Chapter Text
Wylan answers the door when Jesper rings the bell.
“Your father’s still finishing up,” Wylan says, a little awkwardly because they’ve never been able to bypass the inherent awkwardness of the situation.
Wylan Van Eck and Jesper Fahey are classmates, and Jesper’s father works for Wylan’s father. He’s his housekeeper, to be exact; originally a gardener, but Kerch wasn’t really a country where you could keep a garden. Most people didn’t bother trying, especially not in a small town like theirs here in Lij, but the Van Ecks came from wealth, so they have to have a large house. And a large house comes with a large yard, and because there’s little maintenance to be kept for it and Colm Fahey still needs a job, he cleans the house as well.
“Sure, yeah,” Jesper says, rubbing the back of his neck.
Wylan is still in his school uniform, but he’s thrown a cardigan over it. The mismatch of the cold, unassuming navy of their uniforms contrasts in an unfashionable way against the warm orange-brown of the knit, but Jesper finds the result very endearing, although he’d never say that aloud.
Truth be told, Jesper finds Wylan very endearing, but that’s not a popular opinion. Most people at their school dislike Wylan, but Jesper has to consider the fact that Wylan openly detests them all as well. He seems to have a manner of speaking—a paradoxical mix between acerbic bluntness and mild slyness—that makes everyone feel at best defensive, and at worst, belittled. No one is spared from his contempt, not even the teachers.
Just today, they had been in history class. Jesper was scribbling on a piece of paper, because he didn’t care enough to take notes, but Wylan had been staring out the window—open defiance.
“Is there something interesting outside, Van Eck?” their teacher, Mr. Reid, asked sharply.
Most of the teachers disliked Wylan as well. Most of them, simply because Wylan was the richest person in the school, wealthier than the teachers too; some of the really awful, ableist ones were extra impatient with Wylan because of his accommodations for his dyslexia, but never obviously enough so that they could get in any actual trouble for it. It was just in their gaze, in their tone, in their imperceptible eyerolls.
Jesper noticed these things a lot; he recognized them himself, when he was given extra time or extensions for his ADHD, but also because, quite simply, because he needed to be able to tell if people liked him. He liked being liked, whether by his peers or his teachers. He wasn’t a teacher’s pet, by any means—Jesper was closer to a type of class clown, generally cheerful, a little cheeky, and well-liked by everyone enough that when he did cause a little trouble, people had enough good will for him to have it slide.
Wylan had no such thing. And Wylan didn’t seem to care, which astounded Jesper, because all Jesper did was care about what people thought about him.
Wylan ignored Mr. Reid, and pointedly turned his head further to the window.
Mr. Reid marched in front of his row, crossing his arms. The class ooh-ed, and someone muttered, “Oh, here we go.” It was not the first time Wylan caused a small scene during class.
“Focus on the board,” Mr. Reid said, frustrated. “You aren’t going to be learning anything by daydreaming.”
“I won’t be learning anything by looking at the board, either,” Wylan muttered under his breath.
It was a good comment, honestly, one that Jesper sympathized with, because it was true. He started to smile, but the class ooh-ed again.
“What was that?” Mr. Reid said, making it clear that he had heard Wylan, but he was giving Wylan a chance to apologize or take it back.
Wylan looked their teacher dead in the eyes. Plainly, he repeated, “I won’t be learning anything by looking at the board, either. I have nothing to learn from you.”
Mr. Reid’s face flushed, and then contorted in anger.
Jesper winced. He wouldn’t have gone that far, maybe.
“Principal’s office,” Mr. Reid said angrily. “I won’t tolerate disrespect.”
“Sure,” Wylan said flatly. He stood up and started packing up his things, and a few of the boys around Jesper—Jesper’s friends, Jesper realized, with another wince—started imitating him, parroting back Wylan’s sure in a higher pitch.
Wylan’s ears went red, and Jesper thought he was the only one who noticed.
“This isn’t a joke, Van Eck,” Mr. Reid said, heading back to the board. “You can leave your stuff–”
“Why?” Wylan asked. “I’m just going to be sent home.”
The class ooh-ed and ah-ed, eager to see the confrontation play out.
Their teacher exhaled in frustration. One of Jesper’s friends, Bolliger, snorted and said, “Don’t mind him, Mr. Reid. Wylan’s psycho with everyone.”
Wylan packed up his things unobtrusively, so again, Jesper was the only one who noticed Wylan’s face going pink.
Wylan must’ve gone home back then, just after lunch. Jesper hadn’t seen him the entire day, except for now, of course—as he goes to pick his father up from Wylan’ house.
Jesper follows Wylan back into the kitchen. Colm Fahey is finishing washing some dishes, and he turns around when he sees Jesper.
“Hey, Da,” Jesper greets warmly.
Colm smiles in greeting, and sets a plate back down. “Wylan was telling me you got your exam results back?”
“Just for English,” Jesper says, suddenly feeling awkward again. “Are we going?”
“Didn’t realize there was a rush,” Colm says mildly. “Wylan says you did well…?”
Jesper feels his face heat up. Wylan is standing against the counter, watching him.
“I did alright,” Jesper says.
“He got first,” Wylan says, giving Jesper a look. Jesper must look betrayed, because Wylan scoffs. “Everyone was talking about it.”
“He never tells me anything,” Colm complains, with a conspiratorial smile to Wylan. Jesper isn’t sure how he feels about that—his father and Wylan getting along, talking about him. “Well done, Jes.”
“Thanks, Da,” Jesper says, with a small grin. Feeling compelled to say something more, he adds, “Wylan got first in chemistry yesterday.”
“Ah, you never tell me anything either, Wylan!” Colm scolds playfully, and Wylan blushes.
Wylan is very pretty, Jesper thinks. Some people in school call him ugly, but that has to be more out of the urge to be mean to him. Wylan is pretty, especially now, blushing in mismatched clothes.
“Congratulations, both of you,” Colm says firmly. To Jesper, he says, “I’ll just finish up upstairs, and we’ll be on our way.”
“‘Course,” Jesper says, and then Jesper is alone with Wylan in the kitchen.
“Can I get you anything?” Wylan asks; his voice is so much softer when he’s not at school, and Jesper wonders why.
Jesper smiles. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
Wylan ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed to acknowledge the offer. He tugs at his sleeve, and then says, “Did I miss anything else in history?”
Jesper wasn’t going to bring it up, but he should’ve expected that Wylan would have.
“No,” Jesper says easily. “I mean, would anyone? He’s been teaching off of the same slides for the past two weeks.”
Wylan grins, a small blush coming to his face again; Jesper isn’t sure why. It makes Jesper more sympathetic, suddenly.
“He shouldn’t have kicked you out,” Jesper says.
Wylan raises his eyebrows. “I probably shouldn’t have talked back.”
“Maybe,” Jesper admits. “But—I mean, looking out the window is fine. It doesn’t harm anyone.”
Wylan looks at Jesper for a moment, like he’s trying to find an ulterior motive. But Jesper doesn’t have any—he thinks he doesn’t, at least. He likes talking to Wylan, surprisingly, even though Wylan also unsettles him in a strange way. The realization that he enjoys talking to Wylan unsettles Jesper even more, and makes him eager to leave suddenly.
Colm comes back down, then, poking his head back into the room. “I’m done. Ready, Jes?”
“Yeah,” Jesper says quickly.
“Wylan, will you tell your father to get more window cleaner?” Colm says, as Jesper heads to the door. “I’ll do all the laundry tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Wylan says quickly. “Thank you, Mr. Fahey.”
“I’ll see you,” Colm says warmly. Jesper is already out the door.
In the car, Colm doesn’t bring up his hasty retreat immediately. He instead says, after they’ve turned out of Wylan’s street, “You should be a bit nicer to that boy, Jes.”
Jesper feels offended. “I am nice to him.”
“You ran out the door.”
“I just left normally,” Jesper says defensively. He feels awfully prickly about the subject, for a reason he can’t explain. “I’ll see him in school, anyways.”
“Wylan doesn’t have an easy time of it,” Colm says, his voice a bit softer. “Just keep that in mind, yeah?”
Jesper doesn’t respond for a second. He makes a show of checking the road to make a left turn, as a cover for why he’s not responding.
“You can take the car tomorrow,” Jesper asks, changing the subject; it also serves to remind himself that his father will be back in Van Eck’s house, folding Wylan’s laundry. “I have my match in the evening.”
“Sure,” Colm says. Whether because Colm had forgotten about Jesper’s game and was now feeling guilty, or because the conversation itself had just nowhere else to go, they both fall silent.
Jesper feels guilty regardless.
*
Wylan dreads being dropped off to school by his father, but he can’t seem to find creative enough ways to get out of it.
Wylan doesn’t even know why his father does it. At first, it had just seemed normal—after Wylan’s mother died, and they went from three people in a mansion to two people in a mansion, it was lonely for the both of them. His father never spoke of her, but Wylan thought that the psychology of it was sound. His father wanted to spend time with him, right?
And then, Wylan grew up a little more, and realized it was probably more akin to a psychological experiment for his father to perform on him, more than anything else. Wylan didn’t think his father was cruel, but Wylan also knew he was nothing more than a burden on his father, and he was treated as such. Wylan thinks that dropping him to school is a way his father can remind him, in case Wylan has somehow forgotten: Be grateful for what you have. I drop you off to school everyday, I provide for you, I feed you, despite all of your many shortcomings—so be grateful.
It bothers his father that Wylan isn’t more grateful. Wylan is very grateful, it’s just that Jan Van Eck thinks Wylan’s gratitude should be demonstrated by being a worthy and suitable heir, which Wylan can’t seem to manage. Because of this, he often calls Wylan stupid and worthless, which doesn’t make Wylan cry anymore. He doesn’t fight back, either, because he doesn’t see the point—he’ll take what he is given with a stubborn acceptance, and if he ever hopes for more, he keeps it to himself.
Wylan looks out the window, watching the rain hit the pavement. His father is in a foul mood because of the rain, and because of the fact that Wylan got sent home early the day before. With the sudden reminder of how his father ranted and yelled yesterday, Wylan jerks his head away from the window, irrationally afraid to be caught looking out of one again.
Van Eck gets a phone call then, and he quickly picks it up. It must be a colleague, or some other businessman, because his father’s voice becomes charming and smooth, nearly jovial.
“Of course,” Van Eck says, smiling. “Yes, the trains run every hour—I’ll take the next one out.”
Wylan glances sideways, curious—not that he’d ask, obviously. His father hangs up the phone, pulls over the car, and then abruptly turns his head to Wylan. Wylan’s eyes widen in surprise.
“I have business in Ketterdam to attend to,” Van Eck says tonelessly, like he hadn’t been chuckling not five seconds before. “I’ll be taking the next train out. I’ll come back tomorrow morning.”
Wylan nods his head.
“Walk from here,” Van Eck says, bored.
Wylan’s head involuntarily moves in surprise, glancing back out at the pouring rain. He hesitates, and in those seconds, his father’s hand visibly tightens on the wheel, like he’s willing for patience.
“I want to take the next train out,” Van Eck says, with just enough threat to his tone that Wylan is already scrambling for his seatbelt. “If I miss my train…”
“I’m sorry,” Wylan says quickly. He tries to think of an excuse for why he was hesitating, in the next millisecond. “I—I might be late for class, but–”
“Knowing you, you’ll probably miss half of it anyways,” his father says coldly, recalling Wylan’s early dismissal.
Wylan knows, in some way, he could save himself some trouble by just listening to his teachers, or by pretending to like his peers. But they’ve never liked him, and he has accepted that nothing he does will ever change that opinion—so why should he try? He is better than them, he thinks, and though he often feels lonely and wishes they wanted anything to do with him—he buries that feeling somewhere it won’t come up. It’s another type of stubborn acceptance, really, and this one has the added benefit of making him feel slightly morally superior to all his classmates, if only for his refusal to acquiesce to their rules and hierarchies of popularity.
There’s no such vindication with his father, though. Under his father’s glower, Wylan flushes, and gets out of the car fast. “Have a nice day.”
His father drives away without a word. It’s pouring rain, and Wylan most certainly will be late to class, but he still ducks under a small ledge to pull out his phone. Frantically, he searches for the train schedule—it’s like a little math puzzle now, only Wylan typically enjoys those, and this makes him want to throw up. If Jan Van Eck leaves Main Street at 8:50AM, and it takes 9 minutes to drive to the train station from here, and Jan Van Eck also has to park his car, take out an umbrella, get a ticket, and walk onto the platform, will he reach in time to make the… 9:45AM train?
Wylan exhales—the answer is clearly yes. A fun little addendum to the question, then, would be—could his father have finished driving Wylan to school (8 minutes away by car, 41 minutes by walking because of the sidewalks) in the pouring rain, and made it to the train station?
Wylan decides not to answer that question. He pulls up his uniform jacket as well as he can to cover himself from the rain, and tries not to reach school an hour late.
*
Wylan Van Eck shows up to English class soaking wet, and half an hour late. The class bursts into snickers, on instinct.
“Class starts at 9, Van Eck,” their teacher, Miss Haren, says sternly.
Wylan ignores her, rushing to take off his jacket at his seat. Jesper watches him, noticing how the drops of water fall from Wylan’s hair onto the back of his neck.
Jesper’s friend Keeg gives Jesper a look, jerking his head once back in Wylan’s direction.
“He’s fucking loaded, but he can’t afford an umbrella?” Keeg mutters under his breath, a little private joke.
Jesper smiles for Keeg’s benefit. Wylan is shivering a little, because he’s sopping wet, and the school is always freezing.
“Did you hear me?” Miss Haren says to Wylan. “Go to the office and get a pass.”
“Can you just give me a detention?” Wylan asks, sounding exhausted.
Someone whoops, and another group of girls must be making a similar sort of little private joke, because they go off in giggles too. Wylan looks miserable, and just so cold, it makes Jesper unable to think of anything else.
So Jesper subtly knocks the water bottle on his desk off the floor. It’s a big, metal thing that sounds like eight different alarms went off when it hits the ground.
Jesper, who thinks he should join the theater club, jumps in shock when it lands.
“Saints, what do they make these things out of?” Jesper complains loudly, while the rest of the class burst into laughter.
“I always say to keep those on the floor, Jesper,” Miss Haren says, fondly chastising.
Miss Haren is pretty, in the way that any young teacher in their late 20s is automatically pretty to the class. Some of Jesper’s friends tease him, and say that he flirts with her—but Jesper doesn’t think he does. He doesn’t want to, certainly. But he’s not stupid, and he knows that if she had favorites—he’d be one of her’s.
He isn’t sure how he feels about that.
“But then I’d just kick it by accident, Miss,” Jesper says, grinning. The class laugh again, and Jesper shrugs innocently. “Football, and all. I’m always practicing.”
This creates a small uproar, of people cheering for their match today after school and talking about it.
Anika, sitting in the first row, turns around to jeer: “Doesn’t look like you’ve been always practicing, Jesper.”
Jesper accepts the teasing insults that then get thrown his way, holding his hands up in surrender. None of them mean it, he knows. That’s what his friends are like, often—it’s strange to go up to someone and compliment them, in any sincere sort of way. You tease them, or mock them lightly instead.
Jesper’s eyes flicker back to Wylan’s involuntarily, as the class settles down. He’s made himself unobtrusive, which Jesper supposes is better than him being the center of the class’ derision, but being invisible doesn’t seem that great either.
That’s what Jesper had been told to do—be invisible. Not in those words, obviously, but his father had seemed to imply it lightly. When they first moved to Kerch, just after Jesper’s mother passed away, his father had told him to “keep his head down” a bit. Jesper had been 9, and unsure what that meant—it sounded like they were characters in a spy movie, but Jesper knew Colm Fahey wasn’t a spy, because Colm Fahey was too honest of a person for that.
Jesper came to understand, though, how his classroom-taught Kerch, his Zemeni features, his household of just his Kaelish Da and himself—how that came to draw attention. Every infraction made by him, whether a poor translation, or a missed social cue, whether made accidentally or not—it seemed to have a higher penalty now.
His father didn’t want to draw too much attention to themselves, and Jesper accepted this. And Jesper had found, like a character in a spy movie, that sometimes the best places to hide were in plain sight. If Jesper was friendly and popular, charming and funny, then he would be likable. If people liked him, everything was easier, everything was better.
And being liked had the bonus of giving Jesper things to do instead of getting distracted by his thoughts, because Saints knew he was always getting distracted by passing thoughts. Instead of thinking about how strange this small Kerch town was, Jesper could go play outside with his friends. Instead of thinking about how his Ma would’ve hated living in a place with such little sunlight, one of their classmates could dare Jesper to go skinny dipping in one of the canals, and Jesper would do it shamelessly. Instead of feeling that constant ache, that sickness in him that came after his Ma passed away, Jesper could play football after school. Instead of grieving, Jesper got popular, and as such, Jesper was completely hidden. Truly, it was easier to stay hidden than to do anything else, now. Jesper anticipated doing it for the rest of his life.
Class ends, and the brief interruption is mostly forgotten. As Jesper is leaving, Miss Haren pulls Jesper aside to give him extra compliments on his essay. Then, she wishes him luck on the match, and says she’ll be in the stands, cheering him on; Jesper grins and thanks her, and Miss Haren laughs very loudly, lightly hitting Jesper’s shoulder as if he just told the world’s funniest joke.
It’s a small school, and an even smaller class, which means all of them are effectively gathered up again at lunch time by the lockers. Wylan is there too—less wet, but still tired looking—and Jesper looks away for some reason.
Wylan could bring up the fact that they sometimes talk, Jesper knows. One day, Wylan could stroll up to Jesper and say something casual, like, “Hey, your father left his gloves at my house. Will you pick them up later?” and it’ll be the story of the decade for their school and all their classmates. Everyone knows Jesper’s father cleans houses, which no one really cares about because that’s hardly an uncommon career in a town like theirs—but no one knows he cleans the Van Eck’s house. And Jesper would like to keep it that way.
One of their friends in the group, Geels, walks into their circle by the lockers, grinning widely. He clears his throat, before announcing his gossip: “Did you guys know Elaine Van Daal is fucking Ellie Reillig?”
Everyone hoots.
“Doesn’t that get confusing? ‘Elaine’ and ‘Ellie’ are too similar sounding,” Anika remarks, which makes Jesper snort.
Keeg also laughs. “It’s still not as bad as—what’s that couple, the year under us…?”
“Joan and John,” Jesper fills in.
“Yeah, I could never,” Anika says, snickering. “Jesper, would you ever get with a Jasper?”
“I mean, if the opportunity presents itself, I’m not going to say no,” Jesper jokes, and everyone laughs.
“You should get with another Jes or something first,” Bolliger says, clapping Jesper on the back once. “And by that, I mean you should add Jessie Lonum to your list. She’s a Jess, and—I mean, we’ve all seen how big her—”
Jesper rolls his eyes. He isn’t quite sure how he’s garnered a reputation for getting with a list of people, when he’s only ever had a single girlfriend when he was 16, and a few drunken hookups with Henrik Raske last summer—but it’s stuck. He probably leans into it too much by playfully flirting, Jesper considers. But he also wonders if it’s just a label that would’ve attached itself to him either way, something that was expected of him. Should he get with Jessie Lonum, now? Will his friends judge him and make fun of him if he doesn’t?
Wylan shuts his locker, the noise breaking Jesper out of his thoughts. It also attracts the attention of Bolliger.
“Oh, Wylan,” Bolliger says, leaning against the locker beside Wylan. “Why were you looking like a drowned rat today?”
It’s not cruel in isolation, necessarily, the things that people say or do to tease Wylan. Teasing is a sort of love language, here, in its own way, and Jesper knows that if Bolliger called him a ‘drowned rat’—it would be mocking, but not cruel. But that’s never what this is to Wylan, Jesper knows. It’s the tone all these comments and jeers take; people don’t leave Wylan alone. Like he’s some sort of experiment, that people can lightly poke and prod at, because they want to see what Wylan will do.
“Well, it was raining,” Wylan says, his voice clipped.
“You should’ve brought an umbrella,” Keeg says, snickering.
“Great advice,” Wylan deadpans.
Keeg doesn’t have a response to that, so he goes for another angle. “You miss half the class, and then, 'Oh, just give me a detention’— the shit you get away with because you get good marks, honestly.”
“I understand that you’re at a disadvantage there,” Wylan says, with a cold smile.
It takes a second for everyone to get it, because Wylan thinks faster than everyone else in the room. But everyone also recognizes a witty comeback when it happens, so now everyone directs their jeers at Keeg.
While everyone is distracted by that, Wylan quickly slips his things into his locker, and then walks away. Jesper wonders if Wylan is a bit like him, in a way; they both make small spectacles as a means to hide away. It’s just a difference of timing.
*
The halls are empty now that school is out, but Wylan stands against a wall, waiting to enter the classroom for detention.
He’s not exactly pleased to have the detention, but he is happy to not be back home, all alone in his house. It’s no better when his father is home, but some childish part of Wylan, or maybe the same part of him that grew up with nannies and a household staff before his mother passed away, doesn’t like being home alone. It scares him, to be that surrounded by just himself.
Someone bursts through one of the side doors, then—Jesper, in athletic training clothes, his water bottle in his hands, the same one he dropped today in class. He seems focused on heading to the water fountain, but Wylan wonders if Jesper will notice him.
Sometimes, he feels Jesper looking at him. With anyone else in the school, Wylan would be anxious, because when people did notice him, it never really meant anything good. But Jesper never had been mean to him—Jesper talked to him, without making fun—and so Wylan, in turn, was curious to know why Jesper Fahey was staring at him so often.
Jesper refills his bottle, and then proceeds to drink about half of it. He starts filling it up again. He’s about to take a drink from it again, when maybe he notices Wylan from his periphery.
Wylan freezes, and then gives him a quick, awkward smile—and then he looks down. Jesper talks to him, but never during school. It’d be so humiliating for Jesper, Wylan knows, to be seen talking to Wylan, to offer Wylan that sort of friendship.
“Hey,” Jesper says, and Wylan jerks his head up. He quickly glances around, and realizes the hall is completely empty.
“Hi,” Wylan says, venturing that it’s safe to acknowledge Jesper, if Jesper instigated it.
“What’re you still doing here?” Jesper asks, not at all unkindly.
Wylan blushes. “Um—detention. I actually did get one.”
“Oh,” Jesper says. “I’m sorry.”
“I did ask for it,” Wylan admits. “Literally.”
Jesper gives Wylan a sheepish little smile that Wylan finds immediately endearing.
“What are you here for?” Wylan asks, because he doesn’t want this conversation to end.
Jesper raises an eyebrow. “Practice. And then the match.”
“Of course,” Wylan says, feeling himself get flustered. He searches for something else to ask, since Ghezen knows he can’t elaborate much on football. “What were you talking to Miss Haren about? After class?”
“Oh, that,” Jesper says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just—exams, essays, stuff like that. Why?”
“You were laughing a lot,” Wylan says, because he always notices when Jesper laughs. Jesper’s laugh is like a symphony, Wylan thinks—his voice is a warm baritone, but the first burst of laughter is a bit higher in pitch, especially if the laughter was unexpected. Jesper will clap his hands once, if he’s particularly excited, or maybe hit his desk with his fingertips. If it’s a genuine laugh, Jesper laughs with his full body, throwing his head back, leaning forwards, just always in motion—Wylan isn’t sure how that would be notated in a music score, but it would have to be there.
“Was I?” Jesper asks. He scratches his wrist, and then shrugs. “I guess she must’ve said something funny.”
“Do you like her?” Wylan asks curiously.
He had heard rumors that Jesper had a crush on their teacher, and it didn’t seem fair. Jesper acted just as friendly with all their other teachers, and other teachers liked Jesper just as well. Wylan thinks the rumor started because during one class, Miss Haren used Jesper’s essay as example paper, and Jesper had gotten extremely flustered by it. Afterwards, when Miss Haren handed back the paper, she touched the knot of his tie, as if to dust off a bit of lint, and then left her hand there, which Wylan thought was far too intimate for a teacher to do to her student. Somehow, those two events spun together—‘Jesper Fahey was flustered and practically blushing when Miss Haren fixed his tie’ but Wylan was there, and he knew that wasn’t true. Everyone would know that wasn’t true, but everyone was there, and the rumor still spread.
Jesper’s expression hardens, then. Wylan opens his mouth to apologize immediately, but Jesper turns his head away.
“I don’t like her,” Jesper says, his voice just a little harsh. “You can’t just say things like that. She’s the one—it’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry,” Wylan says quickly, but now he’s also a bit worried. “It’s not funny, I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to make fun of you or anything.”
Jesper still seems a bit more on edge than usual, but he seems to believe Wylan. He hesitates, and then says, “I think sometimes, she can be a bit—I don’t know, it’s not like, weird or anything, but… Do you think I egg her on, with that sort of stuff?”
“No,” Wylan says firmly. “How she acts is—none of that is because of anything you’ve done.”
Jesper is quiet for a few seconds, taking in the response. Wylan can’t read his expression.
“And how—how do you think she acts, then?” Jesper asks then, half warily, half inquisitively.
“She does seem a bit… flirtatious, sometimes,” Wylan says, looking at Jesper nervously. He picks at the skin under his thumbnail, and then says, “If you want, I can say something to the principal, or someone. I’ll just say that I noticed it, and leave you out of it–”
“Saints, no,” Jesper says immediately. “Do not do that. I don’t want to make it a big deal, I—Just leave it alone, Wylan.”
Wylan looks down. “Sorry.”
“I mean it, okay?” Jesper asks, as stern as Wylan has ever heard Jesper’s voice; Wylan nearly flinches. “Don’t make jokes about it, or–”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Wylan says, looking up just so Jesper can know he means it truly. “I really wouldn’t, Jesper.”
Jesper exhales, but doesn’t say anything. Wylan feels his heart pound in anxiety.
“I’m really sorry,” Wylan blurts, nervously playing with his hands. “I don’t want to fight with you, I was just—it was only if you ever wanted, I didn’t–”
“We’re not fighting,” Jesper says easily, almost confused.
“Oh,” Wylan says. A bit resigned, he says, “That’s—thank you. I know you probably hate me, but you’re the only person who ever actually talks to me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Who said I hated you?” Jesper asks, entirely bemused. “I definitely don’t, Wylan.”
“Oh,” Wylan says again, feeling his face heat up. He glances back to Jesper’s eyes, and he bites his lip. “Me too. I like you.”
Jesper’s lips quirk up, and then they return to his previous expression, a sort of confused apprehension.
Wylan blushes at the silence, and he glances around the hallway to distract himself.
Jesper clears his throat loudly. “So—so are you coming to the game after your detention?”
Wylan blinks twice to make sure he’s hearing that correctly.
“Am I coming to the game?” Wylan asks, just to be sure.
“I don’t know, you tell me,” Jesper jokes, and Wylan realizes that Jesper had truly asked that sincerely.
Wylan flushes. “I don’t—I’ve never been.”
“Then you should come!” Jesper says, with a happy smile, any sort of awkward tension between the two of them gone. “I mean, even if it’s just for the first half or something. If you want.”
Wylan considers this. He imagines watching Jesper play, running around on the field—would Wylan sit with the others in their class? Would he stand alone, off to the side? Wylan can’t seem to figure out where he fits in.
But he wants to. Oh, Wylan wants to see it. He wants to experience it, and he wants to see Jesper play. He wants to cheer for Jesper, even if Jesper doesn’t see or hear him, he wants Jesper to know just how much Wylan likes him.
Because he does—Wylan is realizing— like Jesper. He likes Jesper because Jesper is kind and funny, because Jesper inevitably will look really good in his football shorts, because Jesper is so easy to talk to—Wylan likes Jesper Fahey.
Wylan is blushing hard, now. “I—Okay.”
“Nice!” Jesper says, grinning, completely oblivious to the way Wylan’s brain is folding in on itself like dominos, at the realization that—oh fuck, he likes Jesper Fahey. “I’ll see you there!”
“Yeah,” Wylan says, a little weakly.
*
Wylan sneaks into the stands by the football field after his detention ends; the game has already started, and Wylan thinks that makes it at least a little easier to not break some sort of unspoken social rule of where to sit.
But he still isn’t quite sure where to sit, though. He sees his classmates, sitting together in two rows by the front. Wylan deliberates, and then heads to that side of the stands, but he sits by himself, far above them all. This should be fine. Wylan quickly realizes, though, it was effectively pointless.
And surprisingly, not for any bad reason.
The match is exciting and thrilling, and even though Wylan doesn’t take much interest in the game as a whole, he feels himself getting swept up by the crowd and all of their feelings as well. Wylan finds himself gasping and leaning forwards and standing up when their school makes a goal—and Wylan certainly finds himself staring at Jesper.
Jesper is gorgeous when he plays, and Wylan doesn’t think it’s strange to think that. It’s more than just the fact that he’s generally very handsome, and that his long legs look really good, or that he’s covered in sweat. With Jesper, it’s just the energy in him. Wylan can see it so clearly here, how bright Jesper is, how delightfully infectious he is with everyone around him—Wylan keeps staring.
The match is in the last few minutes now, and the scores are tied between the two teams. Everyone is on their feet, cheering—and then Wylan discovers that he is on his feet and cheering as well. In doing so, he seems to gravitate downwards, down to the group of classmates he knows; Wylan doesn’t even feel nervous about it, because everyone is so caught up in the game. Wylan is so caught up in the game, and he wants to see better and be around that same level of excitement, so he ends up standing next to Raske.
One of the opposing team’s players tries to make a pass, but Bolliger intercepts it—he kicks it swiftly to Jesper, who doesn’t even seem to hesitate—Jesper gets the ball, pivots, and then kicks it straight into the goal, right through all the other defenders.
Wylan screams in the stands, right along with the rest of the school. As he’s cheering, Raske grabs his shoulder and shakes it, only it’s not in any sort of anger or disgust—they’re just celebrating. They’re all thrilled, they’re all ecstatic, and Wylan wonders if this is what normal life is supposed to be like.
Jesper rushes across the field to give Bolliger a hug, one of those, we just scored the winning point hugs full of adrenaline and joy. They embrace, and then Jesper jumps into the air, still entirely thrilled. It’s so beautiful to watch, and Wylan thinks he’d do anything, anything in the whole world to make Jesper Fahey feel even just half of that happiness.
At the matches end, everyone leaves the stands and congregates in the parking lot, waiting for the players to come back out. The crowd splits off into different friend groups, separated mostly by class. All of the parents picking up some of the younger kids who can’t drive yet end up on one side, Wylan notices, and it’s interesting to watch the dynamics play out—how normal teenagers act when they’re both around their friends and also know their parents are around the corner.
When the players—and Jesper—come back out, everyone cheers again. Wylan hovers by their class; he wants to say congratulations, but now he feels nervous again, and he thinks it’d be better not to draw any attention. The atmosphere is different now, it’s not the same adrenaline high as during the match. Wylan can imagine all too easily how the excitement will make them all more rowdy, more irritated that their perfect evening is being ruined by Wylan’s presence.
“Jesper, you have to come out!” Raske demands, grabbing his arm. To the rest of their friends, he yells, “And everyone has to buy him a drink!”
“I think I’ll die if everyone buys me a drink,” Jesper teases, but he’s glowing from the excitement and praise.
“We’ll buy you enough to get wasted at least!” Anika says, laughing. “Or until my debit card overdrafts.”
Everyone laughs, and then with the ease and efficiency of friends who’ve done this a million times—and they have, Wylan dully realizes—they split into groups to pile into cars, off to whatever bar or pub or party they’re going to.
Wylan retreats back, aware that he wouldn’t be wanted there. He’ll walk to the other side of the school that’s empty, he supposes, and call a cab. As he turns to walk, he tries to sneak one last look at Jesper.
Jesper hasn’t gotten in a car yet—and Wylan privately wonders how he ever will fit, since there’s already at least seven teenagers in a little sedan—but the car door is open, and Jesper is laughing at the conversation going on. Maybe he’s laughing about the seating in the car, or something funny that happened in the game, or maybe he’s just laughing because he’s happy. Either way, Wylan thinks it’s beautiful.
Jesper shuts the car door, and starts walking to another car. He must see Wylan from his periphery, or if otherwise just senses Wylan staring, but Jesper turns his head and locks eyes with Wylan.
Wylan’s eyes widen. Jesper’s mouth parts open, surprised to see Wylan there no doubt, and Wylan’s face reddens. He wants to tell Jesper congratulations, but he knows it’d make things so awkward, if Wylan were to come up to Jesper and speak to him. So Wylan scratches his head, biting his lip as he thinks of something to do.
Wylan gives Jesper a thumbs up.
Wylan gives Jesper a thumbs up, and then immediately wants to pitch himself into the canal because that has to be the lamest thing he ever could’ve done, and wow, that was his reaction after planning it, if briefly, and Jesper is probably laughing his head off—
Jesper is laughing again. Wylan is almost embarrassed by it, but he realizes, even from half-way across the parking lot, that Jesper isn’t laughing at him. It’s not mean-spirited at all, it’s—it’s nearly affectionate. Jesper’s eyes are warm, and he gives Wylan a quick thumbs up back.
Wylan smiles and looks down, ignoring how hot his face feels. Jesper gives him one last smile, and then finishes walking down to the car he’s supposed to get into. The car drives off, and Wylan can tell that no one else noticed his presence here—but Jesper had. Wylan keeps thinking about that in the cab ride home, and it distracts him from how he returns home to a dark, empty house, where he only can disappear again.
*
After school, a few days after the match, Jesper drives to Wylan’s house to pick up his dad. Jesper hesitates in the car, just for a few seconds, before getting out and ringing the doorbell to Wylan’s house.
Colm answers the door, looking mildly surprised.
“Jes—I’m still another half an hour,” Colm says, a fair warning. But Jesper knew this, before he even got in the car.
Jesper shrugs. “I didn’t want to be late.”
“And you’re still not on time,” Colm says, with a fond eye roll. “Wait inside, then.”
Jesper steps into the hall and decides to venture upstairs. He’s never seen this part of Wylan’s house, and he’s not snooping, technically—
And he wants to run into Wylan.
For some reason, Jesper couldn’t stop thinking about Wylan at the game. Or Wylan after the game, he supposes—he recalls Wylan’s blush, visible even in the evening light, and his oddly earnest, if awkward, thumbs up. Jesper felt a surge of some ineffable feeling run through him then, and he wasn’t sure why, but it did.
He isn’t sure if it’s just his ego or pride, or something else all together, but Jesper likes that Wylan showed up to the match for him. Wylan is so mysterious in some ways—no one knows anything about him, in the whole entire school—but Jesper knows that Wylan came to the match because Jesper asked him to. Jesper knows Wylan stayed long enough to give Jesper a shy congratulations, and Jesper knows that Wylan has said— I like you.
In an open room, there’s a decorative shelf with artfully picked knick-knacks and some books on it, which draws Jesper’s attention. Jesper notices how there’s no family photos, or portraits—even the knick-knacks don’t seem to reveal anything specific about the Van Ecks’ life. There’s no memorabilia or souvenirs from vacations, no signs of hobbies, nothing that couldn’t also be in a stock photo for a well-kept house.
There’s a Newton’s Cradle sitting on the desk, which Jesper feels entirely, physically, obligated to set into motion. He pulls one metal sphere back, letting it go; it knocks into the next one, setting the one at the other end off into motion, and Jesper enjoys the noise of the repetitive click-clack-click-clack occupying the space.
A door opens, and Jesper jerks his head in the direction. Wylan steps out, wearing a bathrobe, fresh out of the shower. The second he sees Jesper, his eyes widen, and he turns scarlet. In order, Jesper opens his mouth to apologize, then realizes he’s still staring and quickly averts his eyes, and then Wylan makes a small, embarrassed noise and darts into his room. And then, Jesper realizes his mouth had been hanging open too, for some completely mortifying reason.
Jesper feels flustered, and he has no clue why, because it’s not like Wylan was naked—well, he was naked, just underneath the bathrobe, Jesper reminds himself—and suddenly, Jesper’s face is very warm. He distracts himself by looking at the books on the shelf, absentmindedly picking up one of the paperbacks he recognizes.
Wylan comes back out after a minute, and Jesper feigns nonchalance. Wylan’s changed into a pair of jeans and a large, dark blue jumper; Jesper feels a strange thrill of pleasure run through him, imagining that these clothes Wylan wore, he wore knowing that Jesper would see them. He’s not sure why that makes him feel so—so warm, but it does.
“Hi,” Wylan says, and his face is still a little pink. His hair is also damp so it looks darker and a bit longer, too. Jesper takes in these details somewhat obsessively. Wylan’s eyes drift down to the Newton’s Cradle, still click-clack -ing away, and Jesper hastily closes his hands around it again so the noise stops.
Jesper clears his throat. “Hey. Sorry, I was just—waiting for my Da.”
Wylan nods. There’s a silence between them now, only made more obvious by the abrupt lack of noise. Jesper searches for something else to fidget with, tapping his hands on the cover of the book he’s holding. Wylan notices, and Jesper rushes to put that on the table as well.
“You’re welcome to borrow that, if you’d like,” Wylan offers.
“Oh, I was just looking,” Jesper says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not much of a reader, anyways.”
Wylan raises his eyebrows. “But you get top marks in English?”
“I like it sometimes, I guess,” Jesper says half-heartedly. “I have—I don’t know, if a book is interesting, then I can sit there and read it all in like, 4 hours without moving, but that’s my ADHD, not— intelligence, or anything like that. And if I don’t like it, it’s like—physically painful for me to read it. I’ll have to read the same sentence like, fifty times to actually read it—I don’t know.” Jesper is quite sure that that’s also a symptom of his ADHD, but he feels awkward to say it, too used to people rolling their eyes at Jesper’s ‘excuses.’ He shrugs quickly, banishing the thought. “I think I’ve just gotten lucky that this year, all the books have been decent.”
Wylan hums. “And all the books the past few years as well, then? Since you always get first…”
Jesper scoffs, looking away. “You’ve been keeping track, have you?”
“I have,” Wylan says simply. “Because that’s the only class I’m not first in.”
Jesper laughs, despite himself. Wylan smiles a little, looking down. Jesper has the urge to confess something to Wylan, then.
“I’ve actually read the book, already,” Jesper blurts. Wylan looks up, and Jesper gestures vaguely to the book on the table. “I—I’ve read it. It’s really good, if you’re interested.”
“What book is it?”
Jesper raises his eyebrows. “It’s one of your books.”
Wylan crosses his arms. “None of my books are on shelves. I have no clue what my father buys.”
“Ah,” Jesper says, recalling that Wylan uses audiobooks. “Sorry—It’s called Starless Trees. It’s really famous in Novyi Zem, I think—I mean, it is. It won an award there, but—um, it’s kind of complicated. It’s about this linguist who wants to save this dying language, but the linguist himself isn’t part of the community at all and is like—sort of imposing his own cultural biases and stuff in the nuances of translation, but there’s obviously important work being done in the language-saving process, so it’s about the tension between those two things, because Novyi Zem has a lot of ethno-linguistic divides and…” Jesper trails off, realizing he’s been rambling. He waves his hands. “Yeah, you know. And there’s magical realism with the trees, too, kind of and… Yeah. Sorry.”
Jesper feels even more flustered and he looks away.
Wylan looks at him for a moment, and then his brows furrow. “I don’t get it. You’re so smart, Jesper—why do you try and hide it?”
“It doesn’t just make me smart to pick up a book with complex themes. I actually have to understand it, too.”
Wylan gives him a withering look. “You’re doing it again. You’ve clearly done more than picking up the book, and you—you seem to enjoy talking about this sort of stuff.”
Jesper scratches his ear. “I guess I do.”
“Do your friends know you read so much, outside of school?” Wylan asks.
Jesper shrugs. “Sort of? We don’t really talk about… It’s not really stuff that would interest them.”
Wylan raises his eyebrows. “Right. They’re too busy talking about who’s fucking who, and all.”
Jesper feels his face heat up—maybe it’s because Wylan said the word fucking, but that feels embarrassing to admit. Jesper convinces himself that the heat is there out of defensiveness for his friends, at the reminder of the conversation Wylan overheard yesterday by the lockers.
“Okay, yeah, they talk about—we gossip and stuff, sure,” Jesper says defensively. “But it’s—look, at the end of the day, they’re my friends, you know? It’s different for you.”
Wylan’s expression doesn’t change, but he looks away. Jesper runs a hand through his hair.
“You played really well in the match,” Wylan says suddenly.
“Oh,” Jesper says. “Ah—thanks.”
Wylan smiles, nearly shyly. “It was fun. To be there, and to—to watch you.”
Jesper takes in Wylan’s words. When he says, watch you, surely he must have meant—watching the team? It brings another memory to Jesper’s mind, and drums his fingers on his arm, trying to figure out how to word it.
“Um—so–I have a question,” Jesper says awkwardly. “So… When we were talking, that day before the match in the hall, you said… You said you—You liked me…?”
Wylan stares at him, offering Jesper nothing.
Jesper bites his lip. “Did you mean, like… Just as a friend, or…?”
Now, Wylan hesitates. In his hesitation—and in the light pink blush, slowly coming onto his face—Jesper already knows the answer.
Still, Wylan answers, looking Jesper in the eyes. “No. Not just as a friend.”
“Oh,” Jesper says, nodding to himself as he tries to process what this means.
Wylan Van Eck likes him. And Jesper—Jesper thinks he might like him back.
But what would ever come out of it? They couldn’t date—that would be… Jesper can’t even imagine what it would be like in school, how it goes against practically everything his friends know about Jesper. It would be horrible, Jesper knows.
“I—I just think I’m… maybe confused, on what I feel?” Jesper says, feeling himself get more flustered by the second. “I just think it’d be awkward in school, and all, if—if something were to happen between us.”
Wylan is blushing, and Jesper feels bad. Wylan steps forward then, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he speaks; Jesper notices.
“No one would have to know,” Wylan says softly. He doesn’t quite look at Jesper when he says it, like he’s speaking to an invisible dot just to the left of Jesper.
Jesper’s breath hitches. Wylan takes another step even closer, and now—now they’re nearly close enough to kiss. They’re almost close enough, if Jesper takes just one more step forward.
Jesper takes a step forward.
Wylan’s eyes meet his. They look even bluer now, because of the jumper Wylan wears, and Jesper does find Wylan very pretty. Very pretty.
Wylan tilts his head forward, and he kisses Jesper. Wylan’s lips were bitten, but very soft. Jesper could smell Wylan’s shampoo and soap, and it made Jesper want to run his hands through Wylan’s hair, to feel the dampness for himself. Jesper found himself wanting more in general, wanting to wrap his arms around Wylan’s waist maybe—Jesper found himself wanting Wylan.
Wylan pulls away first, a quick kiss. The blush had spread, down his neck into his collar, and Jesper could only stare at it. His mind felt blissfully empty, empty in the best way possible. It was like kissing Wylan cleared away all of his anxieties, all his stress, all his notions of how he was perceived—it was gone, at the touch of Wylan’s lips.
Jesper opens his mouth—to ask, can we please do that again, please, he thinks—when Wylan brings a hand to his lips. He starts laughing.
Jesper blinks, and then feels his face heat up. “What?”
“Sorry,” Wylan says, though he’s still giggling. “I—sorry. I’m not laughing at you.”
“Most people don’t laugh after being kissed,” Jesper grumbles, not really embarrassed but just—just flustered. It’s only ever with Wylan, it seems, that Jesper gets this flustered.
“I wouldn’t know,” Wylan says awkwardly.
Jesper’s eyes widen. “That was your first kiss?”
“Yes,” Wylan says, biting his lip. “Was it—I mean… Was it good?”
“What, you want to get first in the class for this, too?”
“If it’s possible,” Wylan says, a little slyly. Jesper laughs loudly, and Wylan turns his head away, smiling.
Jesper weighs his options for what to say next. He coughs and says, “I think you need more practice.”
It’s a cheesy, overused line, but—but lines get overused for a reason, don’t they?
Wylan blushes, and seems self-aware about the fact that this is a corny invitation to kiss some more. He half-rolls his eyes, but also seems quite pleased, and Jesper thinks it’s a very cute expression. It makes him want to kiss Wylan again. He will, he decides.
Jesper leans his head in now, and Wylan takes a second to notice before leaning in as well. There’s a brief, awkward moment where they’re both angling their heads in the same direction, and they have to do a half-shuffle to make sure their noses don’t hit, but they figure it out.
This time, Jesper gently puts one hand on Wylan’s waist, and another in Wylan’s hair, like he wanted. Jesper deepens the kiss only slightly, feeling too shy to do much else, which he thinks might be embarrassing for himself—but again, when he kisses Wylan, he doesn’t think of anything else. The only actual thought he has, beyond just Wylan’s name, occurs when Wylan brings his hands to Jesper’s upper arms, a gentle and encasing touch; strangely, Jesper imagines that there are magnets inside them both, connecting them and urging them to stand closer, to be closer.
Jesper decides to pull away first this time. Wylan is smiling widely, and Jesper doesn’t let go of his waist. He’s not sure what he wants to say—but he wants to keep Wylan close.
Colm’s voice interrupts. He calls for Jesper, and both Jesper and Wylan jump apart.
“Coming, Da!” Jesper shouts back, and his voice cracks a little. Privately, he wants to say, there was no way that was 30 minutes, but for all Jesper knows, maybe it was. Time didn’t exist when he was with Wylan—there was only Wylan and his pretty blue eyes, and nothing else.
Wylan is lightly touching his lips again. Jesper really wants to keep kissing him. But his Da could come looking for him at any time, and that—Jesper can’t have that.
Jesper coughs, and says, “Um—don’t tell anyone in school, or anything, that we…”
Wylan scoffs. “Like I would talk to someone in school, anyways?”
Jesper smiles a little, but he notices that Wylan’s eyes don’t meet his. They head downstairs, and Wylan says bye to Colm, and there’s absolutely no indication that they just kissed. That’s reassuring to Jesper, but some stupidly selfish and pathetic part of him wishes Wylan was more affected—Jesper’s face feels like it’s burning off, and he’s grateful his complexion is too dark to show a blush, but it seems obvious anyways. He thinks when he gets home, he’ll have to tell his Da he’s going out for a run, because Jesper truly feels ready to bounce off the walls. He wants to sprint, and jump in the air, and if he knew how to do a flip, he would do one of those, too—he physically can’t contain himself, and the strange amount of giddiness and pure joy he feels right now.
Wylan is calm and collected, and he says bye to Jesper with no secret look or lingering glance. Jesper doesn’t dwell on it too much; all he thinks about is the moment prior, the feeling of Wylan’s lips on his. All he thinks about is Wylan.
*
Wylan waits until he hears the Fahey’s car leave the driveway, and he waits a good 30 seconds extra too, just in case. Then, alone in this large house, Wylan laughs.
He laughs, and he tries to head upstairs but he walks into a wall somehow. It doesn’t hurt. Everything in his body feels light and like it’s made out of a cloud, and all he can think about was how Jesper Fahey kissed him. He kissed Jesper Fahey.
Wylan rushes to a mirror, and slightly irrationally, tries to see if anyone can tell. Does it look like he’s just been kissed? Not really. Wylan supposes you need to do a bit more kissing for it to show up—would Jesper ever kiss him enough that it does show? Wylan blushes at the idea, but he doesn’t really care either way. He would like that, of course, he wants to do everything with Jesper—Wylan blushes more—but that kiss…
That one kiss had changed him, permanently and wholly. This, Wylan was sure of.
Wylan keeps a hand to his lips as he heads back into the room where they had kissed. He takes stock of the details, because in the moment, all he could think about was JesperJesperJesper, but he wants to have this memory fully memorized, because he knows he’ll keep thinking about it. He thinks of the moment when Jesper put his hands on Wylan’s waist, when Wylan touched him back. There, Wylan had felt something so unique, he wasn’t even sure if it was an emotion.
It was just the oddest feeling that this was all meant to happen, which was odd because good things so rarely were meant to happen for Wylan. But it had been real, and it felt like it had to happen, and Wylan wasn’t sure what that meant, but it made him feel entirely overwhelmed with happiness.
Wylan laughs again, and then weakly crumples onto the floor. Jesper had kissed him in this spot, and now Wylan was forever changed.