Chapter Text
(Incoming call from ‘🃏’...)
“Jesper?”
“Hey, Wy.”
“It’s 2am, wha– have you only just got back?”
“Yep.”
“From a kid’s birthday party?”
“Costume party. And I never said it was only for the kid.”
“You implied it.”
“Semantics.”
*There’s an audibly frustrated groan from Wylan’s end.*
“Christ, I’m too tired for this.”
“Yeah, sorry if I woke you up by the way. Maybe I should have started off there. Maybe I should have firstly considered it before I even phoned you up–”
“No, it’s . . . it’s fine. You did promise, after all.”
“Yeah. With every intent on sticking to said promise.”
“I’ve figured that much out by now.”
“What, don’t tell me you weren’t looking forward to it?”
“I was, actually, but that’s entirely besides the point.”
“Ha. Knew it.”
“Shut up. So, how did it go?”
“Smoother than I expected and that’s all I’ll say on the matter?”
“Nothing juicy that you can tell me?”
“It seems that all of the actual fun has been sucked out of life nowadays.”
*Wylan mumbles something incoherent, though it sounds awfully petulant. Jesper smiles on his end, fond. It creeps into his voice.*
“But no, in all seriousness, I didn’t suffer that bad of a berating, the kid was pleased – which was all that really mattered because I doubt I’d have put the effort in without that incentive – and I nursed a bloody mary at the counter while everyone mulled about and made idle conversation that they quickly forgot about when the kids had been put to bed and the shots came out.”
“Mm. . .”
“Still with me there, Wy?”
“Just about.”
“You can go back to sleep if you want, I’ll–”
*Wylan is mumbling into the receiver now.”
“Did you get home safe?”
“I– Yeah, I did. Somehow.”
“Good.”
“Did you?”
“Mhm.”
“What do you usually do in the evening?”
“Flute. Draw. Maybe Maths.”
“Maths?”
“I like maths.”
“Psychotic, but go on.”
“Sort out any important stuff that needs sorting out. Make sure everything is ready for the next day and then catnap on the sofa until I work up the gall to drag myself to bed.”
“You play the flute?”
“And the piano. Sometimes.”
“Let’s hope I’m around one of those ‘sometimes’ then, because I need to hear it.”
*Wylan giggles. Jesper’s heart double-takes.*
“Okay . . . sure.”
“. . . You’re serious?”
“You know my station, now. You can come find me after work and I can bring you home.”
“And not take me out to dinner first? So straightforward. How times have changed indeed.”
“They usually have musicians at fancy restaurants. Think of it that way.”
“That implies you’d take me to a fancy restaurant.”
“Mr. soon-to-be West End star over here talking – do I seem like I can afford anything remotely close to that?”
“Off West End – and that makes you reckon I can?”
“Yup.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s 2am, Jes. I think that speaks for itself.”
“Touché. But, no, I get it. I get what you mean.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Do you accept my proposal?”
“Absolutely, good sir.”
“Wonderful. Oh! Wait, scratch that – I completely forgot I booked tickets for one of your performances last night! We could meet up after then!”
*Jesper freezes.”
. . .
“Jesper? You still there?”
*He shakes back into himself*
“Yeah, no, sorry, uh– you did what now?”
“Was I not supposed to?”
“No! No, no, it’s perfectly fine – free will and all that – just . . . no pressure, then.”
“Why would there be pressure?”
“Well, because, you know . . . you’re coming to see me perform?”
“. . . But why would–I don’t understand, I’m sorry, but if it’s–”
“Relax, Wy, it’s all okay.”
“No, I’m–”
“Wylan.”
“Jesper.”
“It works out brilliantly.”
“. . . Okay.”
“Trust me on that?”
“I trust you.”
“Good.”
. . .
"Jesper . . ."
*Jesper can now tell he's fighting not to nod off, but still has one last thing to say before Wylan succumbs to his exhaustion. He promises to try and make it quick.*
“So.”
“So.”
“Did you have fun tonight, Wy?”
“As much fun as I could. This made it all worth it, though.”
“This?”
“You.”
*There was a deeper meaning in that, Jesper knew, and he didn’t want to pretend to ignore it or run away. His heart thundered a dangerous drumbeat. Soon enough, the sticks were going to snap.*
“You too, Wy.”
*On Wylan's end, the only thing that can be heard filtering through the microphone is delicate snoring and the infinitesimal shuffling of bedsheets as he sinks deeply into the comfort of slumber.*
*Jesper grins, blows a kiss and:
“Sweet dreams, darling.”
before hanging up.*
(‘🃏’ disconnected the call.)