Work Text:
“You need a haircut.”
Kaz continued to scrawl in his books, eyes cast down on the desk. He only shrugged in response and saw Inej roll her eyes in his periphery, her legs pulled up in front of her at her place in the window.
She was right though; he did need a haircut. It had been bothering him for weeks, and already this evening he’d had to wipe it out of his eyes more times than he could count.
“What?” Inej continued, a small smile on her lips now, “The richest bastard in the Barrel can’t afford a trim?”
Ordinarily, he would turn to her, give her a smirk and a quip about being too busy draining tourists for all they’re worth. He did not. He kept his eyes on the numbers, pen moving mechanically, thoughts rapidly spiraling away from the soft evening light, the last rays of the sun haloing Inej’s face, her shadow stretching across the floor.
Instead, he was sinking, down, down, everything around him dark and cold and wet, the pressure building behind his eyes. He tried to kick, push himself toward the surface. Light. To find the surface, find the light.
But there was none, and then hands wrapped around his ankles, soft and bloated and peeling.
“Kaz?” Inej was beside him now, leaning on the desk, eyes wide in concern.
He’d been holding in a breath without realizing it, and relief flooded his lungs as he finally let it flow from him.
The nightmare had been worse than any he’d had in years. He’d woken in the night, sheets tangled around him, holding him down like the bodies in the water. One of them had torn as he’d jerked himself free and crashed to the floor, sweat soaking through his shirt and knee shrieking from the impact with the worn floorboards. He didn’t make it to the bathroom before vomiting. He didn’t go back to sleep that night, or the next. He didn’t sleep again until his body gave in at his desk downstairs. Anika had woken him, knocking lightly on the edge of the desk until he’d jolted awake. She was already swearing she’d keep it to herself before he’d even had a chance to threaten her.
It had been over a week now, and he was still reeling.
He’d seen the disappointment in Inej’s eyes two days ago, when he’d greeted her at berth twenty-two with no more than a terse nod, gloved hands wrapped tightly around the head of his cane. He’d wanted to say something, wanted to reach out and feel the rough, calloused skin of her hands against his own palms. But when he lay eyes on her the nightmare had come flooding back, and now it was him reaching, trying to hold onto her and feeling only cold, mottled flesh.
She had taken it in stride, still blessing him with her presence in his attic room tonight, but he knew she would not abide his silence for long. He should tell her, but every fiber of his being still screamed against such a display of weakness. How could he say that aloud?
How could the Bastard King of the Barrel admit that he was too afraid to go get a haircut ?
Inej heaved out a sigh and shifted beside him, and he realized he’d been staring at her in silence. She turned to walk away, that gut-wrenching disappointment in her gaze again.
“Wait,” he croaked, fingers twitching but hands staying firmly in place.
She turned back to him, eyebrows raised. Normally, he loved to surprise her, to see that look, see the crease between her brows flatten as her eyes went wide. Right now though, the surprise was almost more painful than the disappointment.
Would he ever become the man she deserved?
He had to try. He’d made her - and himself - a promise.
“I . . .”
Inej lifted herself onto the edge of the desk. She perched there, slippered feet dangling, and looked at him expectantly. He swallowed and leaned back in his chair, clutching his hands into fists against his legs, feeling the leather stretch across his knuckles.
“It’s okay, Kaz,” she murmured, placing her hand palm up on the desk in front of him.
“I . . . I can’t,” he muttered, looking down at her hand.
She nodded and pulled it back.
“I want to,” he blurted out and leaned his elbows on top of the desk, rested his forehead against the heels of his hands, “Saints, I want to.”
Inej pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, settling her chin neatly on top of her knees.
“Me too,” she said, voice soft and patient, “So why aren’t we?”
Kaz swallowed again and closed his eyes.
“Same reason I haven’t gotten a haircut.”
“Oh?”
She picked up his pen, began twirling it between her fingers like it was one of her knives.
“I . . .” he heaved in a deep breath, “Normally, I can . . . prepare before someone touches me.”
Inej nodded, still fiddling with the pen. He’d explained this to her before, that he could steel himself for contact, fight back the sickness long enough to make it through a brawl - or a trip to the barber’s.
“It doesn’t take long, this,” he continued, gesturing to his hair, eyes cast down on the desk, “So usually . . .”
“Usually you can manage it,” Inej finished for him, placing the pen gently next to a stack of papers and fixing her gaze on him again.
“So what’s different this time?”
Kaz ran a hand across his face. He felt the old answers bubbling up inside of him.
“None of your business.”
“Why don’t you ask your Saints? Aren’t they all-knowing ?”
And of course: silence.
He grit his teeth, forced the instinct back down. He’d disappointed her too many times already.
“I . . . I had a dream - last week,” he muttered, absentmindedly folding and unfolding the corner of the paper in front of him, “About my . . . When I . . . When it happened.”
“Was it very bad?” Inej asked softly.
Kaz could only nod.
“Worse than usual?”
He nodded again and felt Inej shift on the desk beside him. She dropped her legs over the edge again and folded her hands in her lap.
“Kaz, will you look at me?”
After a brief moment of hesitation, he raised his head and turned to her. The sunlight had faded, and now her face was illuminated only by the lamp on his desk, the flicker of the flame reflected in her dark eyes. The crease was there between her brows. Without thinking, he murmured,
“Scheming face.”
Her brows shot up, and he felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. Inej’s lips twitched too.
“It might be,” she murmured back, and then she slid off the desk and stepped away.
Kaz’s fingers twitched again, longing to reach for her. He watched as she padded silently to the window and crouched down to the leather bag she’d brought with her. When she straightened up again and turned to him, she was wearing gloves. They were brown and fit snugly around her fingers, still affording her all the dexterity she would need to handle her blades.
She returned to her place beside him, leaning her hip against the desk. He examined the gloves and said,
“It does get cold out at sea.”
“It does,” Inej agreed, “But that’s not why I bought them.”
He looked up at her. She reached out slowly, eyes never leaving his face, as she gently took one of his gloved hands in her own.
“I bought them so we can still do this, even when things are difficult,” she whispered.
Kaz stared at her for a long moment, and then he curled his fingers around her palm and swallowed hard, realizing with a jolt that a substantial lump had formed in his throat. Inej began to rub her thumb back and forth across his palm in a slow, soothing motion. She stood in silence as he composed himself enough to let out a quiet,
“Thank you.”
She smiled then, and for a moment Kaz couldn’t breathe.
“Do you . . . want to hear about my scheme?” Inej asked, giving his hand a light squeeze.
He nodded, afraid that if he tried to speak no sound would come out. The smile dipped from her face for a moment, and an uncertain look entered her eye. She glanced at the top of his head.
“Maybe . . . I don’t know if you’d want me to, but . . .”
He squeezed her hand back and saw her breath catch for a moment. The smile returned as she brought her gaze back to his.
“I could cut your hair for you,” she said, a slight blush creeping up her neck, “Wearing the gloves. If that would help. If you want me to.”
It was his turn to feel the heat under his skin. Inej cut his hair . . .
Something about it felt intimate - more so than anything else they had done so far. Why? It was just a haircut. But here they both were, hand-in-hand, blood rushing to their faces, the silence stretching out between them. Kaz sucked in a sharp breath.
“Yes,” he said.
Inej let out a breath of her own and released his hand. She turned away, a hint of red still in her cheeks, and said,
“I’ll go buy some shears-“
“You don’t need to.”
Kaz took up his cane and rose from the desk, crossing the attic to his bedroom and opening the top drawer of his dresser. He returned to Inej, a pair of hair shears in his hand.
“I tried to do it myself once, years ago,” he murmured, wincing at the memory, “I did a shit job.”
Inej laughed, loud and sudden, and the room seemed to spin.
“I wish I had seen that!”
Kaz scowled, but he couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth down for long.
“No,” he said, “You really don’t.”
She giggled again and took the shears from him, casting her eyes around the room for a place they could sit.
“Do you mind sitting on the floor?” she asked, and when he shook his head she crossed to the window.
One awkward shuffle later, and Kaz was seated on the floor in front of her, bad leg stretched out and Inej’s knees at his back. He felt her shift and then slowly, gently, tilt his head forward with her gloved fingers.
“Have you ever cut someone’s hair before?” he asked.
“Will you tell me to stop if I say ‘no’?”
“No. Just need to know how low my expectations should be.”
She smacked him lightly on the shoulder.
“Hold still,” she commanded, and then he felt the feather-light rustle of the shears in his hair.
Inej began to snip, and he did his best not to move, even when his neck began to cramp. She cut much slower than a barber would, and she warned him every time before she touched his head or face. He was grateful, but after a few minutes he knew he would need a bit more distraction to keep from going stir-crazy.
“Tell me more about your voyage,” he said.
“Tell me more about your voyage, please , oh my lovely, darling Inej.”
She punctuated the “please” with a snip. Kaz rolled his eyes and suppressed a laugh, trying to keep his shoulders from shaking.
“ Please , my lovely, darling Inej - won’t you tell me more about your latest adventures on the high seas?”
“You’re lucky I’m feeling so generous tonight,” she teased and then launched into a story about a ship she’d sunk off the coast of Novyi Zem.
Kaz was enthralled, and it took him a few minutes after she finished the tale to realize the snipping of the shears had stopped. He ran a hand over his hair and let out a relieved sigh. No more wiping it away from his eyes every two minutes.
He leaned his head back onto the top of Inej’s knees and looked up at her face.
“Thank you,” he murmured, reaching for one of her hands and lacing his fingers through hers, “For the gloves. The haircut too, but especially . . .”
Inej nodded and smiled down at him. She ran a hand through his hair with a hum, and he closed his eyes and let out a sigh, feeling the tension leave his muscles for the first time since the nightmare.
“Thank you for telling me about the dream,” Inej whispered.
“We have a deal,” he murmured, eyes still closed, “And I’m a man of my word.”
Inej hummed again, still stroking a hand through his hair as the sounds of evening revelry began to rise up to the window and the street lamps were lit. Kaz knew he could not sit like this forever. He had to finish up the numbers, trek over to the Club, make sure the Dregs weren’t doing anything completely and utterly stupid.
But he could wait just another minute, feel Inej’s fingers pass through his hair a few more times, and maybe, another day, they could sit like this again.