Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wylan Van Eck sat at the counter, head in hands, staring down at the paper in front of him. Damn thing might as well be blank, for all he could glean from it (which was, as usual, absolutely nothing). The black ink skittered about the page like it was some wayward worm tracking through wood. The worm might’ve had some logical pattern to follow, but it made no sense to Wylan.

A better way to say it would be that it looked like gibberish, pure and simple, but Wylan had given up on pure and simple long ago. Nobody accepted pure and simple. They all wanted to know why, why, why? And he had no answer for that. If he knew why, he would’ve fixed it by now. But now he just told people dyslexia looked like word vomit on a page, but if the words weren’t words and were actually just abstract somethings-or-others. And then they shut up and left him alone.

He glared at the page, frustration rising.

“Hey.”

Wylan looked up, pulling his cheeks out of his palms.

“It’s not going to change no matter how hard you grump at it,” Jordie said. He leant on the kitchen island, studying Wylan’s face. He nodded to the paper. “What is that?”

“How should I know?” Wylan snapped. Guilt instantly bit at him. He hunched over, dropping his hands to his lap and pressing them tightly together. “Sorry.”

“Give it here,” Jordie said.

Without waiting, Jordie slid the paper across the counter to himself, flipping it so he could read it. Wylan watched Jordie’s face as his eyes scanned the paper, noting the slight frown and the concentrated gaze. Not for the first time (nor for the last), Wylan wondered what went on in people’s heads when they read.

“It’s for you, anyway,” Wylan said after a bit, even though Jordie probably knew that anyway.

Jordie nodded, still reading. Wylan brought a forefinger up to his mouth, chewing on the side of it, still watching Jordie. His gaze slowly slid from Jordie’s eyes to Jordie’s cheeks, studying the healed scars for the billionth time. They stretched across his face and body. They went at least as far as his hands, as far as Wylan had ever seen, creating blotchy patterns here and there. His face danced between burnt flesh and pristine pale skin in patterns Wylan didn’t quite understand.

Eventually, Jordie let out a sigh. He stood up, folding the paper in half. Wylan blinked as he quickly tore it, then again, and crinkled the remnants.

“What was it?” Wylan asked.

“Nothing,” Jordie said, aiming for a light and airy tone. He failed miserably, but Wylan let him have it. If Wylan had to guess, it would be another report on how terrible he was doing in that stupid English class.

Why did he even have to take that? He couldn’t read. Anyone would think that he would be exempt from a class that solely focused on reading. He didn’t see why he couldn’t just take classes far more useful to him. Like advanced chemistry. Or advanced calculus. Or advanced art. Or—

“So,” Jordie said, far too nonchalantly. “You said you have to read Pride and Prejudice?”

Definitely an English report, then. Was that what the paper had said? “Help, your idiot sort-of-cousin can’t read, but he needs this book.” Wylan wouldn’t put it past the teacher.

“I didn’t say that,” Wylan said.

“Oh. I could’ve sworn you had. Yesterday, or something.”

“I didn’t.”

Jordie just shrugged. “Whatever. Anyway… do you need me to… like…”

Wylan stiffened.

“Well, I guess there’s some movies, too, isn’t there?” Jordie asked, seemingly to himself. He frowned at nothing, trying to recollect. “Yeah. I guess I could find you those.”

“Movies are never the same as the books,” Wylan said, relaxing. “Anyway, it’s fine. I’m sure there’s an audiobook somewhere. I’ll just get that.”

Jordie frowned some more, opening his mouth to say something. It snapped shut again as a door slammed in the not-so-distant distance. Jordie looked over his shoulder as a lopsided, stomping sound resounded through the small apartment’s short hall. The pair of them waited as Kaz entered the kitchen, leaning heavily on his cane and glowering like the world caused him some great grievance. (It likely had. Its existence seemed to be a grievance to Kaz.)

“Are you ready?” Kaz asked Wylan, tone rocky and rough as ever.

“No.”

“Good morning,” Jordie said loudly, as if it would magically make Kaz politer.

Kaz’s eyes briefly flickered to his older brother, then back to Wylan. “Hurry up. I’m leaving in five minutes. If you’re not done by then, you’re walking.”

“I’ll be ready,” Wylan huffed.

He slid off the stool, bare feet hitting the crooked kitchen floor. He looked to Jordie for a moment, who rolled his eyes and nodded toward the hall, clearly annoyed at Kaz, but nonetheless in agreement. Wylan left without another word.

Wylan’s bedroom was spartan. He had his few personal items, clothes in the closet, a bed, a thrifted (and rickety) dresser and desk, a stool for said desk, and… that was it. No furnishings, no decorations, nothing. It really was just himself, his clothes, and the furniture. Kaz and Jordie’s room was the same way, as far as Wylan recalled. Wylan had only ever seen a few times. Jordie was hardly ever in it to let Wylan see, and Kaz was rather secretive when it came to his room.

(Actually, Kaz was just secretive in general.)

Most of the time, Wylan felt guilty when he stepped in the bedroom. His presence had meant a move for Jordie into Kaz’s room. Not only had he displaced Jordie, but he had forced another person into Kaz’s personal space. Wylan knew he would hate that if someone did it to him. He couldn’t imagine Kaz (nor all Kaz’s secrets) was too eager to make room for another person.

Wylan felt a lot of guilt for a lot of reasons, really. He’d been with them for only about eight months, but that was eight months too many. He shouldn’t be here. He was only stuck here because Jan Van Eck hadn’t delved into the “second cousins twice removed” category when disowning large parts of his family. So, when Jan Van Eck decided to finally boot his son into the long list of the disowned, Wylan went to the few family members he had left, legally. Jordie hadn’t wanted another mouth to feed. Kaz hadn’t wanted another person to deal with. And Wylan just wanted to melt into a pool of nothingness. Instead, Wylan had been foisted on them and they had been foisted on him.

But this was how life was now, whether they liked it or not. They all tried to make do. Even Kaz, who had eventually stopped glaring Wylan like he had personally murdered Kaz’s entire family and their dog. (Not that Kaz had a dog… or a family for Wylan to murder. They never talked about it, but it had been just Jordie and Kaz for a long time before Wylan showed up.)

So, guilt consumed Wylan for even the smallest of reasons. And constantly. He was learning to live with it, now.

Wylan reached into the doorless closet—which had a door at some point, as made evident by broken hinges—and grabbed a t-shirt. It was one of Jordie’s old ones, printed with some band Wylan had never listened to. Jordie might not have either, honestly. But it fit Wylan, and he could cover it with his burgundy sweatshirt.

With jeans and shoes on, Wylan left the room again, shouldering his backpack. He hurried to the bathroom, tearing open the medicine cabinet. Rooting through Jordie’s dozens of medications and Kaz’s painkillers, Wylan found his own pill cocktail in the back. An anti-depressant and a mood stabiliser (… as another anti-depressant) and allergy medications. Wylan dry swallowed them, not having time to find a cup.

Then he rushed out again, headed toward the main room of the house. Kaz was in neither the kitchen nor the adjoining living area.

“He’s already out,” Jordie said, still leaning on the kitchen island.

Wylan growled an enraged sigh, fingers curling into tight fists.

“You’ll catch him,” Jordie said. “He’s slow.”

Jordie slid a plate across the counter. Wylan looked at it. Two pieces of toast, slathered with some sort of jelly, stared up at him. Wylan glanced back up at Jordie.

“Take it,” Jordie said.

Wylan did, albeit with great caution. Jordie gave him a wide smile, and Wylan felt better about it. Sometimes, Wylan wondered if the things Jordie did were truly for other people, or if it was just another kind action he could tick off against his long list of sins.

Realising that was unkind of him to think, Wylan slammed the pieces of toast together, shoving the plate back at Jordie and leaving without another word.

True to Jordie’s word, Wylan did indeed catch up to Kaz.

“I was only like ten seconds late.” Wylan said. “You really couldn’t have waited?”

“I did say you had five minutes,” Kaz said, slowly descending the apartment complex’s many stairs. “Besides, you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“So? Why does that matter? You could have waited.”

“Well, to quote you, why does it matter? You still caught up, anyway.”

Wylan heaved another sigh. Sure, Kaz had stopped being an asshole about Wylan, but that didn’t mean he stopped being an asshole in general. Like most of the world, Wylan often wanted to punch him in the face. And if Wylan could throw a good punch, he would have already.

Since Wylan still couldn’t punch (and did not want to be the cause of breaking Kaz’s good leg by pushing him down the stairs), Wylan simply stomped down the steps after Kaz.

As soon as they exited the building, a car honked loudly at them. Jesper Fahey hung out of the window of said car, one long arm reaching over Inej in the driver’s seat to honk the horn a second time.

“Hurry up!” Jesper called.

Upon Kaz’s arrival and glare, Jesper popped open his door and hopped out. Kaz took his spot, while Jesper yanked the back door open. Jesper gestured for Wylan to get in with a grand flourish. Wylan felt heat creep up his face as he slid into the door.

“Morning, sunshine,” Jesper said brightly.

“You are far too peppy for the morning,” Wylan said.

“Nonsense. I’m just charming. All of the time.” Jesper grinned broadly at Wylan.

Wylan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the grin pulling onto his face.

“Hi, Wylan,” Inej said, her eyes catching his through the rear-view mirror.

“Hi,” Wylan said.

“Drive,” Kaz said, his cane clutched firmly in between his lap.

“You can be less demanding, you know,” Inej chastised lightly. She started the car up, anyway.

Inej drove ridiculously smoothly. Wylan noted this every single time she drove him to school. It was like her feet were made of feathers. Or something. She just drove so well. Jesper tended to speed like crazy, making sharp stops and abrupt turns. Colm Fahey’s poor old truck had literally coughed last time Jesper had taken Wylan for a drive. And yet, Jesper had still slammed the brakes like it had a good thousand more years to go (never mind that it barely had a thousand miles left to go).

They had only driven four blocks before Wylan pieced together the lack of turning and the manic smile on Jesper’s face. And the fact that Kaz sat in the front of the car.

“We’re not going to school, are we?” Wylan sighed.

“No,” Kaz said.

Wylan groaned another sigh, sinking down in his seat and dropping his bag to the car’s floor.

It wasn’t that he wanted to go to school, but the alternative seemed just as unpleasant at the moment.

Kaz Brekker had involved himself in so much crime that Wylan couldn’t figure out what pies he had his hands in. It seemed to be a bit of everything. Most of it was theft, as far as Wylan knew. But he had also seen Kaz forge and falsify documents, scam many a witless soul, break and enter, lie, cheat, beat someone up… Wylan didn’t think it stopped there. Certainly, far more heinous things went on behind closed doors. The blood Kaz washed out of his black gloves sometimes left very little to Wylan’s imagination.

Jordie knew nothing of this. As far as he knew, Kaz did some work at the Crow Club, working for Per Haskell (true, but not the entire truth). Still dubious and illegal, given Kaz’s age, but far less grievous a crime than the others—and not wholly Kaz’s fault, either. Intent on keeping Jordie in the dark, Kaz had forced Wylan to keep his silence.

Wylan knew about the life of crime, however, because Kaz had needed someone good with a chemistry set at one point. Wylan had helped. Wylan now kept helping.

He didn’t know how he felt about it. On one hand, it was illegal. They shouldn’t be doing this. On the other hand… Well, to say Wylan had gone from living in the lap of luxury (monetarily speaking) to watching Jordie work himself too hard for rent was not inaccurate in the slightest. And yes, Jordie always made enough for rent. And food. And utilities. But it never covered his long list of medical bills—the one that kept growing every month or so.

Whatever Kaz did, it was for Jordie, Wylan had long since discovered. That, or greed. Sometimes, Wylan couldn’t tell the difference.

“I don’t bow to greed,” Kaz had once told Wylan. “Greed bows to me.”

Wylan had thought that was a load of nonsense.

An hour later, Wylan found himself standing in a bank. He fidgeted his hands in his pockets, staring around the bank lobby. “Don’t act suspicious,” they had told him. They should’ve thought twice before sending the nervous wreck in as their decoy. Did they ever think these things through? Jesper should’ve done this. He had “distracting” written all over him. Well. Perhaps “distractable.” But same difference, at this point.

When the bank was filled with naught but himself and the two ladies at the front desk, Wylan began his play.

“Talk to the younger lady first,” Kaz had said. “She’s newer. She’ll need help. That’ll distract the older one.”

“Hello,” Wylan said to the woman at the front desk. His voice felt about two Hertz from a squeak.

“Hi,” she said with a plastered grin. “How can I help you?”

“Um, yeah, um,” Wylan stumbled. “Hi. Um. I was wondering… how do I switch my account over to this bank?”

The woman frowned. “Sorry. What do you mean?”

“Well, I have an account at another bank. And. I’d like to switch. To this one,” Wylan said, quite lamely. He blinked.

“Alright,” the woman said slowly. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Johnathan,” Wylan said, panicking. He couldn’t use his real name.

“And the last name?”

“Um. Pritchard.”

“Johnathan Pritchard?”

“Um, yes.”

The woman raised her brows, but she said nothing. Wylan said a silent apology for anyone named Johnathan Pritchard.

“Which bank?” the woman asked, beginning to type something into her computer.

“Um,” Wylan said. “Not sure.”

The woman blinked rapidly a few times.

“What?” she asked.

“Yeah, I don’t know what bank,” Wylan said.

After staring at him for some time, she called to her colleague, “Pamela?”

The older woman looked over, peering over the rims of her reading glasses. “Hm?”

“Could you come here a sec?”

“Yeah. Hang on.” Pamela typed something rapidly into her desktop, clicked her mouse thrice, and then got up from her swivelling chair. She came over, hovering beside the other woman’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

“He wants to create an account here,” the first woman mumbled to Pamela. “Wants to close another account for it. He doesn’t know the bank.”

Pamela nodded, then looked up to Wylan with a sickeningly sweet smile. “What sort of account are you looking for, sweetheart?”

Wylan detested that, but he swallowed the irritation and said, “Dunno.”

“Ah,” Pamela said. Her smile didn’t falter, but it did become at least seven times more forced. “Right. Okay.”

Wylan took a calculated risk and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He hid it behind the desk, pressing random keys. Then he hit the blue arrow and stuffed the phone back away in his sweatshirt. The text was likely nonsensical, but it didn’t need to be coherent. The contents were irrelevant; the text itself was the signal.

He had commanded the ladies’ attentions, but that was the easy part. The hard part was keeping their eyes off Inej as she snuck through a window. The girl naturally moved like a wraith of some sort: unnatural, unpredictable, and nearly unnoticeable. However, that didn’t mean she was invisible. Kaz—or someone—would’ve looped the security camera feed by now, but the two desk ladies had eyes. They could easily spot her, should they turn around.

Wylan played stupid at every twist and turn, keeping the women on their toes. He couldn’t help but think that this is how his father used to see Wylan. How he still did see Wylan, really.

“Can you look over this list?” Pamela asked at one point, now quite exasperated. “Tell us which name looks the most familiar?”

“I can’t read,” Wylan said.

The ladies stared at him.

Yeah. This was how Jan Van Eck saw him. Stupid. Beyond belief.

“Sorry, you can’t read?” the first woman clarified.

“No,” Wylan said, sullenness unavoidable.

He was pretty sure that, on the list of the Worst Things Wylan Has Done, this would be fairly far down there, amongst the lowest of the low. He wasn’t supposed to feed into stereotype, or make people pity him, or anything remotely similar. He should be reinforcing positive things on dyslexia. Or something. Not this.

But Kaz had taught him the advantages of using disability as a weapon.

“When you’ve stopped thinking about what you don’t have,” Kaz had once said, “you take what you do have, and you use it to your advantage.”

Wylan could never emulate that to Kaz’s degree—how was the inability to read as intimidating as using a cane that could crack someone’s skull?—but he did suppose that this would work, too. Weapon, advantage, distraction… whatever. It was his to manipulate to his will. And damn him if he wouldn’t use it to help pay back Jordie.

(At least, he hoped this would be going to Jordie’s bank account. For all he knew, it could just be lining Per Haskell’s pockets.)

So, Wylan kept on his “poor me” face, letting the women feed off of whatever stupidity or pitifulness they saw in his expression.

He tuned out of a lot of what they said next, his attention divided in multiple directions. He kept getting stuck in his own head, first of all. And then the women were saying things. And then Inej was also sneaking to the unattended computer in all her ghostly glory. He had to purposefully not look at Inej. He wanted to—she drew his eye, with the way she moved so gracefully (god, he wanted to paint her)—but he knew that was dangerous. If he kept looking that way, it might catch the notice of one of the women. If they looked over… Inej would be toast.

After slipping some USB drive into Pamela’s unattended computer and making a few swift clicks, Inej spent most of her time crouched under the desk. She stayed out of sight that way, Wylan figured. She would surely get spotted if she just stood in the open.

Wylan had no idea what she was doing. Hell, he had no idea what he was doing. Or what they were even here for. Kaz had an irritating habit of only telling people the need-to-know, and as Kaz was always the person who decided what and how much people needed to know… well. Nobody ever knew much at all. Wylan just knew he had to distract the women so that Inej could sneak in and do her job. That was it.

What was Jesper even doing?

Eventually, the top of Inej’s head appeared over the rim of the neighbouring desk, and a hand reached out to the computer. Wylan only let himself take a quick peek. He tried to pull it off as natural, but he likely failed. Thankfully, the ladies were far too preoccupied discussing what to do about Poor Idiotic Johnathan Pritchard to notice.

Inej snuck around the desk, keeping close to the wood. Unless the women bent over it, they wouldn’t see her. She brushed against Wylan’s legs, and he tried not to move. He failed at that. Fortunately, he’d been fidgeting so much that this shifting didn’t look out of place. Inej rounded the desk again, stopping at the edge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look up at him.

Wylan cleared his throat loudly. Pamela and her coworker looked sharply over to him. Inej made her move then, taking their stolen attention as her opportunity to escape back to the window.

“Are you able to switch my account over?” he asked the women.

Pamela smiled rudely. “Well, you’re proving to be a diff—”

“We can’t do much,” the other woman cut over. “We’re only tellers. We can direct you to a banker in a while, if you wouldn’t mind waiting?”

Inej disappeared out of the window.

“No,” Wylan said. “I think I’m good.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the bank.

“What the hell was that?” he heard as the doors closed behind him.

What the hell was that, indeed. Wylan would like to know that, too. Pity Kaz would never give him any answers.

Inej, Jesper, Kaz, and Wylan regrouped a few parking lots away, back in Inej’s car. Wylan didn’t know if he was shocked or not to see Matthias and Nina there, parked in Matthias’s own old minivan. He had no clue what they had done for this operation. He figured he never would. Even if Kaz did let his right hand know what his left hand was doing, Wylan wasn’t even a finger on said hands. Wylan was the equivalent of a toe. Attached, and a similar form, but not immediately connected. He was the guy they dragged along because he knew how to do a few things, because he was a good decoy, because he dated Jesper, and because—and really, the main reason—Kaz was stuck with him, anyway.

“Thanks, Wylan,” Inej said to him when he’d joined the group.

“No problem,” Wylan said. “I mean, it was my job.”

“Still,” she said. “It took a lot.”

Wylan frowned, unsure what she meant. All he had to do was play stupid. Not hard to do. Everyone thought it already.

He looked to Kaz, gazing steadily on at him.

“You did your job,” Kaz said. It sounded like he’d forced it through his teeth. Probably had. Still, it made Wylan pause a moment. Coming from Kaz, that could’ve been half of a compliment.

“Hey,” Jesper said, appearing behind Wylan. “I did mine, too!”

“You nearly broke my laptop,” Kaz said, shooting him a glare.

Jesper shrugged. “Still did my job.”

“Just get in the car, Jesper,” Kaz said.

Cackling, Jesper slid into Inej’s car.

“Right,” Nina said. “We’re off to scam people. Need anything?”

“No,” Kaz said.

“Astrology or tarot?” Jesper asked, popping his head out of the car with an intrigued look.

“Psychic readings,” Nina said.

“Can I come?”

“Jesper,” Nina said. “You know it’s a fraud.”

“Okay, yeah, but still. If someone sees me getting my future read—”

“Oh my god.” Nina rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying anything about gambling. Because you keep believing me. And it’s a sham, Jesper.”

“Fine, fine,” Jesper grumbled. “But I’m coming, right?”

Nina heaved a long sigh. “Get in.”

Jesper hissed an elongated “yes,” then hopped out of Inej’s car. He pecked a quick kiss to Wylan’s head before darting to the minivan and ripping the door back.

“Don’t destroy my van,” Matthias said, glowering over at Jesper.

“I didn’t!” Jesper retorted. He disappeared into the vehicle. Nina shook her head before getting in herself. Wylan waved at them as Matthias pulled away, but he dropped his arm when Kaz sent him an unamused look.

Wylan wished Jesper had stayed. Now he had to sit awkwardly in the back of Inej’s car on his own. He hated that. The tense feeling that knowing nothing was his, that that he was an intruder. An outsider, accidentally and intrusively peering into Inej’s life. He shouldn’t be.

And to make matters worse, Kaz seemed completely relaxed (well, as relaxed as Kaz Brekker could ever get). This was his environment. That made Wylan feel like even more of an outsider. He had barely earned the right to hold place in the Rietveld apartment. Now he had entered somewhere else Kaz existed, without having the sanction to do so.

(The icing on the cake was that Wylan was also stuck between whatever unspoken nonsense Kaz and Inej had going on. It wouldn’t be nonsense if it wasn’t unspoken. But it was. Wylan couldn’t even deem it eye-fucking, because they didn’t look at each other. It was just an insanely over-charged atmosphere. Wylan would rather the car crashed than get stuck with those two alone again. God, it was awkward.)

When Inej parked in front of the Crow Club, Wylan sagged in relief. But only briefly. He returned to his ramrod-straight position, containing himself until Inej unlocked the doors. He exited the car hastily, trying not to look like he was hurrying.

Kaz got out leisurely, using his cane to push himself up. His hand went to his pocket after he’d closed the car door.

“What’s on it?” Wylan asked as Kaz fished out the USB drive Inej had plugged into the bank’s computers.

“Valuable information,” Kaz said.

Wylan didn’t know why he’d bothered.

Kaz took off towards the club then, all darkened coat and squared shoulders and swaggered limp. He had a flair for the dramatic, Wylan had long since discovered. Helped with his enigmatic mask. Somehow. Made him scarier, Wylan supposed. Nobody would look at him and want to talk to him, let alone double-cross him.

Perhaps that was for the best. Walking into the Crow Club, it helped to be the biggest, baddest, meanest man around. Seventeen didn’t quite make Kaz a man, but when he looked and acted the way he did, it sure as hell counted for something.

The Crow Club was somewhere Wylan had never dreamt he’d ever step foot in, eight months ago. Now, it was just another day as Kaz’s… whatever. Accidental limpet that Kaz didn’t want. But the place was full of rowdy men and women, all gambling their lives away, drinking their grievances to the ground, and hoping they’d get lucky in any number of ways.

Wylan hated it here. It was loud, cramped, dark… filthy, in a surprisingly clean way. The place crawled under his skin, making him want to wash everything away from himself. It bled into his brain, hurting his eyes and making his ears try to shut themselves off. If he could never see this place again, he wouldn’t mourn the loss.

He coughed at the initial slam of cigarette smoke as they stepped into the building. Inej sent him a look of small concern. He shook his head. He’d be fine. Mostly. Provided he didn’t go insane.

“Wait here,” Kaz said to both Inej and Wylan, gesturing to a small table in the corner of the front.

Wylan was well-versed in what happened next. He and Inej would sit here as Kaz went to the back, entered Per Haskell’s office, and related all that occurred today (as well as passing off whatever was in that USB drive). For six months, Wylan has waited here at this table at least three times a week, waiting while his brain wanted to shut down as Kaz talked to his boss.

Technically, in a loose sense, Haskell was also Wylan’s boss. Sort of. Not really. Wylan worked with Kaz, but only out of necessity. And if Wylan worked with Kaz, and Kaz worked for Haskell… then Wylan worked for Haskell, didn’t he? But Haskell didn’t really hold power over Wylan. It didn’t make much sense. Wylan didn’t care, in the end. He’d only met Haskell twice, and he hoped to never do so again. The older man made him uncomfortable. He acted too much and too little like the men that Wylan’s father hung out with. Greedy, lazy, power-hungry. But Haskell had the extra side of sleaze that those lawyers and politicians and CEOs and celebrities never had.

Wylan looked to Inej. She had pulled her legs up to herself, hugging one arm around her knees as her other hand held her phone. The screen illuminated her face as she studied it with bored consideration.

She’d been here for longer than he had. He didn’t know how long. But enough that she no longer minded this place, evidently.

“What was on the flash drive?” he asked her.

She glanced up at him. “I don’t know.”

He frowned. “How do you not know?”

“I didn’t read it,” she said. “I opened what I was supposed to, downloaded it, and mostly tried not to get caught.”

“Oh.”

Inej’s eyes went back to her phone, thumb tapping quickly away on her screen.

“Nina says she’s successfully conned someone into thinking they’ll pass their drug test that they have later today for work if they just flood their system with juice,” she told him.

“That… won’t work, will it.” He knew very little about drug tests, but he did know a good deal about chemistry.

“No.”

“Oh. Good scam, then.”

“Yeah.” Then she stopped talking to Wylan, happily chatting to Nina on her own.

Wylan wanted to pull out his phone, too, but he didn’t have his earbuds with him. He supposed he could let his text-to-speech play out loud, but he didn’t particularly need Inej listening to whatever Jesper sent him. Sometimes, those texts came a bit too personal for public consumption.

So, instead of doing anything, Wylan sat completely still and tried to think of something to do while he waited.

He swore the room got louder by the second. Gambling machines and roulette tables and drinking men and giggling girls… they all piled up, creating a jagged mountain of sound. It felt like it was pressing against Wylan’s brain whilst simultaneously blowing it up. And stabbing it, through his ears. The smell of residual smoke ate at his nose. And his hands felt so dirty after putting them on this table.

God, he hated it here. Why Kaz chose to work here, for this club, was beyond Wylan’s comprehension. There was another, just uptown, called the Emerald Palace. It seemed so much cleaner. Wylan didn’t know why Kaz didn’t want to work for that one.

(Not that he ever brought it up. The singular time he had, Kaz had slammed him into the grimy wall of the Crow Club and spat threats into his face. That had been six months ago. Wylan still shuddered at the memory.)

“Wylan?”

If Wylan’s eardrums could shudder, they would have. In fact, his ears felt like they were trying to shut themselves off, and Inej’s voice had simply been the final straw. It hurt, in a way that didn’t hurt at all.

“Are you alr—"

“I’m gonna go outside,” Wylan said, not letting her say anything else.

He knew she said something to him once he stood, but he couldn’t distinguish it from the rest of the noise of the club. Everything mingled together. He couldn’t pick individual sounds apart anymore. It was all just one impenetrable wall of cacophonous sound.

The world outside seemed a thousand times brighter. Emerging from the dark club into the sunlight near blinded him. He leant against the wall, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Slowly, he moved them aside inch by inch, but he kept his eyes tight shut. Red light shone through his eyelids, and he gradually acclimatised to it. Granted, when he opened his eyes again, he still had to glower and squint to keep them open. The sun had clearly decided it didn’t quite like Wylan. Which was fine. Wylan didn’t much like it today, either.

He stood there for a while, taking deep breaths in and out. His brain was still a pilot light, continuously sparked with each noise, but it was nothing like it had been inside the Crow Club.

God, sometimes he just wanted to blow the building up and be done with it all.

“Wylan.”

He jumped, whirling on a heel to find Kaz staring him down.

“I told you to wait inside,” Kaz said.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Wylan grumbled, frowning in the sunlight.

The unamused look on Kaz’s face said more than any words. Wylan didn’t care. Kaz really wasn’t the boss of him. He couldn’t tell Wylan what to do.

“Get in the car,” Kaz said.

With a sigh, Wylan pushed off the wall and followed Kaz to the car.

Inej slipped into the driver’s seat as Wylan and Kaz entered the vehicle. She looked over her shoulder to Wylan.

“I could drop you off at school,” she said.

He thought about it for a moment. It was just past eleven—he’d missed his good classes. He’d be in English in about thirty minutes. He didn’t want to go just to be humiliated like that. Every day was a slap in his face, in that class. He hated it.

Plus, Nina, Jesper, and Matthias wouldn’t be there. The three of them made school just barely palatable. But they were out, happily conning people out of their hard-earned money. So, no. He didn’t want to go.

“It’s fine,” Wylan said.

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Inej has some things to take care of,” Kaz said, folding his hands on his cane and staring out of the windshield.

Wylan glared at the back of his head. Of course Kaz wouldn’t just let them be done for the day. He understood to a point. Inej had graduated early; Kaz had dropped out (or gotten kicked out. Or both. Or worse). Now this was their job. This is all they had to do all day long. But still, Wylan didn’t want to get dragged around with. He wanted to go home. He missed band; he wanted to practice his flute. Maybe paint. God, he’d even take just napping with that plush dinosaur Jesper had given him last month. That would be nice.

Pity he’d never have time to do any of those things today.

“Fine. Whatever,” Wylan said. “Just. Whatever.”

He found his earbuds and shoved them in his ears, connecting them to his phone. Inej started the car as robotically-voiced messages from Jesper flooded into his brain, unfiltered through his cochlea. Noises still slammed his brain into a pulp. But he’d get used to it. He always did. He wouldn’t consider blocking out sound until his ears started to rumble with that unpleasant painless pain again.

Jesper told Wylan all about Nina’s escapades—how she fooled someone into believing they’d win the lottery tomorrow—and Wylan had to keep his laughs to himself (Kaz would glare at him otherwise). He wished he’d gone with Jesper. It would be a lot more fun than sitting with Kaz.

Inej took them into the worst part of town (Wylan sometimes found it hard to believe there was a part of this stupid place that was worse than the block they lived on). Wylan looked out of the window and grimaced at the dilapidated old brick buildings, with their rusting fire escape ladders and cracked windows and chipping door paint and littered cigarette butts. He felt bad for his disgust after a moment. Just because he’d been fortunate most of his life did not mean other people had been. And neither Kaz nor Inej seemed uncomfortable or disturbed by the area. Granted, they were made of sterner stuff (more threatening and dangerous stuff), but if they didn’t throw revolted looks at the area, he shouldn’t, either.

They parked in some hidden alleyway, fitting behind a dumpster—directly under some broken window.

“An hour,” Kaz told her as she slipped out of the car. “No more.”

Inej nodded solemnly, wrapping a scarf around her face. Only her eyes peeked out. Wylan saw the glint of metal slip between her fingers. Knives. Whatever she was doing, Wylan decided he didn’t want to know.

To his surprise, she began to scale up the car. Her steps were light—as they always were—but he still felt the jolt and jostle of her every step as she climbed to the top. He leant across the back seat, stretching his neck to see through the other window. He couldn’t spy much, but he did see her feet disappear through that broken window. Then she was gone.

He sat back, listening to the last of Jesper’s texts. He’d respond to that later. Kaz would likely snap at him to shut up. Sometimes, speech-to-text could be such a drag.

God, he wished he could just do what Kaz did now—send a message with his fingers and thumbs and eyes and brain. Why couldn’t he do something so simple? Something something brain processing. Whatever. His brain was fucked up, and three different medications could tell him that. A neurologist’s multiple diagnoses could tell him that. His father could tell him that.

Why did he have to be Wylan Van Eck? He’d give anything to switch with someone for a day. He just wanted to know what it was like not to be such a useless fuck-up. Maybe if he was Jesper or Jordie, even just for fifteen minutes, he’d finally belong as a person. He’d fit in somewhere. He’d be someone.

Feeling defeated for what felt like the billionth time already today, Wylan pulled open his music app, then sat for a while as he decided what he wanted to listen to. He swiped down with two fingers, activating text-to-speech, letting it read to him his lists of playlists. He settled on the one oh-so eloquently titled “Miserable Playlist 2” and pressed the play button. Aaron Copland’s music began soaking into his brain.

Movement from the front distracted Wylan from losing himself to the music. He frowned, peering around Kaz’s seat.

Kaz’s gloved fingers rhythmically worked around a coin, flittering it through his fingers. It disappeared and reappeared again a few times, all easy tricks. He wasn’t even looking, with his attention diverted out of the front window. Wylan watched as the coin began to flip and spin and disappear and re-emerge at a new pace, rapid-fire and unpredictable.

The sleight-of-hand was nothing new to Wylan—he’d long since comprehended Kaz’s obsession with any brand of deceit, especially this brand—but he did find himself staring at the gloves again.

Wylan didn’t understand them. Not really, anyway. When he’d first moved in, he’d thought that maybe Kaz’s hands had burns like Jordie’s. Wylan didn’t know much about the fire they’d been caught in over eight years ago (he asked, once, and Jordie had gone dead silent, eyes distant, while Kaz had dropped the glass in his hand and stomped off when he’d recovered his senses), but he did know that Kaz had pulled Jordie out from it, thanks to Jesper’s second-hand storytelling. Burns made sense, didn’t they? Wylan would hide his, if he had any.

But Wylan had seen Kaz wash his hands a few too many times now to think that. No matter how hard he looked—even whilst pretending not to; though he suspected Kaz knew, anyway—Wylan could not find a single burn mark on Kaz’s hands. A few thin scars from some cut or another, sure, but nothing burned.

So, what was up with the gloves, then? Wylan had a few guesses, but he wasn’t sure they made sense. Germaphobia? Maybe. But he’d seen Kaz come home literal blood on his face—blood that clearly was not Kaz’s own. Dramatics? Perhaps. Kaz did seem to thrive in his dark attire. But Wylan had a fair suspicion that they were for more than aesthetics. While Kaz appeared to clearly work equally as well with or without the gloves on, they surely had to have some impact on his sleight-of-hand, something Kaz wouldn’t have bothered to learn overcompensating for if not completely necessary.  

The suspicion Wylan felt was most correct was that… well. The biggest rule—and most unofficial—rule of the house was: Don’t Touch Kaz. Wylan had learned that the hard way. He’d even asked Inej about it, later, and she had simply told him the same thing: “Don’t touch Kaz.” She refused to say anything more after that, citing it wasn’t her story to tell. (Then he’d asked Jesper and Nina, but neither of them had a clue.)

Beyond that, the addendum to that rule was: Especially Not Jordie. The only time Wylan had ever seen that happen was over a small and completely accidental touch. Kaz had locked himself in the bathroom for three hours after that. Wylan was pretty sure half the time was spent vomiting, and the other half hyperventilating. Not that he was listening through the door… or anything… But Jordie had gone and sat on the couch, head in hands. Nobody said a word the entire day after that. Wylan hid in his room, scared of taking up space that day. He clearly wasn’t wanted.

But, overall, when Wylan put two and two together, he came up with some number near enough to four. Kaz didn’t like touch; Kaz wore gloves. Thus, Kaz wore gloves not to touch anyone. Kaz didn’t like Jordie’s touch; Kaz had pulled Jordie out of a fire. Wylan didn’t know how those two fitted together, but he was dead certain they directly linked. He’d figure it out, someday.

For now, he simply watched the coin disappear and reappear between Kaz’s fingers, trying not to wince as The Promise of Living picked up in volume.

Actually, Wylan wound up stuck on that song. He replayed it four times on repeat, trying to make himself feel better. It didn’t quite make sense as a pick-me-up song, but it certainly was doing something. Or. Well. It was keeping the impending existential crisis at bay, at least.

“Jesus,” he hissed when something suddenly thudded onto the car some twenty minutes later.

Kaz shook his head, and Wylan imagined he was rolling his eyes. The coin glinted brightly one last time between Kaz’s fingers, then disappeared for good. Wylan wondered where it went.

But then Inej jumped down onto the ground, silken scarf fluttering against gravity, and he no longer cared about Kaz or his stupid gloves or dumb magic tricks.

Inej hurried into the car, all but slamming her foot on the gas the moment the engine started. Wylan ripped his earbuds out of his ears, curious. And partially terrified.

“Did they see you?” Kaz asked quickly.

“No,” she said. “But they were—well.”

Kaz nodded. “Get us out of here.”

Inej needed no further prompting; she sped out of the alleyway like she had a bear tearing at the car’s trunk.

Wylan could ask what the hell was going on. But he wouldn’t get an answer. So, instead, he grabbed tightly onto his seatbelt, manually pulling it tight to his chest. Then he prayed no cop came tearing after them.

They made it seven blocks (seven twisting, turning blocks, leading back to nearly where they had started) before Inej slowed down. She turned to Kaz, who gave a curt nod. Then she turned the car back around towards home and drove off at a normal speed.

“Right,” she said. “Anything else you need? Or am I done doing break-neck stunts for you today?”

“Just a few trapeze acts and a highwire flip,” Kaz said dryly.

“I’d rather do those than rob a bank.”

“We didn’t rob a bank.”

“We stole from a bank,” Wylan pointed out. “Robbing is stealing. Thus, we robbed a bank.”

Kaz twisted in his seat, frowning back at Wylan. Wylan shrank into himself. Right. Awkward to be in the car with those two. Even their stupid banter hid stupid intimacy.

“Semantics matter, dear Wylan,” Kaz said, smooth tone somehow displaying his irritation perfectly. “Intent. Robbing a bank implies monetary theft.”

Wylan bit his lips together, not daring argue his point. He could argue with Kaz when he felt bold enough. Usually, it ended badly. He didn’t feel bold today, fortunately. He felt sort of like a lump of wet tissue. He was about as useful as that, too.

“Back to the Crow Club?” Inej asked.

“No,” Kaz said, turning back to the front. “Home.”

Inej said nothing, but she flicked on her blinkers and changed the car’s course.

Wylan pressed his earbuds back in, pushing back into the seat. Ferde Grofé now, playing just a tad too loudly. He didn’t change the volume. He knew it wouldn’t help. Even softer things still had their barbs.

Houses whizzed by, but it was a good twenty minutes before he recognised any of them. When he came across that one faded, crusty blue house, he sat up straight. Only a couple blocks to go. God. He just wanted to be home already. He wanted to curl up in bed, hugging Hendriks the Dinosaur, and pass out until dinner.

What would dinner be, anyway? Jordie usually brought whatever cheap stuff he could pick up on his way home. Or Wylan made himself some noodles. Kaz didn’t cook at all. Wylan was fairly certain he just didn’t eat when nobody was around to feed him. He forgot it was a necessity, Wylan was pretty sure. Kaz had a way of getting caught up in his work and losing himself to it.

Wylan scrambled for his things even before Inej rolled her car to a halt. He shoved the door open the instant she unlocked the doors, hopping out. Kaz took his time, though. Wylan half wondered if that was just to piss him off. That, or Kaz treasured his moments with Inej until the very end. That seemed too sappy for Kaz, though. It was more likely the former.

“Do you have to be so slow?” Wylan snapped.

Kaz eyed him inscrutably. He then took even longer to stand up from the car. Wylan swore that he even exaggerated his limp as they walked to the door. And he made a great deal out of rooting through his pockets for the key; they both knew damn well it was already in Kaz’s fingers, and likely had been since a block away from the house.

And, of course, Kaz made sure he went up the stairs before Wylan. Right now, Wylan couldn’t fault him for being slow. He had switched his cane to his opposite hand, using his other to lean heavily on the railing as he climbed up the stairs. He took great care not to agitate or further injure his leg, and he had similarly set his pace. But that didn’t mean he was any less of a conniving bastard for it. The stairwell was too narrow for Wylan to pass through, meaning he had to take one step at a time after Kaz. Wylan glared death rays into the back of Kaz’s head the entire walk up the stairs.

All vexation instantly fled Wylan’s body the moment Kaz stuck the key in the door of their apartment. He instantly pulled it out, glancing back to Wylan. The urgency in his face sent a spark of panic through Wylan. Kaz hefted his cane, gripping it between his hands as if he was prepared to bludgeon someone. Wylan stepped behind him, peering over Kaz’s shoulder as he opened the door with such care that it barely squeaked (a mean feat, considering that every door in this stupid apartment screeched louder than a banshee).

In the living room sat Jordie. Kaz instantly dropped the cane, defensive posture slipping. Then it bunched up again as a surly glare formed on his face.

“What are you doing home?” Kaz asked.

“Me?” Jordie asked. He stood up from the couch, folding his arms as he glowered at the pair of them. “I could ask the same about you.”

“I thought you worked today,” Kaz said, ignoring him.

“Well. I did. Until I got a call that Wylan wasn’t in school.”

Wylan tried to vanish behind Kaz. It didn’t work. Kaz only made things disappear if he wanted them to disappear.

“Jesper,” Kaz growled beneath his breath.

Jesper, as always, was in charge of calling in for Wylan when Kaz pulled him out of school. Jesper did a mean Jordie impression. It kind of freaked Wylan out a bit, if he was honest.

“Oh, yeah, blame Jesper,” Jordie said, then tacked on a louder and angrier, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I had to go to work,” Kaz said.

“And you needed Wylan to, what, wait tables?” Jordie didn’t know much about what happened in the Crow Club. It would continue to stay that way, if Wylan wanted to live another year. “What exactly do you need to bring Wylan to your work for?”

Kaz said nothing, chin jutting out in stony defiance.

“It’s not his fault,” Wylan said. He stumbled over the words in his haste to get them out.

Jordie spared him an irritated glance. “I’m sure.”

“I asked him,” Wylan said. “I didn’t want to go.”

“Wylan, the moment you ask to skip school is the moment I have a heart attack and die on the spot,” Jordie said.

Wylan didn’t know whether to be shocked, offended, upset, or concerned.

Jordie rounded back on Kaz without a moment’s hesitation. “Seriously, what the hell? Does his education mean nothing to you?” Kaz opened his mouth, glare hardening, but Jordie didn’t allow him the chance to speak. “I know you think you’re oh-so smart, but not everyone is you. Not everyone can afford to drop out, Kaz!”

“Who said anything about him dropping out?” Kaz snapped. “It’s one day.”

“One day, added on top of all of those other ‘excused absences’ that I keep hearing about.”

“They’re excused. Who cares?”

“They’re fake! I care!” Jordie shouted. “You should, too! He’s got one shot! I don’t need you screwing up his, too!”

He breathed in deeply, though it sounded quite shallow. Kaz didn’t seem to notice. He had a murderous look on his face.

“Since when,” Kaz growled, “have you ever cared about anyone’s future?”

“Oh, not this bullshit again.” Jordie coughed dryly, then went back to his enraged tirade. “This isn’t about you. Don’t you fucking get it?”

“What’s there to get?” Kaz shouted. “You gave up!”

“Gave u—Kaz, when the hell have I ever given up? If anyone gave up, it was you!”

“Someone has to pay the bills!”

“What, you don’t think I don’t want to work? You think I enjoy this?” Almost to prove a point, Jordie heaved another cough—deeper, this time. “You think I want this? I want to be able to provide for my family! I can’t!”

“Family?” Kaz scoffed. “The hell do you know about family?”

Wylan, whose chest had started flooding with sparks of panic, began edging away from the brothers. They didn’t notice him, he thought, so as soon as he made it out of their line of sight, he sped-walked towards his room. He made little noise and kept his head down.

All he wanted was to take a nap. A long one. And forget the argument ever happened. Because that was what happened in this house—Kaz and Jordie would yell, and then Wylan would hide, and by the time he came out the two pretended like they’d never been mad at each other, all the while sulking in their respective corners of the apartment.

“Wylan,” Jordie barked. “Get back—”

And his voice died out as he took a rattling breath, then began coughing mightily. Wylan felt a jolt go straight through him, and he twisted around to see Jordie hunched over, all but hacking his lungs out.

“Inhaler,” Kaz told him.

Jordie just kept coughing, shaking his head.

“Where is it?” Kaz demanded.

Jordie shook his head again.

“Damn it!”

Kaz took off, limp a thousand times more pronounced as he hurried towards the coat rack. He dug through the pockets of Jordie’s raincoat. Wylan could tell it was a futile effort—it hadn’t rained in a week. The inhaler was surely out by now. But Kaz seemed frantic, and it was not entirely inconceivable that Jordie lost the thing in another stupid spot. Jordie’s memory was… erratic, at best. Inej had told him in hushed tones that Jordie had been like that since the fire, from what Kaz let on. Wylan sometimes worried about that.

Predictably, the inhaler wasn’t in the coat. Kaz let out a frustrated growl, then hurried away again, off to the bathroom. Wylan heard him rooting through the cupboards and medicine cabinet, crashes and rattling only punctuated by Jordie’s worsening coughs.

“Jordie?” Wylan said awkwardly. “Can you… sit?”

By then, Jordie was too busy coughing and wheezing to do much on his own, so Wylan moved over to him. With a moment’s hesitation, he put his arms around Jordie, then guided him back to the sofa. Jordie stumbled over his feet for the few steps. He sat down heavily, possibly too much so, but Wylan kept arms around him the entire time as coughs wracked his body.

Kaz returned, Jordie’s nebuliser in hand. Wylan’s heart did another wonky thud, radiating outward from his chest in a wave of panic. He sat uselessly beside Jordie and watched as Kaz plugged the machine into the wall. Kaz then tossed Wylan the mask. Despite all his years on the flute, needing fast and speedy fingers and reactions, Wylan was not very deft in his catching. He nearly dropped it, but he snagged the tubing by some miracle. Hastening, he pressed the mask to Jordie’s face, then tried to pull the mask’s band up and over Jordie’s head, all while being aware of the burned skin of Jordie’s… everywhere. Jordie fortunately took hold of the mask, holding it to himself, and Wylan managed to get the band over him.

After a few tense minutes, Jordie sank back into the couch, letting the gaseous medicine do its work. Kaz disappeared to… somewhere. Wylan sat beside Jordie the entire time. He didn’t know what else to do. Things like this scared him. What if something happened? Someone needed to be here, right?

Ten long minutes passed. Wylan had his shoes off, legs pulled to his chest, still watching Jordie. Every so often, he’d go to anxiously gnaw on his thumb (or some other equally previously-destroyed finger), and every time, Jordie would pull his hand away and send him disapproving looks.

Wylan hugged his knees tighter to himself just as Jordie began pulling off the mask. Wylan sat up, dropping his legs.

Kaz seemed to materialise from nowhere, turning the machine off. He stood straight, staring down at Jordie.

“You didn’t come home because of us, did you.”

Jordie glanced up at Kaz, then over to Wylan. After a moment, he gave a short puff of a sigh.

“Why do you lie about this?” Kaz demanded, anger seeping out from his tone, infecting the air around him. “You could’ve ended up in the hospital again!”

“It’s not that bad,” Jordie dismissed.

“Like hell it isn’t!” Kaz’s free fist clenched, the leather of his glove giving a violent creak. “And where even is your inhaler? Still at work? Going bad sitting in the hot car?”

“Kaz,” Jordie said, attempting to pacify.

“Don’t ‘Kaz’ me! Do you even get how serious this is?”

“How the hell could I not?” Jordie’s voice got louder again, and Wylan’s face involuntarily pulled into a grimace of discomfort and concern. “You think I like this? I’m supposed to be watching over you! I can’t fucking even do that right! I can’t financially support you, I couldn’t keep you in school, I can’t even make you let Wylan—”

He cut off, rubbing at his chest. Wylan had shrunk in on himself at the mention of his name, but now he looked sharply over to Jordie.

“Stop yelling,” Kaz hissed. “Stop being stupid!”

“I’m stupid?” Jordie let out a low, dangerous laugh.

“I’m not the one who forgets his fucking inhaler!” Kaz ran a hand through his hair, glare thunderous. “Stop trying to be Dad! You keep trying, and you keep failing! You’re not Dad!”

“I’m not trying to be him! I’m trying to be your fucking brother!” Jordie spat. “Your big brother, who’s supposed to look after you! I’m supposed to look after you, and I’m supposed to look after Wylan, and you’re making it damn near impossible!”

“I don’t need you to look after me!”

“You quit school!”

“To look after you!”

Discreetly, Wylan slid his fingers to his ears, pressing them over his ear canals. The anxiety had settled in his chest now, making his heart race. The feelings of unease spread and pushed against his ribcage, and his sternum flooded with such panic that his breaths came out shaky. And his fingers felt tingly and numb. He hated that feeling. That always meant bad things.

“Now who’s trying to be Dad?” Jordie asked.

“I’m not trying to be anyone! I’m just trying to make sure you don’t fucking die.”

Jordie opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it again, face absolutely murderous. He took a short breath in, enraged, and tried again.

“That isn’t your job,” he said, clearly trying to be civil. “That isn’t—you don’t need to worry about—”

“How can’t I?” Kaz seethed. “You think I don’t need to worry? Where’s your inhaler?”

“My job,” Jordie said angrily, “as the older brother, is to look after you and Wylan. That’s my job. Your job is to—"

“Look after you, because you won’t!”

“Stop,” Wylan said quietly, before he could even register the word forming on his lips.

Kaz and Jordie did stop, both of their heads whipping around to stare at him. Kaz’s jaw had tightened, face hard as he studied Wylan. Jordie just reached his hand out. It hovered above Wylan’s shoulder, hesitant, before it slowly came down and instantly rubbed soothing circles.

“Are you alright?” Jordie asked, without any of the fire he had just seconds before.

Removing his fingers from his ears, Wylan nodded. A lie. But he hadn’t had any right to make them stop.

“Sorry,” he said.

He looked up to Kaz, who still gazed down at him with a tense jaw and stony expression. But something else lay behind his eyes. Pity? Wylan detested pity.

But Kaz wouldn’t ever pity him, anyway. Kaz hated pity, too. Wylan remembered sitting on a curb one day, head between his knees, as Kaz furiously told him to never let anyone think lesser of him, to never let them pity him. He also remembered sitting in Jordie’s car, just the two of them as Kaz drove, as Kaz forcefully told him that he let shame decide who he was, and that he shouldn’t.

Right now, Wylan couldn’t take that intense gaze of Kaz’s, no matter what it meant. He ducked his head. Then he looked over to Jordie.

Jordie’s face held concern of multiple flavours. Wylan felt guilty. He had no right to make Jordie concerned—Jordie already had too many things on his plate. They kept speaking about their jobs as older and younger brother. Well, as Wylan, Wylan’s job was to be unobtrusive and quiet. To not make a scene. That had been his job his entire life, when he failed his first job: to not be a disappointment.

“Sorry,” Wylan said again.

“For what?” Jordie asked. His hand moved, now rubbing at the back of Wylan’s neck.

“Just…” Wylan cut off, shaking his head. “Sorry. I dunno. Sorry.”

“Stop being sorry,” Kaz said, frustration evident.

Wylan glanced up at him again, at the hardened lines of his face.

“We can endure all kinds of pain,” Kaz’s voice rang in his ears. “It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“It’s just,” Wylan started, then stopped. He tried again. “You both look after each other. Isn’t that enough? You’re not each other’s parents, or whatever. You’re brothers. It’s not going to work like parents if you’re brothers.”

Jordie and Kaz both frowned at him. Wylan could have sworn that a mirror had been placed in front of one or the other. They could have been twins, in that moment.

“I don’t know,” Wylan said, losing the bravado again. “It’s just… I dunno. You’re both so obsessed with who cares for who. Shouldn’t it just be good that you guys care? At all?”

They both continued to frown at him. Wylan shrank into himself again. He should have just shut up. Should have just kept his mouth shut. Should have let them fight it out, let them bottle it up and go at it again, and again, and again, until one day they worked it out themselves. He had no right to—

“You’re right,” Jordie said after a bit.

Kaz’s gaze snapped to Jordie, brow furrowing further. Wylan likewise frowned.

Jordie sighed. “Look. I’m tired of this. I’ve tried telling you again, and again. You don’t listen. I need you to listen. I’m here to look after you guys. I don’t care how. I’m going to do it. If you have to look after me so I can look after you… I don’t know. I guess it’s cyclical.”

Kaz’s jaw jutted out somewhat, still eyeing his brother with suspicion.

“You’re both my problems. Maybe I’m yours, too,” Jordie said. “But you’re my problems to take care of.”

Kaz’s eyes narrowed as he asked, “Problems?”

Wylan’s eyes widened as he asked, “Both?”

“That’s what you both are,” Jordie said, wicked grin crossing his face. “My problems.”

Kaz rolled his eyes as Wylan frowned.

“I’m not really your problem,” Wylan said. “You don’t… you don’t have to look after me.”

“Well, I do, don’t I?” Jordie said. “Legal guardian and all. So…”

“Well, technically, that doesn’t mean much about responsibility or problems,” Kaz said. “Ward is just a ward.”

Jordie glared mightily at him.

“But,” Kaz said, eyes sliding to Wylan, “I suppose intent matters.”

And Wylan didn’t know what to say to any of this.

When he was little, and when he’d have then-unexplained fits and outbursts, his mother used to hold him tightly in her arms, rocking him back and forth, side to side. She’d sing sometimes, or simply talk in her silken voice.

“Sometimes, our emotions are so big, we can’t understand them. They make us explode,” she had said once. “And it’s scary. Big emotions are so scary, aren’t they, sweetheart? That’s okay. It’s okay to be scared. I’ll always be here to make them better.”

But then suddenly he was eight and she wasn’t there anymore. He had to deal with the big emotions on his own. And, for whatever reason, he had never felt safe since the last time his mother had held him like that, not days before she’d gone. It felt like he’d lost home.

Until now.

And that was big and scary.

Wylan pulled his legs up to himself again, holding them tight. He needed to press the emotions back into his chest, keep them there. They felt like they would spill out. Or explode. Or turn him into a mess of a panic.

“Wylan?” Jordie asked, leaning somewhat to look properly at his face. “You alright?”

“You shouldn’t deal with me,” Wylan muttered into his knees. “There’s no point, really. Can’t do anything right.”

Jordie spluttered out a laugh. Wylan’s head jerked up, a jolt of hurt piercing his chest.

“Sorry,” Jordie said, then snorted. “God. You think there’s a right way to be?”

Wylan bit his lips together, still wary.

“Wylan,” Jordie said. “Look. Whatever nonsense your deadbeat asshole of a father—”

“Can’t be a deadbeat as a billionaire,” Kaz pointed out. “He’s just a monster.”

“Whatever he told you,” Jordie continued, ignoring Kaz, “is a goddamn lie. You’re not not doing things right. There’s no way to do anything right.”

Wylan looked up to Kaz, because he remembered this conversation. Conversations, plural. Kaz stared down at him with a steely expression.

“Shame eats men whole.”

How long would it take Wylan to really understand that?

“Look,” Jordie said. “I think we can just say, none of us are perfect, we all care about each other, blah blah blah. Argument over?”

He shot a meaningful look to Kaz. Kaz’s gaze stayed stony for a moment, but then he nodded curtly just the once.

“Great,” Jordie said. “And the next time the three of us get into a fight—”

“I didn’t fight,” Wylan mumbled.

“—I think we should just beat each other up. That’s what brothers do, right?”

“You wouldn’t last five seconds,” Kaz said, just as Wylan’s heart thudded all weird at Jordie’s statement.

“Would too.”

Wylan, trying to recover, stumbled over saying, “No, ‘cause you’d just cough and die.”

Jordie glared at him. Kaz smirked.

“See?” Kaz said.

“But also I could kick you in the bad leg,” Wylan said, “so I’d win.”

“If you could even get to my leg,” Kaz said. He meaningfully readjusted his grip on his cane. Wylan winced, remembering the times that had smacked his hand when Wylan had nearly tripped alarms when breaking and entering.

“You wouldn’t win,” Jordie said. Wylan nodded.

“I have backup.”

“Not allowed to use Inej; she’s not a brother.”

“Who said it’d be Inej?”

“Matthias wants to kill you half the time, Nina would enjoy laughing at you if you got smacked on your ass,” Wylan said, “and Jesper would help me. And… you don’t have any other friends other than them, because you’re too mean.”

Kaz glared, and Jordie snorted a laugh. Wylan hid a smile behind his knees.

“Right,” Jordie said, clearing his throat.

Wylan looked over to him.

“Okay, before work, I stopped at the library…” Jordie reached over to the sidetable, pulling up a book. Pride and Prejudice.

Just as every single time before now, and every single time that would follow now, Wylan’s heart sank, coming to a rest some six feet below ground.

“I just thought,” Jordie said, shrugging, “I dunno, I guess… it’s better than an audiobook, right? And the movie wouldn’t have the same stuff as the book… so you wouldn’t be able to do an analysis. No quotes, or whatever.”

“I can’t read,” Wylan said, bluntly.

Jordie rolled his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“Then why’d you—”

“I’m going to read it to you,” Jordie said, fond exasperation. “For being so smart, you’re quite slow.”

“Means you’re influencing him too much,” Kaz rasped.

Jordie threw him a crude gesture.

“Anyway,” Jordie said, turning his attention back to Wylan, “since you’re not in school right now—” he threw a quick glower at Kaz “—might as well get started with this.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Wylan said. “I mean…” He motioned towards the inactive nebuliser.

“Hm,” Jordie said, staring at it. “Fine. You’re right.”

Wylan sagged in relief.

“Kaz can read it,” Jordie then finished, tossing the book at Kaz, who barely caught it.

Wylan barely withheld a groan as Kaz’s face morphed into horrified disgust.

“You made him skip school,” Jordie said, leaning back into the couch. “Your price to pay.”

Wylan and Kaz shared a glance. Two against one. They could easily not do it.

But, likely to keep the newfound peace, Kaz sighed heavily and went to the chair beside the couch. He rested his cane against the arm of the chair, then sat down and put the foot of his bad leg up on the matching ottoman. He hefted the book in his hands, staring down at the cover.

“This is going to be terrible,” he said. “And dreadfully unrealistic.”

“Just shut up and read it,” Jordie said.

“Which do you want me to do? Shut up? Or read it?”

“Kaz.”

Kaz sighed again, then flicked the cover open with disgust. He thumbed through the first few pages, then settled it in his hands when he hit the story’s opening page.

“‘It is a truth universally acknowledged,’” Kaz read, “’that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’”

He looked up, face the picture of annoyance.

“Really?” he asked.

“Just read it,” Jordie said.

Sighing a third time, Kaz began again. “'However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood—‘”

Wylan hugged his knees tighter to himself, resting his chin atop them. He watched Kaz’s face as he read. It smoothed out, and it finally showed Kaz for what he was: a seventeen-year-old boy, still young, still finding his way. Wylan found that very personal, and thus did not look for long. He turned his head, laying his cheek on his knees as he studied Jordie, instead. The scars and dead skin that travelled across his body gave way to a similarly young man, still fresh and still somewhat lost.

Maybe nothing was pure and simple. Not Wylan’s brain. Not Wylan’s life. Maybe it was the same for other people, too. At least for Jordie and Kaz, it was.

Wylan, after years of being a singular boy in a room full of bigger people, smarter people, more important people, finally felt like he belonged somewhere. He didn’t feel lonely. He had forgotten what that felt like. Or perhaps he’d just never known.

But it felt good. It felt… like a home. As run-down and dysfunctional as it was, this was his home. Pure and simple.

Wylan settled into the couch, smiling to just himself.