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The day had started out just fine, and that was the worst part about it all. Sometimes he’d wake in the middle of the night with his brain screaming bloody murder, because he’d been sleeping and hadn’t been conscious to notice the warnings, but even when he was awake, he only had about an hour after the signs started before he was completely incapacitated by the pain in his head. It wasn’t worse than the pain itself, but the knowledge that there was no way to plan for it, that any day might just get interrupted whenever his nervous system decided to malfunction, certainly added to the misery of it all.
He had spoken about it to a very accomplished healer once. It was dangerous to mess with the brain, she had said. Even if she could isolate the problem and figure out what to do to fix it, it would be an extremely delicate procedure, one which carried risks Wylan wasn’t willing to take. He knew his brain didn’t work the way most people’s did, but he had become damn proud of the things he could do, and Jesper never let him forget how smart he was. He didn’t want to risk doing more harm than good trying to fix this problem.
And so he suffered.
When his vision began to blur during a business meeting and the sound of a chair scraping across the floor caused bullets to shoot through his head, Wylan knew he had to get out. He made a lackluster excuse, and knew he’d have to figure out how to cover his tracks later, but he suddenly didn’t have it in him to lie creatively. What would Kaz Brekker say?
He was only a ten minute walk from home, but every step felt like a mile. As his vision became more and more clouded and his senses became more and more delicate, he fought the urge not to vomit on the street. People would probably think he was drunk, and as a member of the merchant council, public intoxication in the early afternoon on a work day would be a very bad look for him. At one point he swayed off the walkway and nearly tipped into a canal before he righted himself. He wasn’t in enough pain yet to not feel humiliated, and so the sick feeling in his stomach grew.
He managed to make it to his front steps before he threw up in a flower bed. He felt grateful for the grey clouds that usually loomed over Ketterdam like an unwelcome relative. Bright lights made it all worse, and the sun would have thrown him into a stupor so bad it would have taken him twice as long to walk home.
He stumped through the door and closed it behind him as gently as he could. The sound of it echoing in the large, mostly empty corridor made him flinch anyway. The housekeeper was nearby, sweeping.
“Ana, send a fresh jug of water up to my room, please. And some ginger tea,” said Wylan, hating the volume of his own voice.
Ana looked at him sympathetically. The staff were so kind to him, unlike the rest of Ketterdam. Missing out on work was looked down upon by the industrious Ghezen, even because of illness. And missing out because of a headache ? Preposterous.
None of them could possibly imagine the severity. Wylan had no word for the difference. He knew what a headache born from stress or too much to drink felt like. This was so much more. It was blinding, unstoppable, and intensified by the littles of sounds or the slightest unwelcome light. It was vomiting and heaving for hours on end, unable to keep down even water. The healer he had spoken to understood, but most people didn’t. Couldn’t.
His mother had experienced these episodes too, he remembered. She would lay in bed for days sometimes, fighting the pain and then resting up when it subsided and the exhaustion set in. Wylan's father had scoffed and sneered at her during those times, much like he did after he realised Wylan was defective and decided to have her shipped off to the asylum. Marya didn’t seem to suffer them anymore. No one was sure whether it was something they had given or done to her at the asylum, or if it was that she now lived a relaxed life, free of the constraints of being a merchant’s wife. Maybe it was a bit of both. Wylan wondered if he were to have a child one day, if they would also have this as well.
He’d never had this as a child. It wasn’t until after he had become the head of the Van Eck household that it had set in. At times he was sure it was just the stress, but then he thought about how happy he was, and he questioned it. He’d needed a lot of time to heal and recover, but he found the challenge of learning to run the business invigorating. He found leadership and power suited him just fine. And in the evenings and on days off he had his lab and his music room, he had his mother, and he had Jesper.
“Wy?” Jesper’s soft voice cut through the haze Wylan was in, laying in his bed. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he walked through the front door. He also didn’t remember climbing the stairs and crawling into bed, but now he lay, curled tight into a ball, a sheet pulled over his head to block out more light. He let out an embarrassing whimper, and tried to fight back tears. The pain he felt was splitting. It felt so much worse than last time, but then again it always did.
He felt the bed dip as Jesper sat next to him and heard the gentlest of clinks as he set something on the nightstand. Jesper tentatively laid a hand on the side of Wylan’s neck. It was surprisingly cool, like having a damp cloth passed over his skin. Jesper never felt cool, but perhaps Wylan was hot enough that Jesper’s warm skin felt different to him. He reached over and grasped Hesper’s hand and held it to him, trying to drink in the tiny pleasant feeling.
“How are you doing, love?” Jesper asked.
“Awful,” was Wylan’s pitiful reply.
“Ana mentioned you weren’t well.” Jesper was close with most of the staff. He chattered their ears off but he made them laugh while they worked, and he always helped Ana with the sewing and the cook with meals when he could. “I offered to take the tray up for you.”
Wylan was filled with a flood of gratitude. Having Jesper there for him when he got like this was so much more bearable than having any of the staff intrude. He knew they were just trying to be helpful, but he could hardly bare Jesper most of the time. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Have you had anything to drink? She said you threw up before you came in.”
Wylan cringed. He didn’t like that someone had seen that, even if it was only Ana. It was bad enough that the gardener would probably see it. He shook his head.
“I brought you water and some ginger tea, for your stomach.”
“I don’t think I can manage anything hot right now.”
“Water then. Can you sit up a little?”
Wylan took a deep, unsteady breath, and then pushed himself up. He was on top of the covers, so he just shuffled enough to lay back, propped against the plush pillows. The movement made his vision blur and he shut his eyes against the intensity of the pain for a moment.
“There you go,” Jesper soothed. He handed Wylan a cup of water, and Wylan carefully brought it to his lips. He was aware that his hands shook, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.
When he sipped the water out of the glass, he became aware that his mouth tasted like bile, and we wanted to guzzle the water down and be rid of the awful taste, but his stomach protested, so he stuck to small sips. His eyes were wet.
“Should I call a medic?” Jesper asked the same thing every time, as if he hoped that something would change and the right Grisha would be able to heal Wylan. Despite his kindness and soothing, he looked a little lost, like he always did when Wylan was suffering.
Wylan started to shake his head, then cringed when it shot daggers through his skull, and thought better of it. “No,” he said hoarsely. “There’s nothing they can do except knock me out anyway, and the last healer I talked to said it’s dangerous to do that when you don’t know what’s going on in someone’s brain. I just need to get some sleep…”
Jesper nodded in understanding, but he had a sad look about him. Wylan knew he just wanted to feel useful. Sitting around doing nothing never suited him. That feeling didn’t last much longer, however, because as Wylan took another sip of water, this one slightly bigger than before, his stomach lurched dangerously and he started to gag. He made a depressing attempt to push himself off the bed so he could run to the washroom attached to their bedroom, but Jesper was quicker. In a blink, a basin sat in Wylan’s lap and Jesper was rubbing soothing little circles onto the small of his back while he shook.
The vomiting turned into painful heaves where nothing came out, and Wylan whimpered. When even the dry heaves came to a stop, Wylan wiped tears out of the corners of his eyes with the back of his clammy hand. Then he wiped the sides of his mouth and said, “Sorry.”
“Shhh,” Jesper soothed. “Don’t be sorry, treasure. It’s alright.”
Wylan very much did not feel like a treasure right then. In fact, he felt like the complete opposite of something precious and valuable. But he let the endearment wash over him anyway and tried to back in the feeling that pet names always gave him. It was short lived, because almost right away the screaming in his head once again rose to unbearable levels.
“Maybe you should try some of the tea,” Jesper offered. “I’ll go put some ice in it to cool it down. Would that help?”
Wylan considered for a moment. It was difficult to think through the pain. What would usually only take a moment to decide took significantly more mental effort. “Yeah,” he finally croaked out. “I think it will. Thanks, Jes.”
“I’ll be right back.” Jesper kissed him softly on the crown of his head before he walked out, taking the time to make sure the door shut quietly behind him. Jesper did that just for him, Wylan knew. He was normally so loud, impulsive, and too impatient to do things like close a door gently. He was too full of life. But when he’d noticed how often loud, sudden noises made Wylan flinch in those first few months together he’d made intentional efforts to stop. And he was even more careful when Wylan's head hurt like this.
He sat wearily in the room. He didn’t want to lie down again while he waited, because getting up and down out of the soft mattress and pillows was too much movement for him to handle, but he also couldn’t really do much of anything, and he was too tired to get bored and distracted while he sat quietly alone. So that’s what he did. He didn’t look at anything except the air two feet in front of him. He didn't make any noise except for the sound of breath moving in and out of his nostrils.
After a few minutes that stretched on forever, Jesper returned with a small bowl full of ice. The tea wasn't boiling any more, so it didn’t take much to cool it down enough for Wylan to manage. He sipped it even more carefully than the water, taking care to breath through his nose and focus on not gagging. Jesper sat on the edge of the bed all the while. Occasionally his hands would jerk, as if he was trying to reach out and touch Wylan but immediately pulling himself back out of fear. It made Wylan feel too fragile.
“You can touch me, you know. I’m not going to break.”
“I know,” Jesper replied. It’s just, I know sometimes it makes it worse for you.”
“Wylan sniffled. “I don’t think there’s much of anything that will make it worse right now.”
“That bad huh?” Wylan gave a brief little half-nod that made sparks of pain dance behind his eyes. “What do you want to do right now? What do you need?”
Wylan tried to focus on considering the question. It was difficult. He felt all foggy and unclear. “I think I just need to lay down and rest.”
“Do you want me to go? Or should I stay?”
“Whatever you want.” Truthfully, Wylan wanted him to stay, but he didn’t want the burden of deciding, and he didn’t want Jesper to be forced to be silent and still with him while he suffered in bed.
“I’d like to stay, if that wouldn’t be too much.”
Wylan’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. “Okay. Thank you.” He whispered.
Slowly and carefully, Wylan readjusted himself so he was laying on his side under the covers. Then, he reached out in a wordless request for Jesper to join him, and Jesper did. He was so careful as he climbed into the bed and snuggled up next to Wylan. Wylan buried his face in Jesper’s chest, and breathed a gentle sigh of relief when one of Jesper’s hands started rubbing soothingly over the back of his neck. That always felt the best. Jesper liked to run his fingers through Wylan’s curls when they cuddled, but he had learned quickly that it hurt more than it comforted him in times like this. The back of his neck was okay, as were his hands. Jesper avoided the places that would make the pain worse.
Slowly, despite the pain, Wylan began to drift off. Not into sleep, at least he didn’t think he slept, but into a haze of dazed meditation.
He was a small child again, curled up and crying, his mother soothing him with back rubs and gentle lullabies. He hadn’t known he held that memory until now. His mother wasn’t capable of that sort of mothering anymore. At least, she likely wouldn’t be for a long time yet, if she ever was. His father hadn’t cared when he was sick. He didn’t like letting Wylan rest, the same way he didn’t like his mother resting when she was unwell either. It was weak. It was lazy. It sent a poor message to Ghezen. Wylan couldn’t fathom how his mother had gotten through the day when she was feeling like he was now. Maybe she had been stronger than him. Maybe she hadn’t had a choice.
Sometimes, Wylan doubted how sane his mother had been before Jan had her committed. He wondered if there had been some truth to his description of her mental state. How could a person live with so much cruelty and not become lost and hysterical? How could she have born it? Wylan was lucky that his father had tried to have him killed. It freed him, really. If he’d had to continue living under Jan’s tyranny for the rest of his life, he would have broke. So maybe his mother had been insane, if only because of living through years of Jan Van Eck’s cruelty first.
Another memory danced to the surface. Jesper, laying on a couch in their sitting room, a bleeding bullet round in his thigh. The terror, the fear in Wylan’s heart, despite knowing that a bullet to the thigh wasn’t likely to be deadly. While Wylan had nearly cried while he watched Jesper grimace in pain as the healer drew the bullet out and closed up the would, Jesper had cracked a joke. Their relationship was still new, then, and Wylan had stormed out and left, ranting about how Jesper couldn’t take anything seriously and no wonder he was still getting hurt like this, despite all the peace they were working to build. It had been his words, more than anything, that had hurt Jesper, and he knew that when he returned to allow Jesper to lean on him as they walked slowly and clumsily to Jesper’s bedroom. Jesper accepted the help, but when he was laying down comfortably, he’d soured, and told Wylan that he was the one with a bullet wound in his leg, and he hadn’t even started the damn fight in the first place. He was just trying to help Inej defend some of the girls she had rescued in the harbour.
Wylan’t knew it didn’t matter how he’d gotten the wound- Jesper was hurt, and that hurt him. But Jesper was the one with real pain, and Wylan needed to take care of him. He put extra care into Jesper that week. He brought all of Jesper’s meals to him instead of letting the staff do it. He changed the dressing on the wound himself after asking the healer to show him how to do it right. He helped Jesper dress, and saw a lot more of his body than he ever had before and had to keep hiding his blush each time. He had taken care of Jesper, just like Jesper was taking care of him now, in the best ways he could.
The first time this had happened, Wylan had been so scared and confused. His head hurt, he couldn’t see right, and for a while he had wondered if he was dying. He’d locked himself in his workshop all alone, unaware at the time that the smells of the chemicals he kept were making it worse. Jesper had found him there, curled up on a wooden rocking chair in the corner, his knees pulled up to his chest and his head in his hands. He hadn’t been able to tell Jesper what was wrong, besides that it hurt. That was the worst part of it all; the uncertainty, the embarrassment, and then being sick on Jesper’s shoes.
Jesper hadn’t even cared. He never once mentioned the shoes afterwards. Wylan saw him wearing them the next day, all clean and polished up, and felt grateful that he hadn’t mentioned anything about it.
It took him a while to keep most foods down in the aftermath.
When Wylan finally “woke”, it was to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. He slowly took stock of his surroundings There was no more dim grey light pooling in from behind the curtains. It must have been evening or night time. He was alone in bed, but Jesper was padding through the door, a tray in his hands.
“Hi darling,” Jepser said softly. Soft wasn’t usually a Jesper trait. Wylan loved him fiercely for the intentional gentleness and quiet.
“Hi,” he whispered back. The numbing pain had faded slightly, and he wondered if he’d begun to recover or if it was just coming and going in waves, as it often did. Occasionally he would get very lucky and it would only last for a few hours- he’d be sick in the morning and recovering by the afternoon. More often than not, though, it would last for almost a full day, moving in these rolling waves, like being stuck on a boat in a stormy sea. The worst one had lasted for two whole days. Jesper had been away for the first, and had come home to Wylan sobbing alone in their bed, thinking that it was never going to stop.
Jesper set the tray down on the bedside table. “I brought you something to eat, if you feel up to it. It must have been hours since you last ate.”
“What time is it?”
“Around nine bells.”
Jesper was right. He hadn’t eaten since his lunch at mid-day. He studies the tray. There was a plate with buttered toast, small pieces of plain cheese, and some sliced fruit. There was also a cold glass of ginger tea.
“Thank you.” Wylan reached out and picked up the toast. He nibbled on the corner, testing the waters, and found that his stomach didn’t immediately protest, so he nibbled some more. Jesper had chosen bland things that would be easy on his stomach. No strong flavours, no heavy, thick, or sticky textures. No strong smells either. When Wylan had managed half the toast, he reached out for the tea.
His shaky hand collided clumsily with the cup and knocked it over, sending it down to clang loudly on the tray, spilling everywhere. Wylan gasped and his hands flew to his head, dropping the toast in the process. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breath through the cacophony echoing in his head. That answered the question of whether or not it would be over soon. Unfortunately, this would be a longer bout. Not that he’d really let himself hope anyway.
When he opened his eyes again, Jesper was already cleaning up the mess. The tea had soaked the cheese and had likely splashed on the fruit too. Wylan couldn’t find it in himself to care about that. He didn’t think he could even finish the toast now, anyway.
Once, his instinct would have been to cower from the blows he immediately feared would come when he messed up, but he’d been safe for long enough that it was no longer normal. Jesper had taught him a patience and love his father could never understand. He was simply mopping up the mess with an embroidered napkin that Wylan hadn’t noticed was on the tray. It was splashed randomly with bright colours, and he wondered if Jesper had been playing with his powers while he waited for Wylan to wake up.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“Hey now, it’s alright. I’ll just go to the kitchen and make some more. It’s no big deal.”
“I don’t think I can eat anymore.”
Jesper looked at him for a moment, then nodded solemnly in understanding. “Some more tea though?”
“Hmm. Yeah.”
Jesper rose and kissed him lightly on his head, then whisked the tray away. He returned mere minutes later with a fresh cup of tea. He must have brewed a whole jug of it so it would be ready when Wylan needed it.
Wylan reached out a hand in a wordless request for Jesper to pass him the cup, and Jesper obliged. He sipped on it silently, breathing deeply through his nose in-between sips. Finally, when the glass was half empty, he held it out and allowed Jesper to take it and set it safely down beside the bed.
“What else do you need, Wy? What can I do?”
Wylan wished desperately that there was something more that Jesper could do. He hated seeing Jesper feel useless almost as much as he hated his own pain. “Just need to rest,” he mumbled. His words came out a little slurred.
He was vaguely aware of Jesper whispering soothing words as he lay back down under the sheets. He reached out and Jesper lay down with him. He clasped one of Jesper’s hands in both of his own and closed his eyes. This time, he eventually did drift off into restless sleep.
When Wylan woke up, his first thought was a feeling of incredible lightness. His head wasn’t pounding and his skin didn’t prickle with every little movement. He opened his eyes and saw that it was morning. He had somehow managed to sleep through the night.
Slowly and carefully, he pushed himself up and rose from the bed. Moving too fast would bring back aftershocks of pain, though he knew he was past the worst of it. He stood slowly. Standing or moving too fast would cause him to feel even more lightheaded. He padded over to the window and pulled aside the curtains to see the view of the garden below. It was a regular dim, sunless Ketterdam day, and WYlan spotted Jesper out in the garden with his mother. He watched as Jesper kneeled in what was probably very damp grass and lay his hands down flat, his finger carding through the grass the same way they moved through Wylan’s hair. Head a look of concentration on his face for a few moments, then he grinned. He lifted his hands, revealing the colourless grass underneath, and showed them to Marya, who gave a delighted laugh that Wylan couldn’t hear.
He couldn’t see from so far away, but it looked like Jesper had leached the colour out of the grass and onto his fingernails. It was a talent that he’d been practicing lately. Last week it had been gold that came from a coin, the week before it had been the rich brown of coffee beans. Once, he had impulsively taken some baby blue out of one of Wylan’s favourite sweaters while they were relaxing after a long day of work. When Wylan had protested, he apologised profusely and insisted he thought he could put it back. He certainly tried, but he wasn’t even close to mastering the skill yet. The sweater was ruined, and Wylan was grumpy about it for days.
Now, watching Jesper paint his fingernails grass green was a delight. Jesper was a rainbow of colour in what had one been a very dull, grey world. He may have loved that soft blue sweater, but he loved Jesper more.
As if he sensed Wylan watching, Jesper glanced up and met his eye. He smiled and waved, and Wylan smiled back happily. He watched as Jesper said something to his mother, squeezed her hand briefly, and then headed towards the house. Wylan padded softly out of the room to meet him.
They met in the hallway on the ground floor. Jesper opened up his arms for a hug, and Wylan allowed himself to be folded into the warm embrace. With his arms wrapped around Jesper’s torso, and his cheek pressed to Jesper’s shoulder, he felt safe in a way that he couldn’t replicate in any other scenario.
Feeling better? Jesper murmured into his hair.
Wylan nodded. “Still sensitive,” he replied. “But the worst of it is over.”
“Thank the saints,” Jesper said.
Wylan pulled away slightly to look up at Jesper’s face. He had to tilt his chin to do so. “I think I’m ready for some proper breakfast. Join me?”
“Absolutely. Anything for you, merchling.”