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In all honesty, Wylan wasn't sure about hosting the new years' party this year. He can still remember the last time the Van Ecks hosted it; he was thirteen, and knew to keep himself out of sight after greeting guests and reappear before dinner, and only to speak if he is spoken to. The tradition was passed around the other merchant families afterwards, with Wylan's father making excuses for his absence each time.
Now, Wylan is nineteen, the Van Ecks are due to host yet again, and his father is languishing in Hellgate while Wylan waves the last of their guests goodbye.
How times change.
He finally closes the door after saying goodnight to the Rosenthals, who insist they must come to their place for lunch in the new year. Wylan knows enough now to understand that it's more about business than a nice meal, but he agrees nonetheless. Then they are gone, and after hours of chatter and music and laughter and more chatter, the house is silent. Wylan presses his back into the door, closes his eyes, inhales deeply. Quiet. Silent.
Well, he thinks with a small smile. Almost quiet.
With the party adrenaline slowly leaving his body, Wylan shuffles down the hall, guided by the Kaelish shanties softly sung from the next room. Empty bottles line the hall, discarded papers and tissues and one pair of glasses, but he actively resists the temptation to leave it to the maids. This was his party and if he and Jesper spend all day tomorrow on their hands and knees cleaning, so be it.
When he enters the living room, he finds Jesper had the same idea. Glasses are lined up along the table, plates piled beside them. Jesper sits on the floor, his tie discarded and his shirt untucked and half-undone. Heat rushes to Wylan's cheeks, especially so when Jesper looks up and grins.
(It's been years, yet his smile can still stop Wylan's heart)
"Good evening, beautiful," Jesper says as Wylan pads acorss the carpet. "Or is it morning now?"
"Pretty sure it is." Wylan sighs and lowers himself down, legs folded beneath him. He has to laugh when he sees the state of their carpet; dozens upon dozens of tiny, twinkling pieces are strewn across it, tangled in the fibres and buried in the gaps. Jesper pulls a face at it, and here Wylan again sees the subtle dusting along his cheeks.
"Maybe we'll skip the glitter-based decorations next year."
"Maybe not," Wylan shrugs. His fingers sparkle when he lifts them and a soft giggle escapes him. Jesper grins too, low candlelight shining in his dark eyes. He slides his fingers into Wylan's and then, in one quick motion, pulls Wylan into him.
They land on their backs on the carpet, a clash of limbs and clothes and giddy laughter. Wylan's head is reeling and it's not entirely from the amount of wine he's drunk.
(He has never been this happy, ever. He never thought he could be this happy, ever)
He laughs into Jesper's shoulder, taking the opportunity to press some kisses to his neck. Jesper hums contentedly and threads his fingers in Wylan's hair. The movement is gentle, careful, and his body is warm, and Wylan can feel his eyes getting heavy.
"What do you want to happen this year?" Jesper asks quietly.
"I want..." He hesitates. Every year, his resolution was to learn how to read. Then it was to survive. Then he started losing track of years. "I want to spend more time with you. Council is driving me insane. I also want to repaint the bedroom and play the tin whistle again."
"All good things, merchling," Jesper replies. His chest expands as he takes a long breath, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling. Something is brewing in him, Wylan can feel it like a storm in the air. He traces patterns on his chest, looks up and whispers silently that it's okay.
"I'd like to visit Da more," he says. "I don't have to hide from him anymore and now..." He breathes out, long, slow, steady. "Yeah. I want to see him more."
"You will," Wylan nods. Jesper huffs, something between a laugh and a sigh, and he curls his hand around Wylan's. His skin is rough and calloused, his touch gentle and perfect. Wylan has never known anything softer than Jesper's touch.
(Saints, he really can't hold his drink)
Outside the window, a small fizzing sound catches Wylan's attention. It builds, growing louder and faster and higher until it bursts, tinkering almost musically.
"Fireworks!"
With a newfound energy, he jumps off Jesper and rushes to the sofa. Sure enough, far across the garden and above the canal, bursts of red and green and blue flash across the sky, mixing in with each other. The fireworks are both controlled and chaotic, and they're utterly magnificent. He says as much to Jesper when he sits beside him and when Jesper laughs, Wylan doesn't panic. He draws closer to him, links their fingers together.
"There's no-one like you, Wylan," he whispers. He kisses him, setting off different kinds of fireworks. Wylan grins against his mouth, revelling in the taste of his lips and the unmistakable feel of his smile.
"Happy new year, Wylan."
Wylan sighs and rubs his nose against Jesper's.
"Happy new year, Jes."
I love you, he doesn't need to add.