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Rot Alley is uncharacteristically quiet at this time of day — or, actually, night. It's so early in the morning that the sky is still pitch black, its pinks and reds far from sight.
Wylan drags his feet heavily, sleep still lingering to his limbs and eyelids. That's why he bumps against someone, he would reckon — because his stupid eyelids can't manage to understand that he is up, awake, and they keep closing heavily as he hauls himself to work.
"Titan," he says, startled by the lanky body colliding with his — who even walks that fast this time of the night, an hour where rush and speed are just echoes of the day to come?
Of course, his brain deadpans, when he raises his eyes to meet the witch he is bumped against. And who else could it be, if not Jesper Annoying Fahey? He levels his — acquaintance? Rival? Decisively rival — with a scornful stare, much aided by the natural way his morning face is always scrunched up, so that he looks constantly annoyed.
"Oh," Jesper dumbly mumbles, gray eyes as wide as teacups, his usual smirk already forming on that annoyingly gorgeous face. "G'mornin', pretty."
Wylan doesn't answer that. He keeps staring at Jesper like he has ruined his day because, really, even if he hasn't already, he will. It's just a matter of time, like always.
"What? Fairy bit your tongue?"
"It's too early," Wylan snaps, voice on the verge of being too groggy and raspy for his own liking. He will not show any of his weaknesses to the infuriating witch standing in front of him, with his raised eyebrows, flickering eyes, smart smug that he wants to kiss off his f— punch! He wants to punch it off his face.
"Or too late, dependin' on what time you went t' bed, sweetie."
Wylan frowns. "Stop calling me that."
"Sweetie?"
Despite himself, Wylan finds himself blushing. He stomps his feet and holds his fists tight. "And pretty. You are an asshole."
Jesper shrugs. He puts his thumbs into his pockets, and spins on his talon theatrically, until he is headed towards his own stand. His own stand that is directly opposite Wylan's. It's still covered by its heavy, spellbound drape, as is Wylan's — with the sole difference that Jesper's is very annoying to his sight. Thing is, Wylan's protective drape is an old, blue thing that he uses to embellish his stand by day and to protect it by night. Jesper's drape is a whole curtain, red and green and yellow and purple, all colors hurting the eyes, for how bright they are. Probably it's not even spellbound: people see it and they just walk the opposite way.
Mostly, it has the opposite effect: people see it and they are drawn to it, and that's very infuriating, if you ask Wylan. Not that anyone ever asks, but he always makes a point to tell Nina, because complaining about his work neighbor with Nina has become a thing some time after his very first day as a market seller.
Wylan gets busy with his stand. He hastily opens the draping, and he begins positioning his paintings properly, meticulously, as he does every morning. He stares a little longer at some of them, sulking. It's not that he doesn't like them — they are his paintings, after all, and they are his only money income. It's just that he likes to paint softer things, and he never could have dreamt to make a living out of these . These being his collection of Cursed Paintings, as the wooden sign placed over the stand says. Or… he hopes it says that, and that Nina didn't fool him with a Free Hugs sign. That would explain why his clients always look a little disappointed with his service.
He brushes his thumb over a screaming witch immersed in a colored, grotesque environment, doubt threatening to swallow him — his Cursed Paintings are not even cursed, and that's a thing.
A thing that worries him, because he can fake they are cursed with Illusion magic just so many times, before he is discovered. He plays the trick every time some guard or scout from the Conservatorium trots around, strong of the fact they believe him to be a member of the Bard coven — his improvised lyre tattoo has never failed him, after all. Truth is, he is a wild witch — dangerous, dangerous. His own father cast him away because he couldn't fathom a son that doesn't conform to any coven. More than that, he despised a son who didn't excel in abomination magic, just like he did. Add to that a dyslexic son? And the trick was done: disowned and cast away before he even hit sixteen. Now he is on the threshold of his twenties, but that wound still stings, whenever he dwells on his memories far longer than it is necessary.
Wylan sighs, pushing his thoughts away, and he steals a glance at his rival.
Wylan is pretty sure that Jesper is a wild witch himself, even though they never talk about it. They never talk about anything, actually. Or… Jesper goes for chatting, sometimes, but he is just so irritating and cocky that Wylan lasts all but five seconds before snapping and flipping him off. But he has seen Jesper growing a plant out of the blue, and the following week he had opened a secret side job in the back of his stand, as a fortune teller. Oracle coven? Wylan had thought. Except that the tattoo on Jesper's wrist is a blue, bandaged hand. Healing coven. Which explains his occupation, as a Blessed Rocks seller, but doesn't explain the improvised plant and his fortune telling side job.
Now, Wylan frowns at the pretty plant adorning Jesper's stand, and he considers growing one himself to decorate his own workplace. He refrains, though, lest Jesper accuses him of copying. He can picture him just fine, cocky grin on and wiggly eyebrows, as he says something stupid and irritating like he always does.
As the sky starts pinking with daylight, the first clients begin crowding the market square. Wylan is lucky, with his stand at n. 21 of Rot Alley, not too crowded by all the other stands shoved against each other in the middle of the square, but rather opening to the rest of the world. People walk by in the rushed frenzy that is early morning, too occupied to even think of venturing inside the market square. But as they run down Rot Alley, their eyes fall on Wylan's paintings like it's inevitable.
He is very smug when the first couple clients stop at his stand, and he sends raised eyebrows and a victory grin in Jesper's direction.
Jesper, by sheer luck, Wylan believes, is also selling one of his… of his rocks. Sure, they emit a vibrant, warm light inside that has calming and healing properties, but they are just rocks. Stones. Wylan's paintings are handmade, carefully crafted things that he spends hours on. No matter that they are not actually cursed, while Jesper's rocks are, indeed, blessed. It still isn't fair by any means.
A couple demon kids rush past him just to jump all around Jesper's stand, praising all the colorful stones like they are magic by mere appearance. Like the fact that they are big and glossy, bright red and green and luminescent, is enough for them to be deemed blessed, magical, and beautiful. Wylan side eyes an ugly Emperor Belos painting and frowns impossibly deep. He has to paint ugly things: no one wants a cursed painting that is also pretty. He is not very happy about it, though.
Think of the money, he scolds himself. You need the money to, you know, survive.
"Do you also sell tempera powder?"
Wylan turns to an old demon lady pointing at the jars atop his counter.
"I sure do, Ma'am! What color are you looking for?"
"Periwinkle," the old lady smiles politely.
Wylan does not, for the love of the Titan, have periwinkle powder. He tries explaining primary colors and the concept of mixing powders together to the old lady, but to no avail.
"But this painting here has periwinkle in it," she stubbornly protests for what must be the hundredth time.
Wylan blinks rapidly, eyes falling on the other clients, but they don't seem to mind his banter with the lady, as they keep examining his other paintings in search of the perfect gift — to either themselves, loved ones, or enemies that they actually want to curse.
"I know," he hisses between his teeth, hiding his exasperation under what he hopes is an amiable smile. "I obtained that by mixing blue powder and—"
"Bah," the lady says. "Just sell me this painting, then."
Wylan blinks another couple times, smile unwavering — he hopes it's unwavering, at least — but not reaching his eyes.
"Sure," he sighs.
When he glances over at his rival's stand, Jesper is gone. He is probably in the back, reading the palm, suction cups, paw or claw of any possible customer, but Wylan is glad that he didn't witness his antics with the old lady. He sighs again, leaning against the wooden pole of his gazebo stand.
"At least we are drinking apple blood tonight, Nefelia," Wylan says. His cat palisman jumps off of his staff and begins rubbing herself against Wylan's calves.
"Mrrreow," she says.
Wylan couldn't agree more.
It's not like he is rich enough to afford apple blood. Or… he was, before, but he was too young and, er, occupied with other pressing matters to bother drinking. Now he is too focused on surviving day by day, to even think about spending money on such a frivolity. But tonight Nina is hosting a party — one of those things that he never attended as a teenager, while he was in school, but started attending as a drop out, under Nina's very insistence.
And this is not just a party. It's Kaz's birthday, and since Kaz would never dream of throwing a party for himself, Nina took the matter into her hands and organized the whole night. It's a surprise party, even, not that Kaz doesn't already know, because there's very little he doesn't know, but he is surprisingly playing along and pretending he is not aware about Nina's plans.
"How is the mornin' flowin'?"
Jesper stands right in front of him, forearm against the wooden pole he himself is leaned against. Wylan levels him with an unamused stare, and he notices how Jesper flinches under that. He grins to himself, which is apparently the wrong move, because Jesper grins back.
That wasn't directed to you, idiot, he stubbornly thinks.
"So…" Jesper lets the o fall long, until it fades in the air. He fidgets, because when ever doesn't he? He puts his hands in his pockets and takes them out and brushes the back of his neck and stares up at the sky and down to some of Wylan's paintings. He looks nervous, which makes Wylan nervous, and he really wishes that he would stop and leave him alone.
"So what?" he snaps, impatient to know what bugs Jesper like that.
"I hear you're coming to tonight's party?"
Wylan's eyes shrink, whole face scrunching up in self defense. He hopes he looks intimidating and guarded and… Nefelia purrs. He groans.
"I am," he mumbles, meaningfully looking at his palisman. She just purrs louder.
"Oh," Jesper says, breathing out like he is relieved. "Would you like to—"
That's when Jesper's parrot palisman starts flapping her wings around them, chirping joyously. "Lianthe, honey, stop," Jesper whines, all flushed like he is embarrassed.
Wylan holds himself straighter, holding the strap of his pouch for loose change like it's a life saver. He is uncertain on what exactly is going on. He tries to focus on Jesper, because he is very annoying, while his parrot is very adorable, and he can't be caught slipping and petting his rival's palisman, for how tempting it is.
"Is someone behind the counter?" a voice calls, and Wylan looks one last time at Jesper — annoying Jesper with impossibly wide gray eyes and a slightly pouty frown, like he is a puppy getting scolded. Wylan's eyebrows furrow and his mind tries to reach the top bottom of this thing. This thing being why on the Titan Jesper just looked at him like that, no petty frown or winning smirk, no eyebrows wiggle or irritating wink. Just — raw hope.
Before Jesper can miserably drag his feet back to his stand, Wylan feels the irrepressible urge to make him smile, because he is not used to sulky, pathetic Jesper, and there's no fun in rivaling such a gloomy witch.
"Better get yourself busy, or I might beat your body count, today."
Jesper blinks a couple times. "Clients," he realizes after some very long seconds, and then he erupts into a ravenous laugh. Wild, wild, just like their magic, just like Jesper's very soul. Wylan feels dumbstruck.
"I wouldn't bet on that," he smiles, and that's a beautifully vulnerable lopsided smile that has Wylan's mind whirl a little. After the wave of dizziness that catches him off guard, he just thinks: Oh.
And then he pushes all that aside, inside, in the pit of his stomach to never be examined again. That pathetic little Oh realization happens quite often, during his weeks, but it knows that it's fated to be discarded in the pit of his stomach, so why even try?
He doesn't take his eyes off Jesper for the rest of their shifts. The man is annoyingly smug and kind to all his clients, and he flushes every time that he catches Wylan looking at him — which is pretty often, considering.
Then, some time after his quick mice and pixies soufflé lunch, realization hits him. Tonight's party is ruined. What is Jesper even doing there? It's not like he is friends with his friends, he mostly hangs with Inej and Matthias.
Which, as of lately, are respectively girlfriend and boyfriend of—
"Titan!" he yells out loud, startling a couple flying demons and an approaching client. The witch turns on his heels before even reaching his stand. Great.
"Not doing a good job, in attracting clients."
Wylan looks at Jesper like he could kill him with his eyes alone. Perhaps he can, but he doesn't want to be imprisoned for murder, thank you very much.
"I am just…" he tries to come up with something. Problem is, he is just a lot of things: tired, stressed, confused, nervous, a little bit angry. A lot angry, actually.
"Your problem…" Jesper muses, like Wylan even cares about Jesper's opinion. He doesn't, he doesn't, but he listens anyway. "...is that you treat your clients like clients."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just what I said," Jesper shrugs, moving a heavy stone from his counter to the ground, trying to find the best position to show it off. It's an orange rock, not dissimilar to the color of Wylan's own curls. It looks very pretty — as all of Jesper's stones, even if he would never admit it out loud.
Wylan squints. "They are clients."
"Yeah," Jesper says. "But you could try a different approach. Also, not looking constipated the whole time might help."
"I don't look…" Wylan flushes, and he bets his cheeks look as red as apple blood.
"Listen," Jesper goes on, condescending. "You should just treat them as friends, crack some jokes and—"
"Stop patronizing me. I can't believe I even waste my time listening to you."
Jesper's arms fall against his sides like he is caught off guard by Wylan's snappish anger. Wylan is too.
"Sorry that I tried to help," Jesper snaps as well, suddenly gun-shy, folding his gangly arms in front of his chest.
"I don't need help," Wylan retorts.
Clients are purposefully avoiding their two stands, now, as it often happens when they begin arguing. Well, usually a crowd tightens around them, with a lively chorus of Fight, fight, fight. Today is just not one of those days, and Wylan is very glad for that, because he hates giving a show for the market witches and demons to enjoy. He likes his privacy, he likes his quiet, he doesn't like it when he loses his temper in front of everyone. Sharing his space with Jesper, though, means that it happens every other day, anyway, and he can't really do anything about it because Jesper is annoying and not arguing with him is nearly impossible.
"Well, maybe try selling something that you really like, then!" Jesper yells, petulant and pushy, like he is trying to hurt Wylan on purpose. He manages perfectly: he hits a nerve and now Wylan feels hot under the collar, rage and shame merging together and blinding him.
"Work shouldn't be enjoyable," he retorts, with much more composure than he believed himself capable of. He feels like a live wire, ready to burn at the slightest prodding, like he is waiting for Jesper to say the wrong thing so that he can finally take all his anger out on him.
"Sure it should," Jesper says, like he can't believe his own ears. "I love selling my rocks and—"
"And fortune telling," Wylan ends the sentence for him, quiet now, because he doesn't want people to hear. Jesper is a wild witch, so what? He himself is a wild witch, and Wylan suspects that most witches around them are as well. Surely, that weird Owl Lady some stands down Rot Alley is a wild witch, a loud one at that, which always catches too much unwanted attention. Neither Wylan nor Jesper want that attention, or to run away from Emperor coven scouts every other week, and he respects Jesper's privacy.
Somehow, revealing to themselves that they are, indeed, wild witches— it feels big. Except that Jesper seems to be a very dense witch.
"Sorry I didn't lock my talents up like you did, you stick up the—"
Nefelia jumps on his staff and Wylan points it at Jesper, fuming with an anger that has only a minimal part to do with the other witch, and that mostly is directed to his own father. To himself, even. To his whole life that keeps slipping between his fingers and he can't manage to grab it — like he is trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.
He waves his staff, and Jesper's plant shrinks back to the size of a sprout. He blinks, because that is something he kinda regrets: that was a very beautiful plant. But Jesper's slack mouth and incredulous eyes are a better reward.
"I am not a coven witch," he hisses. "You know nothing about me."
Jesper blabbers something unintelligible. Then, looking down at the tip of his boots, he says something slightly less unintelligible. Wylan doesn't catch it this time either, anyway.
"What?" he asks.
"...ifyoudletme."
Wylan grunts, stomping his staff on the ground. Nefelia hisses at that, jumping back down and disappearing behind his counter with an annoyed wave of her fluffy, orange tail. Great, he managed to hassle his own palisman.
"I don't speak Mumble," he says, leaning in in hope to catch Jesper's words.
Just then, Jesper raises his head until his eyes are level with Wylan's — or, a little higher actually, given how tall he is — and Wylan can see how flushed and wet-eyed he is. Even the tips of his pointed ears are such a dark shade of red that it's evident despite his dark skin.
"I said," Jesper breathes out a stubborn puff of air. "That I would like to know you, if you'd let me."
"You would like to know me," Wylan repeats, dumbly. Not dumbly enough that he doesn't know what Jesper is talking about. Just — surprised.
It's not like he himself hasn't thought about it. That Oh, little, hopeful realization reverbates in his chest at least once a week, whenever he stares at Jesper long enough to realize just how amazing he is. Jesper is vexing and bothersome, galling and irksome, always nudging Wylan with pointless challenges. Let's see who sells most things, or Let's see whose clients laugh the most, or Flying competition? Wylan always refuses, but he ends up involved in such ridiculous challenges anyway, partly because he can't refuse a challenge but mostly because he can't say no to the other witch. Jesper is his rival, he deemed him his rival ever since he winked at him and told him to Always welcome to ask for help, since I am more expert at this. It wasn't exactly true — he later learned that Jesper had had his stand for a week longer than Wylan, but his patronizing tone had been enough for Wylan to think: Annoying, impossible, I'll let him see who needs help.
And yet, Jesper has the most perfectly shaped mouth he has ever seen. And yet, he likes his straight nose and the little, longer fang always mindlessly biting on his bottom lip. And yet, his ridiculously patterned clothes are endearing. And yet, he can't not stare and stare whenever Jesper jokes with kids and old ladies, a kind word and an honest smile as a gift for everyone stopping at his Blessed Rocks stand.
It's not even that he has never noticed Jesper's insistent attentions, the way their eyes always seem to catch like they are drawn to each other, the way he pesters Wylan like he wants Wylan to notice himhim.
It's just that he is a nineteen years old witch disowned by his father and struggling to make a living by selling ugly paintings that he doesn't like one bit but that, apparently, demons and witches just love. He will never tell Jesper that he is right about Wylan not enjoying his work but— he doesn't think he has any other chances, if he wants to survive. It's either these paintings, or letting himself starve to death. So, he has no time to think about what clearly is a very unwanted crush on his side and a very pestering crush on Jesper's side. He thought that if he acted harsh and uptight, Jesper would drop the ball and leave him alone, perhaps realize that Wylan is not that great and just move on to someone else. It never seems to work.
It surely didn't work because now Jesper is right there, flushed and shy and fumbling with his sleeves like that can ground himself like that. Like he is ready for a doom rejection. Wylan should reject him, focus on his work and on his money and on his dull, hard life.
"I… I understand if you don't… I told Inej that you are way out of my… But she told me that Nina told her that you might… I am sorry I read that wrong, I… I know we don't like each other and that's a thing and we can keep on…"
Wylan leans closer to Jesper, directly into his personal space because Why the Titan not. He puts a finger on Jesper's lips and revels in the way he sucks his breath and goes completely still and quiet. He can feel his heartbeat, and that's probably because of his acute Bard powers, but still, it's cute as fuck.
"Hush, you annoying moron," he says, stubbornly searching for Jesper's averting eyes. Finally, Jesper settles for looking back at Wylan, still nervous and fidgety as ever. His eyes are so wide that Wylan could dive into them. He feels himself blushing, but he forces his lungs to inhale oxygen and his stiff shoulders to relax. He tries for a smile. He really hopes it's a good looking smile, and not a constipated one.
"I wouldn't be opposed," he admits.
"Uh?" Jesper mutters, and Wylan's smile widens.
Okay so, maybe, perhaps, there is a chance that he likes likes Jesper, despite him being so annoying and his rival and this crush being stupid and distracting. And—
He leans in and presses his lips to Jesper's, just a chaste brush that ends with Jesper startling and jumping away like he has been hit by lightning — it happened to Kaz, once, and he and Nina still tease him about it on a regular basis.
"You… kissed me," Jesper states, like it's not obvious, like it hasn't literally just happened.
Oh, Titan, what if he pegged Jesper wrong and he just wanted to know Wylan like a friend? Stop this whole rivalry bullshit and just befriend him and now Wylan has ruined it all, kissing Jesper and—
"Please do it again?" Jesper says, high pitched and a bit throaty. Wylan laughs and sighs into the next kiss. He grabs Jesper's collar and presses his lips down harder, and softer at the same time. Jesper's adorable fang catches on Wylan's bottom lip and this is much better than arguing their lungs off against each other. There's fireworks sparking in his stomach, a comfortable thrumming sensation. It's new and good and beautiful.
"Titan, Titan. Do you—?"
"Come to tonight's party with me?" Wylan says, poking Jesper's chest with his finger. He shouldn't feel as smug as he does, in asking Jesper first.
"Yes, I asked first, but yes," Jesper exclaims.
"You did not ask first," Wylan retorts.
"Sure did," Jesper whines.
"Were you this jumpy all day because you wanted to ask me out?" he teases.
"I got very nervous! You have a… An effect on me, witchling."
Wylan hums, and he tips his nose against Jesper's. "I know," he says. "You can't tear your eyes off me. And you love to bug me."
"I thought you despised me," Jesper sighs, hands resting on Wylan's hips, fingers thrumming impatiently like they always do.
"You can be pretty intense, yeah. I called you Jesper Annoying Fahey, in my head."
"Mh. Sounds better than my actual middle name."
Wylan's eyes widen at that. Now he is curious, because curiosity is, apparently, something that was embedded into his very core ever since he was a child, and he can't go a second without inquiring and asking questions and researching and striving for knowledge that often goes unstated. This is something that he can discover, though.
"You have a middle name?"
"That's classified information," Jesper shrieks. "Tenth date thingy. I will not embarrass myself further, today."
"Of course you won't," Wylan lovingly rolls his eyes, because they have a party to attend and he doubts that Jesper will not be messy and loud and foolish the whole night. Not that he minds, at all. After all, he started this whole rivalry thing solely as a distraction from his otherwise too evident crush on the very annoying witch that dwells on his peripheral vision all day, every day.
Jesper holds him tighter and catches him in another, brief, sweet kiss. Wylan could get used to this. Wylan wants to get used to this.
"I want to sell fireworks," he says, as his stomach fireworks keep going off and off, in a storm that doesn't rain acid, but fiery, warm flames. "And explosives."
"That's an upgrade," Jesper smiles fondly.
"This way I can and will beat your body count," he grins.
He doesn't really care about that, though, not when Jesper smiles like that and intertwines their fingers together and his eyes shine on something magical that has nothing to do with their own powers and much to do with something even more powerful, and ancient, and deep. Something akin to love.