Chapter Text
An endless chatter and clangour of a crowd behind him has never been this loud before, grumbled Jesper to himself as he sat hunched on a high and exceptionally uncomfortable barstool, while he blankly observed, eyes going over copious amounts of alcohol that sat stored on shelves behind the bar. He's been sitting here for a suspiciously long time, but this wouldn't be the first bar he’s been kicked out of. And certainly not the last.
He took another shot of a drink he bought with the last kruge he had, and wondered if anyone noticed the previously nice purple band tied around his tophat slowly losing colour. Bright pigments fading at the edges before fully turning into something grey and dull.
Lately, he’s been having problems controlling that side of him, the part of himself that neither he, nor others ever speak of but he struggles to restrain himself while drunk out of his mind.
Jesper felt the bitter aftertaste of a drink he had in the back of his throat. Ma used to hate whiskey.
The thought of her brings back memories long buried behind. The vivid flashes of her proud smile from that poison induced dream still linger in his mind. For some time he used to reassure himself that maybe it was actually her. That It wasn't just a hallucination of a wishful thought, but perhaps a work of saints Inej so faithfully believed in. Though, a part of his rotten mind called bullshit. His mother was a fierce woman with a strong mindset and even stronger view of the world. And while he's not the worst type of a scumbag, he's not the best son either. Jesper did not wish to imagine what she thought of her little rabbit now.
Thoughts like these settled in his head like rot. Mold spreading its little spores all around the ridges and curves of his brain until the only escape —a self soothing solution— was ignorance. Jesper contemplated the ugliness of the decay inside him and slammed the cup down. A loud scrape of the barstool against the floor cut through the noise of the bar and after couple of large steps he was out the door.
He wasn't usually like this. Emotions always washed over him fiercely, whether that was anger, shame, fear or even love . Before, he had a way to distract himself by the clang of dice on a table and worn down cards in his hands. The sound of the Makker’s Wheel and the smell of luck, or rather the lack of in the air. The feeling of so-called freedom it was, leaving his fate in the hands of the game, while he actively threw his life away in the process. He liked that game of pretend he took part in. It felt relieving, the unknown and the knowledge that the lost money wasn't really a result of his bad decisions. It’s all up to the game and luck!
Well, that was before he got smacked with a massive wake-up call in a form of a certain novice. Said novice or shall he say a merchling, was also the main reason behind his headache right now. Going down that particular train thought was not something he wished to be doing while drunk and half asleep. No, in these moments Jesper yearned for rumination, picking at his skin until the surface breaks, breaking promises and muting the gunshots, sounds of metal and the smell of iron. Jesper headed down the alleyways, crossing the murky and half tumbling buildings and found himself right at the tables he had grown so familiar with.
His mind whispered objections, voice sounding soft and stubborn. Some other day he might have listened, sometime before this day. Before he sat raging and silent as he listened to his so-called best friend set a plan a job, a very well-paying one too, with the cost of his broken heart.
Before, he watched his lover's already porcelain face turn even paler, eyes wide and weary. A look that some other day, Jesper would fuss over and maybe shoot someone causing it.
Before, he walked out of the Crow Club, drained, confused and hurt, head filled with a static and a mantra of the name : Van Eck Van Eck Van fucking Eck.
Jesper has grown familiar with the feeling of being left out. It became obvious sometime during his childhood, when his classmates sat perfectly still, eyes ahead and listening. They didn't fidget or chatter endless nonsense. They weren’t a distraction . He felt left out when others moved on in life faster, found themselves quicker, leaving him in the dust. When he watched someone use his zowa powers so efficiently without a tug of fear or shame in their chest.
He recalls the first days of University in Ketterdam, meeting new people, students like him. Jesper always had a knack at being entertaining, charming with a few jokes and tricks up his sleeve. People were naturally drawn to him —like moths to a firelight— and he liked it that way. He dreamt of impressing everyone around him. But some days the light wouldn't burn as light, not bright enough, and he would be left alone again with his guns, tense quiet around him and a frozen grin on his face. No one has ever wanted to stick around during the dark moments, didn’t want to hear his troubles and certainly didn’t want anything long term.
With this in mind, it shouldn’t have been different. That fact didn’t change the feeling of stinging betrayal in his chest either.
Now, Jesper didn't exactly mind the name. In fact, it made a lot of unsaid things between them make sense. Wylan did always struggle with basic skills that everyone in the Barrel had been forced to learn. He wasn't attentive in the streets enough and didn’t know the harbour like the back of his hand. Speaking of hands, his were of someone who hasn't worked a hard labour a day in his life. No, even though it left a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing that a merchant's son —someone who has been fed with a silver spoon since birth— chose a place like this to live in, he couldn't care less. It was the feeling of being used that nagged at him every breath. The thought that he had poured his heart out to someone, who couldn't share the same sentiment. Someone, who urged him to do so. A merchling , he thought, and a hypocrite too .
Maybe, it was mean and misplaced to talk of his lover with such words. And maybe, there were his insecurities at play. Perhaps, Wylan had a good reason to not share his troubles with him. But ever since that morning the word ‘mistrust’ lingered too long in his mind.
“I thought you were on your 'no-gamble' streak.”
Saints. Didn’t he have enough heart attacks today?
“A month and three weeks and all that.”
He could feel Inej’s accusative and disappointed tone even through his drunk fogged mind.
“Jesper?” a soft question came with even more of a softer hand on his shoulder.
“Yea’?”
“We should go back. It's about to rain.“
She didn’t wait for his reply before Jesper felt two hands haul him upright and push him —albeit gently— to the direction of the Crow Club. If talking didn’t hurt he might have cracked a joke about Inej competing in whichever strength contest the Dregs would start up at the club. His throat burned and the ground was slippery with the mud from last night's rain as he stumbled after her. The streets were eerily silent as it always was at nights in the barrel. They carefully avoided the group of Stadtwatch and Jesper crouched by the alleyways, waiting for Inej's sign to go ahead.
“How do you bear it?” he rasped out. At her raised eyebrow he continued. “To love someone so secretive… so… so unwilling to let you in?”
“..." He couldn't for the life of him read her face as she grew silent. She's always had walls drawn up high around them, perhaps even more similar to Kaz than she realised. "When I first started working for Kaz —after we got over the first barrier — I was… so sure I’d find something in him that resembled, at least a friend. But instead it was another broken person trying to come to terms with the wreckage of their life.”
Jesper wasn't there for their first meeting. And despite knowing nothing about it he did have his own objective. After all, Kaz is known for much more than his schemes.
“My point is that sometimes, people have problems that will wreck you long before you can make a dent in them. Some prefer to suffer alone with their demons, and some don’t even know how to let other people in. It takes a lot of courage, and even more time to truly come to terms with the fact that maybe you don’t really need to be alone.“
“...it’s been so long though, shouldn’t he at least trust me to listen?” for a moment he was speechless, taking Inej’s hand in him, just like they used to after bad days and hard jobs. He recalls how close they stuck to each other, back to back, whilst they crossed the Fold. He was so glad to have found a friend, or perhaps a sister, in her.
“Jesper... It’s never that easy to trust someone, and listen—I'm sure, there are more depths to Wylan than you assume.” Inej’s eyes were hard set, straight, jaw tight. She always saw past people with walls built high. She then looked down at him with such care and sisterly love that Jesper thought she could be a saint herself.
“One of these days, I'm gonna learn all of your wise ways 'Nej.”
“Now, don't go ahead of yourself, Jes'. We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself using that brain of yours now, would we?” Inej leapt away snickering, at Jesper's indignant squak of offense and broke into a sprint as he rushed to avenge his honor.
“I know where you live, you ass!” he chased after Inej, barely able to catch up, as he was still too drunk to function properly.
“No, you don't!”
“Oh, I bet Kaz knows, doesn't he?” His eyebrows wiggled comedically and tried to keep in the hiccups but failed miserablely as Inej broke out in cackles.
“Shh, don't say his name. You're gonna summon him!”
Their journey back home took longer than usual, both of them getting distracted of the main road. At some point Jesper fell over, unable to keep himself upright on a rocky road. The sight of him brought Inej to tears as she struggled to keep herself from laughing.
“I'm so telling Nina about this!”
“Um, Hello?! You're supposed to gossip with me, not about me!” Jesper pointed an accusatory finger towards Inej, after he dusted all the dirt of his pants and face.
“I would if you weren't the top gossip material.”
“Man, you used to be so nice to me! Just what did Kaz do to the old kind-hearted Inej?!”
“May I kindly remind you that you literally stole my waffles, that I myself baked?!.”
“We live in the barrel, love. Thievery is merely a minor offence! Now, selling me out to that devious bastard?! Did you hear her calling this pretty face 'jester' instead of Jesper the other day?!”
“Well, have you looked in the mirror, recently?”
“I'll have you know that this face—" he pointed both of his index fingers at his face in the most dramatic manner he could manage. And let it be known that his theatrics have no boundaries. "—has the whole Barrel falling head over heels for it. And mind you, I literally have a boyfriend."
At the mention of Wylan, Jesper’s mind involuntarily flashed to the arguments his parents used to share, scathing words he heard from atop of the stairs near his room. Him and Wylan argued too, after the meeting.
“ – like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum!”
“Stop assuming shit, you don’t know anything about!”
“Well, that's the grand point isn’t it?! I don’t know anything about you!” he doesn’t think he ever heard himself this angry. He couldn’t stop his voice from rising, to keep in the sharp words filled with venom, from spilling. “ And you know, I'm starting to think, it’s not really worth the effort to try either.”
He didn't mean it. He didn't. Please.
Wylan’s slumped shoulders and face close to crying was all it took for Jesper to turn round and walk out their room. ‘Their room.’ Saints, he needed a drink.
He shut his eyes tight and tried to remember the calm mornings in Novyi Zem afterwards, with apologies and forgiving smiles returned; and thought that maybe it wasn’t that bad. They could still mend the pieces back. Perhaps they weren't near the end just yet.