Archive of Our Own ^beta

If Wylan wasn’t terrified at the moment, he might’ve blushed. Caught in the candlelight, the figure flickered orange and black. It was late out, dark, and lonesome. The room they were in was cramped and smelled of tobacco— a cheap hotel Wylan had to pay a petty amount of kruge to stay in.

At first it didn’t seem real: someone just appearing behind him. Surely he was imagining things. He was exhausted, his eyes burned, dreaded of sleep. Emotionally and physically worn. It had been a rough couple of days. It’d be logical, even, if he imagined up some very good looking boy in his room in the middle of the night.

Only when the figure moved, did Wylan realize he was not dreaming. He scurried out of his chair as the figure advanced him, tripping over books and tables to press his back to the wall. His eyes flicked to his two exits: the four story drop from the window, or the door, which just so happened to be on the other side of the room, and blocked by a gaudily dressed devil.

“Well don’t act all surprised I’m here,” the figure said, “You summoned me, remember?”

Wylan found it hard to speak. He saw the man wasn’t going for him, but the drink on his table. He downed the rest of the coffee and quietly set it back, a grimace on his face. Probably because of how cold it was. Cold and bitter.

When he finally found the will to speak, the words came rushed and jumbled, “I did what?”

The man looked to Wylan finally. His gaze travelled up and down, slow and deliberate. Amusement found his eyes, yet he spoke nothing. Fingers leaving a trail from the mug, he picked up the paper Wylan had been sitting in front of. Then he glanced to the book underneath.

“Pretty heavy stuff here,” he commented. “You don’t strike me as the type to be into this kind of thing.”

Wylan could feel sweat bead on his neck. Shadows still crossed over the figure as if he were made of them, as if he were intangible, not really here. Something aired off of this man, something Wylan couldn’t explain, but at the same time would dedicate years to figuring out. His heart thudded so harshly he was sure both could hear it.

“I don’t— who are you?” his eyes flicked to the book, then quickly back to the man, as if afraid he would disappear if left unattended for even a second.

“Different people call me different things,” he said casually, flipping the book shut, “Most call me beautiful, endearing, gorgeous, that kind of thing. Can’t blame them. Others call me not so nice names; can’t blame them for that either, but not my most personal favorites. But, since we are just meeting and I understand how uncomfortable you are with all of this, feel free to call me Jesper, but handsome or honey will do too, if you so please.”

Wylan saw him now, stepped into the light—a fire blazing behind him. All prim and proper, not a single fleck of dirt on him, his skin dark and smooth, as if crafted from a perfect drop of paint that no brush would be good enough to smear. A masterpiece. Confidence in a form of long legs and a side-tipped hat.

“What are you?” he asked now. When he felt sure enough to know that this man, this enigma, was not human.

“Oh, what? You don’t know?” Jesper asked, and that secretive amusement had never really left his eyes. He picked the book back up, with the paper stuck between the pages. “You summoned me. Didn’t you know what you were saying?”

The bead dripped down his collarbone; Wylan shook his head. “I didn’t—I was just…”

Jesper’s attention faded at his stuttering and went to the floor. More precisely, the balls of paper and books he had been tripping over since he first arrived. Obviously an outburst had occurred—papers scuttled everywhere, an overturned chair, even a book with pages ripped out. He kicked around the mess, and picked up the remnants of a book, “Brushing up on your modern literature? With a touch of archaic necromancy?”

When that last word reached Wylan’s ears, he could feel it skiver down his spine. “I didn’t know what I was saying. I didn’t even know what that book was, I was just trying to…”

The words drifted off back down his throat. His entire mouth was dry—cotton between his cheeks. Jesper noticed. He allowed the switch of their eyes in the shadows, the curve of his smirk widening with each second. Wylan winced; he could feel the devil rummaging through his mind.

I can’t read.

Picked apart and prodded, that one fact fell hushed from Wylan’s mind between them. Silence rolled over them like a thick fog, suffocating and distinct.

“Don’t do that.”

Jesper’s smile was wide. “Do what?”

“Whatever you just did. Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting in it. He stretched out his long legs and crossed an ankle over his knee—all in one fluid motion that suggested he’d practiced it to perfect it. Like every step he took was calculated and intended, with as much ease as it took to breathe. “You were being all mysterious, I couldn’t help it.”

Perhaps it was because Jesper had finally taken a seat, but Wylan finally willed himself away from the wall. His muscles ached with the strain of pressing himself as far away from the man as he could. He only toed with getting any closer though. “I just wanted some practice, to see if I could…get it. I didn’t even know what books I picked out at the store, I just got what I saw first.”

“Nice choice,” he remarked, and if he had a glass of whiskey, he would have raised it in salute.

Wylan felt embarrassed as he realized his mistake. Picking up and reading aloud a necromancy book that summons…unrealistically good looking men. He could feel his face burn; he must look like an idiot to him.

“I was practicing my words,” he said, dryly, “I didn’t think it’d actually summon…the devil.” The picture on the cover did look suspicious. It was covered with runes, but Wylan figured it must’ve been some ancient book on Grisha history— something he knew nothing about.

“Devil?” Jesper’s laugh was sharp, “That’s a new one.”

Wylan cringed at himself. “Isn’t that what you are?”

Jesper sat up then, and again in one swift, effortless movement, placed his elbows on his knees. “No. The real devil is named Dirtyhands, and he’s the most frustrating asshole you’d pray to never meet. You’re lucky you were a word off in that spell, or else you’d be stuck with him and not with this gorgeous face.”

“So I’m considered lucky to have a demon pop up in my room?”

“This particular demon, yes,” Jesper confirmed, with a mighty smug twitch of his lips. “Because you are stuck with me for some time now.”

Another bead of sweat trickled down Wylan’s back. “Some time?”

In the dark shadows, the demon’s eyes gleamed. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, have you?”

No. Wylan had no idea. “Can I fix it?”

“Afraid not.”

Shakily, Wylan took a seat onto the edge of his bed. Not nearly as smoothly as Jesper. He ran his hands on his pants, twitching and sweaty, his mind a whirlwind of bad thoughts and unethical curses.

“What does this mean, then? What do you want?” he willed himself to ask, despite not ever wanting to know the answer.

Jesper stood, clearing his throat and flattening his jacket. With long strides, he came to face Wylan, who was too lost in his own thoughts to even notice. With a gentle snap of his fingers, all attention was to him.

“This means you have two options. First, and most basic, you do what you summoned me for. You get to ask one thing of me, one favor, and in return, I take your soul. After you’ve expired of course.”

Wylan’s expression showed he didn’t much like that option, so Jesper continued.

“Second option, you back out of our deal, and take it up with Dirtyhands. You remember what I said before? Unpleasant guy? That’s barely scratching the surface—honestly wouldn’t recommend that option. Ruthless, terrible, overall a bastard. Now you can take your chances with him, maybe he’ll have mercy and set you free, maybe he’ll be grumpy and take your eye; it could go either way.”

With a concluding shrug, Wylan couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “These are my only options? Are you serious?”

This is it. My life is over. My dad was right, being too stupid to read really would kill me one day. 

“Well, there may be a third choice...”

Wylan could tell Jesper was having too much fun with this, but he found he didn’t care. He needed a way out of this, one where he could keep both his soul and his eye.

“You work for me. Indefinitely.”

With this proximity, Wylan could see Jesper’s eyes were not dark. They were silver-grey, cold and draining. Gleaming with something otherworldly, flecked with something incomprehensible. He couldn’t read them to save his life. And in this situation, that went literally.

“Meaning forever,” He didn’t have to ask.

White teeth shone brightly against the demon’s dark skin. “Somewhat.”

Rubbing continued on Wylan’s pants. His palms were sweaty again, heart thudding. He had closed his eyes to calm his thoughts, to think clearly on his next words, and when he opened them, he saw Jesper staring.

“If I said yes,” he began, mouth dry, “What would I have to do?”

“Anything I say.”

“Like…kill?”

“If need be,” Jesper admitted. “Though if you think that’s all demons do, then you have some prejudices to overcome. Especially before meeting the gang.”

Gang of demons. Wylan really didn’t like this.

“Can’t I just run errands or something? I’m good with numbers, I can do other things—”

“Easy now,” Jesper hushed him, “I’m not gonna force you to do anything you’re not willing to do. Part of being a demon: consent is taken very seriously.”

“Really?” Wylan bared a laugh, “So what if I don’t consent to any of these options?”

Jesper half-smiled at the rise in his tone. “Cute, you’re really looking for all ways out of this. But the thing is, you already consented when you read those words over there.”

“I didn’t know what I was saying.”

“Can’t prove that, now can we?”

Wylan grimaced, “What is this? Court?”

“Similar,” Jesper sighed, “But the fact remains. You consented to a deal, now I’m giving you three options on how to continue. Pick now, or I will for you.”

Wylan flurried with himself, a tumble of questions he needed answered. His eyes followed Jesper as he strolled around the room, “What do I get out of serving you? In the first option you said I get a favor for my soul.”

“Ah, that’s the thing about those who work for me,” he replied, picking through clutter on the dresser, “They gain some of my characteristics.”

“Like what? I get claws and an extra foot added to my height?”

“No,” he gave him a side-eye, “More like immortality, and a new way of experiencing things.”

Now, that made Wylan freeze. He could hear his heart thudding again; he pressed a hand to it to make sure it wouldn’t pop, and also to make sure he was still alive and not in some half-dead limbo. He could stay alive. Forever. If he worked with this mysterious, unearthly, demon for the rest of whenever.

“What if I want to die though? Like, at some point?” he asked, thinking too far ahead into the future.

“Then I definitely recommend option two.”

Wylan sighed. In the end, he knew when he was beat. But thinking about spending eternity with Jesper, had him considering—just considering—option two. Perhaps ending it all right now was the easiest way out.

A silence stretched, too long for comfort. Wylan stilled, statue-like, his hands in his hair— curls wrapped around his fingers, elbows on his knees. His eyes closed, focusing on the darkness that seemed to cloud around his feet.

When enough time had passed, Jesper decided to speak, his voice softly, unusually, level. “Mistake or not, everything has a price. The results of these options are the same. You’ve a debt to pay now, Wylan,” his silver eyes glinted, “All you have to do is choose is your form of payment.”

When Wylan didn’t move, Jesper crouched. He stared at the slumped form before him, how heavy his head seemed in his hands. “Soul or life,” he listed, “A little of both, none at all. Where I’m from, there are no guarantees. Just very likely scenario’s that almost never play out how you want. And almost always end up bloody. But that’s the thing with me, I bet everything I have on that one word.”

Almost.

“Maybe it’s time you start betting as well,” he advised. “Why give in when you have nothing left to lose?”

Was Wylan to this point? Had his life truly gotten so pathetic that he was willing to gamble his life, his soul, his being, for…what? The best case of the worst scenario? Or possibly the worst case of the worst scenario?

Either way, the scenario was shit.

And Wylan had nothing to lose.

“Crap,” he breathed. Finally, his hands wrenched away from his curls. He dragged his fingers through and through his hair, before the ringlet wisps settled back in front of his eyes. Jesper smirked slowly, from one sharpened edge to the other.

“Maybe once we get rid of that pesky soul of yours, we can have some real fun,” he crooned, “Starting with teaching you how to curse.”

The laugh that passed Wylan’s lips was bitter, beyond tasteless, but it was a laugh nonetheless and Jesper appeared accomplished. He stood and flattened out a wrinkle in his vest, his fingers drawing quick circles over the buttons of his coat, before he fisted those finicky digits, forcing them in his trouser pockets.

“I’m assuming your taste in fun is slightly different than my taste in fun,” Wylan said, looking up to him.

Jesper’s head tilted, and his silver eyes glimmered. Wylan almost accused him of picking through his mind again, but for some reason, he knew he hadn’t. He realized his face must’ve given some stupid, boyish thought away, and the heat that now colored his cheeks only confirmed it all. He hadn’t meant for that sentence to be some implication, but it was obviously taken the wrong way by the demon.

“Who knows,” replied Jesper, “Maybe our tastes are more similar than you think.”

A cautious step forward had a familiar rigidity returning to Wylan. He went still as Jesper approached him, the words pouring from his lips like liquid gold, molding him in place. His hands still placed in his wool pockets, Jesper leaned. His frame seemed to tower over Wylan, and out of the corner of his eye, Jesper’s hands had clenched behind the fabric. Whatever space between them was filled with short breaths and held ones, and a golden chain that dangled from around Jesper’s neck.

For a second, Wylan thought he might try something. And for a second, he didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Bad, he guessed. Most likely very bad.

But, before any rational thought or comment could pass Wylan’s parting lips, he blinked; and Jesper was gone.

To be continued.

Wylan couldn’t tell if those words really left the demon’s mouth or if was just an echo in his head, but despite they left him on his tongue.

Gone. Just like that.

Had he imagined those grey eyes lowering? That smirk sharpening? The way he drifted closer, inch by inch? He must’ve. There was no way— it was stupid.

He was the devil incarnate. He was immortal. He was…he was.

He was everything. He was anything Wylan could imagine, and probably more. And what was he?

A kid with nothing to lose. A screw-up who couldn’t last a week away from home without getting into some otherworldly mess.

A kid who couldn’t survive without his terrible father.

Joints like rusted hinges, Wylan finally collapsed. The bed squeaked on boxy springs. Muscles aching, body sore, heart erratic.

He pressed a hand to his chest, just like his mother used to do. A soft, simple touch that lifted the world, when it felt much too heavy on his shoulders.

I’m here. I’m alive. And I am not alone.

But eventually, and always, even that was asking for too much.

Even that was something he had to learn to say to himself, because no one else ever would.

And by the time his eyes closed and he slowly dozed off, Wylan was a boy again— asleep in his family’s manor, deep in silken sheets, wishing for a mysterious somebody to come and take him far, far away.