Chapter Text
Jesper was halfway through a plate of shrimp when he realised the wedding he’d crashed was actually a funeral. Well, a wake, he supposed. Oblivious as he was, it took three different middle aged women dabbing at their eyes and sniffling while wearing all black for him to clock that perhaps, just maybe, the party he’d slipped into wasn’t a cheery affair. He froze, one shrimp in his hand suspended halfway to his mouth, a fancy porcelain plate piled precariously with food and balanced in his other. Who the hell held a wake at the Geldrenner?
He glanced around the room furtively, and now the signs were painfully, glaringly obvious. There was music being played, but it was a melancholy classical tune, not the normal pop beats of a true party. People were drinking, but there was no champagne in sight, instead it was all glasses of wine or whiskey being sipped throughout hushed conversations. Finally, the real nail in the coffin (pun not intended, he told himself) was the large portrait photograph of an austere looking man by the main entrance to the hall, stood over a wreath of flowers spelling out the letters ‘RIP’.
He popped the shrimp he was holding into his mouth, chewing it while trying to come up with a way out. Saints, he was an idiot. He only crashed weddings at the Geldrenner when he was really tight on cash, and he was definitely, tragically, tight on cash at the moment. Kaz was due to pay him during his shift at the Crow Club later, and he’d blown through his last pay check at an alarming rate. Hence the party crashing in the hopes of finding a buffet (which he had, though now he was grappling with the moral consequences of stealing from the grieving, which was honestly too much for a slightly hungover Saturday afternoon).
Nina was never going to let him live this down. In fact, he doubted any of his friends would let him live this down, ever. They were cruel to him, really. He looked mournfully at the plate of shrimp, delicate fingers of bruschetta, olives, and what he was calling ‘fancy sausage rolls’. If he was going to do the right thing, he knew he couldn’t take the food with him. Doing the right thing sucked. He picked up another shrimp, taking a bite and closing his eyes. It really was good food. Seemed a shame to waste it.
“Are they any good?”
The smooth voice came from next to Jesper, making him jump and nearly lose hold of his plate. A lone olive rolled off of the side onto the floor, and Jesper glared at it briefly before looking for who spoke.
The man next to him was gorgeous, all pale skin and golden curls, with sharp blue eyes that watched Jesper with what looked like faint interest. He looked like he’d stepped right out of a pre-Raphaelite painting, if the people in those paintings wore very expensive, very tailored suits (Jesper blamed Kaz for the fact he even knew what pre-Raphaelite meant). Jesper blinked, realizing that he’d taken way too long to answer.
“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, they’re good, pretty…fresh?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling you, definitely.” The man in front of him nodded slowly, clearly not convinced, gaze flitting briefly to the heap of food Jesper had accumulated. Embarrassment curled in Jesper’s stomach, which was not a feeling he was used to. He watched as the painfully beautiful man in front of him sipped whiskey from a crystal tumbler and wrinkled his nose slightly (it was adorable). Jesper couldn’t help but ask.
“If you don’t like it, why are you drinking it?”
“When the Governor of Commerce hands you a drink, you don’t say no.” The man’s tone was dry and bemused, and Jesper had no idea what he was talking about, but he knew he could listen to that voice for hours.
“I guess not. So… this is a pretty fancy funeral, right?” Jesper winced, knowing instantly that that was the wrong thing to say. Why was he doing this to himself? He was usually so quick at being charming. Those blue eyes met his again, incredulous.
“Right. How did you know him, again?” That was probably the worst question someone could have asked. Jesper’s mind span, trying to think of something non-committal and convincing to say. The portrait had shown a middle aged man, not someone Jesper would have exactly been friends with.
“Uh. Well, I didn’t, really.” At the man’s raised eyebrow, Jesper ploughed on with his lie. “My parents did! My… my parents were good friends of the family, you know.”
“Really? Wow, I’m so sorry. This must be a difficult day for you and your parents. Are they here?”
Why did this man seem to know exactly what questions Jesper didn’t want him to ask? A string of curses was running unhelpfully through Jesper’s mind.
“No, sadly they… they couldn’t make it. They’re back in Novyi Zem.”
“Ah, well. That is a shame. Good that you could make it, though. Really thoughtful of you.” The gorgeous man sipped his drink again, this time managing not to grimace, and placed his glass down onto the buffet table. Jesper noticed that he was wearing a gold watch with a leather strap, a timepiece that was probably worth more than Jesper earned in a year. Maybe even five years.
“It’s the least I could do, really. He was such a… kind, generous man.”
Blue eyes met Jesper’s once again, this time glinting with something close to amusement. But that couldn’t be right, could it? Jesper felt like he was missing a crucial part of what was happening.
“Sure, of course. Really generous. Really kind.” The mystery man had a crisp, cool way of talking, pronouncing every word perfectly. It drew Jesper’s gaze to his mouth, which was day-lily pink apart from one deeper spot of red, where it had clearly been worried at with teeth. Saints, Jesper really needed a drink. He looked around the hall, half searching for a way out, half searching for a bar.
“The hotel bar is open twenty-four hours, if you need a drink. It’s on the ground floor.”
Jesper snapped his gaze back to the man he’d been speaking to (and trying to distract himself from). “There’s not a bar at the wake?”
The man tilted his head to the side slightly, perfect curls dropping onto his forehead. “There is, but it’s reserved for people actually attending the wake.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. That was the only word Jesper could reliably think of, frozen as he was under the man’s amused gaze. “Shit.”
Opposite him, the man gave him an amused but slightly weary smile. “Look, I don’t really care that you crashed the party. I don’t necessarily understand why anyone would want to attend a stranger’s wake, but… each to their own, I suppose. Anyway, speeches are starting soon, so you should probably go.”
“Shit. Yeah, right, of course.” Jesper scratched the back of his neck, looking around for somewhere to put his plate. The stranger rolled his eyes.
“You can take the food with you. Honestly, take the plate. Sell it, I think it’s worth something.”
Saints, Jesper was completely lost in this conversation. Either this man was an angel sent to save him, or the worst kind of devil. “Seriously? I can just… seriously?”
“Seriously. Just… please, leave.” He felt the man take his elbow, and the next thing Jesper knew he was being guided (gently, but firmly) through the crowd towards the same emergency exit he’d snuck in through. He had so, so many questions.
“Wait! How did you even know I was gate crashing?”
He was given another disbelieving look in response. “Because my father was a raging bigot and definitely didn’t have any Zemeni friends.”
“Your…father. Right.” The pressure at his elbow released when they reached the door, and Jesper was annoyed to admit that he was sad about it.
“Well, thank you for coming, have a wonderful day, try not to crash any other funerals on your way home.” The gorgeous man gave him a terse farewell and turned on the heel of his undoubtedly designer shoes. There was no way Jesper could let it end like that.
“Wait! Can I at least… what’s your name?”
With a sigh, the man turned back to look at him with begrudging amusement. “Wylan. My name’s Wylan.”
“I’m Jesper. Jesper Fahey.”