back.

Notes:

jesper means so much to me..

Notes:

hahahaha what if you left kudos and maybe even a comment :)

thank you so much for reading <3