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Chapter Text

“It’s definitely morally questionable.”

“Questionable? Nina, it’s morally bankrupt,” Inej retorted, folding her arms as if that could bring about the end of the conversation. Jesper glanced up from the napkin he was scrawling on, the warmth of the Kooperom Café and the smell of coffee deceptively relaxing.

“Am I putting ‘morally questionable’ in the pros or cons list?”

“Cons!” Inej answered with a kick to his shin under the table.

“Pros,” Kaz interrupted, jabbing Jesper with his cane until he shuffled over in the booth with a huff. “If you want to get rich, you need to get comfortable with immorality.” After a pause, Jesper scrawled ‘morally questionable’ down into the pros column of his napkin.

“Kaz, how can you support anything that helps Jan Van Eck? One time I watched you literally boo him when he came on the news,” Nina asked.

“If he’s giving away money, I don’t see why we shouldn’t take it.”

“He’s not giving it away, Kaz. He’s paying someone, specifically a person of colour, to date his son to make himself look less racist!” Inej snapped, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. “It’s exploitative, and backwards, and harmful.”

“It’s fifty thousand kruge, ‘Nej,” Jesper pointed out with a wince, knowing somewhere deep down that the Suli girl was definitely right, but that he also needed the money. “And it’s not really dating, it’s more… pretend dating.”

“And it would be great for your career,” Nina added, pulling her phone out and unlocking it with a few taps of her fingers, her nails clicking satisfyingly against the screen as Jesper added ‘good 4 career’ to his list. “Wylan Van Eck is practically a celebrity himself. Forty-nine thousand followers on Instagram, articles in magazines published all over Kerch, mutuals with loads of celebs and creatives. One week of pretend-dating him could give you so many networking opportunities. Even Kaz follows him.”

“It’s useful to keep up with what the elite are doing,” Kaz muttered, sipping his coffee with something close to a grimace.

“And Inej, you like that little series he does, don’t deny it.”

“Okay, I do like the Sunday Stores series, but I just like that he focuses on small businesses! He’s still his father’s puppet and not a good person.”

Jesper scrawled down ‘his Da’s puppet’ into the con list, and dropped his forehead onto the table with a groan. The conversation continued on in a buzz around him, Inej’s outrage matched by Kaz’s arrogant indifference.

The email outlining the deal had only come through this morning (to his personal email and not through his agent, which was a terrifying indication of the scope of Van Eck’s intel), and already the decision was giving him a headache. It was a simple enough offer. Pretend to date Wylan Van Eck, the closest thing Ketterdam had to a Prince, for approximately six months (or more specifically for six public events, expenses paid, plus social media posts) in return for a one-off fifty thousand kruge payment. Nowhere in the email had a reason for this offer been given, but that wasn’t necessary. The eminent leader of Kerch’s Merchant Council had recently been overheard making some less than inclusive comments about employees at the exchange, and it had made quite a splash in some of the less forgiving tabloids, and even in some of the more forgiving ones. The whole proposal was a giant, audacious PR move, the likes of which only a Van Eck could truly get away with. Fifty thousand kruge was nothing to them.

Money wasn’t exactly an issue, but it also wasn’t exactly in great supply. Jesper’s acting career was no longer stagnant, he’d had a handful of smaller roles in popular shows, which was no doubt where Van Eck’s PR team had found him, a stint in the theatre that had only just closed, and his agent had lined him up with some auditions that looked pretty damn hopeful. But most of the money he’d earned so far had gone on paying off his debt, and he was fairly tired of counting change at the end of every month. Fifty thousand kruge could go a long way.

“Jesper? You’re not actually considering this, are you?” Inej’s voice broke through his distracted haze, and he forced himself to sit up, rubbing what was inevitably a red mark on his forehead.

“I’m not not considering it?”

“You’d seriously let Van Eck exploit you for fifty thousand kruge? You’d help him distract everyone from what he’s said?”

“If it’s not me, it’ll just be someone else, ‘Nej. We’ve done questionable things for money before!”

“But this is… it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Then it’s a good thing you weren’t chosen, isn’t it, my dear Inej?” Kaz interjected, finishing his coffee. How much time had passed while Jesper was in crisis?

“Nina, what way would Matthias vote?” Jesper asked, mostly trying to de-escalate whatever was about to implode between Kaz and Inej. Nina glanced up from her phone and rolled her eyes at him.

“Matthias? The Matthias Helvar of Fjerda? I wonder what he thinks about deception, dishonesty, and benefitting from prejudice, let me think…”

“Point taken.”

“That’s two votes for no,” Kaz said, gesturing to Inej and Nina’s phone, “and two for yes,” he continued, gesturing to himself and Nina.

“Being in a group of five is the worst,” Jesper whined, dropping his head back against the leather of the booth.

“You could always make Wylan Van Eck our sixth,” Nina grinned, putting her phone down. “I’m sure he’d love the Crow Club. He seems like a seedy casino type.”

“I take it back. You’re the worst.”

“Wylan Van Eck would melt if he stepped foot in the Crow Club,” Kaz sniped, pulling Jesper’s coffee towards him and ignoring the glare he got in response.

“You never know,” Nina continued, twirling her hair around her finger. “You can’t believe everything you see on the internet these days.”

“None of you are helping me with this.”

“That’s because we all knew you were going to say yes the minute you told us it was fifty thousand kruge,” Kaz said, glaring at the stolen coffee he’d sipped like it had tried to kiss his mother. If Kaz even had a mother, Jesper thought. That man could have emerged from a swamp fully formed and it wouldn’t surprise me.  

“Then what was this past hour for?!”

“Moral and philosophical debate?” Nina offered.

“Trying to get you to do the right thing?” said Inej.

“Entertainment,” concluded Kaz, pushing the mug back towards Jesper, the coffee unfinished. There was a reason Jesper had begun drinking it with so much sugar, and it wasn’t because he needed the energy.

“I’ll go to the meeting tomorrow,” Jesper conceded, the decision settling uncomfortably in his mind. “If it’s awful, I don’t have to sign anything. I’ll just see what they have to say.”

“Careful the Van Ecks don’t suck out your soul while you’re there,” Nina added, pointing at him with a long, brightly painted nail.

“They’re millionaires, not demons, Zenik. Plus, it’s just the PR firm. The Van Ecks definitely won’t be there.” Nina gave him a one-shouldered shrug in response, looking unconvinced.

“I’m just saying, be careful. And grab me some goodies while you’re there.”

Chapter Text

The offices that housed Kerch’s most expensive PR firm occupied the left-most corner of the top floor of the Exchange. The entire level was characterized by marble flooring, glass panes and gold accents, and a polite but slightly confused looking receptionist had taken one look at Jesper (who had, despite what she may have thought, dressed up for the occasion) and asked very sincerely if he was lost. It took an uncomfortable amount of effort to convince her that no, Jesper wasn’t lost, and yes, he did have an appointment.

Finally seated in a plush chair that might have honestly been comfier than his own bed, Jesper fidgeted absently with his rings, watching presumed employees scurry past like ants. No wonder I stood out, Jesper thought. Everyone here was dressed in drab greys and blacks and navy blues, and everyone here looked painfully Kerch. Pale skin, hair in some shade of muddy blonde or mousey brown, faces pinched into efficient, focused little frowns. His red leather coat, his dark green waistcoat with the paisley print, his black jeans that were too tight to be truly professional, all marked him as an outsider. A very fashionable outsider, in his opinion, but still an outsider.

“Mr. Fahey?” A woman’s voice, polite but authoritative, cut through his silent monologue bemoaning the state of fashion in Ketterdam’s elite. Glancing up from his people watching, Jesper took in the woman in front of him. Dark hair slicked into a neat bun, dark eyes that watched him analytically, and an absolutely fantastic red pant suit. With a grin, Jesper stood and shook the outstretched, perfectly manicured hand.

“The one and only,” he replied, turning the charm on as easily as he drew breath.

“Anya Van Poel,” came the answer, accompanied by a slick, practiced red smile. “Please, come through to my office.” The request felt more like a command, and Jesper found himself following the click of her heels down the marble corridor, only just remembering to shoot a wink at the receptionist on his way past.

Anya’s office was simply an extension of the marble and gold monstrosity Jesper had navigated so far, floor to ceiling windows along one side providing a view down onto the bustling street below, where Merchers and their followers attempted to take some kind of a lunch break. A glass desk with a sleek black chair took up the majority of the space, the wall behind lined with books that Jesper wasn’t sure were all real. While Jesper stared around the room, Anya slid into her seat and tapped a few buttons on the keyboard of a laptop.

“Please, have a seat. Were you offered a drink?” Those sharp nails gestured to two chairs that faced the desk, and Jesper dropped into the one nearest the window. He always listened better when he had something to watch, and the people milling about would definitely do.

“I was, but I’m all good. Any more caffeine and I might take off, y’know?”

“Of course. Shall we get right to it, then?” Anya pulled open a drawer from a slim cabinet beneath the desk, and withdrew a thin manila file, placing it on the desk between them. “I take it you had a chance to look over the proposed contract?”

Jesper blinked, gaze flitting from the folder to the woman in front of him. He’d expected some small talk, maybe, a little bit of buttering up to make sure he was on board before they got down to business. Kaz had prepped him for flattery, for manipulation. Not for blunt candour and cutting to the chase.

“I- uh. Yeah. Yeah, I’ve looked over it, but-”

“And I assume you found the terms acceptable? The financial remuneration is significant, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“I mean, yeah, fifty thousand is a lot of money, and-”

“We will need you to sign an NDA alongside the contract, of course. A necessary evil that will help protect all of us in the long term. If that’s all, then you simply need to initial each page and sign the last,” Anya finished, flipping open the folder and tapping the first page with her nail. Letting out a frustrated huff, Jesper stared in disbelief. The only person who interrupted him this frequently was Nina, but it was much less annoying when she did it. He was quickly realising that this wasn’t a negotiation – his very arrival apparently signified to them that he’d agreed, and now they only needed him to fall in line. They don’t know me very well, he thought.

“Hold your horses, cowgirl,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender and offering a grin he hoped was still charming. “I have questions, and my legal team advised me not to sign until I had answers.” His legal team consisted entirely of Kaz, but nobody else needed to know that.

With an arched brow, Anya turned away from her laptop for the first time since she’d sat down and faced him head-on. His cowgirl quip had not amused her, that much was obvious, but she was far too professional to say so.

“Of course, Jesper. May I call you Jesper?”

“Rather that than someone else’s name.”

“Jesper, then. You have questions.” It was a statement rather than an offer to start asking, but Jesper decided to charge ahead anyway. The tension in the room couldn’t get thicker, could it?

“Right. First question,” he started, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “Do you seriously think this will work? Because the whole premise seems insane to me.” This, of all things, seemed to amuse the woman in front of him. With a small smile, Anya nodded.

“It will work.”

“But how do you know? It could implode in all our faces.”

“We know it will work because we’ve done it before. You would be surprised how many of the relationships you see online and in the papers are completely fictional.”

“But won’t people realise what we’re doing?”

“Some might. There will always be a small minority who do, but they are just that. A minority. People want to believe in love, Jesper. And love is what we are selling them.”

“That’s… bleak.”

“Perhaps. But it’s how the world works.”

“And you don’t think the whole thing could just dig Van Eck deeper into a hole?”

“And which hole would that be?” There was a challenge laced into her tone, one that Jesper would have been willing to rise to, if a sharp knock against the glass door hadn’t stopped the words from leaving his mouth. The same receptionist from before, slightly flustered, came in once beckoned by Anya’s sharp gesture.

“What is it, Hanna?” Jesper twisted in his seat to watch the girl wither under Anya’s irritated gaze but managed to keep his grimace internal.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Van Poel, but Wylan Van Eck has arrived.”

“And you haven’t brought him because…?”

“Apparently one of the interns told him he was meeting you and his father, not Mr. Fahey. He’s not, um. He’s not very happy.” Anya gave a long-suffering sigh that reminded Jesper of Kaz, and nodded, smile briefly morphing into that same pinched frown of the other office workers.

“Fine. Bring him through. We’ll deal with the intern later.” With a hurried nod, Hanna vanished back down the corridor, the glass door swinging shut in her wake. Jesper turned back to Anya, who typed something out rapidly on her laptop before turning back to him.

“Are you in trouble now?” He asked, the urge to create mischief similar to the urge to press big red buttons.

“With Wylan? I wouldn’t imagine so, though this discussion could become trickier.”

“Isn’t he your boss, or something like that? He pays you, or at least his Da does.”

“Something like that,” Anya answered absently, standing up as another knock reverberated from the door. Turning, Jesper watched as Hanna held the door open, and Wylan Van Eck stepped into the office. The fact that Wylan was as pretty in real life as he seemed on a phone screen sent an unjustified spike of irritation through Jesper’s chest. His red hair curled just as vibrantly, his freckles were just as wholesome and adorable, and his eyes just as bright blue as advertised. It didn’t seem fair. If Wylan was rich and pretty, he had to be a horrible person, right? Nobody could be rich, pretty, and nice.

Anya had stepped around the desk and was holding out a hand for Wylan to shake, the movement pulling Jesper from his weird whirlpool of jealousy and attraction.

“Wylan, it’s good to see you,” her voice was warmer and more familiar when she addressed the red-head, but that made sense. They’d probably met a hundred times before.

“Father,” came a dry, if amused response. “You look different. The sun in Shu Han has done wonders for your skin.” Anya gave a slightly strained laugh in response, releasing Wylan’s hand and closing the door.

“Apologies for the mix-up. I’ll make sure the employee who made such a mistake is dealt with.” Gesturing to the free chair, Anya retreated behind her desk. Wylan crossed the floor, giving Jesper time to take him in a little more. He wore a soft blue jumper, the colour nearly a perfect match for his eyes, that was slightly too large but in a way that felt (and probably was) very deliberate. There was a cream button-up underneath, the collar poking over the top and the lower hem just visible below the jumper. It was a casual enough look for a meeting, but Jesper was under no illusions. The jumper alone likely cost more than his outfit.

“Dealt with? That sounds serious. Perhaps public execution?” Wylan answered Anya, sitting in the chair and briefly meeting Jesper’s gaze. Mirth danced in his eyes, and for a second Jesper got the sense that he was in on a joke that Anya had missed, or been deliberately excluded from. It was an odd feeling, but not one he hated, and if Wylan was fazed by Jesper’s blatant staring, it didn’t show.

“Of course not! A written warning, perhaps, or-”

“A warning? For a typo in an email? You never fail to impress me with your attempts at totalitarianism, Anya.” Anya sighed that same, long-suffering sigh and Jesper got the distinct impression that she had lived this conversation before. Many, many times.

“You want me to do nothing, I presume.”

“The punishment should fit the crime, after all,” Wylan answered, smiling warmly and settling back in his chair.

“So no public execution?” Jesper couldn’t help but ask, finding mild enjoyment in how ruffled Anya’s perfectly slick feathers were becoming. “I would have brought back beheading, in all honesty.” He saw Wylan glance at him, smile widening a little as he gestured with all the severity of a lawyer in court.

“Beheading is far too messy, absolutely not. Hanging, perhaps, or lethal injection.”

“Is lethal injection truly public?” he countered, as Anya rubbed her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“A gallery open to a few, I suppose,” Wylan answered with a shrug. “We could livestream for the masses.”

“You do have plenty of followers.” Clicking his fingers triumphantly, Wylan nodded.

“I knew there was a reason I chose this career path.”

“Wylan,” Anya interrupted, curt and beseeching at the same time. Holding his hands up in surrender, the redhead next to him grinned.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll behave.”

“Let’s not resort to dishonesty, please,” the woman replied, glancing between the two of them like a flaw in her plan was starting to become obvious. Jesper blinked at her, aiming to look the picture of innocence. Shaking her head again, Anya gestured to him. “Wylan, I’d like to formally introduce you to Jesper Fahey. We were just discussing his potential contract when you arrived.”

Wylan turned in his seat, holding out a hand almost automatically. Jesper took it in his own and tried not to think about the fact that they fit so nicely together, that Wylan’s hand was warm and soft, only marred by a slim scar over the first knuckle.

“You haven’t signed yet? There’s still time to run.”

“Should I run?” Jesper asked, half-joking and half-genuine.

“No,” Anya answered sternly.

“Probably,” Wylan said, releasing Jesper’s hand and folding his arms across his chest. Raising his eyebrows, Jesper turned to Anya, who tapped the file on the desk.

“If the terms are agreeable, and I’ve answered your questions-”

“How much are they paying you?” Wylan interrupted, gaze dropping briefly to the file and then back to Jesper. Those blue eyes were unwavering but warm. This didn’t feel like a trap. The best traps never do, echoed Kaz’s voice in the back of his mind.

“I- uh. Am I supposed to say?”

“To me? Sure. To anyone else? Probably not.”

“You do not have to tell him,” Anya countered, closing the file abruptly. Rolling his eyes, Wylan glanced at her.

“Oh, you’re definitely underpaying him,” he said, then turned to look at Jesper again. “They’re definitely underpaying you.”

“Fifty thousand is underpaying?!”

“Fifty thousand? Anya Van Poel, I expected better, honestly.”

“Wylan, your father-”

“My father wants the problem that he caused fixed. The least you can do is pay this poor man seventy-five thousand to do your dirty work for you.” Jesper’s eyes widened, but he forced his jaw shut. Anything he said could ruin the direction of this conversation, and he really, really liked where this conversation was going.

“Seventy-five is definitely-”

“The perfect amount? I agree.” Wylan cut her off, tilting his head as if daring her to argue. The two stared at each other like sharks circling (if one shark wore impeccable stilettos and the other smiled angelically the entire time). After a handful of tense, silent seconds, Anya sighed, drawing the contract closer to her and flicking through.

“Fine. Seventy-five thousand. Does that work for you, Mr. Fahey?”

Jesper stared for a moment too long, only snapping out of it when the man next to him kicked him gently.

“Oh! Uh. Yes. Yeah. Definitely works for me. Where do I sign?”

Chapter Text

Jesper had left the Exchange with a freshly updated and signed contract, the promise of a detailed itinerary of events, and two new phone numbers; Anya’s, which he hoped never to have to call, and Wylan’s, which was accompanied by an unexpected but genuine offer to help if Jesper didn’t want to call Anya. In the moment, the boost up to seventy-five thousand kruge had swept away his concerns like a wave across the shore, carrying off questions of morals and reputational damage and even logistics as though they were mere pebbles in the sand. Three weeks later, those concerns were raining back down on him like hailstones.

The first “date” wasn’t scheduled for another four days, but artfully placed rumours were already beginning to pop up in gossip columns and celebrity news posts online. His follower count had incrementally grown over the past fortnight, not by much, but by enough each day to be noticeable. Everything suddenly felt very, very real. And now a large rack of clothing had been delivered to his house, an assortment of garment bags and boxes that were unexpected and overwhelming. Staring at the clothes he’d unpacked and scattered on his bed, Jesper paced his room for the hundredth time. The little Inej sat on his shoulder twirled her braid and whispered that he could still back out, that they could find a loop in his contract. The tiny Kaz on his other shoulder jabbed him with an even tinier cane and reminded him that it was seventy-five thousand kruge. With a sharp huff of breath, Jesper snatched his phone up from where it was charging. For a second, his thumb hovered over Anya’s contact information. Then, closing his eyes and forcing himself forward, he called Wylan Van Eck.

The phone rang for what felt like a decade. It made sense, Jesper thought. They’d exchanged a bare handful of texts since the meeting, mostly Jesper confirming he’d got the times right and Wylan offering one or two-word responses, only softened by the accompanying smiley faces. Pacing another loop around his room and stepping over boxes and shoes and, inexplicably, a mini basketball hoop, Jesper listened to the electronic dial tone. Wylan definitely wasn’t going to answer. Why would he? Jesper wasn’t his friend, wasn’t even really an acquaintance, he was just some guy so desperate to be famous that he-

“Hello?” Wylan’s voice cut through Jesper’s anxious spiral, and his pacing stopped. What the fuck was he doing?

“Wylan? Hey, sorry, is this- this is probably a bad time, I can call you back, or- I shouldn’t have called, maybe, I’ll just-”

“Jesper? Are you okay?” There was concern in Wylan’s voice that was too kind, too genuine, and Jesper never, ever should have called.

“Me? I’m great, love, just wonderful, really I was just calling to see if you were okay.”

“You have to understand that that was wildly unconvincing. You understand that, right?” Wylan asked, the question accompanied by the soft sound of a door closing. Rubbing his forehead, Jesper glared at the mini basketball hoop, at the clothes on his bed, and at the hole in his sock he only just noticed.

“In my defence, voice acting is not my speciality.”

“If that was any reflection on your acting, I think we have bigger concerns.”

“Okay, you being all snarky and funny was cute when it was aimed at Anya, but I don’t appreciate it being aimed at me.”

“You thought I was cute?” There was restrained laughter in Wylan’s voice, and Jesper collapsed dramatically onto his mattress/heap-of-clothes.

“That is not the point! I think I’m having a crisis, and you are not being helpful.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try and be helpful. Am I right in assuming this crisis has to do with the strategy, and that’s why you’re calling me and not one of your friends?”

“Is that what we’re calling it? A ‘strategy’? Not a scheme, or a plot, or… a moment of collective insanity?”

“Would calling it any of those things help?”

“No! But it might be a more accurate reflection of what’s happening!”

“You’re having doubts.”

“You’re so observant.”

“Ghezen, do you want my help or not?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, I do. I really do.”  

“Are you thinking of backing out?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. Fuck, I don’t know. I have no clue what I’m doing.” There was a brief pause, and he heard a faint shuffling sound through the phone, followed by a soft sigh. When Wylan spoke again, his voice was quieter, gentler.

“Okay, I get that. You don’t know what you’re doing, that’s… scary. But you’ve… moved countries, and gone on stage in front of hundreds, and put yourself in front of cameras, and done plenty of scary things, right? So you can do scary things, and difficult things, and things you haven’t done before. This is just another one of those.”

Jesper took a breath, the vice in his chest loosening a little. There was a logic to Wylan’s words that transcended blind reassurance, and that made him easier to listen to. It helped that his Geldin accent curled through the phone like calligraphy, that his crisp, calm voice seemed made to recite odes and sonnets and ballads.

“How do you know all that stuff?”

“You think they chose you without doing any research first?”

“I honestly suspected that they just Googled ‘Black actor Kerch television’ and clicked through the results.”

“That… was probably how the research started,” Wylan answered, sounding resigned.

“You don’t think Anya was already a fan?”

“I think Anya is a robot who plugs herself into the wall of her office to charge overnight. Look, even if you don’t know what you’re doing, I do. I’ve done this before, so if you’re not sure, you can just follow my lead.”

“I’ve never been great at following instructions.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. But you have no choice.”

“Oh?”

“If you back out, my father will undoubtedly sue you for breach of contract. So, it has to be fine, because there is literally no other option.” A beat passed as Jesper blinked at his ceiling and reckoned with that fact.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the embodiment of positivity and wholesomeness, or something?” he finally asked.

“Do you believe everything you see on the internet?”

Chapter Text

Sage and Sound was a relatively luxurious coffeehouse that had sprung up on one of the main thoroughfares bordering both the University and the Geldin district a few years ago. Since its conception, the blue and gold façade had become rather synonymous with Ketterdam’s more popular elite; the artists and musicians, the influencers and the actors. Jesper had been once before, to meet with an agent who had clearly aimed to impress, but  it was on the tame side for his tastes – he preferred the chaotic heat of the Kooperom café, the shouts of students arguing over coffee that was slightly too expensive (rather than far too expensive) and the worn out booths over the aesthetically pleasing but usually uncomfortable wooden chairs at Sage and Sound. But it was here Anya had scheduled their first official ‘date’, not the Kooperom, and so Jesper had made a promise to himself to enjoy it.

Wylan was already there when Jesper arrived, sat at a table perpendicular to the window and caught in a shaft of afternoon sun. The sleeves of his too-large green sweater were pulled down slightly over his hands, and his gaze was fixed with determination on the screen of his phone, a small divot between his brows as he swiped between two images, oblivious to Jesper’s arrival. Stopping at the table, Jesper tucked his hands into his pockets, tempted to see how long it would be before Wylan broke free from his reverie. But curiosity got the better of him, and in peeking over Wylan’s screen, he found the boy swiping back and forth between a set of photos; candids, apparently, of him at an event.

“The third one’s best, if you want my opinion.” Wylan startled in his chair, dropping his phone onto the table with a clatter that made him wince. Biting his lip, Jesper tried not to laugh. “Sorry. Probably should have started with ‘hello’.”

Wylan stood, recovering from his shock with an easy smile and a breath of a laugh.

“That is the standard greeting, I think.” Jesper hesitated for a millisecond before pulling the smaller boy in for a hug. This was what they’d agreed upon as a suitable greeting when Jesper had called Wylan in a panic last night, suddenly struck with the worry that he might be supposed to kiss Wylan when he arrived.

“That would be solicitation”, Wylan had answered, with no shortage of amusement in his voice. “And I’m sure that requires a very different contract.”

Feeling Wylan’s arms around his waist, Jesper relaxed a little. Hugs were something he could do, something he might even say he was good at, and it seemed that Wylan was pretty damn good at them too. He smelt of something sweet, like vanilla, hidden under the typical smoky smell of Kerch and the rich, heavy smell of the coffee shop. Wylan pulled back first, sitting back down and checking his phone for scratches before tucking it away. Following his cue, Jesper sat opposite and tried not to fidget. He lasted all of ten seconds before he started pushing the small sugar pot around in circles.

“Have you been here before?” Wylan asked, gaze earnest and patient and not at all nervous. Jesper sat back, trying to sink into it, trying to find the confidence he usually used as a crutch in unusual situations.

“Once, with an agent. It did not go well, and they definitely did not sign me.” Wylan raised his eyebrows in response, sliding a menu between Jesper’s hands without interrupting the route of the sugar pot.

“Ouch. What happened?”

“May or may not have tipped coffee over his lap.” Jesper flipped open the menu gratefully, but only skimmed the list. Wylan’s expression of surprise was too distracting, blue eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

“On purpose?”

“Depends who you ask, love.”

“I’m asking you, obviously.”

“Oh, then definitely on purpose.” Giving a startled laugh, Wylan shook his head.

“Why would you do that?!”

“He said something shitty about Suli people, and my best friend is Suli! I wouldn’t have worked for him anyway.” A second’s silence passed between them, Wylan tilting his head in thought and clearly weighing up his response. Jesper beat him to it. “I see the irony in that, Van Eck, don’t tire yourself out looking for the words.”

“Wylan.”

“What?”

“Just Wylan is fine. People call my father Van Eck, I’m just Wylan.”

“I don’t think you’re just anything, love,” Jesper replied, touching Wylan’s hand where it rested on the table and smiling widely at the waiter who had appeared at his shoulder. To his credit, Wylan fell into the act with ease, the smile on his face shifting infinitesimally from kind to flirtatious, his hand twisting to entangle his fingers with Jesper’s. The waiter glanced at their hands, glanced at the both of them and simply returned their smiles politely. Small talk and ordering passed painlessly, even if Jesper had completely forgotten to look at the menu, and then they were alone again, hands still tangled together on the tabletop. After waiting for the waiter to tuck himself back behind the counter, Jesper broke the silence.

“Are we allowed to talk about it?” Wylan blinked in confusion, nose wrinkling.

“Talk about what?”

“You know…it?”

“It?” Wylan’s frown deepened, and his head tilted again. “Sex?” Jesper sputtered out a laugh, shaking his head.

“No! Why would I want to talk about sex?!”

“I don’t know! Why are you laughing at me?!”

“Because instead of realising that I was asking about the deal,” Jesper hissed, lowering his voice but still holding back laughter. “You thought I was asking you about sex like an awkward teenager.”

“You phrased it really weirdly, that’s not my fault!”

“It’s not not your fault. And you haven’t even answered my question,” Jesper retorted, folding his arms to emphasise his point. A flush had climbed onto Wylan’s cheeks, blurring his freckles and brightening his eyes.

“I mean, you really- I just- ugh,” Wylan conceded with a huff. “Of course we can, just don’t… yell it from the rooftops.”

“Thank the Saints, because I have questions.”

“I’m stunned,” Wylan replied, voice dry. Jesper grinned, taking Wylan’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it with a wink.

“Stunning, more like.”

“Too much,” Wylan instantly corrected, but an amused smile was creeping back onto his face.

“No way! If we’re doing this, you get the full experience, and that means there’s no such thing as too much.”

“I told Anya we should have written a severance clause.”

“Rude. Can I ask my questions now?”

“Wait until our order’s here!”

“Your wish is my command, love.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m committed.”

Wylan muttered something that sounded like ‘you should be committed’, but it was lost upon the arrival of their drinks (an awfully green, swampy looking coffee for Wylan, a caramel iced latte for Jesper) and a pastry that Wylan proceeded to cut neatly into pieces.

“Now can I ask?” Jesper repeated the second the waiter had moved on.

“Is this what it feels like to work with children?” Wylan questioned in response, picking at the squares of pastry on his plate.

“I’m taking your attitude as a yes, I hope you know that,” Jesper continued, stealing some of the now dismembered croissant.

“I wouldn’t dare assume otherwise.”

“Question one-”

“Is this in order of priority?”

“It’s in whatever order I remember them in.”

“Got it.”

“Question one,” Jesper repeated, watching as Wylan continued to push food around and take only the tiniest bite. “Why here? Isn’t Sage and Sound a bit…obvious?” He watched as Wylan considered his question, chewing the small bite of pastry and squinting a little in thought.

“You could argue that, sure, but we need to be at least a little bit obvious so that we actually get noticed, right? If we went somewhere completely unknown, there’s a chance nobody would see us. It’s also somewhere I visit quite often, so it wouldn’t seem unusual for me to be here.”

“That much thought went into the café choice?”

“Oh, no, way more thought went into it than that, I’m just summarising.”

“You’re actually being serious, aren’t you?”

“As the plague. Or Anya.”

“And this much planning goes into each of these dates?”

“This is the easy one. Have you actually looked at the schedule?”

“Of course I have!” Wylan raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink and generally giving off the air of being unconvinced. It was annoying that he could already read Jesper so well. “Okay, so I was drunk, but I have looked at it at least once.”

“Then you’ll know why this is our easiest date.”

“I absolutely know that.” Jesper did not know at all, but there was no way he was about to admit it. Rolling his eyes, Wylan put his mug down and pushed curls from his eyes.

“Apart from one dinner in about three months, all of our other scheduled dates are parties. Lots of people, lots of pretend. And then there’s the gala.”

“The gala?”

“Our third official date, and basically the hard launch of the relationship for the press. It’s a fundraising gala for the Kerch Education and Arts Foundation. It’s… a lot.”

“You sound nervous. You haven’t sounded nervous so far, should I be worried?”

“No! No, you don’t need to be worried about it. Anya will have sent you a whole file to prepare, just make sure you read it. She’s probably planned the evening down to our outfits, she usually does.”

“How long has she worked for you?”

“For my father, you mean? I don’t pay her fees, she just tells me what to do, where to be, what to wear, all of that stuff. I think probably since I was a child, but I’m not sure. I can’t remember a time she wasn’t around.”

“Your life is so weird.”

“Charming.”

“That is my middle name.”

“I know for a fact that it isn’t,” Wylan retorted, his smile twisting into a smirk that was almost mischievous. Jesper paused, narrowing his eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Something. Do you know my middle name?”

“Maybe.” Jesper drew in an exaggerated gasp, clutching at invisible pearls at Wylan’s response and quietly revelling in the laugh it drew from the other boy.

“You’re bluffing.”

“You underestimate Anya’s power. She’s all-seeing and all-knowing, and she debriefs very thoroughly.”

“And here I thought she wasn’t your type. Should I be jealous?” Jesper grinned when Wylan snorted lightly, pausing in his absent snacking to recover from the laugh.

“While you shouldn’t believe everything you read online, I can confirm that my coming out was definitely real.”

“And I assume I have Anya to thank for the final post choice?”

“No!” Jesper paused, waiting, knowing there was more to come. Wylan glared at him and eventually relented. “There was a team of people, not just Anya.”

 “Saints, I knew it!”

“Oh, hush. You don’t get a sticker for working out what everyone in this industry already knew.”

“What do I get a sticker for?”

“Is that question two?”

“Shit, I got distracted! You’re very sneaky, Wylan Van Eck-”

“You distracted yourself, I actually got us back on track-”

“Sneaky. Question two, then! How many times have you done this? Pretended to date someone, that is, not get coffee with a gorgeous guy.”

Wylan tapped the table absently, pastry still largely untouched, and frowned.

“It’s safe to say it’s not my first rodeo.”

“Ah. Save a horse, ride a cowboy.” Blinking, Wylan paused to study him.

“You really just say the first thing that pops into your head, don’t you?”

“Sometimes I don’t think it even reaches my brain. Just comes straight out.”

“Definitely should have written a severance clause.”

Chapter Text

“She wants me to wear grey, Wylan. Grey. Are you even listening to me?” Jesper glared at the unzipped garment bag on his couch, at the heinous grey silk shirt Anya and her little team of cronies had picked out for him. His phone was propped on a cushion with Wylan on speaker, though Wylan had definitely not been doing much of the speaking.

“I’m definitely listening. Struggling to see the issue, but listening nonetheless,” came his slightly tinny response through the phone.

“I don’t do grey, love. I do colours, and patterns, and style. This is going to make me look like I fell out of a business wear catalogue.”

“It’s a silk shirt and jeans?”

“So you do understand!”

“I was mostly questioning your understanding of business wear, but sure. Wear something else if you have to.” Jesper paused, turning his gaze to the phone like he could peer down the line at Wylan and work out the root of his dismissive tone. They’d had two other phone calls since their “date” at Sage and Sound, and usually, Wylan was more than happy to indulge in Jesper’s complaints.

“Are you good? You seem… distracted.” Another beat passed, and Jesper already knew that Wylan was weighing up his words, careful as a politician when it came to what he would say next.

“I’m fine, just busy. It won’t be the end of the world if you wear something else, but I would go for something similar. If it’s too outlandish, Anya will be pissed.” It was an obvious evasion, the kind of non-answer Jesper was getting used to but didn’t like receiving.

“What are you busy with?”

“Nothing major, don’t worry. Have you noticed a rise in followers recently?”

“Is that what you’re working on? A data analysis of my follower count? Saints, that’s so geeky.”

“I’m not working on that, though someone at the firm probably is. I was just curious.” Frowning, Jesper rezipped the garment bag and carried the phone through to his room, determined to pick out something else to wear. He had at least two hours before he had to leave, two and a half if he ate on the way to meeting Wylan.

“I’ve got about a thousand more followers. It’s weird, really, seeing as you didn’t even put my name on that post.” Wylan had shared a picture from their first date on Instagram, but Jesper’s face hadn’t been revealed, and he wasn’t tagged anywhere. It was a simple shot of Jesper’s hand curled around his coffee cup, condensation gathering between his fingers, edited to reveal the faintest reflection of Wylan in the gemstone of one of his rings. His follower count had jumped and continued trickling up each day since.

“The rings are pretty recognisable, for one, and the staff at Sage and Sound are notorious gossips, that’s one of the reasons the firm chose it. Word would have got out pretty fast.”

“Calling it ‘the firm’ makes me feel like I’m joining the mafia. Well, at least I know my performance was convincing. I wish this could go on my IMDB page.”

“You want an Oscar for pretending to be my almost-boyfriend?”

“Almost? Saints, even in fake relationships people avoid committing to me.”

“Almost until the gala, remember? It would look weird to hard launch this out of nowhere.”

“But you admit there is a ‘this’.”

“If ‘this’ is a contracted PR stunt, then yes, Jesper, I admit there is a ‘this’.”

“Your snark is extra snarky today, love, have you noticed?”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re being moody and you’re not telling me why!”

“I’m not being moody.”

“He said, moodily.” Jesper tossed the phone onto his bed and pulled open his wardrobe. It was nearly overflowing at this point, clothes tumbling out when the door opened and spilling onto the floor in a tangle that made Jesper grimace at the thought of ironing. Wylan was definitely being moody. His snappy comments lacked their usual humour, the tone tipping into almost-irritated territory. But Jesper was never one to back down, and rarely one to take a hint, especially with someone he was starting to optimistically think of as a friend.

“You’re incorrigible. I’m just busy.”

“With something top secret that you can’t tell me anything about, apparently.”

“Do I need to tell you everything I do? Shall we arrange hourly check-ins? Should I share my location with you?” The edge to Wylan’s voice was sharp and unexpected. Blinking at his phone, Jesper stopped with a fresh (bright purple, luridly paisley) shirt in his hand. For a split second, it had sounded like he was talking to Kaz.

“Are we fighting? Is this our first fight as a pretend-almost-couple?” A few seconds passed, and Jesper swore he could hear Wylan taking a deep, deliberate breath through the phone. When the other boy spoke, his voice was calmer, back to the even, friendly ease Jesper knew well but was starting to suspect was something of a mask.

“We’re not fighting. Sorry, that was… I’m just a little tired, and knowing that we’ll be out late is putting me on edge. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re a human being, Wy, you can snap at me if I’m being annoying.”

“You’re not annoying,” Wylan reassured quickly, worry lacing his words.

“I didn’t say I was annoying, just that I might be being annoying. Why don’t you take a nap if you’re tired?”

“Oh, I don’t… I’m not really a nap kind of person. I’ll have coffee before I leave, it’s fine.”

“I can pick you one up on the way, if you want. I’m stopping for food anyway.”

“No, no, it’s fine, really. You don’t need to do that.”

“Are you sure? It’s literally nothing.”

“I’m sure. Thank you. Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking of wearing instead of the shirt?” It was another obvious avoidance tactic, a blatant subject change that left Jesper feeling inexplicably frustrated, but the sharp edge of Wylan’s voice had been softened, the crack in his façade smoothed away, and it seemed unlikely that the mask would slip more than once in the same conversation. With a sigh, Jesper looked at the shirt in his hand.

“Violet paisley?”

“Absolutely not.”

“It brings out my eyes!”

“It will bring out my migraines.”

“You can’t even see it.”

“I don’t need to.”

Chapter Text

They’d decided to meet outside a small bar about a ten minute walk from the party that was going to make up date number two in Jesper’s contract. He was running late, though only slightly, and had stopped to pick up a very late snack for himself and a treat for Wylan when his phone buzzed. Wylan, probably and rightfully fed up of waiting in the rain, had text him to say he was now waiting inside the bar instead of by the door. Stashing the pastry he’d picked for the other boy inside his coat pocket, Jesper picked up his pace and tried to shield himself from the downpour.

The bar was a long, narrow space in the basement of an old building, all exposed brick and rustic wooden beams, cosy red booths and tables that looked worn but not like they’d be unpleasantly sticky. It was one of the few places Jesper hadn’t been before, and it took a few circles around the bar in the centre to spot Wylan tucked into a booth in the back corner, gaze fixed on his phone. He felt a grin creeping onto his face, a jolt of electric energy at seeing Wylan that he definitely didn’t want to think too hard about, and wove through the thin crowd to the booth.

“You should consider taking a screen break, you know. A healthy balance is important when it comes to using technology.” Blue eyes blinked up at him, torn between amusement and incredulity. Wylan’s hair was slightly damp from the rain, golden curls turned whiskey-dark with the water and the low light of the bar, and his eyes looked all the brighter for it.

“You should consider a watch, or maybe an alarm clock.”

“Touché,”  Jesper answered, even as he slipped into the booth opposite.

“Don’t get too comfy. We need to leave in a minute.”

“What, I can’t even get a drink?”

“The party started ten minutes ago!”

“See, if I’ve got you, why would I get a watch? You’re so good at telling the time.”

“Jesper, we need to go.” Sighing at the finality in Wylan’s voice, Jesper stood again, holding out his hand with a flourish.

“Then your carriage awaits, my lord.” It was enough silliness to break Wylan from his worry and pull a smile onto his face. It was accompanied by an eyeroll, but it was a smile nonetheless. When he slipped his hand into Jesper’s and stood up, Jesper shuddered. “Saints, you’re cold.”

“The outfit Anya’s team chose didn’t come with a jacket.” Taking a step back to study Wylan’s outfit, Jesper frowned. “What’s wrong with it?” Wylan asked, worry creeping back into his voice.

“What? Nothing!” Jesper meant it. Wylan looked good, great even, in a dark green shirt embellished with intricate gold threading, but he was going to be frozen solid most of the night. “You might turn into an ice cube, that’s all.” With a gentle tug, he pulled Wylan out of the booth and towards the exit. He felt the smaller boy shrug, trailing behind him.

“It’s a short walk, I’ll be fine.”

“You couldn’t just add a jacket?”

“I don’t usually argue with Anya.”

“You argued with her for me,” Jesper pointed out, climbing the concrete steps up onto the street, conscious that this was their stage now, and while they hadn’t yet reached the party, the performance had very much begun. He tightened his grip on Wylan’s hand, slowing to walk next to him.

“That was important. You have to pick your battles.” Wylan matched his pace, interlocking their fingers and peering up at him. Raindrops were already catching in his hair, though the downpour had lightened to a drizzle.

“Being warm wasn’t a battle worth picking? I’ll give you my jacket, hang on.” Jesper started to shrug out of his coat, but Wylan shook his head stubbornly.

“I fear you’re reading too much into this. It’s a ten minute walk.”

“Maybe I’m an overthinker, you don’t know me all that well.”

“Sometimes I’m not even sure you’re a thinker. Put your coat back on,” Wylan answered, voice dry but flecked with humour.

“You’re so sexy when you tell me what to do,” Jesper said with a wink, face splitting into a grin as he pulled his coat back up onto his shoulders and shoved his hand into his pocket, where it was met with the pastry he’d bought and instantly forgotten. “Oh!”

Wylan startled at the sudden shout, eyes wide as he flinched away a little.

“What?!”

“I forgot!” Jesper yanked the brown paper bag from his pocket, slightly crumpled and with small spots of buttery oil seeping through the bottom, and presented it to a now less-startled but much more confused Wylan. “This is for you. It’s not coffee, because you told me not to get you coffee, but it’s to cheer you up!”

“I don’t need cheering- never mind. What is it?” Wylan took the bag carefully, releasing Jesper’s hand to peel back the paper.

“It’s not a bomb, love, it’s a croissant. You like them, right? You had one at Sage and Sound.”

“You remembered what I ate?” Wylan asked, still peering at the pastry with uncertainty.

“I have a pretty good memory for random facts about my friends and basically nothing else.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Hesitantly, Wylan tore off a chunk of the croissant and started eating, still looking a little confused by the gesture, but ultimately happy. Jesper slung an arm around his shoulders, tucking the smaller boy into the crook and grinning.

“Anything for you, my love,” he declared loudly enough to draw glances from passersby.

“Ghezen help me,” Wylan mumbled, brushing crumbs from his fingers.

- 

The party took up the entire floor of one of Ketterdam’s more modern and elite hotels, the bar having been transformed into a den of purple neon lighting, shining metallic surfaces, and glittering performers perched on pedestals. As soon as they entered, Jesper could see exactly why the firm had chosen that particular shirt for Wylan. The dancing strobe lights caught the gold in his hair along with the gold woven through the fabric, and as they paused in the entrance, Wylan seemed to glow, a star in the night sky. He was looking around, scanning the crowd and waving at a few people, oblivious to Jesper staring at him until he turned and met his gaze. Their hands were intertwined between them, a heated point of contact that Jesper was suddenly painfully aware of.

“Shall we get a drink?” Wylan asked, raising his voice a little to be heard over the thrumming bass of the music.

“Lead the way, love,” Jesper answered, fixing what he hoped was an adoring smile onto his face. He was granted a gentle eyeroll and a smile in return before Wylan led him along by the hand, weaving through the crowd and dropping occasional greetings to people they passed. The bar was another gleaming silver surface, somehow undirtied despite the crowds of people milling around with drinks, and edged in more purple lighting. Jesper leant his hip against it as Wylan leaned over to order. Taking the opportunity to scan the room, he tried to spot people he recognised. There were plenty of famous faces in the room, actors from shows more popular than the ones Jesper had been in, models he recognised from a handful of afterparties he’d managed to get into, even the producer of a big blockbuster that had been released last summer. Nina was right, Jesper thought. The networking at this event alone could transform his career.

“It helps if you don’t stare,” came Wylan’s voice from close by. It was Jesper’s turn to startle when he twisted his head and found Wylan up on his toes to whisper into his ear. There was an amused expression on his face, a light in his eyes that rivalled the strobes.

“Was it that obvious?” Jesper asked, relieving Wylan of one of the glasses he held and letting one hand fall on the smaller boy’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer. They had to put on a show, or it would be far too easy for the press to write them off as ‘good friends’.

“You were practically drooling.”

“That feels like an exaggeration, love.”

“I was about to ask for some napkins, honestly.”

“Okay, now you’re just being-” Jesper was cut off by a high pitched shriek, which was accompanied by two things. A girlish voice squealing Wylan’s name from a short distance away, and Wylan mouthing a silent apology at him. A split second later, a tornado of platinum blonde hair and scarily high heels crashed into Wylan in a terrifyingly enthusiastic hug. Jesper choked back a laugh at Wylan’s bemused expression, taking a step back to make space for the pair. It didn’t look like the hug was going to end any time soon.

“Hello, Alys,” Wylan managed from beneath waves of blonde, hugging the woman back and gently patting her shoulder. When she finally pulled away it was with another excited squeak, two pale hands coming up to cup Wylan’s face adoringly.

“Wylan, I’m so glad you’re here! You’re always so prompt, when you didn’t show up at the start I thought you might have abandoned me,” Alys said with a small pout, milky white hair tumbling over her shoulders. She looked about Jesper’s age, with blue eyes a few shades lighter than Wylan’s, a cute button nose and expanses of smooth skin visible thanks to her very small, very tight, very shimmery pink dress.

“Someone made us late,” Wylan explained with a pointed glance at Jesper. “But I promised I’d be here, so I’m here.” The glance was seemingly all it took for Alys’s attention to turn to Jesper, face lighting up with glee as she let out a third squeal, hands flailing excitedly.

“You must be Jesper! Oh, I’m so excited to finally meet you!” In a move Jesper probably should have been expecting, Alys bundled him into a tight hug. She smelt distinctly of strawberries, and Jesper already knew that he was going to be covered in glitter. Not that that was something he ever minded.

“And you must be Alys!” he answered, despite having no idea who this girl actually was. She pulled back, studying both of them next to each other with unabashed joy.

“Oh, you two look so adorable together. Wylan, you never told me he was so handsome!” Alys said, lightly smacking Wylan’s arm in reprimand. 

“Forgive me, next time I’ll commission an oil painting,” Wylan answered.

“There’s no need for that, silly! Just show me a photo. Now, you must come and join us! Adem is here, and we’re just desperate to hear how you two met!”

“Adem’s here? Does father know?”

“Of course he does, Wy-wy! You know Adem’s not just an employee, he’s a good family friend, I simply had to invite him.”

“Right. Sure, of course. I’m being stupid, sorry.” Alys patted Wylan’s cheek with a bright, unwavering smile, and turned on her sharp heel to stride across the room. The crowd seemed to part for her, and with an apologetic glance in Jesper’s direction, Wylan started to follow. When there were a few feet between them and Alys, Jesper leant down to whisper in Wylan’s ear.

“I could’ve done with some warning that I was meeting your sister, Wy-wy.” Wylan shot him an incredulous, unimpressed look before hissing back.

“That’s my step-mother.” In his surprise, Jesper nearly stumbled, catching Wylan’s arm to steady himself.

“Are you joking?”

“You really didn’t read the file Anya sent, did you?”

“I skimmed it!”

“It’s her party!”

“Okay, so I didn’t skim it. It’s by my bed, I kept meaning too, but it just looked so boring.”

“Jesper.” There was an edge of panic to Wylan’s voice that Jesper desperately wanted to smooth away. If time travel existed, he’d use it solely to go back five hours and read that Saints-forsaken file.

“I’m sorry! If it helps, I’m great at improv?”

“If we get found out-”

“We won’t, I swear,” Jesper crossed his heart dramatically with a ring-clad finger. “Have a little faith in me, gorgeous.”

“Wylan, we’re over here!” Alys called from her perch at a tall glass table, where she stood next to a tall Suli man with an easy smile and thick, slicked-back black hair. Dropping a kiss to Wylan’s cheek, Jesper steered him along with a hand against the small of his back.

“Is he worrying about something again?” Alys asked Jesper as they approached. There was an expression of exasperated understanding on her face, the kind that only came with knowing someone for a long time. Saints, how old was she when she got married? Jesper wondered. Wylan was only twenty-three, two years Jesper’s junior, and Alys couldn’t be much older. “He’s always worrying about something! It took months to get him to stop biting his nails,” Alys continued.

“I’m not worrying,” Wylan reassured, sipping his drink before putting it down carefully on the table. Jesper saw him glancing around for a coaster, and quickly stole one from the table next to theirs, sliding it under Wylan’s glass. It was a simple move, one Jesper often made for Inej, but Alys clasped her hands to her chest with a gasp like he’d proposed.

“Good!” Adem answered Wylan with an easy confidence, grin widening a little. “There’s no worrying allowed at Alys’s party.”

“Was that on the same sign that said ‘no smoking’?” Jesper asked, slipping an arm around Wylan’s waist and feeling the smaller man lean his weight against him. Something about Adem’s smug smile irritated him inexplicably. “Must’ve missed it on the way in.”

“Ha, you’re funny! That’s funny. You never said he was funny, Wy-wy,” Alys chided, sipping a drink the same bright pink as her dress.

“Doesn’t sound like he’s told you much at all,” Jesper answered with pretend disappointment, looking down at Wylan. “Am I your dirty secret, is that it, my love?”

Wylan looked up at him, bright blue eyes almost violet in the purple light.

“Maybe I just don’t think you’re very funny.”

“Just with me for the money, then?” Jesper continued, bringing his glass up to his lips.

“Just the sex, actually,” Wylan answered, the smile on his face far from innocent and far from expected. Choking on his drink, Jesper coughed out a laugh as Alys dissolved into giggles across from them.

- 

Jesper didn’t know why he was surprised, but over the course of the night it became obvious that Wylan excelled at parties. Even if Jesper had left his charm at home and chosen to trail around all evening like a zombie, it seemed likely he still would have left with half a dozen new phone numbers and even more new friends. In every conversation, Wylan dazzled. He remembered names and faces and which family members to ask about, he seamlessly wove Jesper’s presence into every anecdote and every reminiscence, and he seemed to perfectly jump from one group to another without coming across as rude or evasive.

It was only when Jesper heard him make the same joke for a third time, in a third conversation, that he realised Wylan’s performance as a social butterfly was just that. A performance, just as much an act as their relationship, another part of Wylan’s life that Jesper was beginning to suspect he had very little control over. And when he collapsed into bed at an unholy hour, still covered in glitter and smelling of sweat and cologne and alcohol, it was this façade that stuck with him, and the idea that he could talk to Wylan for months and probably end up knowing as little about him as a stranger on the street.

Chapter Text

Soft lips grazed along Jesper’s neck, a familiar and quiet laugh following the movement at Jesper’s shuddered response. Shifting against his pillow, Jesper let one hand fall onto Wylan’s hip, catching his jaw with the other and pulling the younger boy into a kiss. The bedroom had faded into nothing around them, a golden haze that seemed to radiate from Wylan himself as their lips pressed together, as careful hands crept down Jesper’s chest. Moving suddenly, Jesper flipped them both until Wylan was staring up at him, cheeks flushed, blue eyes bright as diamonds as his chest rose and fell. Pressing his thigh between Wylan’s legs, Jesper felt himself grin, peppering kisses along a pale jaw and listening to Wylan sigh.

“Okay there, love?” he asked, voice subdued to a whisper. Pulling back again to look at the boy beneath him, gold curls spiralling onto the pillow, Jesper’s grin widened. Wylan opened his mouth to answer and- and a tinny, irritatingly loud pop song came out.

“It might sound crazy but it ain't no lie, baby bye bye bye.”

The blaring music startled Jesper awake and threw him mercilessly back into his real, empty bed, in his real, empty room. Glaring at the ceiling while his phone continued to ring, he swore loudly, voice hoarse with sleep. After a stream of choice curses, he grabbed his phone without sitting up. Only one person was worthy of that ringtone, and it was coincidentally the one person he could complain to.

“I had a sex dream about Wylan Van Eck.”

“You and half of Ketterdam, so what?” Nina replied, unfazed by his lack of greeting.

“Not an abstract sex dream, Nina. A full, feelings and all sex dream.”

“There’s a difference?”

“You know there’s a difference!”

“Not sure I do,” Nina answered, clearly holding back laughter. Jesper groaned, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. She was being deliberately obtuse, and he was too freaked out to deal with it.

“You remember that time you told me you had a sex dream about Pim? Are you telling me that’s the same as the sex dreams you’ve had about Matthias?”

“Absolutely not!” came the screeched response.

“Exactly!”

“Wait, so you like-like him? Is that what this is?”

“I don’t ‘like-like’ him because I’m not twelve, Zenik.”

“You know what I mean! Don’t get snippy with me, Fahey. You know I can beat you in a fight. Are you interested in him… romantic-stylez? Stylez with a ‘z’, obviously.”

“I heard the ‘z’ and I loved it. And I don’t know! Can you be interested in someone you know literally nothing about?”

“You’ve been on two dates with him, both hours long. I know your attention span isn’t the best, but you must have learned something.” Jesper sighed, sitting up and letting the covers pool around his waist. A glance at the clock told him it was nearing midday, and he had an audition to get ready for. As soon as he could get the thought of Wylan’s lips against his skin out of his head, anyway.

“It’s complicated,” he answered, grimacing at his own poor communication.

“All right, Avril Lavigne, explain it to me then.”

“It’s like… you know how we used to play that stupid game?”

“Going to need more specifics, please.”

“The ‘real or fake’ game, where one of us would find random stupid shit online and we had to guess if it was real or fake?”

“Saints, that was ages ago, but sure.”

“Well, I feel like I’m constantly playing that game with Wylan. I have no idea if anything I think I know about him is real or not. The food he eats, the clothes he wears, the people he talks to… I don’t know if he even enjoys it. I think it’s all decided for him.”

“That’s… so much sadder than what I thought you were going to say. But at the same time, he’s a grown up with access to more money and resources than most people in the country. I don’t have loads of sympathy.”

“You’re raising a really good point that does absolutely nothing to help me right now.”

“Well, when’s your next “date”?”

“Not for a few weeks. It’s a big gala, apparently. They’ve booked me in with a tailor and everything.”

“Do you think you’ll see him before then?”

Jesper frowned as he stood, stretching and then putting the phone on speaker. Clothes littered his room, and he began piecing together something like an outfit.

“I don’t usually. I might invite him to my birthday, but that’s not until after.”

“Will you at least speak to him before then?”

“Oh, yeah, one-hundred per cent. We talk, like, once a week?”

“You talk every week? Why?” Pulling a shirt over his head, Jesper paused.

“I don’t really know. I guess sometimes I just want to tell him things.”

“Saints save us,” Nina groaned.

“What?!”

“You like him! You don’t even know him, and you’ve been on two very fake dates, and you actually like him!”

“Why are you yelling at me?!” Jesper cried, throwing his hands up in despair despite the fact Nina couldn’t see him (this was definitely a good thing, given that he was half dressed and half asleep).

“Do you want a list or shall I explain via interpretive dance?”

“Now who’s being snippy?”

“Jesper, liking him can only end badly! We even put him being his dad’s puppet on the cons list before you signed the contract. You said yourself that you can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake, which means he’s an incredible liar, and that he’s potentially sold his entire personality for money and fame. You have four more dates together, and then mark my words, that boy will never speak to you again.”

“But.”

“No! No buts. It’s a bad idea to even think about getting involved with him. He’s fake, and spoiled, and apparently spineless.”

“But what if I could fix him?” Jesper asked, voice sheepish. He knew the reaction it would get, and knew that it would be justified. Nina made a gagging sound down the phone.

“Be right back, I’m just going to vomit up the waffles I ate for breakfast.”

“You fixed Matthias,” he whined, hating the petulant, sulky edge to his own voice.

“No, I didn’t. Matthias fixed himself because he realised there was a problem and put in the work to do better. I supported him with that because I love him, but that does not mean I fixed him. You can’t fix people, Jes. They have to do that themselves.”

“But what if they don’t do it themselves, and they’re also really cute, and funny, and smart?”

“Cute, funny, and smart don’t mean anything if you don’t have any principles.”

“We never used to have principles.”

“No, we couldn’t afford to have principles. Wylan van Eck can afford anything he wants, and has always been able to.”

“You know, I’m getting the sense that you don’t like him very much.”

“I don’t know him, Jesper. Neither do you. That’s literally the whole point of this conversation.”

“Saints, you know I hate it when you’re right.”

“Because it happens so often?”

“Because it’s such a surprise.”

“Firstly, fuck you too, secondly, you’re no longer invited to brunch tomorrow.”

“We were having brunch tomorrow?”

“That was why I rang you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. I can’t believe you made me listen to all this drama and never even asked why I called.”

“Look, it’s been a weird morning.”

“You’re a smart boy, Jesper, though it literally causes me pain to say it. Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m trying my best!”

“If you fall in love with that man, on your head be it.”

“If I fall in love with that man, head will definitely be on the agenda.”

Nina hung up.

Chapter Text

It took two phone calls, a nearly endless stream of text messages, and the threat of purchasing a neon green suit to convince Wylan to attend the tailoring appointment with Jesper. It was the first time they’d actually meet without it being one of their planned contractual slots, something that had made Wylan incredibly stressed and Jesper incredibly excited. If he was going to try and get to know Wylan, which he’d decided he had to, he figured he had to at least push the boy out of his contract-led comfort zone. Plus, Jesper had never been to a tailor before and was mildly concerned he was going to mess it up and get stabbed with a lot of little pins.

When Jesper arrived at the end of Zentsbridge (only ten minutes late, which he was pretty proud of), Wylan was already sat on one of the handful of benches lining the bridge itself, his ruddy gold curls a helpful identifier in the flow of the weekend crowds. For once, the younger boy wasn’t staring at his phone. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the canal, watching wooden boats and small steamers cruising along and disappearing beneath their feet. The sleeves of his navy sweater were pulled over his hands, and he was biting his lower lip absently. For a moment, he looked younger than his twenty-three years and lonelier than anyone that popular should ever be.

Dropping onto the wooden bench with less grace than he’d like, Jesper reached over and tugged one of Wylan’s curls in greeting. He instantly regretted it, because Wylan’s hair turned out to be even softer than it looked, and now Jesper wanted to spend hours twisting those curls around his fingers. It didn’t help that Wylan stared at him with wide, surprised eyes, the faintest pink flush creeping over his cheeks.

“You’re late,” Wylan said instead of acknowledging Jesper’s touch.

“Lost my watch,” Jesper answered, draping his arm around Wylan’s shoulder in a way that was hopefully casual. They were in public, so the show had to go on, no matter how soft Wylan’s hair was, and how bright his blue eyes were.

“You’re wearing your watch.”

“What? Oh, no, this one doesn’t work. Just matches my accessories, see?” He pushed his sleeves up to reveal the chaotic array of bracelets, wiggling his fingers to make his rings glint in the weak sun.

“Surely you could find one that both matches and works?”

“Maybe when I’ve mysteriously come into a fortune of around seventy-five thousand kruge.”

“Ah. That does sound reasonable. We should probably go? The tailor does not appreciate people being late.”

“The tailor doesn’t appreciate it or you don’t, love?” Jesper grinned, standing anyway and holding out his hand with a mock bow. Wylan’s hand was soft but cold in his own, the edges of his sleeve grazing Jesper’s palm.

“Both things can be true,” Wylan argued weakly, lacing their fingers together as he stood and cautiously leading the way.

“I’m not convinced that you’re not using the tailor as a guise for your own preferences, but I’ll forgive you because you’re cute. When did you go to KU?”

Blinking, Wylan frowned, a small furrow appearing between his brows accompanied by a slight darkening of his eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your sweater? It says 'University of Ketterdam' on it?” Jesper watched as Wylan glanced down at his own sweater as if to check that was true, still blinking in confusion at the white text embroidered onto the deep blue.

“Oh. I guess it does.”

“So… when did you go? I was there for a year before the call of the stage got to me, maybe we crossed paths!” It was a cute idea, Jesper thought, that maybe their lives had been intertwined years ago… but not a useful idea if he wanted to kill this sapling of a crush growing in his chest.

“I was technically never a student there, so I doubt we did,” Wylan answered, looking out over the canal again as they walked. He seemed oblivious to the surprised, sometimes appreciative glances people shot them as they passed, to the way the crowd seemed to part, granting them a stress-free, obstacle-free walk. “I did a few short courses when I turned eighteen, mostly on video production, marketing, and brand creation, but they were only six or eight weeks, I think. The university used it as advertising, put some photos on their website and in their brochures, gave me this sweater. It is comfy, I’ll give them that.”

While Wylan watched the water, Jesper watched Wylan. Something had made the younger boy tense up, his spine and neck one rigid, sharp line beneath soft, worn cotton. Absently, he was tapping each finger of his free hand against his thumb in a gentle, repetitive rhythm. But despite this, the words came out of him assured and precise, a practised explanation that Jesper imagined he’d given a hundred times over, but couldn’t imagine to whom.

“Did you enjoy it?” Jesper asked, tugging Wylan closer to try and recapture his attention. Dragging his gaze from the water, Wylan turned to look up at him, once again surprised and confused. Was it a good thing if Jesper kept surprising him, or would it just make him more tense?

“I was incredibly lucky to attend,” Wylan started, clearly weighing up his words before speaking. “The professors there are all experts in their field, and the support they offered was excellent. I left feeling much more knowledgeable.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, they paid you to say nice things about the courses. That’s not what I asked. I asked if you enjoyed it. Did you have fun? Did you find it interesting?” Wylan stared at Jesper as if he’d grown a second head, or offered to jump off Zentsbridge for ten kruge. It was the first time Wylan had failed to produce an answer immediately, the first time he looked truly blindsided by a question. Jesper tapped the centre of Wylan’s forehead, leaning in as if listening closely. “Don’t turn those gears too hard, love, or smoke might come out of your ears.” Smacking Jesper’s hand away, Wylan shot him a slightly frustrated glare.

“Obviously, I enjoyed it.”

“Obviously. Because you’re radiating enthusiasm right now, gorgeous.”

“I just wasn’t expecting you to ask me that!”

“Why?! It’s very normal to ask your friend if they enjoyed something.” The pink flush from earlier reappeared, blossoming gently across the bridge of Wylan’s nose as it wrinkled in irritation.

“You’re being very annoying today,” was the only answer Wylan gave, and the unexpected petulance with which it was delivered made Jesper laugh.

“Wylan Van Eck, are you embarrassed that we might be friends?”

“More like concerned for my career.” They were in the winding streets of the financial district now, the streets lined with offices and upmarket retailers that Jesper would usually avoid.

“Sure, because I’m the threat to your career, not your definitely quite racist Da who-” An elbow dug sharply and not gently into Jesper’s side, cutting him off. Wylan was glaring at him like he was an idiot, or had now grown yet another head. Was he on three now, or four?

“Not here. Say stupid stuff like that when you’re at home, or better yet not at all, but never in public and never with me.” There was a hushed, hissed urgency to Wylan’s voice that Jesper hadn’t heard before, and it startled him into stopping. Merchers wove around them, the crowd fairly thin given the hour, but still present.

“Wy, everyone knows, it’s not exactly a big secret-”

“Did you read your contract at all before you signed it? Are you looking to get sued? You can’t say things like that where people can overhear you.” Stuck on how to respond, Jesper fixed a cavalier grin onto his face. He’d learnt very young that it was hard for people to stay angry with you if you acted like nothing was wrong, and so far, Kaz had been the only outlier to that theory. But Kaz could stay mad at the Saints themselves, so that barely counted.

“Are you going to sue me? Because I don’t think anyone else here is paying attention to me, love.” Wylan stared at him for another unsettling second, a shade of anxiety in his eyes that was far deeper than Jesper would have liked. With a shake of his head, a few stray curls falling in his face, Wylan sighed.

“You trust too easily,” he said, beginning to walk again and very clearly ending the conversation.

The tailor’s was the opposite of what Jesper had expected. He’d been prepared for antique mahogany, for thick carpets and wing-backed chairs, for an ambiguously ancient man in a full three-piece suit wielding pins and a tape measure. In reality, the tailoring parlour was sleek and modern, with cream walls and rustic exposed piping, hardwood floors decorated sparingly with a large woven rug, and carefully selected clothes lining the walls of the space. The man who came to greet them was a middle aged man from Shu Han, who only introduced himself to Jesper after greeting Wylan with a familiar, almost fatherly hug. His name was Bo, and apparently he’d been tailoring Wylan’s clothes since Wylan was a small boy (something he explained to Jesper with adorable pride as he led them through the main floor to a private space at the back). He’d also gone to the trouble of painstakingly researching Jesper’s personal style, pulling together a scarily impressive inspiration board based on Jesper’s handful of public appearances and his social media presence. Some of the pictures dated back years, and Jesper made a mental note to check out his digital footprint.

While all this unfolded, Wylan slipped away from Jesper, releasing his hand and wandering around the shop. Jesper remained acutely aware of wherever Wylan ended up, in the same way you remain aware of a bruise after you’ve poked it, or an itch just after it’s been scratched. The exchange outside had left something open and unfinished between them, but Jesper didn’t know how to go about dealing with it, or even if he should. Resolving to give Wylan the reprieve he clearly needed, Jesper threw himself into the array of suits Bo had chosen for him. Eventually, just as they’d settled on three designs for Jesper to try on, Wylan returned, managing a sheepish smile as he dropped into one of the low, comfy arm chairs designed for waiting parties. Reaching over and tugging one of Wylan’s curls, Jesper shot him a quick wink and a smile. That seemed to be enough reassurance, and some of the tension that still wracked Wylan’s frame ebbed away, his posture relaxing and his frown easing. Odd, Jesper thought, that Wylan seemed worried about Jesper’s response, Jesper’s anger, when Jesper had admittedly been the one to put his foot in his own mouth.

“Right, love. Ready for a fashion show? Spoiler: I’ll look amazing in everything,” Jesper quipped, flashing Wylan a grin before grabbing the first suit and ducking behind the curtain to change. Wylan’s voice filtered through the fabric, back to its usual even-toned amusement.

“Why do I get the feeling this is only going to inflate your ego?”

Buttoning up the shirt with quick fingers, Jesper shook his head to himself, unable to wipe away his smile.

“Don’t be mean, Wy-wy, it doesn’t suit you. Unlike this suit, which definitely suits me.”

“Never try for a career in comedy,” came the dry response, but Jesper could hear the laughter restrained in Wylan’s words.

“Looking like this, I won’t need to. The catwalk is calling me, baby.” Jesper pulled the curtain aside with a wide flourish, stepping back out into the private room. Wylan glanced up from his phone, taking in every detail of the outfit with a careful and practised eye. “What do you think?” Jesper asked, twirling unprompted. The almost iridescent purple of the suit caught in the light, contrasting brightly against the black shirt beneath. Jesper adored it. Wylan tilted his head, a sign he was weighing up his words once again.

“I like it,” Wylan began, continuing to study the clothes.

“But…? It sounds like there’s a but coming,” Jesper prompted, already familiar with Wylan’s particular brand of analysis.

“But it’s more… party than gala, I think. It would definitely work for a different event, maybe a premier or after party. You could buy it anyway, and wear it somewhere else?”

“Cute that you think I’ve got that money, but I see your point. Onwards!” Jesper declared, grabbing a second suit and disappearing back into the dressing room.

“I’m sure Bo would hold it for you! I don’t know how many other people he’d be able to sell it to, anyway.”

“Wow. Rude. Why are you always attacking me, Wy-wy?” Jesper smiled to himself, quickly changing into the next suit.

“Ghezen, stop calling me that! Nobody calls me that.”

“Alys calls you that!”

“That’s different, that’s Alys. She could call me ‘demon-spawn’ and I’d be okay with it because it’s Alys. Not that she would, she’s too nice.”

“Can I call you demon-spawn?”

“Obviously not.”

“But you’ve possessed me, body and soul,” Jesper answered dramatically, pulling the curtain aside to step out once again. This time, a cream, gold-pinstriped suit had been paired with a long, green coat that fell almost to his knees. It was more understated, but the green was definitely a favourite of Jesper’s.

“You’re ridiculous,” Wylan complained, looking up again, this time from a drink that Bo had clearly brought over. A second glass of sparkling wine sat on the small side table, and Jesper’s smile only widened.

“Well? Ready to tell me how stunningly gorgeous and smoking hot I am?”

“The coat suits you,” said Wylan, tone more exasperated than overwhelmed with awe and lust. Not exactly the reaction Jesper wanted.

“Okay, so this is a firm ‘no’, then.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t need to, love.” Jesper swallowed half of the wine in a few mouthfuls, letting the fizz warm his throat and fill his stomach before returning behind the curtain with the third suit.

“You’ll look nice in whatever you choose!” Wylan called after him.

“Saints, you sound like my Da!”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Given that he’s a farmer in his fifties, yes, Wy-wy, I would say it’s a bad thing.”

“Nothing wrong with having a steady career in your middle age,” came the grumbled reply. “And I told you to stop calling me that.”

“But how else would I communicate how adorable I find you?”

The exasperated sigh from the other side of the curtain made Jesper laugh once more, shaking his head to himself as he shrugged into the fitted jacket. The final suit was deep red silk or satin, something that shifted and caught the light when he moved, layered with carefully stitched black brocade and gold detailing along the entirely black lapels and cuffs. Glancing at himself in the mirror, Jesper ran his hand down the front of the waistcoat, a gold chain at the waist catching against his fingers. If he chose it, it would be the nicest, prettiest, most expensive thing he owned. Stepping out into the room one more time, Jesper did a rough approximation of jazz hands and spun on his heel.

“Well?” When he turned back to the seats, he caught Wylan staring at him, that same day-lily pink spreading across his cheeks, lips ever so slightly parted in surprise. That was the reaction Jesper wanted, even if it was just a fleeting moment, a passing glimpse behind the mask. It was enough to confirm that maybe, just maybe, Jesper’s crush wasn’t entirely unrequited.

Chapter Text

When Jesper arrived at Wylan’s apartment, he was dressed to the nines. Bo had tailored his gala suit exquisitely, and it fit him like a second skin. Nina, knowing that the gala was a huge event both for Jesper and for Ketterdam as a whole, had insisted they spend the day before doing skin treatments and hair treatments and so many other treatments that Jesper’s bathroom had closely resembled a laboratory by the evening. But it had worked, and so when he finally arrived at Wylan’s, he felt and looked incredible. Wylan, well… Wylan opened the door in chequered pyjama pants and a grey sweater, a mysterious white powder smudging one cheek and tinging the end of one slightly wild curl.

“You’re not ready,” Jesper said instead of greeting him, blinking at the boy in the doorway and trying not to dwell on how damn adorable he looked. Wylan blinked right back, frowning.

“We don’t have to leave for three hours, why would I be ready?”

“Because you’re always over-prepared? Because you didn’t want me to feel weird and overdressed showing up in a suit?” Wylan glanced down at Jesper’s suit, seeming to realise in that moment that Jesper was already dressed for the event. A faint pink flush crept above the collar of his grey sweater, and Jesper stifled a grin. He’d been hoping the tailoring might have that effect.

“I honestly thought you’d bring it in a garment bag. I told you we’d eat before we left,” Wylan replied, pulling the door open properly and stepping out of the way, socked feet sinking into a thick rug. Jesper slipped inside, shrugging out of the black woollen coat Bo had provided to go with the suit. He looked around for somewhere to hang it before Wylan gently pried it from his grasp, padding back down the entrance hall with a gentle huff of breath.

While Wylan ducked into what Jesper assumed was a small coat closet, he took the chance to wander through the apartment. He’d seen it before, like most of Kerch had, in videos uploaded to Wylan’s account. There had been a short series when Wylan first moved in, often featuring Wylan in overalls and a time-lapsed reel of the decorating process. Since then, there had been cooking videos, bookshelf tours, PR hauls, and an array of other videos featuring different rooms as the backdrops. The apartment itself was a loft conversion in one of the Geldin district’s converted manor houses, full of exposed beams, hardwood flooring and bright, clean skylights that let in shafts of grey and views of the rainclouds above them. The living room and kitchen seemed to take up most of the space, divided only by a white marble-topped counter. Jesper gravitated towards the lounge, trailing his fingers over the rich blue velvet of the couch, taking in the forest green of the walls, the carefully mismatched wooden furniture and the array of art hung like a gallery across one wall. He was still peering at a painting of a grey, rainy street, the puddles lit in gold by the reflection of a café window, when Wylan wandered back in, free of his coat. The smaller boy stopped at Jesper’s side, following his gaze to the painting.

“I don’t think I know this place,” Jesper murmured, frowning at the faded red façade and the flowers lining the windows, the streets unmistakeably Ketterdam.

“It closed years ago, probably before you even moved here. It was around the corner from here.”  

“You used to go there?” He saw Wylan nod out of the corner of his eye, but got no proper answer. After a second, Wylan turned and headed back to the kitchen.

“You were earlier than I thought, the food won’t be ready for a little while yet. Would you like a drink?” Jesper span on his heel, following Wylan’s path and dropping into one of the stools lining the counter.

“What have you got on offer?” Jesper asked with a salacious grin that ended up being wasted, Wylan not looking over at him but instead bending to open one of the cupboards lining the kitchen. Swallowing hard, Jesper had to force himself to look around the kitchen. The image of Wylan bending over was going to be difficult to erase from his memory.

“Um, I have… wine, kvas, whiskey, vodka, gin, and some beers. I have mixers too, if you want,” Wylan finished, straightening up and twisting to glance over his shoulder at Jesper.

“Fan of the drink, are you, love?” A flush stained Wylan’s cheeks as he glowered at Jesper, a small frown marring his expression.

“I have a lot of guests, and like you said, I’m ‘always over-prepared’.”

“Well, now my invite feels significantly less special.”

“Good! Honestly, you should feel embarrassed. You’re here because I don’t trust you to actually prepare for this event without me.”

“Not because you couldn’t resist three more hours in my company?” Jesper asked with a wink that had Wylan throwing his hands up in frustration and turning to pull a bottle of wine from the drinks cabinet. Moments later, a glass of wine was placed carefully onto the counter in front of him, and Wylan dropped into a stool on the opposite side.

“The food should be about forty minutes,” Wylan said, sipping his own glass and finally swiping at the powder on his cheek. Relief coursed through Jesper’s veins. His fingers had been itching to brush it away, to tug the lightened curl and free it of its one flaw, but they were alone, and they were in private, so there was no pretence to protect him if he made his crush too obvious.

“You ordered?” Wylan frowned at him again, an expression Jesper was growing used to. The positivity-mad, sunny optimist that Wylan presented to the world was somewhat different in reality, more of a worrier, an over-thinker, absorbing every possible slight into himself.

“I cooked. I put a lasagne in the oven just before you got here.”

“Now I do feel special,” Jesper joked, sipping the wine in front of him. A gentle silence fell between them, and he wished he could say something smart about the taste, that it had notes of honey or peach or maple, because it seemed like Wylan would appreciate that, but honestly, it just tasted like wine.

“My mother used to take me,” Wylan said, breaking the silence with a quiet voice, blue eyes fixed on the finger he traced around the rim of his wine glass. Jesper blinked, looking across the counter at the boy opposite, feeling as though they were teetering on the edge of something. “To the café in the painting, I mean. I bought it from the owner when it closed down.”

“How long ago…?” Jesper was familiar with this dance, the awkward, faltering footsteps people took around grief, uncertain of the rhythm they needed to lead. He’d found himself on the other side of it plenty of times, coming up with a hundred different ways to answer awful questions, a hundred more to wipe the look of pity from people’s faces. But here he was, asking the same thing, craving the same knowledge, feeling that same heartache for a boy he had so little in common with and so desperately wanted to know.

“I was nine.”

“And you remember the café?” There were faded vignettes of Jesper’s mother in his mind, snapshots and shattered mosaic pieces, but very few fully formed memories to cling to. Grinding spices for dinner, fingers stained yellow. Chasing their one goat around the farm, the rope of his lead trailing in the dust. Forehead kisses and hummed lullabies and wit as sharp as a knife that Jesper was too young to appreciate. Here he was, finally getting to know something about who Wylan was, and he’d immediately begun sinking into the quicksand of his own grief. Taking a sharp breath that made Wylan look up, Jesper shook himself from the memories.

“Only because I walked past it so often after she died. It wasn’t far from where I grew up.”

“What was she like?” Wylan blinked at him, biting his lip in thought, surprised once again at a question he should have been asked a dozen times. Jesper had been.

“I don’t really remember,” Wylan said, sipping his wine and rolling the stem of the glass between two fingers. “Kind,” he continued after a pause. “She was kind.”

“Like you, then.”

“You think I’m kind?”

“You were kind to me. A dozen times, when you never had to be. You helped me get more from the contract, listened to me spiral on the phone when we weren’t even friends, stopped me from messing this whole thing up…” Jesper trailed off as Wylan stood from his seat, turning to grab the bottle of wine from the cabinet where it had been stored.

“Is that kindness? I figured I was just doing my job.”

“Who would put that much effort into a job?” Jesper asked, following Wylan with his eyes. The smaller boy placed the bottle on the counter and slipped around it, forcing Jesper to twist to watch him wander into the living room.

“I put that much effort into every part of my job,” Wylan answered, opening a drawer and retrieving a slim cream file and waving it in Jesper’s direction. “Which reminds me.”

Recognising the logo on the file immediately, Jesper dropped his head onto the counter with a groan.

“No, please, no. I take it back. You’re not kind, you’re awful.”

“You need to read it!”

“But it’s so dull.”

“You know what’s also dull? Anya’s lectures when you fuck up at an event.” Wylan was next to him now, prodding his side and dropping the file in front of him. “I’m going to make dessert. While I’m doing that, you can read this. Out loud.”

“Out loud?! Why are you trying to embarrass me?”

“I’m making sure you’re actually reading and not just staring into space.”

“You’re evil,” Jesper complained, even as he gave in and reached to brush the flour from Wylan’s hair. Soft, far, far too soft to be fair. But Wylan didn’t pull away, didn’t even blink at the contact, and that was enough for Jesper to sit up a little, revived.

“I’m trying to prevent you from being sued. Or worse, from embarrassing me in public.”

“That’s worse than me being sued?”

“For me, absolutely.”

Chapter Text

Wylan’s suit was simpler than Jesper’s, a rich black material over a cream shirt, with intricate red and gold laurels stitched around the cuffs that tied their outfits together, making them a complementary pair rather than a matching set. Wylan had also, much to Jesper’s barely hidden dismay, smoothed his hair down, taming some of the wilder curls into submission and fixing them into place. The gala was being held in an old country house that Jesper had never realised existed, situated in the relatively empty land between Ketterdam and Belendt. The entire forty-minute drive was an exercise in restraint, partly because Jesper wanted to reach out and muss up Wylan’s hair, to return it to its typically hectic, gloriously soft, somehow cozy state, and partly because Wylan was so damn tense it was making Jesper fidget.

Jesper knew why. He’d realised why about halfway through reading the guestlist Anya had included in the folder. He’d watched Wylan turn rigid and quiet as he read through the names, as he reached the name ‘Jan Van Eck’ and Wylan had quickly swallowed down half his glass of wine and distracted himself by dishing up their meal. There was no explanation for the shift in mood, no quick joke about ‘daddy issues’ or dismissive eye-roll that hinted at some kind of typical parental exasperation. No, instead Wylan had finished his drink and asked Jesper to keep reading, and seemed to throw all his effort into pretending it had never happened.

The car pulled into the driveway of a house that looked plucked from a fairytale. An arching water fountain at the centre, in front of cream walls sparkling with golden lights from the windows, towering columns and two curving staircases up towards an entrance lined by imperious white statues. Jesper recognised one or two of the Saints in the set, but couldn’t quite make out the figures further from the glow of the hall. Arriving guests dotted the pebbled entrance, and for once, Jesper wasn’t overdressed. Women balanced on sky-high heels, floor-length gowns shimmering like water as they moved, holding the arms of their tuxedo clad companions. Celebrities, film stars, politicians and Merchers, anyone who was anyone had turned up in style. The car rolled to a stop, and Jesper heard Wylan taking a steeling breath. Quickly, before he could be told otherwise, Jesper hopped out of the car and jogged around it, making a point to open the door for Wylan, who simply raised his eyebrows at him questioningly.

“Don’t glare at me for being chivalrous, love,” Jesper said, holding his hand out for Wylan to take. People were milling around them, many with press badges and cameras around their necks, all hunting like birds of prey for their next picture to sell. And Jesper, well, he was pretty determined to give them that picture. After a beat of hesitation, Wylan slid his hand into Jesper’s and stepped out of the car, laughing brightly when Jesper leant to press a kiss to the back of his hand. Cameras flashed around them like fireworks, capturing Jesper’s mock bow, Wylan’s laughter, the press of lips to skin. Plenty of people called Wylan the prince of Kerch, and Jesper was happy to play at consort.

“You’re ridiculous,” he heard Wylan murmur as he straightened, their fingers interlocking as the smaller man led them towards the stone steps, their path marked by a rich red carpet.

“I’m a hopeless romantic,” Jesper whispered back, ducking his head until his lips brushed Wylan’s ear and all he could smell was that sweet, subtle vanilla and curling hint of smoke. And if Wylan shivered a little, cheeks stained pink as he paused to hand over their invitations, to wave for the cameras lining the carpet, then neither of them mentioned it. They didn’t need to.

There were a few photos captured that Jesper found himself strangely excited to see. Some of him solo, because he was in higher demand than usual and knew he looked great, so getting his hands on them would be useful both career-wise and ego-wise. There was at least one of him stood just behind Wylan, hand curled around the smaller boy’s hip while the line of Wylan’s spine pressed against his chest. Another where Wylan had twisted to say something and they’d ended up with their faces a hair's breadth apart, the air seeming to heat as their eyes met, as their lips nearly touched. Wylan’s breath had hitched in surprise, electricity dancing between them like lightning, and Jesper wanted, no, needed to see how that had translated on camera. He half expected to return home to find pictures of them lit up like livewires scattered across the internet.

The first few hours of the gala passed in a sparkling but surprisingly dull haze. Jesper learned quickly that these events, while they looked extravagant and enchanting, were another exercise in small talk and flattery. It was, when it came down to it, a very fancy networking event. Wylan dazzled, as he always did when put in front of a crowd, slipping seamlessly into whatever version of himself his audience needed. He was respectful and deferent to the politicians and the Merchers they spoke to, offering insight but never overstepping the mark. He was charming and funny and friendly with other celebrities, no matter how minor they might be, and consistently paved the way for Jesper to join conversations he might have otherwise been excluded from. They circled the vast hall beneath a shimmering chandelier, picking up drinks and tiny bites of food carried around by suited waiters, and barely left each other’s side. That was until a small, fierce looking woman appeared very briefly and whispered something into Wylan’s ear as they stood near the bar.

As she left, heels clicking against the marble floor, Wylan sighed and tapped the glass in his hand with his fingers. For a split second, he looked tired, worry creasing his brow before he shook it off and met Jesper’s expectant gaze.

“What just happened, love?” His hand danced over Wylan’s shoulder, tucking a stray curl out of the way.

“My father wants to see us,” Wylan responded, reluctance laced through his tone. Jesper paused, recalling everything he had ever heard about Van Eck, taking in the concern still set deep in Wylan’s gaze.

“And that’s bad, I take it?”

“It’s not…good,” Wylan paused, biting his lip and clearly weighing up his words. Jesper hated it, wanted to hear every thought that popped into Wylan’s head before he had a chance to filter it, to decide how acceptable it was, to run a mental PR check on his own feelings. Dropping the volume of their conversation to a near whisper, Wylan continued. “Jesper, what you’ve heard in the press about my father-”

“Ah. He’s a racist.” Wylan stared at him with the expression of someone torn in two, every word and move and breath uncertain.

“You know I can’t say yes to that.” But the answer was obvious, even without the small, pointed nod Wylan gave him. “I want to find you a way out of this, you don’t need to- you shouldn’t have to deal with it. I can make an excuse for you, or you can just… go to the bathroom, or go and find our seats, but-”

“It’s in the contract, isn’t it?” The clauses Jesper had signed his name to were clear enough, even if he’d chosen to ignore a fair few of them for his own peace of mind.

“You agreed to one meeting. He’ll want-“ Wylan paused again, rubbing his temple like a headache was forming. “He’ll just want a photo shaking your hand that he can sell to the press.”

“Progressive,” Jesper joked, torn between running away and pulling the boy in front of him into a hug. The Saints knew they both needed it.

“I’ll deal with the conversation. Honestly, the less you two say to each other, the better.”

“Works for me, gorgeous.” Nodding, Wylan visibly braced himself, catching Jesper’s hand and leading him across the floor. It felt like a funeral march, or perhaps an execution, the way Wylan’s radiance had dimmed, the way their conversation had faltered and died.

Jan Van Eck was a stern, gaunt man, dressed uncreatively in all black, only a ruby tie-pin offering any kind of character. There was a little resemblance between him and his son that Jesper could see, the same pale skin and blue eyes, but even from a distance it was obvious that Van Eck was devoid of Wylan’s vibrancy, of his warmth and kindness. The man didn’t turn to greet them when they arrived, merely continued his conversation and left Wylan waiting, silent and still, gaze fixed on the middle distance until Van Eck decided to grace them with his time. When he finally turned, he did so with a critical eye and a displeased frown focused solely on his son. Jesper squeezed Wylan’s hand gently, hoping it would act as some reassurance.

“It took you ten minutes to cross one hall?”

“I- I mean, we were just-”

“Don’t stutter, Wylan, it’s irritating. Are you going to introduce me, or not?” Wylan flushed a little, the tips of his ears turning pink with embarrassment, and Jesper’s skin itched for a fight. If this was the Barrel, he’d have already cussed Van Eck out and would be preparing to throw a punch.

“Right, of course,” Wylan carried on, hand tightening around Jesper’s in return. There was no fight in him, none of the bite or snark or sass Jesper had quickly grown used to. “Father, this is Jesper,” he tugged Jesper forward slightly, glancing at him apologetically as Van Eck snapped his fingers at a passing photographer. “Jesper, this is my father, Merchant Councillor Jan Van Eck.” The last words fell out in a rush, as though Wylan wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. Van Eck finally fixed his gaze on Jesper for a moment, taking him in and clearly finding him lacking.

“And have you actually bothered to learn Kerch, or do you just stand there gormlessly?” Tucking one hand behind his back, Jesper clenched a fist tightly, letting his nails dig into his palm.

“Father, that’s-” Wylan went to answer, but Van Eck cut him off with a wave of his hand, looking at Jesper expectantly.

“I speak Kerch perfectly well, sir. I actually speak three languages,” Jesper gritted out, fixing a polite smile on his face. Van Eck’s expression was dripping with disdain rather than surprise, and Jesper wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

“That’s something, I suppose. You never know what education is actually provided in these third world countries.”

“Ghezen help us,” Wylan muttered, looking around for any kind of distraction while Jesper’s skin crawled, bristling with that old, familiar anger and that aching, resigned frustration.

“Novyi Zem was a lovely place to grow up, sir. I’d truly recommend you visit, if you haven’t already.”

“The photographer’s ready!” Wylan interrupted before Van Eck had a chance to reply. There was a frantic edge to his voice, a desperation that Jesper felt in his bones. Van Eck shot his son a disparaging look before shooing him out of the way (literally shooing, and Jesper wanted to scream). The photo was over and done within moments, a quick shake of their hands, both forcing smiles, Jesper trying not to physically recoil when Van Eck clasped his shoulder like they were old friends, and then they were dismissed. Van Eck turned back to his conversation as though they had never been there.

Wylan looked like he wanted to vomit as he pulled Jesper away, and Jesper knew he probably didn’t look significantly better. Rage was boiling in his gut, hot and fiery and dizzying as he followed Wylan blindly, accepting the drink pressed into his hand and downing it in one.

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry, Jes, I’m so sorry-” Jesper fixed his gaze on the boy in front of him, doing his best to shake off the rage he was still feeling, or at least act like it had faded.

“You’ve never called me Jes before,” he managed, for once lost on what else to say. Blue eyes, kinder and softer and full of more emotion than Van Eck could ever understand, blinked at him in surprise.

“Is that…bad? I can not call you that again, if you don’t like it, it just came out.”

“No, I like it. Also, your Da’s a dick.”

“I tried to warn you,” Wylan answered with a grimace, taking Jesper’s empty glass and handing it to a passing waiter.

“Like, not just a dick, he’s a colossal, throbbing phallus of a man,” Jesper continued, still trying to unpick every layer of the conversation he would honestly rather forget. Wylan bit his lip, and for a second Jesper was terrified he was about to cry, until a choked, stifled laugh came out. The sound loosened the vice around Jesper’s ribs a little, acted as a cooling balm against the burn under his skin, and Jesper found himself staring at Wylan, enraptured.

“How does someone like that create someone as lovely as you? It doesn’t seem possible.” The words fell from him before he could stop them, and Wylan released his bottom lip, teeth leaving faint indents in the pink skin as he stared back at Jesper.

“Jesper, I-” Wylan started, before the tinkling sound of a fork against glass echoed through the speakers, and a prim but jovial voice asked the guests to find their seats for the first course. Hesitating, Wylan seemed torn for a second before sighing and shaking his head. “Let’s sit down. When you see the size of the courses, you’ll be grateful I made us eat earlier.”

Chapter Text

“What, exactly, do you think you’re playing at?” The voice was low and furious, and it stopped Jesper in his tracks as he made his way back to the hall from the bathroom. He couldn’t see who was speaking from around the corner, but he didn’t need to. It was the same voice that had called Novyi Zem a ‘third world country’, the same voice that had dismissed Jesper before he’d even had a chance to speak.

“I’m not playing at anything, sir.” Wylan’s voice was heartbreakingly hollow when he replied, any last dregs of fight now evaporated. Jesper clenched his fists, phone buzzing in his pocket with messages from his friends. Should he interrupt and rescue Wylan? That was his instinct, his initial impulse, but Wylan was a private person, and Jesper couldn’t bear it if a rescue backfired and Wylan ended up shutting him out. Indecision warred within him, and he remained frozen to the spot, listening.

“Don’t get smart with me, boy. Do you think it hasn’t been noticed, the way you’re throwing back drinks like some Barrel-bred alcoholic?” A beat of silence passed, and Jesper waited and prayed for Wylan to point out how ridiculous that was. That even if he had had more than the three drinks Jesper had seen him take, it wouldn’t be any of Van Eck’s business anyway. Instead, Wylan sighed softly, already defeated.

“I’m sorry. I’ll switch to water.”

“See that you do, and see that that Zemeni boy does as well. You know how those people are, they’ll take anything if they think it’s free.” Jesper’s jaw was clenched so tightly he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack. A hundred different curse words and a hundred different insults were flooding his brain with the need to fight, but he pressed his back against the wall and forced himself into silence.

“That’s… that’s not true, you can’t say things like that.” There was a tremor to Wylan’s voice, an obvious and irrefutable fear, but Jesper wanted to scream in triumph anyway.

“Oh? You mean to tell me what I can and can’t say, do you?” A gentle thud sounded from around the corner, the unmistakable sound of something hitting the wall. It wasn’t hard, but accompanied by the rising anger in Van Eck’s voice, Jesper could guess what had happened.

“No, sir. But what you said is racist.” Jesper heard Van Eck give an exasperated sigh, clearly unimpressed with Wylan’s challenge.

“It isn’t racist if it’s true, Wylan,” Van Eck said slowly, as though spelling something out to a small child. “What is this? Do you think this little social justice agenda will finally get people to like you?”

“People do like me,” Wylan responded weakly, and he sounded so hesitant and so uncertain that Jesper wanted to wrap him in a hug and carry him far, far away from here.

“And how would you know that? The little number on those silly pictures you post? People give the same to dying animals and videos about the homeless, Wylan, don’t be moronic. People pity you, but that does not mean they like you. Ghezen, we have to pay someone to be seen in public with you.”

“Jesper’s not-”

“Enough, Wylan. I do not have the patience to deal with your idiocy or your sensitivities. You have one job tonight, and that is to sit and smile. I trust even you can’t fail at that?” Another beat of silence passed before Wylan agreed, resignation curling through his words.

“Yes, father.”

The sharp click of shoes was enough to signal Van Eck’s wordless exit, and Jesper took a deep, bracing breath before rounding the corner. Wylan was already halfway down the corridor, heading further from the hall and vanishing around another corner. After a second’s pause, Jesper followed. They wove through the corridors, Wylan far enough ahead that he seemed oblivious to Jesper’s presence until the younger boy found a set of doors and slipped outside.

Approaching the doors slowly, Jesper frowned. The entire night was a disaster, but this felt like a turning point. He could return to his seat and pretend nothing had happened, pretend that everything was as it had been three hours ago. Or he could go outside, he could prove to Wylan that they were friends and that friends look out for each other, even if Wylan would hate the fact that Jesper had overheard everything. After another breath, Jesper slid through the slightly open door and immediately froze. He’d expected Wylan to be in tears, or to be pacing up and down in anger. Instead, Wylan was perched on the bottom step of a wide stone staircase, peering out into the darkness, holding a cigarette to his lips with two fingers.

“That is not what I expected to see,” Jesper managed, staring at the curls of smoke, at Wylan’s slender fingers and the sharp angle of his jaw. Wylan stood and spun around in one movement, eyes wide with surprise. He seemed to be trying quite badly to hide the cigarette behind his back.

“You were supposed to be in the bathroom!”

“Don’t change the subject! Didn’t you star in a healthy living campaign like, six months ago?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to believe everything you see online?” Wylan sagged a little, letting his hand fall to his side from its hiding place. Jesper descended the steps, stopping one above where Wylan was standing.

“Wylan Van Eck, are you secretly a bad boy?” He got an eye roll in response, and Wylan dropped back down to sit on the step. Grinning, Jesper dropped down next to him, stretching his legs out and peering up at the sky. The stars were visible here, far away from the smog and pollution of Ketterdam, but they were nowhere near as beautiful as Novyi Zem, and nowhere near as beautiful as the boy next to him.

“Obviously not. I don’t even really smoke. Just… every few months, if I’m stressed. Don’t tell anyone?”

“Does this fall under my NDA?” Jesper asked, watching from the corner of his eye as Wylan brought the cigarette up to his mouth and took a long, slow drag. As he exhaled, he shook his head.

“No. I’m just asking you not to tell anyone.” Jesper mimed crossing his heart with a small smile.

“I’ll take it to my grave, love. If I can have a drag, that is.” Wylan laughed, voice a little rough with the heat and the smoke, and Jesper could have happily drowned in the sound of it. Taking the cigarette from Wylan’s outstretched hand, he took his own drag, letting the silence between them grow and turn soft at the edges, shifting into something familiar and comfortable.

They sat for a while, passing the cigarette between them. The echoes of music and celebration occasionally reached them through opened windows and doors, and the darkness of the countryside stretched out in front of them like undiscovered territory, neither of them in any rush to move. When the cigarette was nothing more than a stub that Wylan ground out on the stone beside him, he finally broke the silence.

“How much did you hear?” The question was soft, not quite enough to shatter the peace between them, but enough to shake its foundations. Jesper tipped his head back, staring at the stars as though they held the answers.

“Enough to know that my initial assessment of your Da was correct,” he answered. Their little fingers were nearly touching where their hands lay between them on the stone, and Jesper could feel their proximity, feel the narrow space he would have to cross that, at that moment, felt like a gulf.

“Just… just tell me, Jesper. I’d rather know what you know.”

“I heard him imply you have a drinking problem, and spew a load of shit about Zemeni people being scroungers. I heard him spew even more shit about people pitying you instead of liking you,” Jesper couldn’t help the angry edge to his voice, even as Wylan straightened up and the distance between them grew. Watching the curve of Wylan’s spine as he leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands as though in prayer, Jesper sighed. “I heard you stand up for me again. You always stand up for me, but you never stand up for yourself.”

“You don’t deserve that,” came Wylan’s whispered response, spoken more to the dark than it was to Jesper.

“And you do? I don’t get it, why put up with it? Why do any of this, when it doesn’t even seem like you enjoy it?” Wylan twisted, watching Jesper over his shoulder before shaking his head.

“It’s complicated. Just…really fucking complicated.” Slowly, cautiously, Jesper reached out, skimming his hand along Wylan’s spine and curling it lightly around the nape of his neck, rubbing his thumb against Wylan’s shoulder. It was something his mother used to do when he was sad, Jesper remembered, and it had always felt reassuring, grounding, like he could fall and somebody would always catch him. After a moment, Wylan let out a soft, shuddering breath, closing his eyes. Minutes passed in silence before Wylan leaned against Jesper’s side, and Jesper instinctively slid an arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders, finally letting himself press his face into golden curls for a second.

“What do you want to do, Wy?” He murmured, knowing they needed to move but admittedly wanting to stay in this moment for hours.

“I don’t know. We should stay, really.”

“We could stay. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or we could go back to yours and get really, really drunk?”

“Ghezen, yes, let’s do that.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, cruel deceit! You serpent, masked as love,

Did whisper lies that fit like hand and glove.

Your honeyed words, which promised joys untold,

Have turned to ashes, bitter, grey, and cold.”

Jesper dropped to his knees dramatically as his monologue ended, wincing as they cracked against the varnished wood of Wylan’s coffee table, clutching his chest with one hand and swinging the other wide, wine splashing from his glass and running down his sleeve. In front of him, Wylan dissolved into hiccupping giggles, and Jesper threw his hands up in the air despairingly.

“It’s not meant to be funny! It’s meant to be heartbreaking.”

Wylan hiccupped again and stared at him with wide, slightly glazed eyes, biting his lower lip to suppress more laughter. The younger boy was stretched out on the sofa with a bottle of kvas in his hand, having watched Jesper’s rendition of his recent theatre performance with something between enrapturement and confusion. Now, there was pressure expanding in Jesper’s chest, and it seemed to worsen every time Wylan smiled at him.

“I think… I think it was heartbreaking.”

“You think? You flatter me, love,” Jesper answered, swinging his legs down so that he was sat on the table instead of kneeling, swallowing some of his slightly warm wine with a grimace.

“No, no, no, no, that’s not what I meant!” Wylan started, sitting up and nearly dropping the bottle of kvas in his hand. His eyes were bright and earnest, cheeks flushed with alcohol. “I mean… I didn’t really get much context. Like, why has he been betrayed? Why did his love leave him?”

“Oh! That’s easy.” Jesper stood, wobbling only slightly as the room tilted, before he picked up Wylan’s legs, dropped onto the sofa in their place, and let them fall back onto Jesper’s lap. Wylan didn’t complain, instead shifting to get comfortable once again, waiting expectantly. “You actually want me to explain it? I can lend you a copy of the play,”

“No, no, tell me about it. Please.” Wylan blinked at him, and Jesper hoped it was the alcohol that made him feel like he’d do anything Wylan asked as long as he kept looking at Jesper like that. Like he’d hung the stars, like he held the world in his palm. Like he was good, and worthy, and wanted. Skimming a hand up and down Wylan’s calf, Jesper dropped his head back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling and letting out a huff of breath.

“Okay, let’s see… so, the character I played was a young prince who falls in love with a street performer. It’s a- a love-at-first-sight kind of deal, right? So they barely know each other but never want to be apart again. Stupid, really.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid,” Wylan mumbled, sipping from the bottle and closing his eyes.

“Wylan Van Eck, secret romantic. Who knew? I’ll add it to my list of weird things I’ve learnt about you.”

“Please tell me that list doesn’t actually exist?”

“Oh, it does. It’s on my notes app, and it has at least ten bullet points.”

“Ghezen help me.”

“Shush, you. Let me finish the story.” Jesper glanced at Wylan, who waved his hand casually in agreement. From here, he could see the smooth, pale expanse of Wylan’s throat and the way amber curls twisted around his ears. “Okay, so, love at first sight, yada yada-”

“Is ‘yada yada’ a theatrical term?”

“Of course it is. Anyway, the prince is obviously forbidden by the king to marry this woman, because she’s poor, and common, and not princess material, apparently. So, he hatches this scheme to make her pretend to be nobility, sneaks her into the castle in disguise as a rich lady, pretends he’d never met her before…”

“And she betrays him even after that? That’s cold.”

“Well, kind of. Turns out, her Da is an awful bastard who threatens to kill her and the prince if she doesn’t help him rob the palace,” Jesper continued, hand curling around Wylan’s thigh when he shifts again, the soft material of his suit warm beneath Jesper’s fingers.

“Wait, so she’s forced to betray him? Oh, that’s so sad.” There was genuine emotion in Wylan’s voice, a tiny tremor that revealed actual concern for the fictional character Jesper had so far dubbed ‘a street performer’ and nothing else. Nina would have a field day psychoanalysing this level of empathy, he thought.

“Mhm, she’s forced. The prince marries someone else, she dies of heartbreak, it’s rough. Great role, though. They even let me carry a sword.”

“Did you get to use it?”

“Of course, love. I’m fantastic at swordplay,” Jesper grinned, squeezing Wylan’s thigh lightly. In return, Wylan hid his face in his hands with a groan. Without looking, Jesper knew the younger boy had turned gloriously pink.

“You’re so embarrassing.”

“And you’re so uptight,” Jesper retorted, jabbing Wylan in the side lightly to watch him squirm.  

“Oh, is that on your creepy stalker list?” Wylan asked, smacking Jesper’s hand away half-heartedly, too comfy and relaxed to properly protest.

“No, the list is weird things I’ve learnt about you, not things that any idiot on the street could guess.”

“You think a random stranger could guess that I’m uptight?” Wylan asked, swallowing a mouthful of liquor without flinching.

“Nah, you’re too good at your little… social butterfly act for anyone to clock it. I noticed, but that’s because I’m incredibly intelligent and good looking.” A beat of silence passed, and even drunk, it was obvious that Wylan was weighing up whether to take the bait or not, to respond to Jesper’s passive accusation of acting or not.

“I don’t see how your looks have any relevance.” Clearly not, then.

“But you admit it, I am good looking.” The eye-roll Jesper got in response was accompanied by another light flush of pink, and his grin widened even further.

“I’m not drunk enough to admit to anything.”

“Yet,” Jesper pointed out, reaching over to clink his glass lightly against Wylan’s bottle.

“Yet,” Wylan agreed with a laugh that left Jesper’s heart stuttering in his chest once again. It should be audible, he thought, the way it cracked against his ribs.

-

“No, no, no no no no, you’re supposed to mirror me,” Wylan demanded, two hours and many more drinks later. He flicked Jesper’s chest lightly as he spoke in a show of pretend irritation. Jesper stared at their socked feet against the rug, frowning with the effort it took to focus (and to stand upright, and to understand the words Wylan was saying).

“Wy, I am mirroring you. Mirrors are opposite, right?” He looked up from their feet, seeking Wylan’s gaze while holding up and waving their clasped hands to prove his point. Wylan was just as drunk as he was, swaying back and forth slightly where he stood, eyes bright and feverish, hair wild (Jesper had made sure of that at some point, he had vague memories of ruffling it fairly vigorously with his hand).

“Wait, what?” Wylan asked, pausing to look down at their feet the way Jesper had just done. “Oh. Oh, I’m being stupid.” Blue eyes went wide with realisation, and Jesper tipped his head back to let out a laugh. “Follow,” Wylan continued, brow furrowing deeply. “I meant follow, not mirror. Maybe someone else should teach you to waltz.”

“You… you are the only teacher I’ll listen to,” Jesper managed, alcohol making his tongue thick and heavy while he briefly considered Wylan as a teacher, all stern and disapproving. Reaching out, he ran a thumb over Wylan’s forehead, trying to push away the frown. Wylan swayed backwards in surprise, and in a stunning show of reflexes, Jesper caught his waist with both hands to stop him from falling. “If you die in a tragic accident, everyone will think I killed you, Wylan!”

“S’fine, nobody will press charges,” Wylan responded, giggling and swaying forward this time, leaning gently against Jesper’s chest. The movement chased all coherent thought from Jesper’s brain, leaving him standing with his hands at Wylan’s waist, head almost tucked beneath his chin. He was just sober enough to realise that this affection was a delicate, probably fleeting thing; a spider’s web caught in the breeze, a snowflake caught on a finger. Slowly, he slipped his hands from Wylan’s waist around his back, until he lightly held the boy against him. Wylan gave a soft, contented hum, dropping his head onto Jesper’s shoulder. They drifted side to side in a gentle nod to the waltz Wylan had given up teaching.

“Wy?” Jesper’s voice was nearly a whisper, desperate not to break the spell that had fallen over the room.

“Hm?”

“Tell me something nobody else knows about you.” Wylan shifted a little, one hand ghosting over Jesper’s hip.

“Why?”

“So in the morning, I know this was real.” It was a stupid thing to say, he thought, something vulnerable and raw and tender that shouldn’t come out now, not while they were drunk, not while Wylan was barely awake. Maybe this is the only time you can say it, his drunken mind taunted him. Maybe this is the only time he’ll let you.

“How will you know if what I say is real?” Wylan asked, and it was a fair question. Jesper didn’t know how to answer. After a small pause, Wylan sighed. “I like chemistry,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Chemistry. I like chemistry. I don’t think anyone knows that about me.”

“Doesn’t feel like a deep, dark secret, love. Why would nobody know that?” Jesper felt Wylan shrug in his arms, slightly less relaxed than he was a few minutes ago.

“Nobody ever asked, and it’s not… marketable. It doesn’t fit the brand, so I don’t talk about it.” Pulling back slightly, Jesper looked down at the boy in his arms, studying the flush on his face, the uncertainty still present beneath the haze of liquor as Wylan looked back.

“Everything has to fit the brand?”

“Everything. Clothes, interests, places I go, people I talk to, all of it. There’s actual guidelines somewhere, but I can’t be bothered to listen to them right now.” Wylan dropped his head back onto Jesper’s shoulder with an exasperated sigh, and Jesper brought his hand up to the back of Wylan’s neck, twisting curls loosely around his fingers.

“Tell me more about chemistry, then.”

Chapter Text

Jesper woke up alone in Wylan’s guest room and proceeded to spend a good ten minutes staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling, the glinting green glass of the vintage light fixture, and the shafts of grey-white light coming through the partially closed curtains, trying to work out if his hangover was going to truly be as awful as he thought. A troop of marching drummers had taken up residence in his skull, and his mouth felt about as dry as the Novyi Zem frontiers in summer. Without checking, he knew his breath would leave something to be desired if anyone came too close. But he could smell something sweet and comforting coming from the corridor, something that made his stomach growl embarrassingly loudly. Sitting up with a groan, he glanced around. Like the rest of the apartment, the room was eclectically but nicely decorated, painted a deep forest green that Jesper was coming to suspect was Wylan’s favourite. A bookshelf housed all sorts of trinkets and goodies, from an old record player to a carved bust of Sankta Marya, but no books, and not the one thing Jesper was looking for. Glancing around, it took too long for him to find his shirt, haphazardly flung over the writing desk by the window. By the time he managed to stand, gain his balance, stop his stomach from rebelling against him, and pull his shirt on, the smell from outside was practically taunting him.

In the kitchen, Wylan stood with his back to Jesper, singing absently to himself as he steadily added to a stack of pancakes. The tune carried across the marble countertops in a shimmering tenor despite its low volume, and Jesper slowed to a stop, utterly and pathetically entranced. Every decibel of sound hurt his head, but he’d suffer through the pain to hear more of Wylan’s voice, clear as a bell and pretty as a Saint. It also gave him a chance to study Wylan, this version of Wylan, who seemed comfortable and soft and genuine. With golden curls still damp from a shower, and the sleeves of his too-large grey sweater pushed up past his wrists, he didn’t look like an influencer, a celebrity, or a merch’s son. He just looked like Wylan, and he was beautiful. Pulling his phone from the pocket of his borrowed, much too short sweat pants, Jesper snapped a picture. The artificial clicking of the camera shattered the peace, and Wylan jumped, spinning around.

“Sorry, love, sorry! I thought it was on silent,” Jesper grinned unapologetically despite his words, dropped his phone on the counter and slid into a stool. Wylan raised his eyebrows, a familiar expression of amusement and exasperation on his face.

“I’m not sure if it’s worse or better that you were trying to take a photo in secret,” he replied, holding his hand out across the counter. Blinking with confusion, Jesper hesitantly took the outstretched hand and leant forward to press a kiss to the back of it. Wylan started laughing, exasperation chased away with ease. “No, give me your phone, Jesper!”

“Oh, that makes way more sense.” Grabbing his phone again, Jesper quickly unlocked it and found the photo, holding it out to the boy across from him. “Don’t scroll. Or do, if you’re in the mood,” he added, flashing Wylan a quick wink. A flush blossomed across Wylan’s cheeks that he tried to hide with an eyeroll.

“I have no interest in exposing myself to anything that traumatic,” he muttered as he took the phone, studying the image.

“You can expose whatever you like to me, gorgeous.” The blush deepened, and Jesper’s grin widened further. Even hungover, this was much more fun than any stupid gala.

“This photo is fine. You can put it on your story, but don’t upload it as a post,” Wylan said instead of responding, sliding the phone back across the counter and turning back to the stove.

“I wasn’t going to post it anywhere, love. I was just going to keep it.” Blue eyes shot him a confused look, but Wylan didn’t question it, just poured batter onto a hot pan and grabbed a second plate.

“How hungry are you?” Jesper’s stomach growled in response, and he heard Wylan snort out a gentle laugh. “Very, I take it.”

“You’re making me breakfast? You’re already better than ninety per cent of my exes.”

“That feels like a lot to start unpicking over pancakes,” Wylan responded, voice dry as he stacked a third pancake onto the new plate. “Coffee?”

“By all the Saints, yes. I feel like I’m dying. How do you not also feel like you’re dying?” Jesper only really noticed as he said it, but Wylan did look fresh; eyes bright, cheeks flushed, no sign of a pounding head or a rebellious stomach. The boy poured a large mug of coffee from a pot and turned to slide it over to Jesper.

“Ah. The trick is to always feel like you’re dying, then hangovers make no difference.”

“And a good morning to you too, Sunshine.” Jesper pulled the mug towards him, cradling it carefully in both hands and inhaling deeply. “Is there a Saint for coffee? There should be a Saint for coffee.” Wylan tilted his head in thought, biting his lower lip distractingly.

“Maybe Yeryin? Or Emerens, depending on how you want to interpret ‘brewers’, though I’m not sure that fits with the story.” It took a moment for Jesper to formulate a response, distracted as he was by the pinkening skin under Wylan’s teeth.

“You’re such a nerd.” Real articulate, he cursed himself as Wylan frowned at him.

“I won’t feed you.”

“No! No, please, Wylan, darling, dearest Wylan, light of my life, apple of my eye, if you take food away from me right now, I’ll cry. Do you want me to cry?”

“Maybe I do.”

“Saints, you’re so sexy when you’re mean to me. Do it more.” Wylan gave Jesper a one-fingered gesture as he turned back to the hob, pouring the last of the batter onto the pan. Resting his elbows on the table, Jesper grabbed his phone. It had been lighting up intermittently all morning (was it morning still? He had no solid grasp of time when he was with Wylan. Hours could have passed, or minutes) and he wanted to see if he truly looked as good as he suspected in those press shots. Ignoring the dozens of messages from his friends, he jumped straight to his socials as Wylan dished up, the clink of cutlery and dishes fading into the background as he brought up his account.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?” Wylan asked quickly, putting the plates down and turning again, brow creased with worry.

“No, no, nothing bad, just… I have a lot more followers than I did yesterday.”

“Oh. Is that it?” The worry fled Wylan’s voice.

“Like, loads more. Nearly twenty thousand people overnight.”

“That would make sense, Jes. Have you not looked at the gala tags?”

“I’ve been focused on staying upright and not puking on your shiny floors, angel. Are they good?” A stack of pancakes slid into his field of vision, piled high with enough fruit and cream and syrup that Jesper was once again distracted from his phone. “I think you might actually be the love of my life.” He managed, digging out a mouthful and searching his tags with one hand.

“Your bar is so low it might actually be through the floor.”

“You and my friend Nina would get along,” was the only response Jesper managed, muffled as it was around a mouthful of food. Swallowing hard, his eyes widened. “All the Saints and your Aunt Eva, these photos are incredible.”

“Mhmm,” Wylan managed, focus absorbed by cutting his pancakes into squares.

Jesper scrolled and scrolled through the pictures from last night, images of his gorgeous suit, of his hand curled around Wylan’s hip, of his lips pressed to Wylan’s hand. They were all beautiful, and it was no wonder they were garnering tens, sometimes hundreds, of thousands of likes and comments. One in particular seemed to be making the front of every post, seemed to be catching the most attention. It was the one picture Jesper had been the most eager to see, the moment Wylan had twisted to whisper something to him and their lips had nearly touched, heat charged between their locked gazes. Even knowing it was pretend, even having a printed copy of their contract shoved into his bedside, the photo made his breath hitch and his heart beat a little faster. He was still scrolling and chewing, scrolling and chewing when his phone rang loudly enough that they both winced.

It might sound crazy but it ain't no lie, baby bye bye bye. Wylan raised both eyebrows, biting down on a smile at the music as Jesper nearly dropped his phone into a puddle of syrup. Holding up one finger to Wylan and then blowing him a kiss when he nodded, Jesper answered the phone, tucking it between his ear and shoulder so that he could continue eating. Nina practically shrieked down the microphone.

“Jesper Llewellyn Fahey, what in the world is happening?!”

“Hello to you too, Zenik. And no, I didn’t need my eardrum, thanks for asking.”

“Jesper, you’re famous. Like truly, properly, people will recognise you in the street more than once, kind of famous.”

“I think you’ll find my pretend boyfriend’s actually famous, love” Jesper argued, pausing to gesture reassuringly when Wylan looked up, eyes wide with panic and concern. “I think I’m just riding the coattails of his fame.”

“There’s literally a whole article about you in the Star Watch section of the Kerch Post! Well, about the two of you, but still!”

“There is? Send me a link? I’m eating breakfast but I’ll read it-”

“Wait, you’re eating breakfast? An actual breakfast, not just gummy bears you left on your sofa? Where are you?”

“I’m actually, uh, well. I’m still at Wylan’s?” Jesper watched as Wylan dropped his forehead onto the table with a defeated thud, muttering something about a severance clause, half-eaten pancakes abandoned. On the other end of the phone line, Nina shrieked again.

“Are you kidding me?! Jesper, are you actually sleeping with him? Because if you are, Inej owes me fifty kruge, so you have to tell me!”

“You made a bet on- never mind. I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t you dare, Fahey, this is the most drama we’ve had in our group since the lifejacket incident, if you hang up on me I’ll never forgive you.”

“Bye, Nina! Love you!”

“Jesper-”

With a quick grimace, Jesper hung up. Wylan hadn’t moved, but a muffled voice came from the heap of pyjamas and curls.

“How many people have you told, exactly?”

“That I stayed at yours? One. Two, if you count yourself, but you probably-”

“That it’s fake, Jesper,” Wylan corrected, sitting up. Anxiety lined every syllable, and even with a faint red mark on his forehead from the cold counter, Wylan looked serious and worried.

“Oh. Only my friends, but it was before the NDA, so I think it’s legally fine?”

“That’s not- I’m not worried about that. How many friends?”

“Four.”

“Four?!”

“Is that a lot?! You’re stressing me out, love.”

“You’re stressing me out! Four people know this is a press stunt, and you didn’t tell me?”

“They won’t snitch, promise. I trust them completely. Plus, they really want me to get that money, Nina’s already mentally spent half of it.” He grinned, trying to lighten the unease darkening Wylan’s eyes. “Wy, it’s fine. I swear.”

“You’re asking me to put a lot of faith in people I don’t know, Jesper. I don’t like it.”

“Then don’t! Put your faith in me, instead. Admittedly a risky decision, but one you’ll hopefully not regret.” Wylan just watched him, brow furrowed with scepticism. “And if I break your trust, you can always whip up some poison with all that secret science knowledge!” Jesper tried, holding out his hands placatingly.

“Ghezen, I’d hoped you’d forgotten that.”

“Forget last night? Never.”

Chapter Text

Embarrassingly, Jesper had called Wylan four times in the last eight hours. Once when he realised the menu at the restaurant for their next date was entirely in Ravkan. A second time when a magazine of middling popularity with students reached out to him to try and get an exclusive interview. The third time was a despairing call when the firm delivered a second round of outfits, none of which Jesper really liked, and the fourth, well. The fourth call was because Wylan hadn’t answered any of the others, and Jesper was beginning to freak out a little. Wylan always answered. Not always immediately, and sometimes he answered only to tell Jesper that he’d call back when he could, but he always answered. Saints knew, he was never without his phone, so the lack of response was concerning, to put it mildly. Was Wylan angry at him for telling his friends about the strategy? He’d seemed fine when Jesper had left his apartment a few days ago, a little stressed, which was normal for him, and more than a little sleepy, but not angry or anxious or disappointed. Or had he remembered the whole of their night together, the gala and the escape, the drinks and the foolish, fumbling dancing in the living room, and simply decided that it was all too much? That Jesper was too much, even as a friend? Was this avoidance actually Wylan waking up to the reality that they were growing closer, that this might be something, and pulling away because it wasn’t what he wanted?  Jesper paced the kitchen floor, his phone staring at him mockingly from the counter as he waited for his pasta to boil and for his mind to stop betraying him. Wylan’s just busy, he told himself for the tenth time. He’s at an event, or he’s been filming all day, he repeated, stirring the bubbling water and mentally kicking himself. Or he hates you, muttered the same voice.

His phone only rang when he was halfway through his bowl of (admittedly, slightly undercooked) pasta. One glance at the screen where it lay next to him revealed Wylan’s name, and Jesper scrambled to put his bowl down without spilling any food. Taking a deep breath to avoid sounding as desperate as he felt, Jesper picked up. Wylan’s voice echoed through the line, breathy and quiet as though he were whispering.

“Jesper? Is everything okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, love?”

“What? Why? I’m fine, everything’s fine,” Wylan insisted, the clicking of a door sounding from his end of the phone.

“I mean, I was joking, but now I’m actually concerned because that was awfully unconvincing of you. You okay? Have you accidentally ended up swimming into the deep end of the pool, or fallen into a shallow hole?”

“I’m literally six inches shorter than you, shut up. And I’m fine, I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy with what, your four other fake boyfriends?” He heard Wylan huff out half a laugh, and some of the tight anxiety in his chest eased away. Wylan was laughing. Wylan didn’t hate him.

“If you’re legitimately jealous at the idea of me having other pretend boyfriends, then you need some serious help. I’m happy to add free counselling sessions to your compensation package if you need me to.”

“Who said jealous? I can share if you can,” he replied, letting himself grin at the innuendo even as his brain called him a filthy liar.

“Ghezen, is there an actual reason you called me four times, or was it just to give me a heart attack?”

“Is there a reason you didn’t answer? Or is it another deep dark secret like your chemistry hobbies?”

“No secret, just nothing interesting. It’s… well, it’s family dinner day. We have it once a month, and it usually takes the whole day. I’m not allowed on my phone. None of us are.”

“Family dinner day?!” Jesper repeated, incredulity radiating from every syllable. “Forgive me, love, but in the time I got to know your Da, he didn’t seem like a ‘family dinner day’ kind of person.”

“He isn’t. In fact, I’m almost certain he hates it as much as I do, but Alys has insisted on it every month since I moved out.” The exasperation in Wylan’s voice would have been funny if it wasn’t so sad. Dinners with his Da were something Jesper had loved growing up, even when they featured burnt meat and soggy desserts. They were one of the main things he missed about home; the comfort, the safety, the joyful mess.

“And pray tell, what does family dinner day entail in the Van Eck household? No, no, let me guess. Bullying the house staff? A table with more forks than people? A lecture on macroeconomics?”

“You’re close, I’m afraid.”

“What did I get wrong? The bullying?”

“The macroeconomics. No work talk at the table, obviously,” Wylan corrected with an exaggerated sigh.

“Saints be damned, I should have known. Alys would never allow it!” Wylan’s laughter was music down the phone, no longer hushed or hidden behind a breath.

“Shh, shh, you’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Wylan Van Eck, have you snuck outside to talk to me?” Jesper asked, concerned that if he glanced in the mirror he’d be glowing from the inside out.

“Worse. I’m hiding in the bathroom.”

“You’re such a rebel.”

“Mm, I’m sure all rebels have to climb two flights of stairs to make a phone call in peace.”

“Every now and then I’m reminded that your family is insanely rich, and I’m filled with the urge to propose to you. It would solve a lot of my problems.”

“Trust me, marrying into this family would give you a whole different set of problems to deal with.”

“Implying that you’d say yes, love.”

“Oh, that is not what I meant. I was mostly warning you off asking in the first place.”

“But what if our love was deep enough to overcome all obstacles?” Jesper continued, putting on a melodramatic, lovelorn voice that implied he was close to swooning.

“I don’t think there’s any amount of love that overcomes this level of dysfunction, but it’s cute you think there might be. Don’t let me shatter that romanticism.”

“Are you calling me cute, Wy-wy?”

“It was meant to be patronising.”

“I’m ignoring that and taking it as a compliment. What time does family dinner day typically finish?”

“Unsurprising approach from you, to be honest. I usually get home at around ten.”

“Ten? Late dinner.”

 “Alys likes to perform the songs she’s been learning after dessert and drinks.”

“She sings? Is she as good as you?” A beat of silence passed, and Jesper could picture Wylan’s expression. The thoughtful head tilt, the furrow between his brows, the barely noticeable frown.

“She’s very passionate.”

“Ah. Loud, then?”

“So loud.”

“Do you want to come to mine when you’re done?” Jesper asked, the words falling from his lips before he’d realised what he was going to say. “I mean, one of the reasons I called was about the outfits Anya sent me. I could, uh. I could do with some advice?” Another silence, this one more apprehensive than the last.

“I usually just go straight to bed, Jes, I’m not sure-”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to!” Jesper followed up in a rush, grimacing at himself. “It was just an idea, you know I only remember these things when they’re right in front of me, and anyway, I’m sure the clothes will be fine, they’re just clothes, who really cares-”

“No, no, I’ll come. I want to. I just…” There was a hesitancy to Wylan’s voice that almost sounded like nerves, like vulnerability, and as heartbreaking as it was, Jesper wanted more. Wanted to know what made Wylan’s voice shake, who he needed to punch for putting that anxiety under his skin and letting it fester there.

“Just?”

“Can I be honest with you?” Jesper swallowed hard, falling still for the first time in the conversation, voice dropping to match the softness in Wylan’s.

“I always want you to be honest with me, love.” A third pause; a precipice, a cliff edge.

“I’m not usually… in the best mood when I leave? I know it’s just a family dinner, but it’s always- it’s not fun. And I usually go home, drink half a bottle of brandy and pass out on the sofa watching ‘how it’s made’ videos. It’s quite pathetic.” Wylan let out a shuddering breath as if he’d confessed some great sin or weakness, as if bracing for Jesper to use it against him.

“It’s not pathetic, Wy. You’re not pathetic. It’s hardly your fault your Da’s a- a-”

“‘A colossal, throbbing phallus of a man’?”

“Exactly. How about instead of doing that at yours, you come to mine, we drink the brandy, and you can show me the best how it’s made videos? Then you can crash here, and we can deal with all the date stuff in the morning?”

“You’re really prepared to spend your evening watching videos about the creation of bubble gum and balloons?”

“There’s a bubble gum episode? Saints, I was just saying it to be nice but that actually sounds quite fun.”

“It’s a very satisfying watch. Are you sure you’re sure, though? It’s not exactly a thrilling night.”

“I’m more than sure. I’m practically vibrating with excitement, honestly.”

“Okay, weirdo.”

“Do you need my address? I can text it to you.”

“No, no, I have it.”

“You have it? Since when?”

“Since you signed the contract?”

“Oh, and I’m the weirdo. Sure.” The sound Wylan gave out was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“I’ll text you when I leave, okay? If you change your mind-”

“I won’t.”

“If you do, then tell me. I won’t be annoyed.”

“I promise I’ll tell you if the impossible scenario of me changing my mind occurs.” Another sigh, another laugh.

“See you later, Jesper.”

“Later, love.”

Chapter Text

“When Nina said ‘cooling mask’, I didn’t think it would actually tingle,” Jesper said, wrinkling his nose and feeling the lurid turquoise mask crack against his skin. Wylan peered up at him, head resting on Jesper’s thigh with his legs swinging over the arm of the sofa, somehow making even a stupid face mask look cute.

“I quite like it. It’s refreshing, like… a cold shower, or a mint, or something.”

“How long do we have to keep these on, again? It feels like it’s been hours.”

“It’s meant to be relaxing. You could try being still. Or quiet. Or calm.” Wylan tried, grimacing even as he spoke like he knew the words were pointless.

“How dare you, Wylan Van Eck. It’s cruel to suggest such a thing,” Jesper argued, tugging one of Wylan’s curls lightly to emphasise the point.

“I know, I know. Forgive me?” Wylan had closed his eyes, and it was the closest he’d looked to relaxed since he’d arrived a few hours ago. Jesper smoothed wayward gold strands from his forehead, greenish-blue flakes catching on his hand.

“Always, love.”

They’d been sat like this for at least five minutes, waiting for the masks Jesper had dug out of his bathroom cupboard to dry and work miracles, Jesper unable to resist playing with Wylan’s hair, Wylan slowly but steadily unwinding under the touch. The younger boy had arrived in a painful mix of exhaustion and anxiety, fidgeting with the buttons on his suit and the cap of the brandy bottle, barely answering Jesper’s questions about his day. Now, his suit was discarded in Jesper’s spare room, and Wylan was tucked into a pair of pyjama pants and a grey sweater that Jesper hadn’t worn for years, the sleeves falling over his hands and the legs rolled to stop him from tripping. Stray slices of leftover pizza cooled in a greasy box on the coffee table, the TV flickering mutely in the background. Another few minutes passed slowly, almost sleepily, before Jesper broke the silence.

“Want to tell me about your day yet?” A beat passed, and Jesper watched Wylan frown; a small, barely noticeable downturn of his mouth, a creasing around his eyes.

“Do I have to?”

“Nope. But… we’re friends, right? Friends talk about their problems,” Jesper answered, even as the words fell awkwardly on his own ears, like an instrument out of tune. Were they friends? They were definitely something, but he’d never sat with his friends like this. He’d never twisted Nina’s brown waves around his finger, or traced a thumb along Inej’s jaw. Matthias had never rested his head on Jesper’s thigh, and Jesper was entirely certain the Saints would rise again if he ever drunkenly waltzed with Kaz around a living room, hands falling on his hips, fingers tracing along his spine. Blue eyes opened, peering up at him sceptically from a halo of burnished gold. Were they sceptical at the label of friendship? Did the term seem as inadequate to Wylan as it did to him? “I would like it if… if you felt like you could talk to me about your problems.”

Another beat passed, a silence that was thick and heavy and loaded with unspoken words, and then Wylan sighed. Jesper felt the smaller boy tense, turning rigid and brittle, hands fidgeting with the cuffs of his borrowed sweater.

“Maybe we should take our masks off,” he said, sitting up and stretching, arching his back and rolling his shoulders.

“Oh. Uh, yeah, okay. We can do that,” Jesper answered, trying to reign in his disappointment. They’d been getting somewhere, he thought. He felt closer to Wylan, felt his understanding of the other boy growing, but getting him to open up was like cracking a safe. Wylan vanished into the bathroom, and Jesper heard the tap running. Giving himself a second to shake off his frustration, Jesper trailed after him, scooping warm water from the running faucet and scrubbing at his face. Wylan met his gaze briefly in the mirror, the curls around his temples dark and damp, skin flushed with friction.

“Alys is pregnant.” Jesper’s eyebrows shot up, and he knew from his reflection that his eyes were comically wide.

“She’s… oh. Oh. That’s…” he trailed off, unable to find the words to finish the sentence.

“It’s gross. She’s only two years older than me! She’s your age! I don’t- I guess I was in denial about how weird and creepy their relationship is, but this has really shattered that delusion.”

“She told you at dinner?” It was as though a dam had broken, letting forth a day’s worth of Wylan’s repressed frustration and dread.

“She did a whole announcement, and she was so excited! And who am I to- to ruin that for her? She deserves to be excited, but she also deserves to be with someone who isn’t old enough to be her father! You should have seen his face, Jes, he was so… so smug, and satisfied. This is all he ever wanted, you know?” Wylan wandered back into the living room, swiping up the abandoned brandy bottle as he paced. Jesper followed, watching Wylan unravel into tangled spools of anxiety.

“I… really don’t know, Wy. What do you mean, this was ‘all he wanted’?” Jesper tried, but Wylan was unscrewing the brandy bottle and taking a deep drink, hand trembling slightly. By the time he put the bottle down, the desperate anger had been smothered, pressed back a little, had morphed into something closer to sadness. Jesper wondered how he’d ever thought Wylan expressive before, when this was everything that lay beneath the veneer. The perfect smiles, the careful hands, even the soft, quiet moments… every one of them seemed diluted in retrospect, like Wylan had been holding back a storm that was finally beginning to roll in.

“It’s complicated, okay? I can’t- I really can’t talk about it, I shouldn’t, but… he always wanted to replace me, Jesper. I know that, and he knows that I know that, and now he’s getting exactly what he wants! And- and what? Now I’m going to be this child’s brother, and what if they’re a disappointment to him, too? What if they’re not good enough either? How do I stop him doing to them everything he’s done to me? Worse, even. What if I can’t stop him?”

Things were falling into place, puzzle pieces aligning in a morbid pattern in Jesper’s mind. Wylan’s anxiety, his fear, his constant compulsion to be perfect. His passivity in the face of his father’s anger, that strange obedience Jesper had never seen in him before. The way he flinched at sudden gestures, the way loud noises always made him jump, the confusion he’d shown any time Jesper had brought him something or had shown him kindness. Anger seared through him like a heated blade, and with it the knowledge that he couldn’t share this realisation with Wylan. That if he did then Wylan would panic, would run, would shut Jesper out again and rebuild walls that were just beginning to crumble. Instead, he crossed over to where Wylan paced, catching the smaller boy’s hands and pulling him to a stop.

“You’re not responsible for everything your Da does, Wy.” Wylan stared at their hands, watching where his pale fingers trembled in Jesper’s own.

“How can I trust him not to…?” Jesper tightened his grip on Wylan’s hands, bringing one up to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Blue eyes watched the entire time, devastated and uncertain.

“I don’t know. Maybe you can’t.” They danced around the subject with light feet, twirling and spiralling, Jesper’s realisation and Wylan’s fear making for fragile decoration.

“I should be happy for them.”

“You don’t have to be anything, love. Not here, anyway. Not with me.”

Wylan pitched forward a little, leaning against Jesper’s chest and dropping his head onto Jesper’s shoulder, their hands trapped between them. It was a sombre, shadowy mirror of their drunken dance in Wylan’s living room, but it felt precious nonetheless. Slipping his hands free from Wylan’s, Jesper wrapped his arms around the smaller boy’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. He felt Wylan shudder and sigh, and eventually arms came up around his waist, squeezing loosely. Carding fingers through Wylan’s hair, Jesper dropped a kiss onto his head. Friends, he thought to himself. Very flexible friends.

“Told you inviting me over was a bad idea,” came a muffled voice, Wylan’s breath heating the skin of Jesper’s shoulder.

“What do you mean? I love hosting people’s mental breakdowns. Makes me feel better about my own life.”

“Yeah? Same time next month, then?”

“Any time you want, love.”

Chapter Text

“We might need to adjust that booking for my birthday,” Jesper said to his stack of pancakes, hoping they’d be more forgiving and less critical than his friends. He knew Nina was staring at him across the table, that Inej had raised her eyebrows, that Matthias had stopped eating. Only Kaz continued as if nothing had been said, reading something on his phone, occasionally scanning the thin morning crowds of the Kooperom that milled around them.

“We have five spaces in the VIP area of Club Cumulus, why would we need to adjust it? It took all my powers of persuasion to get us in,” Nina answered instead of the pancakes, and Jesper grimaced.

“Could we stretch to six places?”

“Why would we stretch to six places, Jesper?” Nina asked, knowing amusement in her voice.

“Who could that sixth person possibly be?” Inej continued. Glaring petulantly at the small Suli girl from his corner of their booth, Jesper stabbed a strawberry with more force than necessary.

“I…may or may not have invited Wylan to come.” Nina’s smile widened and she held out her hand. Reluctantly, and with a definite glower in Jesper’s direction, Inej pulled two bank notes from her purse and pressed them into Nina’s hand.

“You too, Helvar,” Nina said, and Jesper sank into his chair as Matthias rolled his eyes and handed over another note.

“You bet on me inviting Wylan.” Jesper didn’t have it in him to be surprised. If anything, he wished he could have been in on the game.

“You do talk about him a lot, Jes,” Inej answered, slicing into her breakfast.

“I stand to make fifty kruge if you sleep with him by the end of the month, so if you hop to it I could get you a much nicer birthday present,” Nina added, smiling as she popped a forkful of waffle into her mouth.

“It’s not like that!” Jesper squawked, shooting up straight in his chair. “We’re friends.”

“Didn’t you have an… intimate dream about him?” Matthias asked, frowning at Jesper in concern as he covered his face with his hands.

“Nina, you told people?!”

“Not people! Matthias! And Inej. And Kaz. And Annika and Rotty, who probably told quite a few other people.”

“Saints save me.”

“You had a sex dream about a cute guy, and now you have a very obvious, very embarrassing crush on him, what’s the big deal?”

“I do not have a crush! I don’t get crushes because I’m not twelve, and Wylan is cute, yes, obviously, but he’s my friend. He’s not interested in more, and- and neither am I.” Jesper heard the weakness in his own voice, the wavering strain and the stutter that he knew gave him away. His friends knew him too well, knew every tell and tick and trigger he had, he may as well start waving a banner that read ‘I like Wylan Van Eck’ on it. It could have sparkles.

“Why do you think he’s not interested?” Inej asked, resting a hand on Nina’s arm as she opened her mouth to deliver an undoubtedly devastating barb. Probably about the banner. Tipping his head back, Jesper groaned.

“It’s complicated,” he said, annoyed at himself for sounding more and more like Wylan by the minute.

“You like a boy. Said boy has slept at your place, and you have slept at his place. You talk all the time, you text all the time, you’ve made each other dinner… how exactly is it complicated?” Nina probed, slicing into another waffle.

“Because! Because Wylan is complicated. He’s amazing, but also really fucking complicated.” Kaz snorted in derision, and even Matthias had the nerve to look sceptical. Jesper rolled his eyes. “This is why I didn’t tell any of you. You don’t know him, so you think he’s just-”

“Shallow?” Nina interrupted.

“Spoilt,” Matthias added.

“Fake,” said Inej.

“An entitled brat,” Kaz finally said, glancing up from his phone. Jesper fell quiet for a moment, anger burning under his skin with nowhere to go.

“He’s not any of those things. Except… maybe fake, but only sometimes, when he has to be. And he’s my friend, and he’s smart and he’s funny and kinder than any of you podges. And I like him, so I invited him to my birthday. You can all at least try not to be utter dicks if he comes. He would never be a dick to any of you.” Silence settled over the table, and even Nina managed to look a little ashamed.

“Jes, we didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, ‘Nej. I know what you think of him. It’s what I thought before I met him. It’s what a lot of people think, but people are idiots.” Another beat of silence passed, and Nina gave a dramatic sigh.

“Well, I guess the earlier I call Club Cumulus the better. Did he definitely say he’s coming?”

“Ah. Not quite.”

“Not quite?”

“He said maybe?”

“Maybe could mean yes,” Matthias said, laying down his cutlery.

“Maybe means ‘no’,” Kaz corrected, shaking his head. “Wylan Van Eck won’t step foot into Club Cumulus unless they’re paying his daily rate for appearances.”

“Maybe means maybe,” Inej said reassuringly, kicking Kaz under the table.  

“He said he wanted to!” Jesper argued, food abandoned to go cold on his plate. “He’s busy a lot, and honestly, I think the idea of meeting you all made him nervous.”

“Wylan Van Eck was nervous to meet us?” asked Inej, her incredulity matched by raised eyebrows around the table. “The Wylan Van Eck? The boy people affectionately call the Prince of Kerch?”

“I told you, he’s not what you think! He knows you’re important to me, and I- I think I might be important to him? I also… don’t think he has many friends. Or any friends, really. Except me.”

“He has over forty thousand followers on Instagram,” Nina deadpanned, shaking her head.

“Followers aren’t friends. Honestly, I think he’s lonely. Meeting all of you in one go will make him nervous.”

“Lonely and nervous. You’re really selling us on inviting him.”

“Shut up, Kaz.”

“I’ll call the club,” Nina conceded, though not without an eye-roll. “But if he doesn’t show and Club Cumulus don’t let me book VIP again in the future, I’ll track him down myself.”

“I’ll talk to him and make sure he comes. We’ve got our next date this evening.”

“Saints, I almost forgot you were still pretending to date him. How long left on that is there, exactly?”

“Three more dates. About three months, give or take,” Jesper answered, frowning to himself. He hadn’t realised how much time had passed, or how little of it there seemed to be left. In three months, where would they be? Would Wylan still want to see him? Would they still talk on the phone, still bicker over text? Or would Wylan run when the contract was up, move on to another pretend relationship, another façade to protect his father? The thought left an ache in Jesper’s chest that he wasn’t familiar with, a thudding bruise with a thumb pressed against its centre. Three months wasn’t enough. Three months was nothing.

Chapter Text

Their hands lay intertwined between them as the car wove through broad, clean Geldin streets. A handful of press had been waiting outside Wylan’s apartment building, cameras flashing as they stepped outside, desperate to get the next photo of the newly launched couple, and Jesper had simply failed to let go once Wylan had slid into the waiting seat. Wylan’s hand was soft and warm in Jesper’s, their fingers laced loosely together. It felt like a fire was licking up Jesper’s arm, only the agony was different.

“So, about my birthday…” Jesper started, not wanting to break the hush that enveloped the car but itching to know what Wylan was thinking. Shifting, Wylan turned from the window to meet his gaze, raising his eyebrows. He was bathed only in the faint yellow glow of the interior light, and it cast hazy shadows about him.

“I told you that I’d ask,” he answered, voice low, instinctively respecting the momentary peace as much as Jesper. Jesper twisted to face the boy properly, rubbing his thumb lightly over the scar on Wylan’s knuckle. An absent habit he’d picked up over three fake dates and a number of too-close-for-friends evenings, but one that Wylan didn’t seem to mind.

“Hear me out, Wy. What if you didn’t ask?”

“What do you mean? You know I’ll need to talk to Anya, have it added to my schedule, get everything approved-”

“Or you could just come to my birthday because you want to? You do want to, right?” The confusion in Wylan’s eyes softened, and Jesper felt warm fingers squeeze his own.

“I do want to. Of course I do, it’s just-”

“Then do it. You want to be there and I want you there, that’s all that actually matters.” With a sigh, Wylan dropped his head back against the leather seat.

“I know that, Jes. I do know that-”

“Then come.”

“Please, keep interrupting me, you know I love it when you do that,” Wylan sniped, but a smile was creeping onto his face. Jesper could feel triumph closing in, could taste it on the end of his tongue. The younger boy had relaxed a little, was watching him with amusement rather than worry, was joking instead of making excuses. 

“Come to my birthday. Actually, no, I’m not asking anymore. You’re coming to my birthday, and that’s it. No arguments.”

“None? Not even a squabble?”

“Not even a tiff. And there’s rules.”

“Rules? At a party you’re hosting? Do I have a fever?” Wylan pulled up their clasped hands and pressed Jesper’s to his forehead, feigning illness.

“Not rules for everyone, love, just rules for you.”

“Is this a negotiation?”

“Do you want it to be, merchling? We can negotiate. I’m better at it than you’d think.”

“I don’t think you’d be bad at anything,” Wylan answered, dropping their hands back onto the seat. If Jesper flexed his fingers they’d skim the side of Wylan’s thigh, the fabric of his trousers.

“Rule one: you have to pick your own outfit.”

“That’s important enough to you that it’s rule number one?”

“All I’ve ever seen you in are clothes the firm has picked or your pyjamas. Or my pyjamas. And don’t get me wrong, you’re very cute, but I’m intrigued to see what you choose for yourself.” Jesper tugged one of Wylan’s curls with his free hand to emphasize his point and got an eye-roll in return.

“Don’t blame me if you end up sorely disappointed on your birthday. Rule two?”

“Rule two! Any photos you take are for us and only us, no posting, sharing, or selling. Other people might post, but they’re not important.”

 “Why not?”

“It makes you think too hard and then you can’t relax. I want you to have fun. It’s what normal people have when they go out with their friends.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Fun or friends?”

“I have friends!”

“You have me and an unhealthy fixation on MythBusters, Wy.” 

“I have… Alys.”

“Your stepmother?”

“And Adem?”

“Oh, her probable illicit love affair? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Shut up,” Wylan protested, sinking down into the seat with a frown that was close enough to a pout that Jesper grinned. “Is there a third rule, or is this just an excuse to bully me?”

“Aw, poor Wy-wy,” Jesper answered, pinching Wylan’s cheek like an old aunt might until Wylan smacked his hand away petulantly. “Rule three: no scripted conversations.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about telling the same joke to five different people, or the same story, or asking the same questions. All the stuff you do when you’re being… shiny celebrity Wylan.”

“You noticed that?”

“Of course I noticed it! You do it every time! More importantly, my friends will notice it.” Wylan frowned, thinking over the terms for a few seconds before sitting up straight.

 “Okay. Okay, fine, I think I can do that. On one condition, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t leave me alone with your friends.” The words came out in a rush, revealing an anxiety Jesper had already begun to suspect existed. “At least not for the first few hours. Until at least one of them likes me, if any of them do.”

“My friends will like you! They might show it in a funny way, but they will. How could they not? You’re adorable, love.”

“Hard disagree, and from what you’ve said about your friends, I don’t think being adorable will help.”

“It will definitely help. I’ve seen Kaz kick a lot of things, but never a puppy. That has to count for something, right?”

“Am I the puppy in that scenario? Jesper, is someone going to kick me at your birthday party?”

“No! He’s far more likely to hit you with his cane.”

“Jesper.” Laughing, Jesper freed himself from Wylan’s grasp, bringing two hands up to cradle the younger boy’s face. Wylan’s eyes were wide with panic, a state Jesper was slowly getting used to seeing and better at navigating.

“Wylan. My friends will like you because I like you.” Frowning at Jesper’s grin but not pulling away, Wylan folded his arms over his chest.

“Do you agree to the terms or not?”

“Oh, I agree, merchling. I absolutely agree.”

- 

The restaurant selected for their first date had only recently opened to rave reviews. It served Shu small plates from a set menu, and while Jesper was initially critical of the portion size (one teaspoon of stewed plum was nowhere near enough, not when it tasted that good), he’d quickly decided it was some of the best food he’d eaten in Kerch. Their table was tucked into the back corner, which would have been well hidden if it wasn’t for the window spanning the entirety of one wall, and a tree that Jesper was ninety per cent sure was artificial climbing up the corner spreading its leafy branches across the ceiling, framing them where they sat and giving Wylan the appearance of a fairytale prince. A very quiet fairytale prince. A fairytale prince who had been frowning at his plate for the past ten minutes, his spiced, fried rice ball left to go cold.

“If you don’t want that…” Jesper started, reaching over and wiggling his fingers suggestively. Wylan smiled, reverie thoroughly broken, and pushed his plate towards Jesper with one finger.

“Have it, I’m not a huge fan of fried food. Too oily.” Swiping the rice ball onto his own plate and splitting it with a fork, Jesper shook his head in mock exasperation.

“Every day I learn some fresh horror about you, Wylan Van Eck.”

“Yeah? What other horrors have you uncovered?”

Answering around a mouthful of rice, Jesper grinned at Wylan’s grimace.

“You snore.”

“I do not. And how would you even know that?!”

“Fell asleep with my door open when you stayed over. You snore loud enough that I heard you.” A pink flush was climbing over Wylan’s cheeks, the tips of his ears turning scarlet against his hair. It was painfully pretty and forced Jesper to chase down his food with a generous mouthful of wine.

“Snoring when you’re drunk doesn’t count.”

“I don’t know, love, you sounded…confident. Practiced. I got the sense your body was used to snoring.”

“I regret ever being nice to you. We should have stayed acquaintances.” Drawing in a gasp and clutching imaginary pearls, Jesper sat back.

“How could you say such a thing? If you didn’t have me, you’d have…Alys and Adem, and their potentially illegitimate baby.”

“Ghezen, you need to stop saying stuff like that out loud,” Wylan hissed, amusement dancing in his eyes nonetheless. “For one, I told you that suspicion in secret, and two, you’re going to get yourself sued.”

“If I get sued, does that mean we have to break up?” Jesper asked with a wink, popping the last of the rice into his mouth as Wylan rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Jesper, if my father sues you for defamation, we would have to break up.”

“I can’t believe your love for me is that fragile, Wy. I’m hurt. Stung. Heartbroken.”

“My love for staying alive is much stronger, hence the breakup. You’ll get over it.”

“Never.”

“In a month, I’d place money on it,” Wylan countered, sipping his wine with a smile. Jesper paused, studying the boy across from him. He joked a lot about his worth, Jesper had realised at some point over the past months, and usually seemed to find himself lacking. It made sense alongside everything Jesper had learned and worked out about Wylan’s father, but it was frustrating anyway. Frustrating that Wylan couldn’t see that he was wanted, and cared for, and loved. Frustrating that Wylan still, for some unknown reason, lived under the control of a man who treated him like dirt, who saw him as a prop at best and a waste of air at worst. And of course, frustrating that Wylan remained so blinded by his own pain, his own belief that he took up too much space, he couldn’t begin to see how much Jesper adored him. Leaning across the table, Jesper caught Wylan’s hand, overcome with the need to tell him, to at least try.

“Wylan, that’s not… I wouldn’t. Not in a month, not in months, no way.” Words piled up like a car crash in his throat, too many truths trying to spill out at once. Staring at their clasped hands, Jesper frowned, swallowing hard. “I want you around, Wy. Even when the contract’s up, I still want you around. I don’t want that to- to be the end.”

Wylan was watching him with a cautious gaze, eyes flickering between their hands and Jesper’s face. It took a beat too long for him to reply, the pause like a loaded gun, a trigger waiting to be pulled.

“We can cross that bridge when we get to it, Jes. It’s not for a few more months.”

Chapter Text

Jesper spotted Wylan the moment the younger boy rounded the corner onto the busy street. Nina and Kaz were bickering next to him, entrenched in an ongoing argument about the décor of the Crow Club. By this point it had been revived so many times it could probably be named a Saint, its repetitive points written up as scripture. Inej and Matthias were skirting the edges of the battle, somehow both mediating and encouraging at the same time. It was an argument Jesper was usually invested in, partly because it involved winding up either Kaz or Nina (depending on who he liked most that day), and partly because he did truly believe that the Club could do with a pop of colour. A bowl of lemons, or maybe a feature wall with a fun print. But since Wylan had messaged to say he was about five minutes away, Jesper had abandoned the argument to scan the street instead, looking for the tell-tale auburn hair that was now winding its way down the street towards him.

Breaking away from his friends with a half-hearted gesture, Jesper half-jogged towards Wylan, the late-night crowds parting for him reluctantly. They’d been messaging on and off all day, starting with an adorable birthday message from Wylan at an unreasonably early hour, and continuing sporadically until he’d been cut off a little while ago by aforementioned arguing friends. It was obvious that he’d seen Wylan before Wylan had seen him, and Jesper slowed a little as the young boy looked up and met his gaze.

At first glance, Wylan looked normal. Black jeans, or at least such a dark blue that in the thin light of street lamps they appeared black, a cream shirt, hair styled neatly. It was small differences that made Jesper falter, that made him stop on the cobblestones to watch the boy approach. The jeans were tighter than normal, not by much, by a hair’s breadth, but enough that Jesper could follow the line of Wylan’s leg from ankle to the hem of his untucked shirt, could trace the outline of him in a way he hadn’t before. The shirt wasn’t just cream, it was some kind of satin or silk, something that shifted and shimmered when Wylan moved, and in some lights (maybe, just maybe, unless Jesper imagined it, which was possible given how much breath he was losing) seemed almost translucent, the shadow of Wylan’s figure casting a silhouette from beneath. It hung loosely, undone at the throat, unbuttoned lower than Wylan would typically wear it (not that that was saying much), and Jesper had to blink a few times before he registered the choker, the thin band of black velvet wound at the base of a pale throat, a choice that most people would see as underwhelming for a club, especially in the Barrel, but on Wylan sat perfectly, a tiny hint of something more, something sinful, underneath wrappings of innocence.

“You hate it. I should go, I should change-” Wylan was in front of him now, frowning anxiously at Jesper’s stare, at his silence.

“Do not change,” Jesper interrupted, and he hated the crack in his voice and the way it betrayed him, gave up his secrets like an enemy spy. A flush climbed Wylan’s throat and fanned across his cheeks. Jesper watched, knowing he was staring, knowing there was an undeniable heat in his gaze, knowing that he was almost, almost beyond saving. Despite it all, he stepped closer.

“Oh. I- sure. Okay.”

“Did I piss you off today?” He asked, reaching up to tug a few of Wylan’s curls out of place. They were better wild, better free and untamed. Wylan let him, not bothering with a reproach. Instead, another confused frown, another crease between blue eyes.

“What? No. No, of course not, why?” Hearing his friends approach and knowing not one of them could mind their own business if it saved their lives, Jesper ducked his head to whisper in Wylan’s ear.

“Because when you show up looking like that, love, I can only assume you’re trying to kill me.”

“Jesper Fahey, hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude not to introduce people?” Nina interrupted, and Jesper pulled away, spinning on one heel and draping an arm around Wylan’s shoulder with a grin. He knew that Wylan would still be faintly pink and wanted to chase the high that came with such a reaction, but the duty of chaotic celebration called.

“Helvar probably did once, but I usually drink heavily after those conversations.”

“Unnecessary,” Matthias answered, folding unfairly muscled arms over an even more muscled chest. “I have been nothing but kind to you today.”

“You asked me if I’d finally start acting my age!”

“It was a genuine query.”

“I’ll show you where you can put your ‘genuine query’, you big hunk of-”

“Jesper,” Inej interrupted, gesturing to the boy who remained quietly tucked under his arm. “Your friend? The one you invited and still haven’t introduced to anyone?”

“Right! Not that he needs any introduction, because he’s better and richer and more famous than anyone here, but this is the one, the only, the legendary Wylan Van Eck!” Jesper announced, gesturing to Wylan with his free hand like a child showing off a drawing, or maybe a cool rock. Wylan twisted to look up at Jesper in alarm, then forward at the four strangers in front of him.

“Please believe that that is not the introduction I would have chosen for myself,” he managed, unsure of who to greet first. Jesper pointed at each of his friends in turn.

“The goddess in red is Nina Zenik, her love language is food and she secretly terrifies me.”

“Goddess is right, ‘secretly’ not so much,” Nina retorted, flipping hair over her shoulder in a gesture Jesper knew was deliberately pointed. Rolling his eyes but grinning nonetheless, he continued.

“Matthias is Fjerdan and responsible ninety per cent of the time, so you two will get along fine-”

“Is he not Fjerdan the other ten per cent of the time?” Wylan asked, finding Jesper’s gaze and seeking out the familiar rhythm of conspiracy between them.

“No, the other ten per cent of the time he’s a drag queen called Tess Tosterone. Looks incredible in a corset and feather micro mini,” Jesper responded.

“Interesting mental image for a first introduction, thank you,” Wylan murmured, flush fading as he grew more comfortable.

“That is not true,” Matthias protested. “Though Nina has been taking me to drag brunches, and I have grown to respect it for the art form it truly is.”

“Saints, how did you manage to make drag sound like a literal drag?” Jesper complained, pointing to Inej next.

“Inej Ghafa; tiny, probably lethal, secret fan of your work with independent business around Ketterdam.”

“Why would you deliberately make it weird, Jesper?” The Suli girl complained, resting one hand on her hip in irritation. Wylan offered a small, kind smile, the type that made people feel seen. The kind he’d offered Jesper when they first met, that had broken down his walls annoyingly fast.

“It’s only weird if we let him make it weird,” the smaller boy offered, shrugging under Jesper’s arm. “And we probably shouldn’t let him do anything.” Inej smiled in return, a hesitant peace offering still laced with scepticism. Jesper ploughed over their quiet interaction, instead pointing finally at Kaz.

“Kaz Brekker: grumpy 2010s emo kid. Big fan of making very dramatic statements and never explaining anything. I’m not sure if we’re actually friends or if he was sent as some kind of divine punishment.”

“The latter,” Kaz answered simply, barely sparing Wylan a glance before turning towards the club behind them and walking away. Wylan blinked and nodded almost to himself.

“He doesn’t like me, right? He was the one you implied might kick me.” There was a forced humour to Wylan’s question, an uncertainty beneath the words that had Jesper tucking him ever so slightly closer. Inej linked her arm through Nina’s, and as a five they trailed Kaz. Over her shoulder, she offered reassurance that Jesper would forever be grateful for.

“Don’t worry. He doesn’t really like anyone. If you’re still here, you’re doing well.”

“And if he kicks you,” Nina added with a wink. “Do make sure to kick him back.”

Chapter Text

The inside of the club throbbed like a heartbeat, the volume of the music teetering just below bearable while bodies writhed, coated in glitter and sweat and not much else. The six of them slipped through the crowds in a peculiar chain of hands, Wylan’s threaded tightly through Jesper’s to avoid getting lost. After Nina led them to a small, packed booth heaped high with the coats and purses of people clearly unafraid to lose them, she yelled something over the bass about checking the VIP area was ready and dragged Matthias away with her.

Jesper let his hand fall from Wylan’s, and the younger boy blinked at him, uncertain and confused, but not willing to voice it. Tugging a curl lightly, Jesper grinned and slipped his arm around Wylan’s waist instead. Even in the humidity of the club, through the alcohol and flesh and smoke, he could smell the vanilla of Wylan’s shampoo, the spice of whatever he used to keep his hair neat. Distracted as he was (as he always was when Wylan was around), it took Jesper a moment to realise that Kaz was watching Wylan with narrowed eyes. Wylan, to his credit, wasn’t shying away from Kaz’s stare. Instead, he was staring back, though with significantly less irritation and much more curiosity. Eyes widening, a thrum of anxiety accompanied the bass as it vibrated through Jesper’s core.

“Kaz, don’t-”

“What does your father think of you coming here, Van Eck?” Kaz spoke, just loud enough to be heard over the music. Groaning, Jesper rubbed his forehead, sharing a frustrated look with Inej and regretting most of the choices that led him to this moment. Wylan cocked his head slightly to the side in confusion, and Jesper wasn’t sure if Wylan had completely missed the derision in Kaz’s tone, or had just decided to ignore it.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

“Interesting,” Kaz responded, gravelled voice drier than a desert.

“Is it?” Wylan asked, raising his eyebrows. “Are you interested in all of my personal life, or just my relationship with my father? Would you like to look over my family tree?” There was an edge to his tone that brought the grin back to Jesper’s face. If he’d been worried that Wylan would be too nice, too kind and good and sweet to deal with his friends, that worry was forgotten. It had been misplaced from the start, Jesper realised. Kaz’s fingers flexed, tapping against the head of his cane. Time slowed a little, and Jesper could see Kaz lining up his shot, a blow designed to test Wylan’s nerve, to see how long he’d survive with them. It was exactly what Jesper had told Kaz not to do, obviously a futile effort.

“I heard you don’t do anything without your father’s approval. That’s how your relationship works, isn’t it? He’s the Merch and you’re…” Kaz trailed off as if reaching for the word, studying Wylan closely. “You’re the merchandise.”

Even Inej drew in a sharp breath, and Jesper’s temper boiled, burning under his skin like a flash fire as he stepped forward. Why couldn’t Kaz be human for one night? For Jesper’s birthday? Was it too much to ask, to bring one person that he liked along for a night without something or someone fucking it up for him?

“Kaz, that’s not on-”

A hand caught his elbow, and it was only then that Jesper realised he’d let go of Wylan, that he’d stepped closer into Kaz’s space. Allowing himself to be pulled back, Jesper looked at the boy next to him. In contrast to his rage, Wylan looked unaffected, almost amused at Kaz’s observation.

“It’s fine, Jesper,” he said, looking back to Kaz. “I think you’re trying to be mean to me, but you’re not being very creative. If you want my advice, next time use either my mother’s untimely death or my short but awful time at boarding school. Oh! Or being ginger, that was always a sore spot for me.” Wylan smiled with mock sweetness, and Jesper’s anger ebbed away first into disbelief, and then, when Kaz unclenched his jaw and seemed to lay down his arms, a stupid, giddy glee. Slinging an arm over Wylan’s shoulder, he ducked his head to talk quietly in his ear.

“Personally, I think ginger is very cute on you.” The smaller boy shifted a little, enough to be heard without twisting entirely from under Jesper’s arm.

“I always thought it would look better dark. More Kerch.”

“Nah, I like it like this. Like a ray of sunshine,” Jesper replied, tugging a curl that had fallen across Wylan’s forehead and laughing at the look of blatant scepticism he got in return. “Obviously, looks can be deceiving, love.”

“If you two are done…” Nina interrupted, her return having gone unnoticed by Jesper but clearly not by anyone else.

“We’re not,” he replied, grin widening at the huff of annoyance he heard even over the music. Blue eyes rolled, half-amused and half-exasperated, before Wylan turned back to the group, Jesper following suit. With her hands on her hips and her red-painted lips pursed tightly, Nina’s irritation looked too intense to be caused just by Jesper’s antics. Beside her, Matthias muttered something in her ear, and Inej watched Jesper knowingly. Too knowingly.

“We have a problem,” Nina called over the music, drumming her fingers against the curve of her dress. “The bouncer for VIP won’t let us in.”

“You’re kidding,” Jesper answered, dropping his head back in frustration. The Saints seemed determined to cause him stress, one way or another.

“Why not?” Inej asked, stepping closer into their circle to hear properly and to avoid being jostled by the swelling crowd around them.

“He’s Nina’s ex,” Matthias grumbled, arms folded over his chest.

“Which one?” Jesper asked, but Inej waved away the question, turning to Kaz.

“Can you get them to let us in?” Quirking an eyebrow, Kaz tilted his head in thought.

“I can, but I can’t guarantee we’d be welcomed back again.”

“I cannot get banned from here, Poppy does shows at least once a month!” Jesper protested, shaking his head. “Maybe we just have to stick to general admission…” he trailed off, grimacing at the collective groan from his friends. He knew it wouldn’t work, that while he and Nina (and even Matthias) could have a great time in the chaos and mess of the crowds, Inej and Kaz wouldn’t last an hour. Wylan's tolerance for the public was an unknown entity, but Jesper got the sense that they had very different expectations for nights out.

“I could talk to him again and try to make him see reason,” Matthias offered, though even he seemed to lack faith in the idea. Hesitantly, like a schoolboy offering an uncertain answer, Wylan raised his hand. One by one, everyone turned to stare at him.

“It’s not a test, Wy, you don’t have to ask permission to speak.”

“No, no, I like it,” Nina added. “Please, share with the class.” Even in the low, flashing lights, Jesper knew Wylan was flushing pink, knew that the confidence he’d used to handle Kaz had waned under the gaze of five new, fairly intimidating people.

“I could…potentially… get us in?”

“You could?” Inej asked, frowning. Nina’s eyes widened with realisation, and a beatific grin split her face.

“Saints, of course you could! You’re a walking golden ticket!” Jesper snorted out a laugh, even as Wylan sighed.

“That feels objectifying, but sure. I can try talking to the bouncer if you think that would help.”

“You may as well try,” Matthias answered. Glancing around, the others nodded their agreement, and Jesper squeezed Wylan’s shoulder gently.

“Fair warning, though,” Nina added, shooting Wylan a conspiratorial look. “He’s not exactly warm and fuzzy. Asking nicely won’t work.”

“Okay. Okay, I can- I can not ask nicely,” Wylan said, as though convincing himself, before glancing at Jesper. “But you can’t watch.”

“I- what?” Jesper asked, baffled. “What do you mean?”

“Just- please? I would feel so much better if you just didn’t see.”

“I- but- what-”

“Oh, for Saint’s sake Jesper, just turn!” Nina snapped, physically taking Jesper’s shoulders and switching their places in the circle. Now, Nina faced in the direction of the VIP area, and Jesper could only see Nina, Wylan, and the writhing throng behind them.

“What are you going to do?!” He asked, and Wylan sighed a sigh of reluctant determination.

“Be my father’s son, I guess,” Wylan answered, before slipping out of the circle and into the crowd. Jesper watched Nina for a second before starting to turn. Inej jabbed him in the side.

“He asked for one thing, Jesper.” Groaning again, Jesper turned back to Nina.

“You tell me every single thing that happens, Zenik, or I swear I’ll seduce Matthias.”

“You could try,” Nina retorted, though her eyes were fixed over Jesper’s shoulder, tracking Wylan. “Oh, he’s gone up to Daan- wow, he really knows how to use body language, doesn’t he?”

“Nina,” Jesper hissed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay, okay! He’s talking to Daan, and he looks royally pissed off. Saints, if someone looked at me like that I think I’d start throwing punches.” Nina’s eyes widened into surprise, then lit with laughter. “Oh! Oh, I think I love him. He just flicked Daan’s nametag off his chest, that’s hilarious.”

“He what?” Everyone was watching now except for Jesper, and he briefly wondered if this was some unique form of torture designed especially for him.

“Okay, he’s taking out his phone… it looks like he’s texting someone? Or threatening to call someone? Jesper, where did you find this boy?”

“What do you mean? You know exactly where I found him!”

“Sure, I know where you found Wylan Van Eck. But Wylan Van Eck is angelic, he’s wholesome, he’s irritatingly nice. This boy’s a brat.”

“Nina, shut up, it worked,” Inej cut in, grabbing Jesper’s arm and spinning him around. Wylan was standing at the barrier to the VIP area, waving at them with Nina’s burly, slightly terrifying ex holding the red velvet rope out of the way. They slid through the crowd in seconds, not wanting to miss the opportunity. While the other four crossed the barrier, Jesper caught Wylan’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

“You flicked his nametag?” Jesper asked. Wylan’s eyes danced with mischief even as he bit his lip in embarrassment.

“Never mention it again.”

Chapter Text

As promised, Jesper kept to Wylan’s side as the younger boy found his feet in the group. In fact, he could be accused of using the dancing and the alcohol as a blatant excuse to pull Wylan closer to him in every way. As alcohol warmed the blood in their veins and glazed their eyes, hands skimmed hips, fingers curled under that Saints-forsaken choker, words were whispered in ears. Hours slipped away from them in a haze of drinks and shots and camera flashes that Jesper was vaguely aware of and mildly grateful for. Plausible deniability, right?

It was only when Nina pressed a cold shot glass into his hand, this one containing something bright pink and syrupy, that Jesper realised he’d lost Wylan. His first thought (second, really, after ‘what the fuck did I just drink?’) was that Wylan had left. That Wylan had decided his friends were awful and that he must be awful too, and vanished into the night without so much as a wave. Spinning in a circle and praising every Saint that the crowds in VIP were significantly thinner, he searched the flashing strobe lights and velvet booths for those familiar eyes, for red curls and freckles that he wouldn’t be able to see from here, but knew existed.

The sight that greeted him had him smacking Nina’s arm repeatedly, ignoring the yelped response and the glare in favour of pointing. Nina, just as tipsy and still clasping a shot glass in each hand, followed his gaze and froze. Matthias sat at their table, sipping a drink and looking thoroughly out of his depth, which made complete sense considering that next to him, Kaz and Wylan seemed to be in deep, animated conversation. Well, Wylan was animated. Kaz was walking a firm line between perplexed and amused. Pressing a kiss to Nina’s cheek and leaving her to continue drinking and twirling through the crowds with Inej, Jesper aimed for the table.

“What’s happening and how do I stop it?” Jesper asked as soon as he arrived, immediately grabbing another glass of sparkling wine from the tray in the middle. The bottle was nearly lukewarm now, the ice in the bucket melted into a puddle. Shrugging, Matthias grabbed the bottle to top up his own drink.

“They started out discussing the benefits of reforming electoral system for the Merchant Council. Now, I think they’re talking about… coffee houses? I lost track.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jesper asked, silver eyes flicking between the pair and Matthias, who simply shook his head in response.

“It must be one of the most Kerch conversations I’ve ever heard.” Disbelief colouring his every thought, Jesper slipped around the table and came up behind Wylan, resting a hand on his waist and trying to tune in to what the younger boy was saying.

“-you’re so wrong it’s almost laughable! The Ostrich, while by far not the best hotel in the city, I’ll admit, easily has the best breakfast! Boar meat sausages, free range eggs three different ways-”

“The food is good, ” Kaz acquiesced, and Jesper nearly fainted. “You forget that in order to eat it, you do have to actually go to The Ostrich.”

“I didn’t take you for a snob,” Wylan argued, a familiar sarcastic edge to his voice. Despite not really acknowledging Jesper’s arrival, he leant back into Jesper’s side, sipping from a glass of what looked like whiskey.

“I’m not criticising the quality of the place, though it does surprise me that you would ever step foot in there, merchling. I’m querying why I would travel five miles from the city centre for a meal only marginally better than the one I could get in the Kooperom, which is ten minutes away.” Kaz tapped gloved fingers on the table, and Wylan paused.

“Give me a minute to think and I’ll be able to counter that.”

“That’s not how debates work. Or did they not teach you that at boarding school?”

“Oh, what were you, debate champion? No, wait, that was me.” Wylan retorted.

“For the year you managed to stay in school, sure.”

“I was homeschooled, I hardly dropped out. At least it taught me some manners.” Jesper watched the volley between them, unsure whether to be terrified or impressed. They were both relaxed, both sipping drinks, both throwing out casual comments like well-aimed missiles.

“I’m sure your manners will be an important part of the Van Eck legacy. Alongside your career pandering to the masses and lying on the internet.”

“Kaz.” Jesper warned, squeezing Wylan’s waist lightly.

“I can give you some tips if you like,” Wylan offered, a fake smile lighting up his face. “Maybe then you can afford a better haircut.” Out of nowhere, Nina hooted with laughter, raising her hands up in celebration. Jesper hadn’t even seen her and Inej arrive.

“Vindication!” She cried, even as Matthias shook his head in amusement and Kaz shot her a one-fingered gesture across the table. Leaning against the table, Jesper dropped his voice to speak to Wylan.

“Poking the bear, love?” Wylan blinked at him innocently, strobe lights catching in his eyes like stars.

“Bears aren’t my type,” he answered with something close to a giggle, drawing a sharp laugh from Jesper’s chest. The arrival of another tray of brightly coloured shots cut short Jesper’s response, Inej hopping up to perch on a stool and surveying two dozen or so glasses.

“Did we pay for these?”

“I definitely didn’t,” Nina answered, taking one anyway and swallowing it with a quick grimace.

“I couldn’t tell you what they are,” Matthias added, shaking his head. Suspicion crept into Jesper’s thoughts, and he peered at the boy sat next to him.

“Wy? How many drinks did you buy?”

“Me?” Wylan answered, taking a glass from the tray carefully. “Technically none.”

“Technically?” Nina prodded, eyes narrowed.

“Jesper told me you would feel uncomfortable if I bought all of our drinks,” Wylan started, holding up his hands in surrender.

“Speak for yourself,” Kaz interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“But he never said that I couldn’t charge my company card,” he finished quickly, downing the shot in one smooth motion.

“You what?” Jesper asked, eyes widening. Across the table, Nina cackled with glee while Inej took a glass with a shrug.

“What? It will be fine, we’d have to spend thousands for anyone to look twice. Think of it as- as stealing from my father. I get the sense that that will appeal to most of you.”

“It will,” Kaz said, claiming a drink for himself.

“Drinks like this deserve a game,” Nina suggested, grin only widening maniacally at the groan that came from Inej. “Truth or dare?”

“Never,” Inej protested, shaking her head.

“Terrible idea,” Matthias agreed.

“Brilliant idea!” Jesper practically cheered, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Why do I feel like I should have asked for signed NDAs?” Wylan muttered, shaking his head.

“They’d never hold up in court,” Kaz said as Jesper began dividing up the shots and placing them in front of people.

“Wy, the rule is that if you choose truth, you have to take a shot as well. Maximises the chance that you’ll choose dare later on.”

“Ghezen help me,” the boy next to him muttered, lining his shots up neatly in what Jesper thought was rainbow order.

“Birthday boy chooses first!” Nina half-yelled, generating enough enthusiasm to carry along the less willing. Waving his finger around like a wand, Jesper waited until Nina had finished a drumroll on the table before pointing to Inej.

“Inej Ghafa, truth or dare?” Inej sighed, already tying her hair back.

“Dare, of course. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Let’s see, let’s see…” Jesper pretended to think before grinning widely. “One handed hand stand. On the stool.”

“You just like watching acrobatics,” came the half-hearted complaint, but Inej was already hopping down from her stool and pulling it away from the table.

“Wait, is this actually happening?” Wylan asked next to him, and without thinking, Jesper dropped a kiss to the top of his head.

“It is actually happening,” he replied, as Inej took a few steps back from the stool and eyed up the distance. Moving as smoothly as liquid, Inej stepped forward and flipped herself upside down, balancing neatly with one hand on the seat of the stool. With a wink in Jesper’s direction, she stretched herself once into the splits and twisted back down to earth before the bouncer could cross the room.

“Show off,” Jesper complained, grin still wide on his face.

“Matthias, truth or dare?” Inej asked. Drawing a drink closer to his chest, Matthias narrowed icy blue eyes.

“Truth.”

Dark brown eyes levelled him with an even stare, a mischievous smirk appearing on Inej’s face.

“How long will we have to wait before you finally propose to Nina?” She asked, folding her arms. Slowly, Matthias smiled. With a nod in Inej’s direction, he downed his drink before pressing a kiss to Nina’s palm.

“Not too long at all, I suspect,” he answered.

“Not if I get their first,” Nina added tartly, flipping her hair over her shoulder but beaming nonetheless.

“Jesper, truth or dare?” Matthias asked, clearly prepared for the answer.

“Dare, obviously.” Glancing around the table for support, Matthias shrugged.

“Any ideas?”

“Kiss Wylan!” Nina blurted out less than a second later, and Jesper’s world tilted slightly.

“What? No.” The words came out wrong, came out mangled and forceful. Silence fell over the table, only the thudding bass keeping them company. Jesper had felt Wylan tense under his hand, felt him turn into a rigid line next to him the moment Jesper had spoken.

“Oof,” Nina responded as Matthias stared at the table and Inej stared at Jesper. Jesper didn’t want to know where Wylan was staring. “That’s rough. I guess… take a shot as forfeit?”

“No, I didn’t mean- Wy, I wasn’t-” he twisted to look at the boy next to him, but he was too late to catch Wylan’s real reaction. A mask was already in place, a wall of cheerful indifference, cemented with a shrug.

“Jes, it’s fine. Trust me, you’re all good. But you do need to take the shot,” Wylan joked, and Jesper forced a grin back onto his face, cursing internally as his drank the syrupy, burning liquid.

Dares and truths passed him by in a haze, leaving him vaguely aware of Kaz stealing snacks from the back room of the club and Wylan potentially confessing to an affair with a professor, but Jesper was caught up in what he’d said, in the way Wylan had retreated to leaning on the table, no longer grazing his knuckles against Jesper’s, no longer resting against him despite the heat of the room.

After a few more rounds, he felt Wylan slip away with a murmured excuse about ‘getting air’. As soon as Wylan was out of earshot, Jesper turned a questioning glare to Nina, who held up her hands.

“Why the fuck-”

“How was I supposed to know you were going to-”

“How could you possibly think-”

“Why wouldn’t you-”

“Maybe someone should check on Wylan?” Inej interrupted their argument with a pointed gesture towards the back exit. With a final, pointed glare at Nina, who only glared stubbornly back, Jesper turned and wound his way through the crowd. The moment he saw the sign for the smoking area, he knew where to go.

The chill of the air bit at his skin as he slipped outside, and he winced, regretting checking his jacket into the cloakroom. Even in early Summer, Ketterdam’s nights had an icy sting. The smoking pen was relatively empty, and it was easy enough to find Wylan leaning against a wall, head tilted back to peer at the clouds, smoke curling from his lips.

“So much for fresh air, love.”

“Who said anything about fresh?” Wylan answered, gaze remaining unfalteringly on the sky as Jesper came to lean next to him. His muscles felt loose and languid despite the tension at his core, the burn of the alcohol battling with the sickening knot of anxiety.

“Maybe I misheard,” he murmured, unable to offer much more of a response. They lapsed into quiet, Wylan smoking and occasionally tapping ash onto the floor, Jesper alternating between watching him and watching the other guests.

“Wy, about earlier-” It was like flipping a switch, Jesper thought, the way Wylan went from soft and serene to upright and focused, pushing away from the wall and shaking his head.

“It’s fine, Jesper. I meant what I said, it’s all okay.”

“But it’s not, though, because you’re out here and you’re upset and I didn’t even mean-”

“I’m not upset, Jes, I’m smoking at a club. Last I checked, that was pretty standard. Please, please, don’t spend your birthday worrying about something you don’t need to worry about.”

“You say you’re not upset, but-”

“I’m not upset, I’m-”

“Saints, stop interrupting me!” Wylan’s jaw snapped shut, the retort he was obviously about to deliver falling silent. With a frustrated huff, Jesper straightened up from the wall and turned to face Wylan, plucking the cigarette from his hand and dropping it to the floor.

“You owe me for that,” Wylan argued, though it came out as a half-hearted mutter.

“Sure, I’ll pay for it. Going to let me talk now?” There was a stubborn glint in Wylan’s eyes, an unimpressed purse of his lips that Jesper knew meant he wanted to argue. Taking a step forward, Jesper crowded into his space, vaguely conscious that lines were being crossed, and were likely to be crossed again. The smaller boy just shrugged, leaning back against the wall once more and letting Jesper draw closer.

“Good boy,” he continued without thinking, and the flush across Wylan’s cheeks was almost distracting enough to pull the air from his lungs. “You’re upset, and I’m sorry,” Jesper said, glaring pointedly when Wylan looked like he was going to disagree. Tucking a finger under the band of velvet at Wylan’s throat, Jesper felt the jump underneath his skin when he swallowed. “Nina shouldn’t have done that, it was stupid of her.”

“Why was it?” Wylan asked, gaze holding Jesper’s with almost unbearable intensity.

“Because when I kiss you, Wylan, it won’t be for a game. And it sure as hell won’t be somewhere I can’t follow through on all the other things I want to do with you.”

Chapter Text

The shudder of Wylan’s breath, the heat in his eyes, the hitch in his throat at those words all stuck with Jesper for the rest of the night. It had been a torturous decision, pulling Wylan back inside instead of pressing him into the wall right then and there, but he’d meant what he said and for once planned on actually sticking to it; whatever it was building between them, it deserved more than a rushed kiss in a club smoking area. He’d felt Wylan’s eyes on him in the club as the six of them drank and danced and bickered, and knew he was guilty of watching the other boy as much in return, but something had shifted under the weight of his words. Something irrevocable, something precious, something volatile.

He watched Wylan now, the six of them winding their way through dwindling crowds back towards Jesper’s apartment. The club had kicked them out at three, but it was pretty standard for everyone to pile onto Jesper’s sofas and pass the hours until sunrise eating his food and drinking whatever was left in his cupboards. Currently, Jesper was trailing at the back of the group, watching Wylan as he walked next to Matthias, the two caught up in drunken and friendly conversation. Wylan wobbled on a cobblestone every now and then, and Matthias caught his arm to steady him.

“I never thought I’d admit it, but I actually quite like him.” Inej’s voice startled Jesper from his watch, and the lights around him tilted slightly as he turned. Alcohol had turned him to liquid and softened the world’s edges, and he grinned at Inej broadly.

“Told you. He’s great.”

“He’s kind,” Inej conceded with a tilt of her head. At some point, the Suli girl had braided her thick black hair, but stray strands floated gently around her face. “And smarter than I expected. Was he okay when you spoke to him outside?”

Jesper felt his grin widen salaciously, and he bumped his shoulder against hers lightly.

“More than okay, love. Excellent.” Inej smiled, indulgent and tipsy and warm.

“Good. You two- I don’t know, you make sense together. I’m not sober enough to work out why.” Jesper looked down at his friend, her gaze as fixed on Wylan as Jesper’s had been moments ago.

“You think? That’s what I always thought about you and Kaz. Like puzzle pieces, or something sappy like that.”

“I do think so. Just promise me you’ll be careful?” Inej glanced up at him now, worry tinging that same gentle smile.

“Thought you said he was kind?”

“Wylan’s kind, but we both know his father isn’t. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m a big boy, ‘Nej. I’m sure I can handle Jan Van Dickhead,” he joked, thudding himself on the chest in an exaggerated show of strength. Ahead of them, he heard a yelp of surprise and a peal of familiar laughter that seared through his chest. Both of them turned at once, and the sight drew unsteady giggles from Inej. Feet ahead of them, Matthias was still walking carefully over the cobblestones. Instead of walking next to him, Wylan had at some point been swung up into a piggyback and had dissolved into hysterics as he clung onto Matthias’s broad shoulders. Nina cast an exasperated look back at Jesper and held her hands up in a shrug.

“Jesper, help me!” Wylan called, words blurring slightly into each other. There wasn’t an ounce of distress in his tone. In fact, Jesper’s chest tightened at the pure happiness laced through Wylan’s words.

“You’re fine, love! Just hold on tight!” He called back, grinning again as Inej shook her head. Matthias turned to walk backwards, broad hands holding Wylan’s legs in place as he faced Inej and Jesper, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

“Your boyfriend cannot be trusted to walk without falling. Should I be concerned?”

“Nah, he’s a constant liability,” Jesper replied, glancing at Wylan but not bothering to correct Matthias’s labelling of their relationship.

“I am not!” Wylan protested, shifting a little to glare over Matthias’s shoulder but ultimately staying in place.

Jesper dug his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Nina, knowing that his building was just around the corner. It was a minor miracle that they flew in the right direction, and predictable that they landed in a puddle. Nina groaned, trying to push them out with her toe.

“I do not want to touch that. I got my nails done today! Inej?”

“Absolutely not. I’m not sure I’m vaccinated against Barrel muck. Matthias?”

“Already carrying cargo, I’m afraid. Jesper?”

“It’s literally my birthday. Wylan?” Wylan grimaced, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

“Is it not enough that I came to the Barrel in the first place?”

“Wow,” Inej said, shaking her head in a show of disappointment. Tutting to himself, Matthias put Wylan down and folded his arms.

“See! Total brat, I told all of you!” Nina cried, throwing her hands up in despair. With an eye-roll and an exasperated glance in Inej’s direction, Kaz leant down and retrieved the keys with a gloved hand, continuing on the walk towards Jesper’s building.

“You did?” Wylan asked, blinking at her with wide eyes. Jesper recognised the false innocence, the guileless look Wylan knew exactly how to work with, and snorted out a laugh. Slipping an arm around Wylan’s shoulders and skimming the dip of his throat with absent fingers, Jesper started walking again.

“That ploy won’t work with anyone here, gorgeous.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wylan answered, turning those same blue eyes on Jesper. Months ago, Jesper would have melted at the sight, would have taken it as a show of naivete, of Wylan’s particular brand of homemade wholesomeness. Now, while he melted in a different way, it just dragged a smirk onto his face. Pressing a kiss to Wylan’s temple as they walked, Jesper shook his head.

“Be a brat all you like, Wy. I can handle it.”

- 

“I want food. No, I want to dance. No! I want to sleep. Oh, I can’t decide,” Nina complained, collapsing against Matthias where they were sat on the floor, leaning against the coffee table Jesper had pushed against the wall. Kaz sat in the same armchair he always occupied, Inej perched on the armrest next to him. Jesper was stretched out on one half of the sofa, tracing the scar on Wylan’s knuckle. At some point, Wylan had let his head rest on Jesper’s thigh, legs swinging over the end.

“S’no music,” Wylan offered unhelpfully, turning his head to seek out Nina.

“You’re a genius, anyone ever tell you that?” She retorted with a huff. Wylan laughed, low and hoarse and tired.

“Fuck no.”

“It’s so weird when he swears,” said Inej, who was watching Wylan with an absent curiosity.

“Saints, you’re right,” Jesper agreed, sitting up slightly. “It freaked me out the first time he swore in front of me, too.”

“I’m literally right here,” Wylan complained, prodding Jesper until he sat back again.

“It’s like hearing a priest swear,” Kaz said, ignoring Wylan’s complaints.

“Or a teacher,” Nina added, dropping her head to rest on Matthias’s shoulder.

“You’re all being unkind,” Matthias chided, shaking his head.

“Thank you, Matthias!”

“You should at least address Wylan when you explain how weird he is,”

“I take back my gratitude. I’m not weird!”

“But you’re so…real,” Nina continued, even as Wylan huffed out a breath.

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. Inej, help me out.”

“Mm, I can’t,” Inej replied, eyes fluttering languidly even as she balanced on the arm of the chair. “Too sleepy, too drunk.”

“I get it,” Jesper murmured, bringing a hand up to twist a golden curl around his finger and tug lightly. Wylan peered up at him, waiting. “You forget we grew up watching you, Wy. You started your career when you were…what, fifteen?”

“Sixteen,” Wylan corrected, tilting his head slightly into Jesper’s hand. “After I came home from boarding school.”

“Dropped out,” Kaz muttered, and Wylan shot him a one-fingered gesture. Jesper tried to make a mental note to ask about that later, but his thoughts were untethered and slipping away from him.

“Whatever, sixteen, then. So we were all teenagers then, most of us in Ketterdam already-”

“Not me,” Nina interrupted. “But you were popular in Ravka, too.”

“Were? Ouch,” Wylan muttered, and Jesper scratched the younger boy’s scalp gently.

“You were not as well-liked in Fjerda. But you were heard of,” Matthias said, brushing Nina’s hair from her face.

“Fjerdan’s were not the target audience,” Wylan answered with a small shrug.

“Explaining anything around you lot is impossible.”

“Preaching to the choir, Jesper,” Kaz replied, dropping his head back against the chair, fingers drumming against the fabric.

“We grew up watching you, Wy. Even if we didn’t want to, we saw you everywhere, on social media, in magazines-”

“On that awful chat show you did for your eighteenth,” Inej said, smiling sleepily at Wylan’s grimace.

“I hated that show.”

“Exactly,” Jesper pointed out, tugging Wylan’s hair lightly to emphasise his point. “You did all this stuff, and that’s how we knew you. You were… 2D, pretty but empty-”

“A symbol for everything none of us had,” Kaz pointed out, and despite Jesper’s sharp glance, for once there was no unkindness in his voice.

“I never wanted that. I’m sorry that I-”

“You don’t need to apologise, love. Nobody’s asking you to. We’re just explaining why sometimes it feels strange that you’re...”

“That I’m not exactly as advertised?”

“Sure. You’re different. Better.”

“Saints, so much better,” Nina said, smiling. “Who would have guessed that Wylan Van Eck has an attitude?”

“I could have told you that months ago,” Jesper answered, grinning when Wylan prodded him in the side again.  

“What would you do instead?” Inej asked. A small frown marred Wylan’s face, and Jesper traced the divot between his brows. It had been hours since any alcohol had passed his lips, and the sun was climbing the sky outside, but he could still claim inebriation if he needed to.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… if you weren’t doing this, what would you do? If you could do anything?” Wylan paused, and Jesper could practically hear the cogs turning in that brilliant brain as he considered the question.

“I don’t know. I never thought about doing anything else.”

“Never? You didn’t dream of being a pilot, or an astronaut, or a ballet dancer?” Nina pressed, disbelief colouring her words. Shaking his head, Wylan shrugged.

“No? I guess I knew I’d just be whatever my father told me to be.” Jesper’s heart throbbed a slow, creeping ache through his chest. He’d heard similar before, hell, he’d witnessed Wylan and his father’s relationship, but every time it came up, a cold sense of dread ran through him. Jan Van Dickhead might have been an understatement.

“But what if you wanted something else?” Inej asked, voice gentle but firm. Wylan just sighed.

“That’s not how it works,” he answered after a pause, and Jesper knew without looking that Inej was watching him, watching both of them, that same cautious warning in her gaze. Avoiding meeting those dark eyes, Jesper tapped Wylan’s nose lightly, smiling as Wylan blinked his eyes open in surprise.

“Time for bed? Matthias and Nina have claimed the guest room and Inej and Kaz usually sleep in here. You can share with me?” Wylan nodded, languid and docile with the need to sleep.

“Come on, then. I’ll even let you choose which side you sleep on.”

“You’re too good to me,” Wylan joked. At least, Jesper hoped it was a joke.

Chapter Text

Jesper woke sporadically throughout the morning. He never slept well when he was drunk, the spinning of the room and the sugar of sickly sweet drinks keeping the buzz humming through his veins long after he wanted to rest. Each time he stirred, he was comforted to find Wylan still next to him, sleeping soundly with his face pressed into the pillow. The younger boy had half walked, half stumbled to Jesper’s bedroom last night, and they’d spent half an hour giggling at failed attempts to get changed, fumbling over buttons and tripping on shoelaces before finally collapsing into a heap on top of the covers. There were vague memories of legs tangling together, of Wylan’s head resting on his chest in the early morning light, but Jesper was drunk and half-asleep, so couldn’t be sure if they were real moments or dreamed about.

When he finally managed to drag himself fully into consciousness, it was to an empty bed and a wave of crushing anxiety. Wylan was gone, the sheet next to him cold, the pillow neatly back in its place. Running a hand over his face and grimacing, Jesper groaned, pulling the covers over his head. Had Wylan remembered last night and decided it wasn’t what he wanted? Worse, had he blacked out and woken with no memory, assumed they’d done what they definitely didn’t and run away? Had one of Jesper’s friends said something to scare him off? It was definitely Kaz, Jesper thought, already brimming with annoyance at the imagined offence.

It was only when a concerning crash echoed from the kitchen, followed by shouts of surprise and then almost immediately by laughter, that Jesper dared poke his head out from the covers. The clock on his bedside table flashed that it was beyond noon, and beside it, Wylan’s watch, his portable charger, and that damnable choker all sat in a neat pile. It felt for a second like they were taunting him and his rapid yet completely pointless spiral. Wylan hadn’t left, hadn’t fled like some runaway bride. He’d gone to the kitchen, because he was sane and rational where Jesper was a whole mess.

It took another groan and an unfair amount of effort to get up, and an even more ridiculous amount of effort to pull on the nearest clothes he could find before wandering slowly into the living room. Everything hurt. The world was too loud, too bright, and it felt like Jesper could feel its rotation beneath his feet.

“Good morning, birthday boy!” Nina shouted when he entered, pulling the string from a party popper and sending glittery ribbons of paper through the air. Jesper stared at her blearily and managed a zombie-like groan before collapsing face-first onto the sofa.

“Why are you still in my house?” he asked, face pressed between two cushions.

“We’re making breakfast!”

“Wylan’s making breakfast,” Inej corrected, patting Jesper’s shoulder absently as she perched on the back of the sofa. “Nina’s mostly just making noise.”

“Wylan’s making breakfast? Is he making pancakes? His pancakes are obscene.”

“It looked like he was, but my baking knowledge is… non-existent,” said Inej. “Matthias is trying to help, but I think he’s getting in the way more than anything.” Jesper grunted his understanding, pulling one of the cushions over the back of his head. The thud of a cane announced Kaz’s arrival to the room, but at this point, darkness was preferable to interaction, and Jesper remained unmoved.

“I give it ten minutes before Wylan hits Matthias with a kitchen utensil,” Kaz proposed, sounding closer to amusement than concern. Inej laughed softly, and Jesper knew without looking that she was shaking her head.

“Has he started talking to himself yet? That’s when you need to worry,” Jesper managed, reluctantly rolling onto his back and squinting at the ceiling.

“Maybe I should rescue him,” Nina started, discarding the used party popper and turning to the kitchen.

“Wylan or Matthias?” Inej asked.

“I’ll see when I get there,” came the answer, Nina breezing through to the kitchen as Jesper rubbed his eyes and took even, measured breaths.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like the Saints have abandoned me, ‘Nej. Like I’ve died and been brought back. How are you all so… alive?”

“We got coffee?” Jesper sat up fast, the world spinning nauseatingly.

“You got coffee without me? On my birthday?!” Inej smiled sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Maybe?”

“Betrayal. Betrayal of the deepest kind. How could you do this to me? What did I do to deserve this?”

“Do you want a list or a chart?” Kaz asked, tapping his fingers against the head of his cane.

“On my birthday!” Jesper cried, clutching his chest and dropping against the back of the sofa. “My own friends… I’ll never recover.”

“A little melodramatic, don’t you think?” came a familiar voice from behind him, and Jesper twisted to watch Wylan enter. It was like the sun rising, the way the room seemed to brighten, the way Jesper’s exhaustion seemed to ease when Wylan came towards him, hands smudged with flour and batter, hair damp and curling about his ears.

“Wylan, my love, you didn’t betray me, did you?” Leaning a hip against the sofa, Wylan shook his head in exasperation.

“Jesper, I bought the coffees.”

“Even you… I thought we had something special.”

“We have something special, and I have a need for caffeine that couldn’t wait for you to drag yourself out of a coma,” Wylan explained, wiping his hands on a tea towel and looking down at Jesper with a fondness that made Jesper’s chest hurt. “I tried to wake you, but you were dead to the world.”

“Did you try waking me with a kiss? That always works in fairy tales, prince of Kerch,” Jesper asked with a wink. Flushing a faint pink, Wylan shook his head again.

“The lack of consent in that situation is far from ambiguous, and incredibly problematic. Also, never call me that again.”

“I love it when you talk ethics to me,” Jesper said, reaching out to find Wylan’s wrist and tug him towards the sofa. With a huff of breath that could almost be a laugh, Wylan slipped around the furniture and dropped to sit next to Jesper. He smelt of Jesper’s shower gel and sugary baked goods when Jesper pulled him closer with an arm around his shoulder.

“Who, exactly, is cooking right now?” Inej asked, concern tinging her voice. “Is it Nina? Nina should never be left to cook.”

“The cooking’s all done,” Wylan reassured, relaxing into Jesper’s side. “They’re dishing out toppings.”

“I heard you were ready to kill Matthias,” Jesper prodded, Wylan’s weight at his side energising him like a shot of espresso.

“Kill is a strong word. Maim might be more accurate.”

“What did he do? Do I need to fight him for you? Do you want me to rough him up a bit?”

“If I need someone beaten up, I feel like Kaz would be a better bet,” Wylan answered, shifting to put his feet up on the coffee table.

“Rude,” Jesper muttered, jostling Wylan lightly in protest.

“Smart boy,” Kaz added, nodding once.

“Breakfast is served!” Nina crooned, swishing into the room with a plate in one hand and two balanced precariously on the other. Matthias followed, carrying just as many plates, and Jesper took one quickly, partly out of hunger and partly because he didn’t want to spend his day cleaning syrup from the floor. Each plate was piled high with pancakes, heaped with bacon and syrup and fruits that definitely hadn’t come from his fridge. “I wish I could take the credit, but obviously, this is mostly down to Wylan. I guess all those cooking videos weren’t fake after all.”

“I did try to tell you,” Wylan explained, taking a plate from Matthias with a grateful smile. Nina and Matthias sat cross legged on the floor, plates resting on the coffee table, while Inej resumed her perch next to Kaz. After shovelling an obscene amount of food down his throat, Jesper dropped his head to talk quietly to Wylan.

“I know for a fact that there weren’t strawberries in my fridge yesterday, love.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wylan replied, cutting his pancakes into neat, predictable squares with the plate resting on a cushion.

“Drinks, coffee, breakfast… my friends like you either way, Wy, you don’t have to spend money on them.” Blue eyes met him, smudged with faint violet rings of fatigue and darkened with scepticism.

“Do you think I’m trying to buy friendship with pancakes? Give me some credit, Jesper, if I wanted to buy people, I’d start with something a bit more impressive. I spent money because it’s your birthday and I wanted to.” Jesper studied the younger boy’s face for a moment, trying to parse out any dishonesty or defensiveness from Wylan’s words. He found none, and the fact of it warmed him slightly.

“Okay. Okay, well… thank you, then.” Wylan shrugged, turning back to his plate. Jesper continued watching him as he ate, as he sorted through his foods and picked out small bites, as he half-listened to the conversations going on around them. “Can you stay today?”

Glancing at him, Wylan shook his head slightly, curls dropping into his eyes. “Not for the whole day. I’ve got some work to do, and Anya called this morning. I’m being summoned.”

“What for? Are you in trouble?”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe. Usually. It will be fine, it’s just Anya. You could come over later, though, if you want. I still have your birthday present at home.” Wylan’s fingers danced uncertainly over Jesper’s thigh, the hesitation and timidity of the movement making him grin. Wylan definitely remembered the smoking area, but he clearly wasn’t sure if Jesper did too. Grabbing Wylan’s hand and lacing their fingers together, letting it fall firmly onto his thigh, Jesper nodded.

“You got me a present?”

“It’s not much. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Don’t worry, love. My hopes are pinned on something else,” he answered with a wink, revelling in the blush it drew out on Wylan’s cheeks.

“Are you sure that’s what you want to go with? There are so many more jokes you could make about pinning things.”

“Why make jokes when I can simply wait and demonstrate?”

Chapter Text

The door to Wylan’s apartment was half open when Jesper arrived, extending an invitation that he was more than happy to accept. It would have been concerning if he hadn’t had explicit instructions from Wylan to let himself in if he arrived before Wylan finished working. Closing the door softly behind him, he slipped off his jacket and wandered slowly through the living room, following the soft music towards the room he knew Wylan used as a workspace.

Jesper froze. Wylan was sitting in a wide office chair, legs folded in an uncomfortable-looking position as he leant closer to the screen, bright blue eyes narrowed behind thin, gold-rimmed glasses. The music had rendered him completely oblivious to Jesper’s arrival, meaning Jesper could take in the sight (Wylan! In glasses!) before destroying the younger boy’s focus.

“All the Saints and my Aunt Eva, are you blind?” Startling at the sudden noise, Wylan span around, eyes wide with surprise.

“Usually a ‘hello’ would suffice, Jesper.”

“I feel like all my kinky professor fantasies are coming true,” Jesper said, crossing the room to wear Wylan was still sitting, tugging the sleeves of his jumper over his hands before folding his arms. He was acting unimpressed, but Jesper could see the flush on his cheeks, the twitching edges of a smile.

“You dropped out of university?”

“If the teachers had looked like you, maybe I’d have stayed.” Wylan sighed, spinning his chair back to the desk as he took his glasses off and tucked them away carefully into a desk drawer.

“If you’re going to lose your mind every time you see me wear glasses, you’re going to find yourself banned from this room.” Jesper reached over, grasping the back of the chair and turning it until Wylan was looking up at him, eyebrows raised in question.

“I lose my mind every time I see you. End of sentence.” Wylan nodded seriously, as though considering a business proposal, while Jesper took his wrists and pulled him up from the chair. There were inches between them, an invisible thread of fire between their gazes

“I suppose that means I’ll have to ban you from my apartment.”

“But then I wouldn’t be able to do what I’m about to do.” Frowning, Wylan glanced at where Jesper’s hands bracketed his wrists, trying to decode what Jesper was saying.

“What are you talking about? Are you about to kidnap me? On Ghezen, if you try and kidnap me-”

Jesper laughed, and in the same breath ducked his head, pressing his lips to Wylan’s. He moved cautiously at first, and then more firmly when Wylan slotted against him, bringing his hands up to rest on Jesper’s chest, to clutch at his shirt and twist his fingers into the fabric. A rush of relief hit Jesper’s veins like a drug, Wylan’s kiss like finding land after drowning. Instinctually, he let one hand grip Wylan’s hip, pulling him closer until they pressed together, and slid the other into golden curls, letting them tangle around his fingers. He felt Wylan’s hands at his neck, at his waist, at his back, everywhere, and they became a storm in the middle of a quiet evening. Pushing Wylan towards the desk, he lifted the smaller boy easily to perch on the edge. Their chests met as they rose and fell, hands wandering almost frantically as Jesper pressed himself between Wylan’s knees, letting paper and pencils and at least one lip balm clatter to the floor in their wake.

He had no idea if they’d been kissing for seconds, minutes, or hours when Wylan pulled back from him, breathless and flushed and bright-eyed.

“Wait, wait, wait. We need to- we need to think, we need to make a plan.” But his hands were still tracing absent patterns on Jesper’s collar bone, his chest rising and falling quickly. Jesper pressed kisses along his jaw, relishing in the feeling of Wylan pulling him closer again.

“Why would we need a plan? Forgive me, love, but I have done this before.”

“Because, Jesper, your prior experience won’t matter if we fuck this up and you get sued.” There was an urgency to Wylan’s tone that had Jesper pausing in his campaign to map out the feel of Wylan’s thighs, and he looked down at the boy with raised eyebrows.

“What are you on about, Wy?” Blue eyes stared at him, a confusing medley of heat and frustration and joy.

“Your contract?”

“My… contract?”

 “You said you read it!”

“I did! Well. I read half of it. Kaz read the whole thing.”

“I thought you- but you- fuck.” Wylan leant backwards, resting his hands on the desk while his mood crashed so quickly Jesper scrambled to hit the brake.

“Wy, love, you need to talk to me. What’s in the contract?” Sighing, Wylan briefly attempted to smooth his hair down, gaze fixed on the floor as he searched for answers.

“You agreed not to partake in any sexual or romantic relationship with me. Well, with any of the Van Eck family, technically, and I agreed vice versa, but… I thought you knew.” Jesper paused, hands still half-clutching Wylan to him as the world shuddered and tilted slightly to account for this new knowledge, as a hundred questions and a hundred ideas crammed into his brain, each vying for the priority spot.

“Why the fuck would that be in the contract?” Jesper managed, forehead creasing into a frown, eyes flickering as he took in the planes of Wylan’s face, the utter dejectedness that had overtaken him.

“It’s just a- a liability thing, I think, so that if something did happen, nobody could be charged with solicitation. But it means…”

“It means I lose the money.”

“At the least. You could lose the money and be forced to pay out for breaking the contract. I’m not worth the sacrifice, Jes. You need that money, you said so yourself, and it would mean going through all of this for nothing.”

“I want that money, and I want you. So we’ll find a way.”

“We will?”

“Fuck it, of course we will. I didn’t sit through four months of agony just to lose you the second I got you, Wy. We’ll- we’ll keep it a secret. Nobody needs to know that we’re… I don’t know what this is yet, that feels like a separate conversation, but we’ll keep it quiet,” the cogs were turning in Jesper’s brain now, smashing together the pieces of what could loosely be called a plan. “We’ll keep it to ourselves until the contract is up, and then when a good enough amount of time has passed, we can take it public. Nobody at the firm needs to know it started earlier.”

“They’ll know, Jes. They always know.”

“Then they’ll have to prove it.”

“So we… pretend to date in public, but pretend not to date for the firm and my father, but also… actually date in secret? This is going to get confusing,” There was still anxiety in Wylan’s tone, but Jesper could see the puzzle forming in his mind, his beautiful, brilliant mind turning the problem over and over, looking for a hidden solution, a cypher for the code. “We’ll need a system. Rules about what’s appropriate and where. Nothing recorded that could be used to prove anything. That means texts, but also voice notes, photos stored on the cloud or shared between us.” A grin stretched across Jesper’s face. If Wylan was coming up with a system, it meant he thought it was possible. It meant that they had some kind of future, however hazy it was. It meant that Jesper could kiss him again.

“Wylan Van Eck, will you pretend-fake-date me for real?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the back of Wylan’s hand, letting his thumb trace that familiar scar.

“Of course I will.”

A second wave of relief hit him, sweeter and sharper than the first. Ducking to kiss Wylan again, Jesper let the panic fall away, and with it the thoughts of money and debt and contract. All that mattered was the slide of Wylan’s lips against his own, the mingling of their breaths between them, and the path that continued to stretch ahead.

Chapter Text

Wylan was kissing his neck and this time it wasn’t a dream. In reality, Wylan was kissing his neck, and his collarbone, and any other patch of skin he could reach without shifting from his comfortable position stretched out on the guest room bed, resting against Jesper’s side, as sleepy and languid as a cat in the sun. With fingers curled around the smaller boy’s wrist, Jesper traced the blue veins he could see beneath pale skin, the divot between fragile bones, the freckles scattered like constellations.

“That tickles,” came a mumbled complaint, breath coasting over Jesper’s skin and making him shiver.

“Yeah? Does this tickle?” Jesper asked, pressing a kiss to Wylan’s wrist. “Or this?” He nipped the skin lightly, grinning when Wylan laughed, moving a little but allowing Jesper to keep kissing his wrist and his hand, twining their fingers together.

“Usually, people only bite me during sex.”

“I always like to subvert expectations, love.”

“That much is obvious.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve seen your dress sense.”

“I will push you out of this bed right now,” Jesper said, dropping Wylan’s hand onto his chest with a soft thud. Fingers skated up his sternum, playing with the gold chain that rested below his throat.

“Liar.”

“We’re both liars here, gorgeous,” he joked, prodding Wylan’s side. Wylan sat up a little, resting on his elbow and frowning at Jesper.

“You think I’m a liar?” Raising his eyebrows, Jesper shrugged.

“Wy, we’re in a fake relationship that’s lasted four months. People online are gossiping about our engagement. Our jobs make us liars, that’s all I meant.” Only looking slightly appeased, Wylan nodded slightly, curls falling into his eyes. “And I heard you tell Nina that you liked her singing voice, which was definitely a lie,” Jesper added, winning another smile from Wylan.

“She is dreadful,” the younger boy replied, settling back onto the mattress and dropping his head onto Jesper’s shoulder. “But very enthusiastic.”

“I’ll tell her you said so.”

“Ghezen, please don’t.” Jesper felt Wylan’s hand twitch nervously where it rested on his chest, and caught it up quickly to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“You’re so much braver when you’re drunk. You were arguing with Kaz, but now I can’t tell Nina that you don’t like her singing?”

“It makes it worse that I said it behind her back. I want her to like me.”

“Yeah? You got a crush?” Jesper ran his thumb back and forth over the scar on Wylan’s knuckle, turning the boy’s hand in his own like an artist inspecting for the perfect angle. Wylan’s hands were art, he thought. Slender fingers, neatly trimmed nails, the scar almost blending into a smattering of freckles and sunspots.

“Honestly, I think I have crush on all of your friends. You’re all so ridiculously attractive, it’s not fair.” Dropping his head back against the pillow, Jesper let out a laugh that bounced off the walls and echoed through the golden light of the sunset outside.

“Coming from you? Do you know what I thought when I first met you?”

“I dread to think,” Wylan muttered, pressing his face into Jesper’s shoulder.

“I thought that you were so fucking pretty that you must be a horrible person, because how could someone be pretty and rich and a nice person? I thought that this,” Jesper paused, tapping the scar lightly, “this must be your only flaw.”  

“Little did you know it’s just the smallest one,” said Wylan with a wry smile, watching Jesper’s hand as it held his own.

“What’s it from, anyway? I know I have a dozen scars, but they’re all farming or bar fight related, and I know you were never the tumble in the hay type.”

“If you provide the hay, I’m happy to be tumbled,” Wylan grinned, pressing a kiss to Jesper’s throat as Jesper laughed, slipping his hands down to Wylan’s waist.

“Mm, anything else you want to do to avoid the question?” A sigh warmed Jesper’s skin, and Wylan rested his hands on Jesper’s chest, propping his chin on his fingers. There was a touch of anxiety darkening his gaze, his lower lip momentarily trapped between teeth.

“That obvious?”

“I can spot the signs.”

“It’s not a fun story. Or an impressive one.”

“Tell me anyway. I want all your stories.” Another sigh, another hesitation, but none of the tension Jesper expected, none of the fear. Skimming a hand along Wylan’s bare spine, Jesper waited, swallowed the words he wanted to say, the persuasions that brewed as fast as he could push them down.

“It’s not enough to just know that I have a complicated relationship with my father?”

“That’s not exactly a well-kept secret, love. He did this?” Jesper asked, tapping the scar again.

“It’s not? What does Ketterdam know about my paternal relationship? And no, he didn’t. It was a tutor.”

“Ketterdam knows that your Da is a prick, and that you’re sunshine personified. A tutor? I thought you went to boarding school?”

“I went to boarding school for about a year but- sunshine personified? Really?”

“You know your brand, don’t pretend. Why only a year?”

“I went when I was fourteen, came back just after my fifteenth.”

“Kaz said you dropped out.”

“Kaz is wrong. Technically, I withdrew. ‘Dropped out’ implies that I was failing.”

“Why did you withdraw, then? Boredom? Bullying? Broken heart?” Wylan was obviously repressing a smile, and Jesper reached out to card fingers through his tangled curls.

“It’s complicated, Jes.”

“Ah. The Van Eck special.”

“Excuse me?”

“Whenever you don’t want to answer something, you tell me it’s complicated. You follow brand guidelines because it’s complicated, you let your father bully you because it’s complicated, you give up your freedom because it’s complicated.”

Wylan sat up against the wooden headboard, folding his arms about his chest, forehead creased and eyes dark. Taking in the shift, Jesper sat up too, fingers skimming the back of Wylan’s arm, seeking his hand to relieve the thrum of frustration and anxiety building under his skin.

“You’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry, Wy. If I was angry, I’d just tell you I was angry. I get that it’s tricky, that your childhood and your Da… they were bad. More than bad, bad was a bad choice of words- now I’ve said ‘bad’ so many times it doesn’t sound like a word, Saints, I mean-”

“Jesper.”

“They were awful, I think they were at least, because you only really give me clues and hints and I’m smart, I think, but not a detective, and I want you to be able to tell me these things, I want you to be able to tell me anything, but this is new, and fresh, and I’m not going to be angry at you for keeping secrets because I knew what I was getting into when I kissed you, but-”

“Jesper.” Loosing a sharp breath, Jesper met Wylan’s gaze. His blue eyes were worried now, studying Jesper with an analytical focus. “I was homeschooled for most of my life. I spent one year at boarding school while my father campaigned to keep his seat on the Merchant Council. After the year was up, and my father had kept his seat, I came home. I never suited academic settings, homeschooling worked better for me.”

There was something in Wylan’s eyes that Jesper recognised, a secret held close to him like a precious pearl or a broken wing, but pushing could only lead to revelation or destruction, and Jesper wasn’t willing to risk it.

“No bullying, then?”

“At an all boy’s boarding school? Honestly, I could have put your sex life to shame.”

Chapter Text

“You should wear the choker.”

Wylan glanced at Jesper through the reflection of the mirror he sat cross-legged in front of, one hand still twisting a curl out of his face, expression lined with incredulity.

“Absolutely not.” Jesper shifted where he lay half-dressed in Wylan’s bed, a salacious grin splitting his face. He was unwilling to put half as much effort into their impending appearance as the younger boy was but was more than willing to act as a voyeur to Wylan getting ready. It was an intricate process that seemed to consist mostly of staring, mostly undressed, at a selection of pre-delivered outfits with the expression of someone solving a long and complicated equation.

“Why not? You still have it, right?”

“This event is semi-formal, for one. And Anika’s already pissed at me for the photos from your birthday, I don’t need another meeting to remind me of guidelines I have memorised.” Laying the last curl in place, Wylan grabbed a glass bottle from the selection he’d pulled out and began unscrewing the lid, wisely ignoring Jesper’s dramatic sigh of disappointment. A handful of photos had leaked of Wylan at Club Cumulus, multiple of which featured shot glasses, glitter and a notable amount of unapproved physical contact. It had taken three hours for Wylan to escape the Exchange in the aftermath, though he’d sworn that without the hangover, he could have been done in two.

“The guidelines say you can’t wear accessories that make me think unholy things in public places?”

“Yes. In those exact words, in fact.”

“Careful, Wy, I think your pants might be on fire,” Jesper answered, shifting to watch Wylan dab clear serum onto his skin with a careful finger. The smaller boy snorted out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Maybe not in those exact words, then. But chokers are a definite rule break, I’m afraid.”

“So the one you wore for my birthday…?” A faint pink stained the skin under Wylan’s fingers, and Jesper’s grin widened.

“Was for you, obviously,” came a muttered response, fingers smoothing liquid across pale skin.

“You broke a rule for me? You’re a hopeless romantic, Wylan Van Eck.”

“I’ve broken numerous rules for you, Jesper Llewellyn Fahey.”

“Saints, you’re so sexy when you use my full name.” A wad of tissues flew through the air in the vague direction of Jesper’s head, bouncing off the headboard behind him as he laughed. “I don’t think I believe you, anyway,” Jesper continued, ignoring the outraged glare Wylan shot him at the idea he wasn’t one hundred per cent reliable. “Why would Anika bother writing guidelines about specific accessories?”

“It’s-”

“Complex? Tricky? Complicated?”

“If you’re going to be a podge, I won’t answer your question.”

“I didn’t think you were going to anyway, love, but please do carry on.” Wylan gave Jesper a one-fingered gesture over his shoulder, uncrossing one leg and stretching it out in front of him.

“The rule isn’t specific, but there is a rule against clothing and accessories that could be linked to certain… sub-cultures? Hang on, I feel like it makes more sense in the document,” Wylan answered, grabbing his phone from the floor next to it and speaking quick instructions into the microphone. A few seconds later, he leant awkwardly to pass it to Jesper. “Just read it, if you want. Not all of it, though, it’s incredibly dull. Accessory guidelines are page… twenty-four, I think.”

Settling back against the pillows, Jesper turned most of his attention to the phone in his hand. The document Wylan had brought up was branded with both the firm’s logo and the Van Eck family crest, which was red, gold, and painfully pretentious. Scrolling down, Jesper found a contents page with over a dozen sections, and in each corner sat the digitally stamped initials of both Jan Van Eck and Wylan himself. In the background of Jesper’s reading, Wylan continued to get ready, poking and prodding his face as though he could convince it to change shape, endlessly shifting strands of hair and taking turns to frown at himself and the outfit hanging from the back of the door. Curiosity guiding him more than sense, Jesper didn’t click to page twenty-four. Instead, he began scrolling through page after page.

The more Jesper read, the more a cold, heavy dread settled into his stomach, turning the blood in his veins sluggish and thick. There were sections that he expected, outlining video content, photographed content, press interactions and visuals. But there were other sections too, entire pages dedicated to the language Wylan could use, the interests he could invest time into, where he could visit, who he could talk to, what he could eat. Every facet of Wylan’s life was dictated in the pages he’d handed to Jesper so casually, and it was terrifying.

“Wy, this is…?”

“Hm?” Twisting to glance over his shoulder, Wylan raised his eyebrows in question. “I told you it was boring, Jes, you were only supposed to look at one page.”

“Wy, love, this isn’t boring, it’s borderline psychopathic. Tell me you don’t actually follow all of these?” Wylan stretched out a hand, wiggling his fingers to ask for his phone back, trying to appear unphased by Jesper’s reaction. But Jesper kept the phone, kept scrolling and skimming, batting away the hand gently and quickly, surreptitiously forwarding the document to his own email.

“I follow most of them, but you know I don’t follow all of them. The fact that I woke up next to you would prove that, I hope.”

“Good, okay. Good. Because all this stuff about food, about calories, it’s-”

“Oh, just ignore that bit, it’s not really relevant.” There was an edge to Wylan’s voice, a panicked, anxious hitch when Jesper held the phone out of his reach.

 “Wylan, it has a weight range you’re supposed to stick to-”

“Just give me my phone back, I shouldn’t have shown you.” But Jesper shifted again, standing on the other side of the bed and turning away from Wylan.

“You’re not allowed over 165 pounds? You’re not supposed to eat fried food? Is that why you said you didn’t like it, that it was too oily?”

“Jesper, give it back.” Wylan was standing now too, torn between fear and frustration.

“No, someone needs to bear witness to this fucked up little rulebook.”

“It’s a guide, Jesper, it’s just a suggestion, please-” Rounding the bed quickly, Wylan reached for the phone Jesper was holding out of his reach. Blood quickly turned from ice to lava, and Jesper continued picking out phrases that turned his stomach. What was mocking at first rapidly turned into genuine, unadulterated anger.

“1800 calories a day? Are you fucking kidding me?” Wylan was standing on the bed now and snatched the phone from Jesper’s hand with more violence than Jesper expected.

“I said give it back.” Whirling around, Jesper watched Wylan lock his phone and throw it across the room, letting it land by the door with a thud. Wylan was pale, paler than usual, with a dark flush of embarrassment blooming across his cheeks and tinging the tips of his ears red. “I told you to read one page, Jesper.” There was more anger in Wylan’s tone than Jesper had heard before, each word cold and clipped and sharp.

“And normally I love it when you boss me around, but you have to know that that document is mental. Why the fuck would you sign your name to that? You’re so smart, Wylan, how could you ever read that and-” Wylan took a step back, still balancing on the bed a few feet from the floor, unbuttoned shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders. He looked almost shell-shocked, unsteady and uncertain.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t! I don’t understand any of this, so please, please, explain.”

“They’re guidelines, Jesper. Every asset for the firm has them, barely anyone follows them, you just don’t get that because- because you didn’t grow up with it!” Stepping down from the bed, Wylan paced the length of the room, arms folded across his chest.

“You know that you’re a person, right? Not a financial asset?” Jesper argued, crossing the room to block Wylan’s path.

“Sure, thank you, what a revelation,” Wylan snapped, stopping sharply but avoiding Jesper’s gaze.

“But do you actually get that? Do you understand that you’re a person who deserves to be a person? That making anyone try and follow all these rules is evil?”

“They’re just-”

“Recommendations, so you said. Did you think that at sixteen? When you launched your platform, did you see these as guidelines or did you follow them blindly?”

“Enough, Jesper.”

“No! No, not enough, because how does someone so amazing have so little self-respect that they would sign that? That they would live like that when they could have anything they wanted?” Taking another step back, Wylan loosed a long, harsh breath. Schooling his expression until there was nothing left, he turned to the mirror and started buttoning his shirt.

“You should go. I’ll meet you at the party.”

“What?”

“I want you to go.”

“Wy, love, I’m not angry at you, I just want to understand-”

“I’m going to finish some work. Let yourself out,” Wylan cut in, stepping around Jesper and stalking out of the room. In his wake, the silence was abrasive, grating against Jesper’s skin and pulling him apart, as a door slammed elsewhere in the flat. Taking a breath of air that now felt stale, Jesper shook his head and pulled out his own phone. He forwarded the document once more, with a message only two words long:

Kaz,

Thoughts?

Chapter Text

Kaz [9:47]: Tell me your boyfriend didn’t actually agree to this.

Kaz [9:47]: Or at least tell me he’s being blackmailed.

Jesper glanced at the messages on his phone, reading Kaz’s words for the fifth or sixth time since the messages came through an hour ago. He hadn’t had a chance to reply, with the crowds of the gallery opening bubbling around him and Wylan at his side, slipping into the role of doting boyfriend like it was a second skin. They’d barely spoken two words to each other since Wylan had walked out, leaving Jesper to slip out of the apartment alone, and the silence had only continued when they’d met a short walk from the event. But here, at the gallery, nobody else could guess at the rift between them, at Jesper’s thrumming anxiety and desperation, at the barbed wire Wylan was carefully wrapping around his fear. The only signs that something had gone wrong were ones nobody else could see; a hand held too loosely, fingers no longer intertwined, a slight distance between them where they would once have leant into each other, gazes broken and distant instead of locked with the other.

Wylan was in animated conversation with an actress that Jesper vaguely recognised and should probably be talking to when his phone buzzed again. A quick peek at the lock screen revealed Kaz’s name, and Jesper shifted to look around the room.

Kaz [10:52]: Call me.

Tugging Wylan closer and repressing a flinch at the way the younger boy stiffened, he ducked his head to quietly interrupt.

“I’m going to the bathroom, love. Five minutes?” Wylan shrugged, offering a sweet and achingly hollow smile.

“Sure. I’ll hold your drink,” came the murmured reply, Wylan taking Jesper’s glass carefully and turning back to his conversation. Reluctantly letting go of Wylan’s hand, Jesper wove through the crowds of guests, ignored the intricately painted artwork on the walls, and vanished through the first door he could find. He found an empty service corridor and slipped out through the emergency exit into an alleyway behind the gallery. It took one second to retrieve his phone from his pocket, and another to call Kaz.

“Have you actually read this agreement?” Kaz asked in way of greeting, Jesper sagging against the wall at the familiarly terse, gravelled voice.

“Skimmed it. It’s fucked, right?”

“That’s one way to put it. I spotted five potential lawsuits in the first ten pages. Infinite blackmail potential.”

“So it is illegal, then? Making him do all that stuff? That means he could get out of it if he wanted to.”

“It’s more complicated than that. Only a handful of the individual clauses are breaking the law, and most of them exist in some kind of contract somewhere in the media industry as standard.”

“Which ones break the law? The food restrictions?”

“No, thanks to Kerch’s regressive laws, those are fine. Especially as they’re largely framed as a suggestion.”

“But you said there were potential lawsuits? I’m lost,” Jesper complained, dropping his head back against the brick wall.

“Potential is the operative word there, Jesper. Some of the clauses are definitely questionable, like the ones around medical treatment, but they’re hard to prove and cleverly worded-"

“Medical treatment? Wylan doesn’t need medical treatment,” he interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose and pacing the length of the alley.

“When you said you skimmed it, I didn’t realise that meant you’d ignored the entire second half of the file.”

“That’s what skimming it means! I read the highlights!”

“You read as much as you could before Wylan confiscated it, I assume.”

“That, too.”

“Page twenty-seven through to twenty-eight. That’s where your case lies, Jesper. If Wylan even wants you to have a case.” Frowning, Jesper switched the call to speaker and re-opened the guidelines document. He scrolled rapidly, watching clause after clause fly by before finally landing on twenty-seven. It was sentence after sentence of legal jargon, broken up with a few medical terms and enough sophistry to make parsing the meaning of the clauses nearly impossible.

“What the fuck, Kaz? What does this mean?”

“It means Wylan agreed to let Van Eck and the firm make all medical decisions for him, even as an adult. They can administer treatments, including experimental ones, and withhold them, too. At least, according to this document. Not according to the law.”

“Why the fuck would he agree to that?!” Jesper stopped sharply in the middle of the alley, debris and dirt skittering around his feet.

“You’ll need to ask him that. I try to stay out of the Van Ecks’ collective psyche.”

“Liar. You live for this shit.”

“When I can use it. If I use this, it will irrevocably destroy your relationship.”

“If you do that, I’ll tell Inej on you.”

“You should talk to her, actually.”

“I should?”

“She’s more invested in human rights than I am, and she likes Wylan more than I do. I imagine she’d have something wise and irritating to say about this.”

“It’s bad enough I sent it to you! I’m worried Wylan might actually kill me- wait, do you not like Wylan?”

“On eighteen hundred calories a day, I doubt he’d actually have the strength to kill you. If he did, that’s on you.”

“Don’t be a dick, and answer my question! Do you not like my real-pretend boyfriend?”

“I hate that sentence alone.”

“Prick.”

“Talk to Inej. Talk to your boyfriend. Let me know when I can use this to rinse Van Eck for all he’s worth.”

“The answer to that is never. Wylan’s already a bit fucked up, I don’t need you adding to that by blackmailing his Da.”

“Why is that my problem? He can afford therapy. Though, admittedly, he has to ask permission to get it.”

“You can also afford therapy, dickhead.”

“I’m hanging up now. I’ll send you the bill for my time.”

“I’m obviously not paying- ” The dial tone beeped once, and Jesper glared at the screen, torn between calling Kaz back to rant some more and throwing his phone down the alleyway and into a very stagnant, suspicious-looking puddle.

It took five minutes of pacing, one minute of pressing his forehead into the damp wall, and three texts to Nina about the perils of dating rich white boys for Jesper to go back inside. By the time he finally made it (and made sure that there was no mildew or brick dust clinging to his hair), Wylan was standing in front of a large seascape, framed by painted grey crashing waves and chatting quietly with a young Shu man. Each seemed familiar with the other, their bodies angled to keep their conversation to themselves, neither showing much interest in the painting. Wylan was smiling. Not a bright, PR-approved smile, but the small, knowing smiles he often gave Jesper. A small quirk of slightly pursed lips, a half-raised eyebrow and a mischievous, knowing glint in his eyes. It was the smile that made you feel included, that hinted at some inside joke or secret language only the two of you understood.

Trying not to frown at the green flames licking up his spine, Jesper wound through the thinning crowds towards them. He interrupted with a soft hand on the base of Wylan’s spine and a kiss to his temple, taking his drink from pale fingers and noting silently that Wylan had switched to water. Blue eyes met his, sceptical but set in a friendly expression that Jesper suspected was once again being faked.

“That was a long five minutes.”

“Sorry, love. Kaz called,” Jesper answered with a shrug, feeling golden eyes watching them closely. “Going to introduce me to your friend?” He noticed Wylan frown for a split second before nodding, shifting slightly to pull Jesper into their little duo.

“Sure. Kuwei, this is Jesper, my boyfriend. Jesper, this is Kuwei. We went to school together-”

“Briefly,” Kuwei interrupted with a smile that was closer to a smirk.

“Briefly,” Wylan repeated, shaking his head in amusement. “Now he does… don’t tell me, I can remember, I swear. Stunts?”

“Pyrotechnics and special effects, but close.”

“Right! Pyro and special effects for the Ravkan Film Association.”

“Pretty impressive gig,” Jesper said, holding a hand out to Kuwei. The Shu boy’s palm was warm as they shook hands, the grip slightly too tight to be comfortable.

“Speak for yourself,” was the only answer Kuwei gave, glancing between Jesper and Wylan with more than a little suggestion in his gaze. Jesper felt his spine straighten, his shoulders squaring, his fingers twitching where they lay on Wylan’s back.  

“Anyway,” Wylan said, in a tone that implied he’d noticed the slight, brewing tension between them. “Kuwei and I were talking about the Shu Han short film awards ceremony in a few weeks. Apparently, it’s always a good party. Have you been before?”

But he was still studying Kuwei, the way Kuwei looked at Wylan and the way Kuwei looked at him. The boy seemed almost unreadable in a very deliberate way, and Jesper was beginning to wonder if that was taught in lessons at their shared boarding school. The distraction was such that it took him a moment or two to form a reply.

“What? No, no, I haven’t. Though I’ve heard all the parties in Shu Han make it worth a visit.”

“Maybe you should come and find out. I’m sure Wylan could show you the ropes,” Kuwei suggested, offering Wylan a sidelong glance that turned the tips of his ears pink.

“You’re a sleaze,” Wylan retorted, sipping water from a condensation-lined glass. Kuwei’s face split into a shit-eating grin, and it occurred to Jesper for the first time that Kuwei knew Wylan. Knew him before the contract, knew him before he was ever online. That he might, at this moment, know more about Wylan than Jesper could imagine. Downing his drink in one, Jesper glanced around for another.

“I’m a flirt, Wylan, or maybe a tease, but never a sleaze. You know better.” Glancing at Wylan, Jesper raised an eyebrow.

“You do, do you?” Wylan’s eyes widened slightly, the pink spreading from the tips of his ears across the bridge of his nose. Turning his wide-eyed gaze into a glower, he turned to Kuwei.

“When do you fly back to Ravka, exactly?”

“Two days.”

“Not soon enough.”

“You love when I visit. I remind you to be normal.”

“You remind me why I drink.” Kuwei tipped his head back in a laugh that frankly seemed exaggerated, exposing the long, tan line of his throat, the sharp angle of his jaw.

“But you’re not drinking, are you, little Wylan?”

“Little?” Jesper asked, feeling his own face twist in confusion. Wylan was shorter, yes, but not so short that it was the first thing you noticed about him.

“Ignore him. Nobody’s called me that since school, and even then, it was mostly Kuwei.” Golden eyes sparked at the chance to include Jesper in the teasing, that same shit-eating grin widening.

“You should have seen him. He was tiny. A shrimpy twink, I think we called him.”

“I was small, and you were an arse. Only some things change,” Wylan threw back, but there was no edge to his voice, no sign of upset or offence. Jesper got the sense this was an old battleground, one where the corpses and weapons had been laid to rest, though the nature of the truce was unclear.

“Seems like a lot has changed since my last visit,” Kuwei answered, throwing Wylan a wink that Jesper knew he was supposed to notice. Sliding the hand resting on Wylan’s back around to his hip, Jesper pulled the boy closer, watching Kuwei note the action with a raise of his eyebrows. “Jealous?” He queried, watching Jesper’s fingers curl around Wylan’s side.

“Kuwei,” Wylan warned, clearly familiar with the Shu boy’s tone. 

“Why would I be?” Jesper asked, conscious that Wylan had tensed again, that they were already on rocky terrain and that this might not be the best way to escape it. But he was being prodded, teased, and he was already raw and frustrated from his fight with Wylan. This was an easy fight, one he could win without breaking a sweat, and the itch for conflict was burning in his fingertips.

“Do you want a demonstration? It’s been a while since I dabbled in exhibitionism, and it was never Wylan’s thing, but he might try it for you.” He knew his temper was rising, knew that he was only going to make things worse, but words fell from him anyway, fist clenching against Wylan’s hip.

“I think it’s pretty clear that Wylan’s done settling, isn’t it? If you need a pity fuck, I’m sure there’s plenty available on the West Stave.”

“People are watching,” Wylan hissed, brushing Jesper’s hand away and glaring at the both of them.

“Let them watch,” Kuwei shrugged, still grinning. “I’m having a good time.”

“You think hitting on someone’s boyfriend in front of them is a good time? I think it’s a good way to get punched.”

“Careful, if we’re going out the back we should definitely include Wylan.” This time, Kuwei winked at Jesper, and Jesper didn’t realise he was stepping forward until Wylan shoved his chest lightly.

“Enough. Are you two going to get the measuring stick out in front of everyone here? Or do you think you could both learn how to grow up?”

“I vote measuring stick,” answered Kuwei, who seemed immune to Wylan’s glare.

“Who needs a measuring stick when I could just show you how we end fights in the Barrel?” Jesper retorted. Wylan’s glare turned on him, cheeks flushed pink with frustration and embarrassment. Jesper sagged a little, some of the fight leaving him in a way it hadn’t left Kuwei, some of that addictive anger and adrenaline fading as Wylan shook his head, pushing curls from his face.

“You’re both arseholes. I’m going to look at some paintings,” Wylan said, voice still cold and sharp and whispered. Jesper instinctively turned a little to follow him, only stopping when Wylan shook his head again. “Alone,” he finished, before turning on his heel and walking away from Jesper for the second time that night. Tipping his head back and sighing, Jesper shook out his hands and turned to look for another drink, ignoring Kuwei still at his side.

“Huh. That was interesting,” the Shu boy mused, all the cheek gone from his voice.

“What?” Jesper asked, glancing at the boy next to him in confusion. Why was Kuwei still here? Why hadn’t he fled the second Wylan had left?

“Usually, when I wind up Wylan’s PR boyfriends, he just finds it funny.” For a moment, Jesper froze, taking in Kuwei’s words as though they needed translation. He wasn’t sure how to respond, how to navigate the twisted, complex layers of his relationship with Wylan, combined with this new awareness of what Kuwei knew about them. Kuwei was watching him closely, almost definitely taking in the perplexed crease of Jesper’s brow, the hesitation in his eyes. “Oh, shit. No way.”

“What now?”

“You’re not- fuck, are you two actually an item?”

“That question doesn’t have a simple answer.”

“That’s so obviously a yes. Aren’t you supposed to be an actor? You’re bad at improv.” Kuwei’s eyes were wide with realisation and lit now with amusement instead of mischief.

“I don’t like you,” Jesper stated, glowering at the painting in front of them.

“How long have you been together? How did you even get that past Wylan’s daddy dearest? Kudos to you, that must’ve been a fucking awkward conversation.”

“How is any of this your business? You’re just the guy who fucked up my night.”

“If you’re looking for the person who fucked up your night, I’d probably suggest a mirror.” Grimacing at the truth in Kuwei’s words, Jesper scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m leaving now,” he answered, glancing around for a glimpse of red curls or pale, freckled skin.

“Send my love to Wylan. Or don’t, it’s fine either way. I can let him know next time I’m here, and I guess I’ll get to see if you two actually survive.”

Shooting Kuwei a one-fingered gesture, Jesper walked away in search of a boy who definitely didn’t want to see him.

Chapter Text

The crowd was thinning by the time Jesper made it back to Wylan’s side. Every step he’d made across the gallery floor had been waylaid by guests who wanted to network, or congratulate him on a recent casting, or try and dig out some gossip on the Van Eck family (thankfully, a few months in Wylan’s company had taught him enough about social graces to politely wriggle his way out of that last one). Finally, after seeing off an elderly gentleman with a spectacular moustache and strange opinions about theatre, Jesper managed to bring their extended game of cat and mouse to a close. Wylan was standing in front of a large oil painting, one arm folded around himself while he sipped water with the other, studying the brush strokes on canvas, the movement of the young child in the frame seemingly running away from the viewer, further and further into a field of wildflowers. Jesper stopped next to him, following his blue gaze and taking in the picture.

“It’s pretty,” he offered, hesitant to break the silence between them and, honestly, out of his depth with art of most kinds. Tattoos he could do. Maybe graffiti, to an extent. The rest always felt beyond him. He saw Wylan nod slightly from the corner of his eye.

“It’s the painter’s son. He died very young, I think.” Blinking, Jesper took in the painting again. The hazy clouds of the sky, the speckled colours of the flowers in the grass, the outline of the faceless boy stark against the light of the horizon.

“Oh. I guess… now it seems more sad than pretty.”

“It can be both,” Wylan answered, tilting his head slightly but not looking away from the frame. Jesper twisted a little to watch him, to take in the angle of his gaze and the shadow of his lashes against his cheeks under the bright gallery lights. Slowly, gently, as if testing the water to see if it was too cold, Jesper slipped his hand into Wylan’s. When Wylan didn’t pull away, didn’t tense up or even frown, he laced their fingers together, tugging the smaller boy a half a step closer. He pressed a kiss to Wylan’s head, vaguely conscious of a camera flash behind them, and inhaled that familiar smoky vanilla that loosened something tight and heavy in his chest.

“Ditch this place with me, love?”

“It’s nearly closed anyway, so it would hardly be ditching,” Wylan countered, refusing to look away from the picture. He was still irritated, that much was obvious, even if he was showing more mercy than he had a few hours prior. He was probably hurt, and suspicious, and embarrassed, too. So Jesper persevered.

“Leave with me, then. Let’s go somewhere.”

“Where would you have us go?”

“We could go to the Kooperom? It’s open basically all night, and I bet they’ll still be serving food. I was thoroughly let down by the appetizers here.”

“Oh? The crostini wasn’t to your exacting standards?” There was a familiar beat to Wylan’s words, a rhythm he was hesitantly inviting Jesper back into.

“Far too salty, three stars.”

“The devilled eggs?”

“Too devilish, even for me.”

“The cheese balls?”

“Don’t get me started on the balls, Wylan,” he answered, freeing his hand and slipping an arm around the boy’s shoulders, feeling Wylan’s shoulders tense with the force of a restrained laugh.

“I’m still mad at you, you know.”

“I know, gorgeous. Can you be mad at me somewhere that serves waffles and shakes?”

“Right now, I can be mad at you anywhere.”

“Fantastic, let’s go,” Jesper concluded, using his arm to steer Wylan away from the painting and towards the exit, deliberately ignoring the huff of frustration he heard from his boyfriend.

In under an hour, they’d fled the gallery and taken up a small booth in the back corner of the Kooperom. The café was dark and smoky and still relatively busy, filled with the usual odd mixture of students and barrel locals who wanted coffee, comfort food, and a non-judgemental face. Jesper was chatting to the waiter, a boy he’d vaguely known back when he’d attempted university, while Wylan sat opposite, looking out of place and fairly miserable. Curls, now damp with rain, fell in his eyes, and he’d refused to take off his coat when he sat down, so he was now bundled up in black wool with a sour expression too close to a sulk not to draw stray glances.

“Wylan? Do you want anything?” Jesper asked, nudging him under the table with his boot. Scanning the tables around them quickly, Wylan sat up a little. He hadn’t looked at the menu Jesper had handed him when they entered and hadn’t read the board up behind the counter.

“Um. A shake, please. Just… a small chocolate shake?” He asked, sounding uncertain.

“Anything else?” The waiter asked, scrawling their order down.

“That’s it, thank you.”

“Y’know, if you needed more time to read the menu and pick some food, you could’ve asked, Wy,” Jesper pointed out as soon as the waiter left. The younger boy scowled at him with an intensity that made Jesper blink, and that ever so briefly reminded him of Kaz.

“I don’t want any food, Jesper.”

“I just know you like waffles, so I thought if we came here you’d-”

“Don’t do that. I don’t need that from you,” Wylan snapped, tightening his arms around himself and sliding further down into the collar of his coat. It was adorable and infuriating, a combination Jesper wasn’t entirely sure how to handle.

“Don’t do what? Bring you places you like?” It was a snippy response, and one that deliberately missed the point Wylan was trying to make, but Jesper couldn’t resist. He’d never been able to hold his tongue, and that apparently remained true during apologies that were rapidly turning into arguments.  

“Watch what I eat. Try to get me to eat. I don’t need a dietician, Jesper, and you wouldn’t exactly be qualified if I did.”

“Are you insulting me for not being a trained dietician? Weird blow, but okay. I’m not trying to get you to eat, Wylan, and I’m not watching what you eat. I watched you panic when the waiter asked what you wanted and thought you might have needed more time. I know you like waffles, so I thought we could go somewhere that served waffles. That’s all. There’s no grand conspiracy here, love.” He made sure to tag an endearment onto the end of his sentence, an attempt to soften sharp words that flew out of him in frustration, but Wylan sunk into his seat anyway, fixing his glare on the table and picking at the fading varnish of the wood. Dropping his head back against the booth, Jesper drew in a long breath and slowly, steadily released it again. He’d hoped moving away from prying eyes would help, that going somewhere comfortable and vaguely familiar and anonymous would give them space to talk, but they both seemed intent on digging this grave as deep as possible. After a few beats of silence, he shifted, looking at the boy opposite him.

“I’m not… I’m sorry I read the guidelines when you didn’t want me to, Wy, but I’m not sorry I read them.”

“That’s a rubbish apology.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the best you’ll get. I shouldn’t have carried on reading when you told me to stop, that’s on me, but I’m happy to at least have some fucking clue what’s going on.”

“I didn’t- you don’t need to know all of that. It’s nothing to do with you.”

“Except it is! It is to do with me, Wy, because some of it literally dictates who you can be with, and those aren’t even the most messed up parts.” There was a flush rising on Wylan’s face that lingered when Jesper fell quiet, managing a smile at the waiter dropping off their food. Wylan pulled his metal cup closer, stirring and stabbing at the shake with his straw. Huffing out a breath and breaking off a piece of waffle with his fork, Jesper tried again.

“I’m just trying to understand, love.”

“What, exactly, do you need to understand that I haven’t told you? I told you I had guidelines that I followed, that they took up most of my life-”

“This is all of your life, Wy. All of it. Your relationships, your personality, your health-” Wylan narrowed his eyes, fingers finally falling still on the edges of his cup.

“That’s a lot of reading for the five minutes you had my phone.”

“I skimmed the sections, all right? It doesn’t take a genius to read sub-headings, Wylan, and that is also not the point.” It was a shady lie of omission, one that left a slick oil spill of guilt in Jesper’s stomach. “I’m just worried about you. No, not even worried, I’m fucking terrified of what would make someone sign their entire life away like that, of what would make you willing to live like that for…for what, forever? When does it end?”

“It gets reviewed when I’m thirty,” Wylan answered, but it came out as more of a mumble than a statement. Jesper was losing a grip on the conversation again, feeling it spiral out of his hands like a rope off a bridge, and Wylan’s willingness to talk, his typical edge and fight and energy was going with it.

“Thirty?! As in three-oh? Fuck, Wylan, that’s so far away.” But Wylan just shrugged, taking a long pull from his straw and letting his eyes wander around the room. Chewing on a mouthful of chocolate and strawberries and crispy, warm waffle, Jesper studied the boy across from him. Wylan looked utterly miserable in a way Jesper hadn’t seen him look before. There was none of the ire and frustration he’d seen after Wylan had left his family dinner, none of the anxiety he’d seen before the gala or outraged fury he’d seen after. With his eyes now fixed back on the table, his shoulders slumped and his arms tightly around himself, Wylan looked completely dejected. Lost, and so far from Jesper that it hurt like a punch to the stomach. “I don’t know what to say to make it better, Wy. How do I make it better?”

“Make what better?”

“Any of it. All of it. Tell me to kill your Da and I will. Tell me you want to run away, fuck it, we will. Tell me you want to find a way out of the contract and-” Wylan shook his head, letting out a sigh and pulling his cup closer to him.

“I chose the contract, Jesper. I knew what it said and I signed it. It’s done.”

“You were just a kid. No way would it stand up in court, not even in Ketterdam.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I’m trying.”

“I don’t want to get out of the contract,” Wylan said, sipping his drink and avoiding Jesper’s stare.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean… I don’t want to run away, or find a loophole, or go to court. I’ll live it out until I’m thirty, and then see what happens.”

“But this isn’t what you want. It isn’t how you want to live.”

“No, it’s not how you would want to live.”

“Wylan, nobody would want to live like this. You have to understand, whatever they said to you, whatever they did, making someone live like this is so far from legal it could make prisoners in Hellgate weep.”

“They’re not making me do anything, Jesper. You’re not listening.”

“They’re making you do everything. I’m listening perfectly fine, I’m just not used to hearing someone speak absolute insanity-”

“They’re making me better!” Wylan snapped again, putting his cup down sharply and wincing at the noise. Jesper stared at him across the table, unsure of what to say, and Wylan only stared back.

“What-”

“They’re making me better. The guidelines- the contract, they make me a better- a better son, a better public figure, a better person, so why would I change that?” Jesper could see it then, for the first time, something he’d only caught glimpses of before. Wylan’s true, unadulterated belief that he needed fixing in some way, that he needed to be twisted and moulded and prodded into shape, that there was nothing about him that remained fundamentally good, and nothing that deserved protecting.

“Tell me you don’t actually believe that, Wy.”

“I don’t need pity from you, Jesper. I don’t need you to save me. Can’t we just…be?” Jesper felt his phone buzzing in his pocket, Wylan’s gaze weighing on him from across the table. It was a question he didn’t know how to answer, an implied request he wasn’t sure he could agree to. Checking his phone, Jesper saw Inej’s picture smiling out at him. It was an easy escape, a cheap and temporary one at best, but he took it anyway.

“I need to take this, okay? Eat some of my food if you want,” he managed, digging his phone out and vanishing outside.

Chapter Text

A marching band had taken up residence inside Jesper’s skull, the beat of their drums sending shockwaves of misery through his brain that almost drowned out the knocking on his front door. With a groan that closely mimicked the undead, he dragged a sofa cushion over his head and tried to drown out the noise. The knocking briefly stopped, and Jesper came close to murmuring a prayer of thanks before he heard the unmistakeable scrape of a key in a lock, the turning of a handle and the creak of that hinge he’d always meant to oil.

“Jesper? Are you awake yet?” It was Inej’s voice that cut through the pounding in his head. His friend sounded half-curious and half-resigned, and Jesper had vague memories of calling her at an unreasonably late hour to babble absolute nonsense down the phone. With another groan, he burrowed further under whatever blanket he’d dragged onto the sofa.

Wylan had disappeared when Jesper went back into the Kooperom, only an empty seat and a paid bill left behind, the one missing strawberry from Jesper’s plate the only evidence he'd stayed more than a second after Jesper had stepped outside. That first conversation with Inej had lasted all of five minutes, made up of half-formed explanations, confirmations of whatever information Kaz had deigned to pass on, and an agreement to meet the next day to talk properly, to process and plan and breathe. But then Wylan was gone, vanished out of the lone entrance without saying goodbye, and Jesper was left lost and frustrated and reeling, and while he hadn’t turned to cards, he had turned to the bottle of kvas Nina had bought him for his birthday. The same bottle now lay almost empty on the floor next to his laptop, the contract he’d stayed up to finish reading hidden behind a black screen.

“Jesper?” Inej’s voice came again, dragging him from last night’s travesty and back into the present.

“I’m alive,” he managed, rolling onto his back and kicking at the tangled blanket around him. “I think, anyway.” His voice had come out in a hoarse, tired croak, and the ceiling above him swayed concerningly. After a soft huff of amusement, Inej appeared in his peripheral vision, holding two takeaway coffee cups and a brown paper bag he desperately, wantonly hoped was some form of pastry.

“I thought you might need refuelling,” she said, nudging his legs out of the way and perching on the sofa. Reluctantly, Jesper pulled himself into some semblance of a sitting position and reached for one of the coffees.

“Don’t tell Kaz, but you’re the love of my life.”

“I’d be more worried about Nina. She’s very possessive,” Inej replied, pressing a cup into his waiting hand and crossing her legs in front of her. Taking a long gulp from the cup, Jesper closed his eyes. The world was still spinning, and his head was still pounding, and thinking about how he left things with Wylan made his stomach turn, but Inej was here and there was caffeine coursing through him, and that made everything at least ten per cent less awful.

“I could take Nina in a fight,” he tried, but Inej’s responding incredulity wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“Nina would turn you inside out and hang you on her washing line to dry.” Jesper’s stomach roiled at the description, and he distracted himself with another sip of coffee. He knew Inej was watching him, dark eyes taking in his expression, last night’s clothes, the bottle on the floor and the pillow marks pressed into his cheek. Inej was patient, and kind, and infinitely wiser than he was. She was also shrewd, and exacting, and sharp as a knife’s edge. “How was the kvas?” She asked finally, sitting back against the sofa and letting him wallow for only a moment longer.

“I’ll let you know when I taste it a second time around.”

“Did it help?” Her raised eyebrow was enough for Jesper to realise she wasn’t asking out of sympathy. It was a very Inej-like way to call him an idiot.

“Hangovers do make a solid distraction from being miserable, so kind of.”

“Jesper.”

“I know. Not helpful.”

“What happened? You seemed okay when I called you the first time?”

“He left.”

“Wylan?”

“No, Sankt Nikolai. We were out for drinks, obviously.” Inej’s quiet tut and sideways glare were enough to needle through Jesper’s weak defences, and he let out a harsh sigh. “Wylan. We were talking about the contract- wait, have you-”

“Kaz sent it to me,” Inej interrupted, answering the unfinished question.

“Right, so we were talking about that, and it was going… appallingly, I think. I don’t know what I expected him to say about it, but it was not that. And then you called, and I went outside and then he was just… gone. He left.”

“What do you mean, it was going appallingly?” Jesper drew in a steeling breath, fixing his gaze on the steady red standby light of his television, letting the world wobble and shudder around him. The weight of the coffee was warm in his hands, the caffeine slowly reviving him, letting him focus on his words.

“He doesn’t want to get out of it, ‘Nej. He doesn’t even- I don’t think he sees anything wrong with it. He said it makes him better.”

“Better?” Nodding slowly, Jesper pictured Wylan in his mind. Bundled in his black coat, still damp and cold from Ketterdam’s ever-present rain, looking at Jesper with desperation in his blue eyes, with panic in his voice. The exact words he’d said in that busy, smoky café came flooding back, Jesper’s nausea intensifying with each memory.

“He said it made him a better son and a better public figure and a better person. That he agreed to the contract knowing full well what it said, and is going to live it out until he’s thirty. That he chose it and didn’t want to break it.” A long silence stretched between them, Inej twisting and untwisting her thick braid around her hand, letting black strands wind around her fingers. By the time the silence broke, the coffee cup was nearly empty, and Jesper had swiped up the paper bag to tear into a lukewarm croissant.

“It’s abuse, Jesper.” Inej eventually said, her voice a whisper in the hushed quiet of his apartment. He glanced at her, taking in the straight line of her spine, the poise in her expression and the frustration in her eyes. “What they’re doing to him is abuse, it’s exploitation, even if he doesn’t see it that way.”

“I know,” he whispered, picking at flakes of pastry and making a mess of his sofa.

“I can’t imagine how long… for someone to get to the point where they would agree to that, and continue agreeing to that…”

“I know,” Jesper repeated, understanding the sentences Inej left unfinished, the thoughts she was trying to articulate. They were the same thoughts that had plagued him, that had put a bottle in his hand and left him passed out on the sofa. What had happened to Wylan before the contract that meant he saw it as a solution? How long had he been made to suffer and what had that done to him? Could any of it be fixed? What if Wylan was irreparably broken, his view of the world and of himself warped beyond saving?

“What do you want to do?” Inej asked after a beat, folding her hands in her lap and looking at him with something close to determination, as if she’d heard the stumbling spiral of his thoughts and commanded him to dismiss them.

“I don’t know what I can do, love.”

“As far as I see it, you have three options,” Inej started, pushing her braid over her shoulder.

“Saints, you sound like Kaz.”

“Not always a bad thing. Option one is that you stay with Wylan, and let him continue under the contract without challenging it. It’s what he wants, and you might manage a few more months, even a year before Van Eck finds out.”

“I hate option one already.”

“Well, option two is that you stay with Wylan, and try to help him.”

“I have no idea how I would even manage that,” Jesper answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Every time I try to talk to him about it, I fuck it up and he ends up leaving or kicking me out.”

“Don’t underestimate how much you’ve already helped, Jes.”

“Me? Helped? All I’ve done is piss him off and make things more difficult.” Shaking her head, Inej fixed him with another one of her ‘you’re an idiot but I love you anyway’ stares.

“He came to your birthday. He broke dozens of those awful rules at that party, and he had fun. He made friends his father wouldn’t approve of, wore clothes that he liked, drank and danced and confessed to things that he probably, definitely, shouldn’t have.”

“So? It was my birthday, he probably felt like-”

“Jesper, he did it because he felt safe enough to. You made him feel safe enough to break rules that he’s been following since he was sixteen years old. That’s helping.” Jesper loosed a long, slow breath, too hungover and too caught up in self-pity to fully accept the honesty in Inej’s words. He was a mess. A recovering addict with a pile of debt and a career he’d needed a fake boyfriend to maintain. He wasn’t anybody’s hero, and he wasn’t entirely certain he was cut out for a rescue mission.

“What’s option three?” With a roll of dark, bemused eyes, Inej sipped her coffee.

“Option three is that you leave him.” Jesper’s stomach dropped, a lead weight appearing in his gut, one word repeating alongside the pounding in his brain. No. No, no, no. Swallowing hard, he shook his head and forced a grin.

“Option two it is, then. I guess I never could walk away from a bad hand.”

“That makes you a rotten gambler, Jesper. But an excellent friend.”

Chapter Text

Wylan’s front door was a dark blue. Not quite navy, not quite indigo, but somewhere in between. Maybe peacock blue? Jesper wondered. The shade was made darker by the brassy shine of the gold handle and the small gold rim of the peephole, as well as the low, amber glow of the one corridor light Jesper had turned on. Letting out a huff of breath and grimacing at his own hesitation, Jesper studied the door once more. He knew Wylan was home, had seen the Instagram stories of the brand event Wylan had spent the day at, and the subsequent reel of the various free goodies he’d been gifted, all stacked against the wall in his office. Condensation from the cardboard cup in Jesper’s hand dripped between one of his fingers, running in a rivulet down to his wrist.  Well aware that he couldn’t hover in the hallway forever, that eventually someone would come out to turn the light off and probably, sensibly call security, he rolled his shoulders and lifted a hand.

The knock was awkward because of the cup he was holding, too loud and too aggressive in the peaceful quiet of the building, and once again Jesper grimaced at himself. A slow thirty seconds passed, and with a reluctant frown, he knocked again. Faintly, he heard a voice through the door.

“One second!” It was an answer, at least. He’d half expected Wylan to peer through the peephole and leave him shut outside, but thankfully the younger boy seemed at least willing to open the door. Whether it would stay open when he found Jesper on the other side was yet to be seen. Tapping his foot on the floor with anxious impatience, Jesper glanced down the hall.

When the door finally opened, Wylan’s curls were wet from the shower, so dark they were nearly copper instead of their usual burnished gold. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his gaze already confused, and he’d clearly pulled on the nearest clothes he could find to rush to the door, leaving him in an old grey hiking fleece and pyjama pants covered in snowflakes. It was ridiculous and adorable enough that Jesper forgot everything he’d planned to say on the way over.

“I- uh. I got you a shake,” he managed instead, thrusting the cardboard cup in Wylan’s direction. “I was going to bring food, but then I thought you might have eaten at the party. Then I was going to bring flowers, but couldn’t remember if you only liked flowers online or if you actually like flowers, and then I couldn’t remember which flowers you even said you liked, and cyberstalking you to find out felt weird, so I- well. I got you a shake. Chocolate, from the Kooperom, because that’s your favourite, right?” Wylan was staring at him, the confusion in his eyes only growing, and Jesper was conscious of the words tumbling out of him without pause. Forcing himself to take a breath, he slowed down. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“At record speed, yes,” Wylan answered, taking the milkshake carefully. His sleeves were pulled down over his hands, and Jesper could see the drops of condensation catching in the fabric, could tell that in a few minutes that damp fleece would irritate Wylan enough that he’d change.

“I like your pyjamas. Snowflakes,” Jesper said, internally cursing himself and his nerves. Nodding slowly, Wylan frowned at him, clearly as perplexed with Jesper’s nonsense as Jesper was with himself.

“Alys got them for me.”

“She has good taste. In pyjamas, that is. Not men.” Wylan raised his eyebrows, sucking on the straw to take a long sip of his shake. “I mean, obviously Adem is lovely, maybe a bit smug, and if she’d married Adem I wouldn’t judge her, not that I judge her anyway, but marrying your Da, now that was a weird choice, and-”

“Jesper?”

“Yes, love?”

 “What are you talking about?” Wylan finally asked, saving both of them from a conversational detour that was bound to end in further confusion.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, I don’t know. I had a whole speech planned out, and then you opened the door being all you and I forgot all of it.”

“You had a speech planned?”

“Wrote it down on my phone and everything.”

“Did you rehearse it? You know you work better when you rehearse out loud.” Scratching his neck, Jesper shook his head.

“Didn’t have time. Inspiration only came to me on the walk over.”

“That’s probably why you forgot it, then.”

“No, no, I remembered it until I got here. It’s your fault I forgot it.”

“What do you mean?! I haven’t even done anything, I just answered my door!”

“I mean, you answered the door looking all… cute and lovable and shit! It threw me off!” Wylan glanced down at himself, taking in the worn-out fleece, the pyjama pants, the bare feet curling into the welcome rug. Looking back up at Jesper sceptically, he sipped his shake once more before answering.

“You’re weird.” With a sigh that was half frustration and half amusement, Jesper glared weakly at the boy in front of him.

“Can I come in yet? Or do we have to stand in the corridor all night?”

A beat of silence passed, and for a split second Jesper thought Wylan might say no. Instead, he nodded slightly and stepped aside, holding the door open. Shrugging out of his coat, Jesper slipped inside, heading automatically into the living room and throwing his coat over a chair. He heard Wylan trail after him, feet padding against the wooden floorboards, all the energy and chaos of their greeting draining away. There was music playing softly from Wylan’s bedroom, the apartment half in darkness with only a few lamps lit along the mantelpiece. It was clear that Wylan had been getting ready for bed, ready to sleep a third night without having spoken to Jesper. Turning to face him, Jesper studied the other boy.

“Why’d you run off on me, Wy?” He asked, voice turning soft as if the calm of the apartment was precious enough to be protected. Wylan blinked at him, folding his arms tightly.

“I didn’t run off. I went home.”

“Without saying goodbye, without even telling me you were going.”

“You’re the one who ran off. I asked you a question and you decided to answer your phone instead of me.” Jesper faltered, seeing Wylan’s point and not knowing exactly how to refute it.

“I didn’t know how to answer it.”

“Then you should have just said that,” Wylan countered, dropping to sit on the sofa and pulling his knees up to his chest.

“That’s… fair. I guess I just needed some time to think.” Blue eyes stared at him, visibly unimpressed, and Jesper sighed, walking over to sit next to Wylan. “I panicked, Wy. The contract, it’s-”

“I don’t want to keep talking about the contract, Jesper.” Holding out his hands in placation, Jesper shifted closer, close enough to feel some of Wylan’s warmth, to smell the sweet vanilla of his shampoo.

“We don’t have to. We don’t- after today, we can never talk about it again, if that’s truly what you want.”

“After today?” Nodding, Jesper sought out Wylan’s hand, lacing their fingers together loosely enough that Wylan could pull away if he wanted to.

“You asked me if we could just be, Wy, and I want that, I honestly do. But I need to tell you where I stand on everything before we try.”

“Why? If you know it won’t change anything, why would you…?”

“Because I’ll go mad if I don’t. Because I don’t know if anyone has ever actually told you how fucked up it all is. And because- because if there is any part of you that ever decides you want out, or even has the tiniest of doubts that this is what you want, I need you to know that I would back you in a heartbeat. Today, tomorrow, a month from now, fuck, even if we broke up and you decide in five years that you want out, I need you to know that I’d help you.” Another silence fell between them, Jesper watching Wylan, Wylan watching their hands intertwined between them, their breathing soft and synchronized in the quiet dark. Eventually, just when Jesper was ready to break the silence to ease some of the tension coiling around his neck, Wylan spoke.

“Okay. Okay, then. Tell me where you stand. Just don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t yell at me again?” Wylan asked, and Jesper wondered if this was what it felt like to have your chest cracked open, to have your ribs pulled apart and your heart sliced into.

“I yelled at you?” He barely remembered it, the argument they’d had in Wylan’s room when he’d first read the contract. It had all blurred into one haze of anger and outrage and crushing clarity, and he supposed that yes, in that moment, he probably had yelled, had raised his voice. He remembered Wylan going pale, remembered that shell-shocked, shaken expression, remembered glimmers of fear- had he made Wylan scared? Loosing a sharp breath, Jesper cursed himself softly. “Fuck. Of course, Wy, of course, I never meant…”

“I know.”

“You do? Are you sure? Because I wasn’t angry at you, love, not in the slightest, I was just… confused, and worried, and scared for you, and-”

“I know, Jesper.” Nodding slowly, Jesper felt Wylan squeeze his hand and managed a small smile. “After tonight, promise me we can stop talking about this?”

“Cross my heart, love,” Jesper answered, drawing a cross over his chest with his free hand. “But tonight?” Wylan nodded again, gaze dropping back to their hands.

“Tonight, we can talk about it. Just let me change first, this sleeve is annoying me.”  

Chapter Text

They didn’t talk right away. In fact, they didn’t talk until Wylan had changed into a fresh jumper, half-dried his hair, and made them both drinks. While waiting, Jesper set about turning on a few more of the lamps scattered artfully on surfaces around the living room, bathing the entire place in a warm, golden glow. He also hung up his coat, left his shoes by the door the way Wylan preferred, and tried not to pace. When Wylan finally returned, carrying two steaming mugs of green tea, he had a thick woollen blanket pulled around his shoulders and his feet tucked into ridiculously fluffy socks. At Jesper’s raised eyebrow and silent question, he shrugged, carefully putting the mugs down on the coffee table.

“I’m cold.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.” Wylan wrinkled his nose, freckles blending into each other, a sure sign that he couldn’t think of anything suitably snarky to say in response, and curled up on the sofa.

“I added sugar to your tea,” he said instead, tugging the blanket a little tighter around himself.

“Putting that big brain of yours to good use, I see,” Jesper answered, dropping to sit next to him and attempting to steal some of the blanket. After getting a glare and a quick swat at his hand in response, he gave up with a sigh, watching as Wylan leant over to pick up his mug, cradling it close to his chest and staring at Jesper with wide, anxious eyes. The Wylan he’d met nearly five months ago, beautiful and distant, untouchable and seemingly invulnerable, was long gone now. This Wylan was beautiful, yes, always, but he was also raw and real, racked with that dangerous combination of fear and hope Jesper was so familiar with.

“You had a speech?” Wylan half-whispered. They were turned towards each other, each leaning a shoulder against the back of the sofa to bring themselves closer, and Jesper was half tempted to pull Wylan’s legs into his lap, to wrap his arms around the boy’s waist and press his face into still-damp curls, to close that final distance and entangle them the way they’d been so many times before. He settled for brushing a stray, darkened curl from Wylan’s forehead, holding it between his thumb and forefinger for a moment, watching the amber glint in the low light.

“You want to read it?” The other boy shook his head quickly, the curl slipping from Jesper’s fingers, leaving him to drop his hand onto the back of the sofa, perpetually reaching towards Wylan but never quite touching him.

“Read it to me?” With a huff of a laugh that was tinged with reluctance, Jesper dug his phone out of his pocket.

“Can I give you a summary? An actual speech feels… embarrassing now, if I’m honest.”

Wylan nodded in understanding, bringing his mug up to sip tea quietly. Jesper scanned the notes he’d typed frantically on his phone, all of his thoughts and plans now seeming vague and unhelpful, the words clunky and awkward and wrong. With another sigh, he dropped his phone onto the cushion and looked at the boy next to him. Wylan was waiting expectantly, still holding his mug close to him like a shield, a small frown appearing when Jesper discarded his notes. Jesper wanted to be gentle, wanted to smooth away the rough edges of what he had to say and make the words soft and easy, but nothing about this was easy, and nothing about the truth was gentle. With Inej’s words ringing in his ears, Jesper made a decision to be honest.

“Wylan, I think you’re being exploited.” The boy opposite him blinked in surprise, sitting back a little and putting some space between them, but staying silent. “You’re incredible, Wy. You’re so smart and so kind and so, so good, but Van Eck isn’t, and the Firm isn’t. They don’t care about you, they don’t want to protect you, they don’t want to make you better. They want to use you and chew you up and spit you out.” The words were pouring from him now, more embittered than he’d originally planned, less forgiving, less placid, but open and honest and half-garbled with desperation.

"I don’t know- I don’t know what they told you when you agreed to all of this, I don’t think I fully understand why you agreed to all of this, but I do know that you deserve the freedom to make your own choices. You deserve the same choices as everyone else. You deserve to choose what you wear and where you go, who you talk to and what you eat, what happens to your health and your body. Fuck, Wy, you deserve more than that, you deserve everything, and it scares me that you can’t see it. That you think you need to torture yourself following these stupid, awful fucking rules, that you need to give up every ounce of control you have, just to be a- a watered down, lesser version of the fucking amazing person that you are.”

Wylan swallowed, knuckles white where his hands tightened around the mug, his gaze fixed firmly on the steaming liquid within. The silence was painful, tense enough to make Jesper’s skin crawl, but he forced himself to sit in it, to feel the anxiety climbing up his throat.

“I take it that means you read more than just the section you saw on my phone,” Wylan finally managed, an undeniable quiver in his voice. Closing his eyes for a moment and cajoling himself into staying honest, Jesper nodded slightly. Watching Wylan’s fingers, pale against dark green, marbled ceramic, he confessed half of the truth.

“I sent it to myself. I know you didn’t want me to, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just leave it-”

“It’s okay. You read the whole thing?”

“After the gallery.”

“Must’ve been a fun night,” Wylan said, the humour in his voice strained and unconvincing.

“I needed to know- I had to understand, Wy. I needed to know what we were dealing with.”

“We?” Looking up, Jesper found Wylan’s gaze with his own.

“Of course ‘we’, love.” Another small nod and Wylan carefully leant to put his mug on the coffee table. For a long while, Jesper thought that was it. That Wylan was going to take his words and say nothing else, leaving them to either perpetual silence or Jesper’s inevitable panicked ramblings. But finally, once he’d pulled his knees up to his chest and curled in on himself, biting his lower lip in thought, Wylan spoke.

“You know, if you weren’t so busy being testosterone-fuelled idiots, you and Kuwei would probably get on.” It took a second for Jesper to follow Wylan’s train of thought, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“He knows about the contract?”

“He’s never read it,” Wylan answered, shooting Jesper a pointed glance. “But he knows about it. And he hates my father as much as you do.”

“You two…?”

“We never dated, if that’s what you’re asking. Though I had a ridiculous crush on him in school, and he was the first person I ever slept with.” Jealousy prickled Jesper’s skin, and he shifted a little, picking at lint on the sofa.

“Why are we talking about this, again?”

“Because… because you’re not the first person to have a problem with my life, Jesper. And you’re not the first person who didn’t understand it. But I- I barely see Kuwei now, I see him once, maybe twice a year, and I don’t want that for us.”

“I don’t want that either, love. But your contract-”

“Did I ever tell you about what it was like at boarding school?” Wylan interrupted, watching Jesper pick at invisible dust.

“It’s safe to say you never told me much about anything, gorgeous.” Wylan nodded again, a small, almost apologetic smile flitting over his face.

“I loved it there. I mean… I hated a lot of it because I hated school and some of the teachers were awful, but I can’t remember ever being so happy. It had been just me and my father and an endless rotation of doctors and tutors since I was eight years old, and suddenly I was surrounded by boys my age, two hundred miles away from Ketterdam, and there were rules, sure, but it was the closest thing I’d had to fun for as long as I could remember.”

It was Jesper’s turn now to take his mug and sip the rapidly cooling tea, sweetened with heaps of sugar and giving him something to focus on that wasn’t the crushing beauty of Wylan’s expression, at once wistful and hopeful and sad as he continued talking.

“When I came back, when my father’s campaign ended, I really didn’t cope. I’d always- always been an anxious child, I think. For as far back as I can remember, I was just constantly scared. I was scared of being in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing, I was scared of just…existing. But when I came back, it was so much worse. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I just became this useless, helpless thing. My father gave me three months, three months to make myself into something vaguely useful, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t know who I was, or what I wanted, or what I could do, and I still don’t, but now it doesn’t matter, see? The contract- the guidelines, were designed to give me some direction. They make sure that I represent my family properly, that I’m useful and that I have a purpose. I know that they seem over the top but without them… I think I’d just fade away, Jes. I’d be a ghost, nothing more.”

A hundred different responses crowded Jesper’s mind, none of them good enough to unpick every layer of what Wylan had said.

“You were just a kid, Wy.”

“Van Ecks don’t get to be kids, Jesper. Even the failures have to be something.” Lost for words, Jesper watched the boy opposite him. Wylan was picking at the edge of his thumbnail anxiously, a small divot of a frown between lowered brows.

“You were a kid who was struggling, who was probably ill, and you needed support. You needed help, not… not to be manipulated into signing away the next fourteen years of your life. I get that you think they help you, Wy, I do, but how do you know you’d be a ghost if you never got the chance to grow into anything else?”  

Wylan sighed, dropping his head to rest his temple against the back of the sofa, eyes tired and sad and thoughtful.

“People like who I am when I follow the rules, Jesper.”

“I like who you are when you don’t. There are lots of people who will love you even if you break the rules. Who will love you because you break the rules, because you start just being who you actually are.”

“Maybe.”

“No, not maybe. Absolutely. There is so much about you to love, Wylan Van Eck,” Jesper started, but he could see the wariness in Wylan’s expression, the scepticism laced into every breath, every tiny movement. Tapping out an impatient staccato on the back of the sofa, Jesper weighed his next words the way Wylan might. “I want you to be happy. And if this- if this genuinely makes you happy, then fine. But you know what I think about it, and you know where I stand.”

“Is that enough? Enough for you to leave it, to not talk about it again?” Wylan asked, watching Jesper’s hand again, following the rhythm.

“It will have to be. I’m not ready to quit on us just yet.”

Chapter Text

“See, this is why I prefer to fail in the privacy of my own home,” Jesper complained, glaring at the canvas in front of him, the paint smeared where his sleeve had brushed across the surface. Wylan glanced over at him, a light blue smudge over one eyebrow, and bit his lip to suppress laughter.

“At least you’re only failing in my home?”

“That’s worse! I need you to think I’m cool and smart and naturally excellent at everything.”

“Oh, Jesper,” Wylan started, shaking his head in commiseration. “I’ve never thought any of those things.” Nina snorted from across the room, and Inej gave a soft laugh, but Jesper had seen both of them glaring at their canvases almost as often as he had, so he merely shot them a one-fingered gesture. He looked over to Wylan’s canvas and groaned, reaching over to pause the video playing on the television. Their triple date, planned mostly by Nina and Inej, who had somehow cajoled Wylan into hosting, was rapidly deflating Jesper’s ego. All six of them had been attempting to follow along with the instructions of a very soothing man with phenomenal hair for about thirty minutes. So far, Matthias had resorted to drinking most of the beer from Wylan’s fridge, Inej looked ready to pull her hair out, and Kaz had gone eerily silent as he stared at the canvas in front of him. Only Wylan seemed to have anything closely resembling the mountainous landscape on the screen, but even he had paint covering most of his hands, smudged across some of his face, and drying rapidly into his hair.

“How is yours so good? Your trees actually look like trees!”

“I just followed the instructions?”

“Would it kill you to be bad at something?” Nina asked from the kitchen island, where she was vigorously dabbing at her painting with a muddy brown brush.

“I’m bad at lots of things!” Wylan argued, flushing pink and frowning at his canvas. “It’s not that good. One of my mountains is wonky.”

“How many symmetrical mountains have you heard of?” Kaz muttered, brows drawn together. Wylan turned to where he sat on the sofa, leaning to peer over Kaz’s black-clad shoulder.

“Kaz’s is good too! Focus on that, that’s way more surprising.”

“That is surprising,” Matthias agreed, putting his bottle onto the counter next to Nina’s painting. Kaz glowered at both of them in turn, triggering that same protective itch under Jesper’s skin while Wylan remained unfazed, turning back to his own painting with a shrug.

“Why is it surprising that a boy who frequently offers to get people fake IDs can copy a painting? If anyone was going to dabble in forgery, it would be Kaz.”

“At least someone here has a brain.”

“Careful, Kaz, that was almost a compliment.”

“Nina, my love, most of your paint seems to be on the counter,” Matthias interrupted, cutting off whatever barb Kaz was about to throw her way. Wylan twisted again, paintbrush now tucked behind his ear, a look of mild panic on his face.

“It is? What have you done to my kitchen?” Jesper watched as Nina definitely stood on Matthias’s foot while smiling innocently at Wylan.

“Nothing! Nothing at all. At least, nothing that can’t be cleaned up with warm water and some good old-fashioned elbow grease.” Wylan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and inevitably getting more flecks of paint on himself. Stepping up behind him, Jesper slipped his arms around the smaller boy’s waist, pulling him back against his chest. Pressing a kiss to Wylan’s cheek, he dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Aren’t you so glad you decided to host?”

“I regret ever letting any of you people into my house,” Wylan answered, not bothering to whisper.

“Can you two stop with all…” Nina gestured at them with her paintbrush, and even Jesper grimaced as another blob of paint dropped onto the counter. “This? We’re in a civilised setting.”

“It’s a date night?” Jesper countered, affronted at the criticism and reluctant to have Wylan more than a millimetre away. He could feel Inej’s dark gaze on him, undoubtedly taking in the protective curl of his fingers on Wylan’s side, the way Wylan relaxed back into him, letting Jesper take some of the weight off his feet.

“It is Wylan’s apartment, Nina,” Inej tried, shrugging her shoulders where she was sitting on the floor by the coffee table.

“I’ve literally seen your tongue in Matthias’s mouth,” Wylan added, folding his arms.

“Wylan Van Eck, were you watching us kiss? See anything you like?” Nina asked, a wicked grin on her face that had Matthias shaking his head. Jesper felt the smaller boy huff out a defensive breath, and knew without looking that the tips of his ears were burning scarlet.

“You’re cleaning my counter,” the redhead said, refusing to dignify Nina’s cackle with a response.

“Can we get on with it?” Kaz asked sharply, gaze jumping pointedly to the remote Wylan was now loosely holding.

“Keen to complete your edition of ‘mountains and streams’, Kaz?” Jesper asked, eyebrows raised as he propped his chin on Wylan’s shoulder.

“Keen to leave.”

“You can leave whenever you want, Kaz,” Wylan reminded him with a small shrug that jostled Jesper’s perch and left curls tickling his face. “I promise I won’t hold a gun to your head.”

“I don’t believe that you would know how to get a gun, merchling.”

“Is that meant to be an insult? Are you insulting me by saying you don’t think I’d buy illegal weapons?” There was genuine concern and confusion laced through Wylan’s words, a tone that had become fairly characteristic of his interactions with Kaz. Covering a laugh, Jesper tilted his head and kissed the crook of Wylan’s neck, ignoring Nina’s melodramatic gagging.

“Is that a rhetorical question, or are you actually struggling to understand?” Kaz countered, raising an eyebrow. He and Wylan had fallen into an odd, unexpected friendship, and Jesper was still adjusting to the bickering and insults that they casually threw back and forth, to the way that sometimes their Kerch was spoken so rapidly that even after years in the country, he struggled to catch all of it. Of all the friends he’d expected Wylan to gel with, Kaz had not been high on the list.

“Most people struggle to understand you, Kaz. You’re wired differently.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a compliment,” Wylan retorted, twisting out of Jesper’s arms and pressing play on the remote. Immediately, a soothing voice filled the room with calm instructions, half-drowned out by Nina cursing at her paintbrush and Matthias leaving to get another drink.

Hours later, the apartment was dark and empty apart from the two of them, cocooned as they were in the warm golden light of Wylan’s bedroom. Jesper kissed a line up the centre of Wylan’s chest, only breaking from his path to press an extra kiss to the freckle on one of his ribs, finding bliss in Wylan’s soft laughter, in the feeling of nails scraping gently against the nape of his neck, in the smell of paint that still lingered even after nearly an hour under the hot spray of the shower.

“Did you have fun?” He asked, voice low in the quiet dark. The night felt precious, stolen in a way that he couldn’t put his finger on, but if this was theft, then he’d gladly commit grand larceny.

“Just now? I thought that was evident,” Wylan answered with a smile, matching his whisper. Jesper finished his journey up Wylan’s chest, pressing kisses to his neck and jaw and finally to his mouth before rolling onto his side next to the smaller boy. Wylan followed suit, shifting onto his side to face Jesper, lips darkened and bitten, a familiar pink flush over the bridge of his nose.

“Tonight. I know you were nervous about having everyone here.” He watched as Wylan weighed up his answer, letting his fingers skim along the boy’s side, tracing the sharp lines and soft curves of him while he waited.

“I had fun. I could have done without the layer of paint covering my apartment, but… I did enjoy it. Do you think the others did?”

“They loved it. They love you. That layer of paint is basically their confession, Wy.” The flush on Wylan’s face deepened as he dropped Jesper’s gaze, focusing instead on tracing Jesper’s collarbone with his forefinger, catching at the gold chain around his neck.

“I’m pretty sure Kaz was only here because Inej threatened him somehow.”

“Kaz was here because he wanted to be, even if the grumpy bastard would never admit it. He likes you. You two are actually mildly terrifying together.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me terrifying before.”

“They’ve clearly never tried to wake you up in the morning.” Wylan shoved his shoulder lightly in retaliation, only relenting when Jesper caught his hand and pressed another kiss to his inner wrist. “Are you ready for our final official date? It’s coming up soon.”

“Two weeks,” Wylan said, a reply without an answer.

“Two weeks,” Jesper repeated, locking their fingers together. “And then what, love? What do we do next?” He felt Wylan let out a shaky breath, let those blue eyes stay fixed on their intertwined hands.

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“Stay with you, obviously.”

“Then stay with me,” Wylan answered, as if it were so simple, as if that were the only choice they needed to make.

“What about everyone else?” Jesper asked, because he had to, because every day the date drew closer, and every day the same questions reared their ugly, anxiety-inducing heads.

“I don’t know, Jes. I don’t want to think about everyone else. Not now, not when we’ve had a good day. Can’t it just be you and me for now?” The same way he always did, Jesper found himself surrendering to the soft plea in Wylan’s eyes, bringing his hands up to cup the smaller boy’s face and kissing him quickly.

“You and me, gorgeous. It’ll just be you and me.”

Chapter Text

Just as Jesper quietly feared, two weeks passed in a blur of good days that kept him from broaching the subject of the future. It was time taken up by soft, leisurely mornings, by double lunch dates, by home-cooked meals and favourite records and photos taken not to be shared but to be kept, sometimes laughed at, sometimes turned into lock screens or polaroids shoved into wallets and stuck onto fridges. It was two weeks where voicing fear or worry or confusion would have shattered the shimmering, golden glow that seemed to surround them, and so neither of them did.

“Why the fuck is he here?” Jesper asked, sliding an arm around Wylan’s waist as cameras flashed, as they smiled and posed and pretended this wasn’t a night that might change everything. Kuwei was further down on the red carpet, waving to a few people but getting far less press attention than they were.

“He led on the effects for this film, Jesper. It would be weird if he wasn’t here,” Wylan answered, leaning back against Jesper’s chest and twisting to look up at him. There was a smile fixed onto his face that had been there since they stepped out of the car, but Jesper was getting better at reading between the lines, of spotting the mask when it was fixed into place.

“Does this mean I have to talk to him?”

“After last time, I think I’d prefer that you didn’t.”

“After last time, we’ll be lucky to both end the night alive.” He heard Wylan laugh softly and felt a kiss pressed lightly to his cheek.

“Please don’t kill my friend. Or let him kill you.”

“It’s weird that you’re friends. It’s weird that he has friends.”

“Why is it weird? We went to school together.” Wylan laced his fingers through Jesper’s, tugging him gently away from the carpet, giving the cameras a final smile and wave as he led them into the foyer of the cinema. It was an old art deco style building, wrought in red and gold with two large, curving staircases leading up to a balcony and the screens beyond. Waiters in black and white milled among the crowd, passing out glasses of sparkling wine and small bites of food. After relieving a waiter of two drinks and handing one to Wylan, Jesper continued their conversation.

“It’s weird because you’re an angel and he clearly crawled up from the underworld to be here, love.”

“That feels like an exaggeration. On both sides,” Wylan said, sipping his drink and glancing around the room, taking in the guests and undoubtedly planning out who he needed to talk to. “Oh, you should try and have a conversation with Mikka Zhukov. Apparently, he’s just signed to direct two book-to-film adaptations, they’re set to be really popular.”

“You think he’d cast me based on one conversation?”

“I think that making your name mean something to him could help you stand out if you auditioned. Anyway, he’s a contact it can’t hurt to have.” Wylan was looking up at him with an earnest, determined gaze

“I was rather hoping to spend the party making contact with you. Probably somewhere private, having snuck away from the crowd…”

“We could probably do that after advancing your career?”

“Sure, yeah, of course. Very sensible of you, gorgeous,” Jesper agreed, grinning at the flush that Wylan tried to hide behind another sip of his drink. Kissing his temple quickly, Jesper draped a free arm around Wylan’s shoulders, steering him further into the foyer. “Careful, you know that’s going to go straight to your head.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Nuh-uh? Yuh-uh, methinks.”

“Nuh-uh. I had a whole bowl of pasta before I left, I could drink ten of these and still be sober.”

“When you say a whole bowl, do you mean a whole bowl or do you mean a cereal bowl that was half full?” Wylan glared at him, but it lacked heat and mostly made Jesper want to kiss him.

“I mean a whole, adult-sized bowl. Garlic bread, too.”

“Check you out, eating like a functioning adult for once.” It was a work in progress, but more and more, Jesper noticed Wylan eating more frequently, more comfortably. They didn’t mention it, that would be too close to acknowledging the contract, but Jesper made a point of showing Wylan it was okay to eat outside of his meal plans, to snack and to drink and to add sides to meals that he’d typically eat alone. The world wasn’t going to end if he ate a healthy amount, and nobody would notice unless he told them.

“I watched you eat gummy bears for breakfast.”

“I had to get protein in before the gym, obviously. I’m all about those gains,” Jesper answered, flexing his free arm dramatically and spilling wine down the inside of his sleeve. Wylan’s laugh turned into an ungraceful snort, and he covered his mouth with one hand to hide his embarrassment. 

“Have I told you how sexy you are when you choke on your own breath?”

“Next time you want to use ‘choke’ and ‘sexy’ in the same sentence, please make sure it’s in a different context,” Wylan countered, making eye contact with someone across the room and waving to them sweetly while Jesper ironically choked on his drink. “I’m going to go and say hello to a few people, you should introduce yourself to Mikka. I think he knows Adem, so use that to your advantage.”

“What should I say? ‘Hey, nice to meet you, I think you’re friends with my boyfriend’s stepmother’s secret lover’?”

“I think using his name would probably be fine.”

“Right, of course,” Jesper answered, snapping his fingers in mock-epiphany. “You’re a genius.” Wylan was already backing away, rolling his eyes with a small, amused smile on his face. Quickly, Jesper caught his hand, pulling him in.

“Wanna make out like teenagers in the back row when we watch the film?” Wylan flushed pink once again, eyes dancing with mischief even as he shook his head.

“You haven’t even bought me popcorn. Not to mention the multiple reasons that’s a terrible idea.”

“I knew there was something I was forgetting. I guess a boy can dream.” He felt Wylan lightly squeeze his hand before letting go.

“Go. Network.”

- 

They slipped out of the rear exit of the cinema, Wylan’s hand clasping Jesper’s tightly as he dissolved into giggles, nearly crashing into Jesper’s back as he took the single step onto the pavement.

“I told you that wine would go to your head.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Wylan protested, immediately following up the insistence with a hiccup that had him giggling all over again.

“You’re drunk!”

“You’re drunk,” the younger boy retorted, not incorrectly. Jesper’s veins buzzed with the faint heat of alcohol, and the world was a soft and pleasant haze. Wylan pulled him closer, reaching up to pull him into a kiss that sent sparks running through him. Kissing him back, Jesper’s hands found Wylan’s hips, pushing him gently into the wall of the cinema. In return, an arm wound its way around Jesper’s neck and a hand travelled up his chest to tug at his collar, pulling him closer. It was reckless and stupid and far more fun than the entire event they’d just sat through.

“Told you making out at the cinema was fun,” he murmured, letting Wylan kiss along his jaw and nip pointedly at the soft spot beneath his ear, letting his own hands untuck Wylan’s shirt and seek out the warm skin beneath.

“I didn’t disagree with you, I said it’s a bad idea.”

“Doesn’t feel like you think it’s a bad idea, love.” He felt lips against his neck, skimming his collar while fingers deftly unbuttoned his top button.

“Oh, hush.” Jesper gave a soft laugh at Wylan’s chiding tone, dropping his head back a little. His peace was only disrupted when a sharp, repetitive vibration came from Wylan’s pocket.

“Uh, Wy? You’re vibrating.”

“What? Oh, shit,” Wylan said, pulling back and digging his phone out of his pocket. “Oh, shit. Okay, hang on.” The smaller boy disentangled himself from Jesper, straightening his shirt with one hand as he answered the phone with another.

“Hello?” Jesper watched as Wylan ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to neaten in, and reached out to smooth down a few stray curls, tucking them back into place as Wylan spoke. “Yes, hi Anya, how are you?” A small silence passed, and then Wylan was pacing the narrow passageway between buildings, already looking closer to sober.

“Sure, I can do that. What time- ten? Yes, ten works.” Wylan glanced at Jesper, and there was worry in his blue eyes, an uncertainty that had been absent for at least two weeks, perhaps longer. Instinctively, Jesper closed the distance between them, hands finding Wylan’s shoulders, lips pressing against his forehead. “Okay. Okay, thank you for calling. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tucking his phone away, Wylan let out a long breath.

“They want me in the office at ten tomorrow. I know I was supposed to stay at yours, but-”

“It’s an early start, and your place is closer to the Exchange. It’s fine, love. I don’t mind.”

“We could get coffee after?”

“Sure. Why don’t you call me when you’re done?”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Wylan asked, arms around Jesper’s waist in a loose semblance of a hug that made Jesper smile.

“’Course not. Want me to walk you home?”

“Do I get an actual choice in the matter?”

“Oh, definitely not. I’m walking you home.”

“Then of course I want you to. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter Text

“Something’s definitely wrong.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Kaz said, not bothering to glance up from the laptop perched on his lap. Pacing Kaz’s cramped apartment, Jesper checked his phone for the hundredth time. Zero messages, zero calls. The same way it had stayed for the entire day.

“Should I call him again?”

“For the tenth time? No.”

“Kaz is right,” Inej agreed, carrying two mugs back into the living room and weaving through stacks of mysterious papers and an alarming number of computers to bring one to Jesper. “If I were Wylan, I wouldn’t want to leave a meeting to a dozen missed calls from my boyfriend.”

“The fact that he’s still in the meeting is why I need to call him! It started at ten, that’s…” Jesper tried to tally up the hours in his head, but his thoughts simply spiralled back into panic.

“Do you need a maths tutor?” Kaz asked, raising an eyebrow sceptically. “Because I’m sure your agency will provide you with one.”

“It’s seven hours,” Jesper concluded, flipping Kaz off while relieving Inej of a mug with the other hand. “What kind of meeting takes seven hours?”

“Maybe he just went home?”

“Inej, this is Wylan we’re talking about. The idea of breaking a promise makes him literally nauseous.”

“And he promised you he’d call?”

“Well, no, but that’s not my point.”  

“What is your point, exactly?” Kaz asked, finally looking up from the screen and half closing the laptop. “That you can’t go a day without clinging on to Wylan? Because we all knew that already.”

“All? There’s three people here, Kaz, get it together,” Jesper joked, trying hard to keep the stress out of his voice. The attempt at humour was met with an unimpressed eye-roll that felt strangely comforting.

“Are you worried that they might have found out about you?” Inej asked, sitting next to Kaz on the sofa with a small sliver of space between them. Jesper sipped the cocoa Inej had promised would be calming and returned to pacing.

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Jesper groaned, tipping his head back to glare at the ceiling.

“What a helpful answer,” Kaz sniped, propping his feet onto a run-down oak coffee table and crossing them at the ankles.

“I’m worried because every time he meets with them, it practically undoes all the progress we’ve made. He gets anxious, and then he gets secretive, and then he goes right back to following those stupid rules like they’re the Saints-forsaken law,” Jesper paused, taking a breath. “And because we definitely made out in an alley last night, like fifty feet from a load of reporters.”

“Jesper,” Inej scolded, shaking her head in disbelief.

“They rang him while we were kissing, so unless they have eyes everywhere, that’s way too fast for them to have found out, right?”

“Right.”

“Unless someone snapped a photo on their phone and sent it to someone at the firm,” Kaz said, shrugging as though he wasn’t pushing Jesper deeper into his spiral headfirst with that suggestion alone.

“Saints, do you really think someone would-” Jesper cut himself off as the phone in his hand vibrated, and he let out a sigh of relief before even looking at the screen. With Kaz and Inej watching closely, he opened the notification automatically. An email filled the screen, and blinking at the bright light in Kaz’s dark room, Jesper scanned the words. Feeling the blood drain from his face, he swallowed hard.

“I- uh. I don’t know what this is.”

“What? Give me that,” Kaz said, standing up and taking Jesper’s phone from his hands. A few seconds later, he spoke again. “Forward this to me. And call Wylan again.” Nodding hesitantly, Jesper took his phone back, forwarded the email to Kaz, and shakily found Wylan’s number.

“What is it? What’s happening?” Inej asked, brown eyes deep with concern as Kaz reopened his laptop, undoubtedly finding the email. In his hand, Jesper’s call to Wylan rang out, remaining unanswered.

“It’s not real, right? It’s a joke,” Jesper asked, voice strained and thin.

“Give me a second,” Kaz answered, all the humour and frustration vanished from his voice. Closing his eyes for a second, Jesper redialled Wylan’s number, calling again.

“He’s not picking up, Kaz. What-” Forcing himself to draw in a long breath, Jesper glanced at the pale boy hunched over his laptop, reading and typing furiously. “Is it real?”

“It looks real.”

“Right. Okay. What does that mean?”

“It means you’re being sued by Jan Van Eck.”

It took over an hour and multiple shots of neat, painfully strong whiskey to pull Jesper out of the fraught panic the email had pushed him into, and another ten minutes for Inej to persuade him to sit down and listen to the options he had. With a drink in one hand that he clutched onto for dear life, Jesper sat in the armchair opposite Kaz’s worn-out leather sofa, gaze flitting between the boy across from him and Inej, who had taken on the responsibility of calling Wylan at regular intervals, waiting to see if he’d pick up.

“They’re suing you for breach of contract,” Kaz started, dark eyes shifting from the screen to Jesper and back again. “Apart from your relationship with Wylan, have you broken the agreement in any other way?”

“I- no? I mean, I said some stupid shit about Jan Van Eck, but the only person I said it to was Wylan.” Kaz raised his eyebrows in an unasked question. “And no, Wylan wouldn’t have said anything. He’s the one who warned me to stop in the first place.”

“Then it’s safe to assume this is based on your relationship. If Wylan didn’t tell them, how could they have found out?”

“I don’t know, Kaz, we were so careful! We never put anything in writing, we saved photos to our devices instead of the cloud, and apart from last night we never even kissed in public!”

Glancing over at the pair, Jesper’s phone in her hand, Inej sighed softly.

“Jesper, you have to consider the possibility-”

“Wylan didn’t do this. I know what you think, but he’s stronger than that. He wouldn’t have told them. He wouldn’t, ‘Nej.”

Holding her hands up in surrender, Inej acquiesced.

“We believe you, Jes.”

“Inej believes you,” Kaz corrected. “I’m unconvinced.”

“I don’t care if you’re unconvinced, Kaz, I care about how the fuck I get out of this.”

“Do you want the good news or bad news?”

“Good news, obviously.”

“There is no good news. You have two options, and I can already predict you’ll hate both of them.”

“Wonderful. Hit me,” Jesper answered, bracing himself with hands clutching the arms of the chair.

“Option one is you go to file a defence denying everything and go to court. Given that we have no clue what evidence they have, and they can afford an entire team of lawyers while you can just about afford me, your chances of winning are… slim.”

“Slim?”

“Basically non-existent.”

“How much would I lose?”

“They’re suing you for the entirety of the contract fee plus expenditure. Any money they spent on you, they want back.”

“And that’s…?”

“You’re looking at nearly ninety thousand in total.”

“Option two, then?” Kaz looked up from the screen again, expression grim in the electronic blue glow.

“You claim you were under duress.”

“I what?”

“You claim that you felt you had to engage in a romantic relationship with Wylan Van Eck in order to fulfil the agreement. You could use the defence that there was an imbalance of power, he represents an authority in terms of the contract and in experience of this type-”

“No.”

“You’re more likely to win.”

“I said no,” Jesper snapped, voice sharp as a whip across the room. “Why the fuck would you even suggest that?”

“I told you, you weren’t going to like your options.”

“That isn’t a fucking option, Kaz.”

“Then you deny everything and stand to lose ninety thousand kruge that you can’t pay. Is he honestly worth that?”

“Of course he fucking is!” Jesper argued, rising from his chair, fists clenched.

“Jesper-”

“No, Inej, your boyfriend’s being a dick-”

“Jesper,” Inej repeated, holding the phone out to him with a pointed, panicked look on her face. On the screen, seconds ticked away as a call remained open, and the faintest voice, familiar because it was etched onto Jesper’s bones, came through the speaker.

“Hello?” Wylan’s voice snapped Jesper from his anger and from his impending shouting match with Kaz. Grabbing the phone from Inej, he took to call off speaker and brought the phone to his ear, instinctively walking away from his friends.

“Wylan? Are you okay? Do you need me to come and get you?”

“Jesper?” There was something terrifying in Wylan’s voice, a hollow emptiness behind the cracked whisper he answered with.

“It’s me, love. It’s me.”

“You need to-” he heard Wylan take a shaky breath, and then his voice returned, clearer and duller than before. “You need to stop calling me, Jesper.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“It’s just- it’s safer, okay? It’s safer and better for both of us if you stop calling me.” A thread of anger pulsed through Jesper’s veins, worming its way out from underneath the fear and the worry that was turning his stomach.

“Are you kidding me? That’s all you’re going to say? Wylan, your Da is suing me for ninety thousand fucking kruge.” A long silence stretched between them, tension filling the static between their phones.

“I’m sorry,” Wylan said eventually, and Jesper could tell he was holding back, holding himself together. “I’m so, so sorry.” Wylan's voice cracked on the final word, and it was enough to douse the anger that had burned so brightly and so quickly. Jesper tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry, love. Tell me you’re going to be brave about this. Please, Wy. Please tell me you can be brave.” Another shuddering breath, another too-long silence. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jesper tried to focus on the pain and pressure of it, tried to ignore what he knew was coming.  

“I’m not a brave person, Jesper.”

“Wylan, I-” The phone beeped in his hand, the call cutting off with devastating finality. After an agonising, frozen second, Jesper hurled it at the wall, only feeling a twinge of guilt when Inej flinched, when the screen split and shattered, when shards of glass fell to the carpet, shining like tears.

Chapter Text

“Your phone, Wylan.”

It took a concerted effort for Wylan to look up from where his hands were fidgeting in his lap, nails bitten, the skin around his thumb picked raw and bleeding. His father was watching him with cold blue eyes from across the large desk, waiting for him to understand, waiting for him to obey. Swallowing hard, he slid his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and reluctantly set it on the dark mahogany. Anya stood behind his father but stepped forward to collect the phone, the sound of her heels clicking against the floorboards echoing in the resounding silence. She avoided meeting Wylan’s eyes, the way she always did when things got this bad.

It was easier to watch his phone being taken than it was to hold his father’s gaze, and easier still to pretend that it was simply being fixed, or that he was replacing it with a newer, shinier one. Not that his one lifeline was being locked in a safe, or that the only way of contacting Jesper now that he was under his father’s roof was being ripped from him.

“The firm will take over your accounts, Wylan,” Anya said, and he thought she might have been trying to sound reassuring. “Nobody will know that you’re taking a break.”

“I don’t-” His voice wavered pathetically, and so he tried again. “I don’t need a break. Nothing’s happened.”

“Do not presume to sit in my home and lie to my face, Wylan,” his father said, eyes narrowed as he sifted through papers, no longer bothering to stare Wylan into submission. He knew he didn’t need to. He hadn’t needed to for a long time.

“I’m not lying, I don’t-”

“That’s enough. It’s bad enough you’ve been running around with that wild Zemeni boy, and now you bring that disrespect here?” Something heavy and searing flared in Wylan’s chest, the hypocrisy in his father’s words close to setting him alight.

“His name is Jesper.”

“Well, at least we’re past denying it.” Panic doused the anger blazing inside of him, coiling around his ribs, constricting like a snake around his lungs and momentarily robbing him of breath. Anya had explained the bare bones of the lawsuit his father was filing, and had left the documents open on her desk as they met that morning, but he had no route to understanding them, no way of knowing what evidence they had, what they had found or seen or heard. He was experienced enough to know that nothing was beyond their reach and to know that denial could mean everything. He might be lost, but Jesper could still be saved.

“I’m not- there’s nothing to deny. We were colleagues, and we did our job.”

“And if we check your phone? Will we find evidence of your “working relationship?”” Taking a breath, Wylan clasped his hands together. This he was prepared for. This he could handle.

“You’ll find a conversation confirming the dates we were meeting, and probably a few messages about those meetings.”

The moment Jesper had left him at his front door last night, he’d curled up on the sofa and wiped his phone, accompanied by that familiar, curling, nauseous dread that somehow left his mind both racing and sluggish. It had felt like wiping away memories, the way he’d sifted through messages and photos and call logs. It had felt like the end of something, something unnameable and precious. Alone in the dark of his apartment, the memories became something he’d keep locked away deep inside him, a gallery in his heart of every moment they’d spent together. On the way to his father’s house from the Exchange, he’d managed five minutes alone in the bathroom to answer the dozens of missed calls Jesper had left and to wipe all evidence of them from his phone. He wondered, briefly because it was so painful, if that was the last time he’d hear Jesper’s voice. If the last words they’d shared were Jesper pleading with him to be better, and him knowing he never could be.

“You went to his birthday, Wylan. Against your contract, in an unapproved location…” Anya said, trailing off at the implication. This, he’d prepared for too.

“It would have seemed strange if I wasn’t there. People would have speculated.”

“You should have asked,” there was disappointment in Anya’s voice, touched with guilt. He couldn’t forgive her, he realised. He’d never felt angry with her before, in fact he’d sometimes seen her as an ally, someone trying to help him succeed, but here he was, filled with enough anger and sadness that she was long past forgiving.

“I know that now. I’m sorry.” He was sorry, that at least was the truth. Sorry that he had let Jesper get this close to the fire that consumed his life, sorry that he hadn’t done enough to warn the boy he loved that they were both bound to be burned to embers. He wasn’t sorry to disappoint them. He was just sorry he probably wouldn’t survive it.

- 

“And you haven’t heard from him since?” Nina asked, carrying three bowls precariously to her dining table. The five of them had been sat around it for the last half an hour, laptops and phones in front of them, each trying to dig up some sort of legal defence for Jesper. Inej reached over to relieve Nina of one bowl, putting it in the centre of the table. Gummy sweets, nachos, chocolate, all the snacks they could conjure up were being brought in from the kitchen.

“Apart from that one-minute-long phone call, I haven’t heard from him since the premier a week ago,” Jesper answered, blindly reaching for a handful of sweets. The screen in front of him was giving him a headache already, the ‘quick exit’ button on the exploitation charity website flashing at him like a constant alarm. He'd convinced himself that he'd hid his terror well, that the constant panic he felt at Wylan being entirely alone and under his father's thumb was only internal, until Inej had cornered him two days ago and forced him to talk about it. It hadn't been pretty, but knowing it was shared eased some suffering. 

“Have you tried calling him?”

“He told me not to, ‘Nej. He said it would be ‘safer’, and I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what could happen that isn’t safe.”

“There’s no point calling,” Kaz said, glancing up from his own beaten, scuffed laptop. “His number’s disconnected.” Jesper blinked, finally looking up at the boy opposite him. The harsh glow of the screen made Kaz’s angular face more severe, making the scowl he wore more daunting.

“You tried calling him?” Kaz shrugged with one shoulder, snaking a hand out to take a fun-sized chocolate bar from one of the bowls.

“If anyone would give us information about the case against you, it’s him.”

“Kaz, you could have put him in danger-”

“I used a blocked number, Jesper, I’m not an idiot.”

“Guys, do we think-”

“Don’t be sexist, Matthias. There are two beautiful ladies here, too,” Nina corrected instantly, offering a mockingly sweet smile to her boyfriend, who merely sighed.

“Comrades, do we think Jesper counted as an employee of the PR firm?” Matthias squinted at his screen once more, undoubtedly scanning through a webpage. “Could we argue unfair breach of an employment contract?” Jesper raised his eyebrows, momentarily hopeful.

“At best, he’s freelance. At worst, he’s employed by his agency.” The hope deflated at Kaz’s words, and Jesper crammed sweets into his mouth to fill the void. A mournful child stared at him from his screen, and he grimaced as he clicked on the ‘I need support’ tab.

“At worst?”

“They could sue the agency. Then Jesper would be bankrupt and he’d never work again.”

A silence fell over the table like a guillotine’s blade. This was the third day they’d attempted to find a solution that wasn’t just ‘deny everything and hope for the best’, but that option was looking more and more likely by the minute.

“I don’t have ninety thousand kruge, Kaz.”

“We don’t even have ninety thousand kruge between us,” Nina pointed out. “Unless we plan an elaborate heist.”

“I always knew I’d die trying to pay off some kind of debt.”

“Don’t be stupid, Jesper. We’d only end up in prison.”

“You’re not paying ninety thousand,” Kaz said, dark eyes back on the computer. “You might end up paying twenty-five, but no higher. No judge in their right mind would make you pay money that Van Eck never lost in the first place, and given that he didn’t pay you…”

“What about a judge who isn’t in his right mind? Or a judge that Van Eck has paid off?” Kaz paused, considering.

“Then you might have to pay ninety thousand.”

“Could we ask to go to arbitration?” Inej asked, tucking her hair back into a bun and picking at a pastry in front of her.

“And negotiate?” Jesper followed up, unsure about the legal terms bouncing around. Finishing university might have actually been useful, he thought to himself. Kaz tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.

“I’d assumed Jesper wouldn’t want to try negotiation with Van Eck, given how their one meeting went.”

“Oh, fuck no. That will only end with me punching him in the face,” Jesper agreed, eyes flitting over the advice on the screen.  

“But,” Kaz continued, and Jesper groaned. “There might be a way to work arbitration in our favour.”

Chapter Text

It had been years since his father last hit him. He’d been sixteen, maybe seventeen, his online following growing by the day, more eyes watching him than ever before. He couldn’t remember what he’d done to provoke it that time but knew it was probably something idiotic, something he should have known better than to do. He’d ended up with a bruise around his wrist from being pulled into the office, and a matching one around his left eye. That he could remember, because it was when he taught himself to photoshop using video tutorials, another layer of defence alongside the long sleeves, loose clothes and concealer he’d used before. So, it had been years since his father last hit him, but here he was, frowning at himself in the mirror of the room he’d grown up in, a blossoming red and purple welt on his cheekbone, blood drying from the cut a signet ring had left behind.

- 

Someone had slept at Jesper’s apartment every night since this disaster began. Most of the time, it had been Nina or Inej. Nina would crash out next to him on his bed, steal the entirety of his duvet, and wake him up by singing loudly and awfully in the shower. Inej would alternate between sleeping on his sofa or on a blow-up mattress Kaz had sourced from somewhere mysterious and clearly dusty. Last night, it had been Matthias, under the guise of drinking a few too many beers to drive home (he’d walked to Jesper’s place, but they both pretended to forget that). Tonight, seemingly and somewhat surprisingly, it was Kaz.

“You can go, y’know? I won’t do anything stupid,” Jesper said, despite the fact that he was pouring them both a drink. Whiskey, the kind Wylan drank and pretended to like, a bottle that he’d brought over after some dreadful work event.

“You already did something stupid, remember? Hence the paperwork,” Kaz answered, gesturing to the folders laid out in front of him on the coffee table.

“Love isn’t stupid, Kaz,” he argued, putting a glass in front of his friend. Whiskey made him morose, and he couldn’t dig out a joke to bat back at Kaz. Dark eyes met his, sceptical and unimpressed.

“Love is the height of stupidity, Jesper.”

“I’m telling Inej.”

“The same Inej who warned you to be careful the first time you brought Wylan around? Sure, see how that goes.”

Jesper sipped his drink to hide what was almost definitely a pout, dropping to sit on the sofa opposite Kaz, who had taken up residence in the arm chair. He’d been not-so-subtly dodging the topic of the legal case against him for most of the evening, and his day had been taken up with learning lines for auditions he hoped he’d still be able to go to, but the sun had set, and Kaz had produced manila folders and his laptop, making his point clear. They had business to get down to.

“I take it this is why Inej and Nina decided to have a girls’ night. Is it bad news?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Kaz answered, opening his laptop and pushing one folder towards Jesper. “They’ve answered our request for evidence. This is everything they’ve provided.” Holding his breath, Jesper took the folder. It wasn’t heavy, wasn’t a thick wedge the way he’d expected, but it definitely had substance to it. Flipping through, he scanned the contents page by page. Kaz alternated between watching him and fiddling with his laptop.

“Wait, this is…”

“I know.”

“These are all press shots. Kaz, what the fuck? These are press shots they approved.”

“There’s a few at the back from your birthday.”

Discarding the majority of the photos in the folder, Jesper found half a dozen pictures from his birthday. There were photos of them dancing, photos of Wylan leaning against him at their table, photos of Jesper pulling him through the club, hands interlinked. But they were nothing. They were photos that could have been taken of friends, photos that could have been taken by two people upholding a certain public image, by people who weren’t breaking a contract. The only nearly questionable picture was a blurry shot taken on someone’s phone in the smoking area, Wylan leaning back against the wall, Jesper crowding his space, one finger crooked under the thin band around his neck.

“How is any of this evidence?” Jesper asked, confused and outraged and just a little hopeful.

“It isn’t.”

“That’s good news, right? They have fuck all, this is all just- it’s circumstantial, that’s what they say on crime shows! This is good news!” But Kaz just watched him, waiting for something to click that clearly wasn’t. “You don’t think it’s good news.”

“It could be good news. It could be bad.”

“Why would it be bad?”

“Because the only thing that could make these photos usable in a case would be context. Testimony.”

“So? I’m not exactly going to testify that- oh.”

“Exactly. ‘Oh’.”

“They’re going to try and make Wylan testify.”

“There is no ‘try’, Jesper. They can legally call on him to testify.” Jesper scrambled through his thoughts, digging back over memories of everything he’d read in the past week. Every legal advice page, every exploitation helpline, every abuse charity website came crashing back to him in one confusing mess.

“But that’s- it would be under duress, right? Or- or it’s witness intimidation, at least! He’d be at risk if he didn’t say what they wanted-”

“And who is going to prove that? Wylan would have to make that case for himself, which could also put him at risk, but even then, with what evidence?” A singular, searingly bright, definitely terrible idea popped into Jesper’s head.

“What about his contract?” Kaz looked up from his screen, one eyebrow raised, waiting for Jesper to continue. “You said yourself that that contract was barely legal. That the clauses broke Kerch law. Inej- Inej said some of them violated human rights. That’s evidence.”

“It’s an entirely different case.”

“It’s a case we could use!”

“It is. Do you want to?”

“What? It could stop Wylan having to testify, it could destroy their evidence, it could-”

“Irreparably destroy your relationship with Wylan. At least, that’s what you said last time I mentioned using the contract against Van Eck.” Jesper paused, the conversation from the gallery opening flooding back to him, the knowledge that he’d forgotten, caught up in a blindly optimistic whirlwind.

“If we used it… we can’t, then. Wylan would have to use it to get himself out.” Kaz nodded once, flexing gloved fingers. “And he won’t. At least, I don’t think he would, not now. Maybe if he hadn’t been stuck with them for nearly two weeks.”

“There are other routes out of this.”

“Legal ones?”

“I never said that.”

Chapter Text

Wylan wasn’t sleeping. He hadn’t slept through the night once in the past three weeks, and he knew he was more than fraying at the edges. The anxiety thrumming through him at every moment was keeping him awake, keeping him jumpy and on edge and afraid, but it also meant he heard the footsteps in his room that appeared well past midnight when everyone in the household was in bed. It meant he felt the first prod of something cold and metal against his leg. Sitting up quickly, he squinted into the dark. A black-clad figure stared back at him with eyes dark like coffee grounds, a familiar cane bridging the distance between them. The window to Wylan’s room was open behind him, letting in a chill breeze and a smattering of rain onto the wooden floorboards.

“What the fuck, Kaz?” He managed, reaching over to turn on his bedside lamp, very aware that only Jesper had seen him in his pyjamas before, but still only pausing when Kaz shook his head.

“Wylan. We need to talk.”

-

“Are we seriously doing this? This seems like a terrible plan,” Jesper complained for the hundredth time, pacing back and forth in the lobby of the Exchange. His grey suit was slightly too small and itched in all the wrong places, the knot of his tie a heavy weight against his throat.

“It is a terrible plan,” Kaz offered, sliding his phone into his pocket. “It’s also the only plan we have.”

Over the past month and a half, their searches for a defence had come up empty. Jesper had even resorted to seeking actual professional legal help, but the moment he’d mentioned Van Eck’s name to anyone, he’d been all but laughed out of the room. Nobody in the legal field thought he stood a chance with witness testimony against him, and witness testimony from a Van Eck all but damned him to financial, social and career oblivion. He’d hoped Kaz would come up with some kind of grand plan; a heist or a murder or even some light blackmail, but even after hinting at some less-than-legal solution, Kaz had done nothing except keep track of paperwork and advise him to keep denying everything.

A woman in a sharp black suit called his name, turning on her heel and vanishing down a corridor without waiting for them to catch up. Arbitration, it turned out, didn’t happen in dramatic, regal courtrooms like Jesper had secretly expected. Instead, it took place in drab, greying conference rooms. The walls were pock-marked and painted a neutral beige, a large glass conference table taking up most of the room, lined on each side by black leather office chairs. It was a room designed for dull businessmen to meet in, where they could discuss stocks and shares, company restructures, and who contributed to the latest birthday whip-around. A man so plain he blended into the beige of the walls spared them a glance as they took their seats, and Jesper glanced at Kaz, who simply mouthed the word ‘arbitrator’ at him.

Jesper was pouring himself a glass of water from the slightly dusty jug in the centre of the table when the doors opened again. Van Eck looked just as smug and pretentious as the last time Jesper saw him, still clad in annoyingly well-tailored clothing, still surrounded by similarly dressed, similarly smug men. This time, Van Eck was accompanied by two men with briefcases, who Jesper decided to name Briefcase 1 and Briefcase 2. It was better not to humanise them. The smirk Van Eck gave Jesper from across the table was a cruel, shadowy mirror of the soft smile Wylan had given him whenever he wanted to laugh but couldn’t, or felt like he shouldn’t. Clenching his fists, Jesper focused on the pain of his nails digging into his palms, focused on the glare of the strip lights on the glass table, focused on the breaths he was trying to keep slow and steady. Kaz stayed firm next to him, barely acknowledging Van Eck’s entrance.

Kaz had explained the entire process to him multiple times, occasionally with flow charts. It would be opening statements first, in which each side would argue their case against the other. Then, each side would have a chance to put forward evidence to support their case, including calling on witnesses. That, Kaz had said, would probably be when Wylan was called in. Underneath all of the dread coiling in his stomach, climbing his throat and half-choking him, Jesper was relieved that the day had finally come. He’d see Wylan for the first time in six weeks, and get to see for himself if he was okay, if he was safe. That was almost worth the impending debt and doom.

At the arbitrator’s behest, with a recording camera set up and facing the proceedings, everything finally began to unravel. Van Eck’s lawyer gave an opening argument so smooth it was almost slimy, talking about a ‘breach of both contract and trust’ in a way that made Jesper want to climb across the table and strangle him. Kaz gave a speech that was surprisingly polished for someone whose legal knowledge came mostly from breaking said laws, and public speaking experience was entirely based on convincing their friends to go along with yet another ridiculous plan, though no amount of polishing could make up for the fact that their entire argument was essentially a very articulate ‘nuh-uh’.

The speeches were less than an hour, followed by another hour in which they checked off a mind-numbingly dull list of questions. Names, dates of birth, current addresses. Jesper reeled off the date he’d first met Wylan, the content of their first meeting and every one after, careful to recite the exact answers he and Kaz had practiced night after night. Yes, he’d attended events with Wylan. No, it had never been romantic. Yes, they were friends, but no, it had definitely never been romantic. Every time Jesper denied the claims Van Eck made, Van Eck scoffed, which was usually followed by one of the two Briefcases whispering or writing something and repeating the questions as though it would change his answer. As the clock ticked towards their third hour, Jesper was practically vibrating out of his seat, and Kaz had kicked him multiple times as a warning to keep still.

“The fidgeting makes you look nervous,” Kaz muttered the minute they were back in the lobby. Briefcase 1 had called for a comfort break, and Jesper had to reluctantly admit it was a good idea. He paced between the large leather sofas, ignoring passing glares from the receptionist, and sipped his water.

“I’m not nervous, Kaz, I’m dying. How long until you can rip them to pieces?”

“When they’ve finished questioning and presenting evidence. It could be hours, or we could be back here tomorrow.”

“If I have to answer one more stupid question about the specific minute I sent one specific message-”

“They’re trying to catch you out. We practiced this. They’ll keep asking to get you to slip up, and then they’ll use that mistake to discredit everything else you say.”

“Well, it’s going to work.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re an actor, Jesper. Just learn your lines,” Kaz said, sipping a steaming coffee as if it were that simple, as if Jesper’s slim chances of a future weren’t hinging on his lie being more convincing than the truth.

The drinks both sides brought back from the break filled the room with the bitter smell of burnt coffee and slightly soured milk, compounding the misery the room already radiated. Jesper, at once blind with panic and numb with boredom, settled in for what he suspected would be at least another hour of pointless questioning. The photos he’d seen a hundred times were spread out on the desk, and Van Eck and his Briefcases were muttering quietly to each other as he and Kaz sat down.

“We’d like to call a witness,” Briefcase 2 said, directing his statement to the arbitrator, who gave a bland nod. Jesper’s heart stuttered in his chest, his fists clenching into his sides. There was only one witness they could call. Only one witness he wanted to see, even if it damned him. Briefcase 1 stepped outside for a moment, and Jesper watched as Van Eck’s smug smile turned into a patronising smirk. It was a smirk that said he’d won, that he’d played an ace and they had to fold.

There was a brief moment, in the seconds after Wylan entered the room, that Jesper forgot where they were. All he saw was Wylan, beautiful in his all-encompassing way, but pale and tired, violet smudges under his eyes, nails bitten to the quick. He was thinner than the last time Jesper had seen him, his eyes wider, his cheekbones slightly more prominent. Under his left eye, barely noticeable unless you’d spent hours studying the planes of his face, learning every freckle and pore and laughter line, was the shiny pink skin of a scar that hadn’t been there before. Tracing the scar, tiny as it was, with his gaze, Jesper found the edges of a bruise on Wylan’s temple, almost completely masked by ruddy gold curls. It took the sharp jab of Kaz’s cane against his leg to realise he was standing, rising from his chair, either to go to Wylan or to drive a pen through Van Eck’s throat, he wasn’t sure. His skin was heating, electric rage coursing through his veins, and it took every inch of his restraint to stay in his seat.

Wylan sat down, taking a seat between his father and Briefcase 2, opposite Kaz and nearly opposite Jesper.

“Please state your name and your date of birth for the record,” the arbitrator asked, flicking through a file as though the situation bored him. Wylan avoided Jesper’s gaze, which must have taken concerted effort because it had been fixed on him since the moment he arrived.

“Wylan-” Wylan paused and cleared his throat, sipping a glass of water that was handed to him. Jesper wanted to wrap him in a hug, to tell him that it was okay, that they’d make it okay, but he couldn’t. “Sorry. Wylan Van Eck. The thirteenth of September.”

I missed his birthday, Jesper thought, and somehow, that was worse than anything else.

“Thank you, Wylan. Let’s get started.”

Time slowed to a treacherous crawl once again, Wylan being asked and answering most of the same questions Jesper had. Where they met, when they spoke, the nature of their contract. Times and dates and logistics. He kept his eyes on the table the entire time, his father’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder every time he faltered, every time he stumbled over a word or had to think about an answer. To anyone else, it would have looked reassuring. To anyone else, it was a show of paternal support. But Jesper knew the gesture for what it was. A threat. A promise.

“Did you, Wylan Van Eck, ever engage in a romantic or sexual relationship with the defendant, Jesper Fahey?”

The question pulled Jesper back into the room. It was the question that everyone had been waiting for, the question that would make or break the case. He wouldn’t be angry, he realised. He’d already suspected it, already known, but when the question was asked, it was crystal clear to him. He’d never be angry with Wylan for telling the truth, even if it cost him ninety thousand kruge, if it cost him his career and his life as he knew it. Telling the truth would help keep Wylan safe. Safer, anyway, than he would be if he lied for Jesper, than if he tried to help. The acceptance was a cooling balm against the fire of his temper, and he tried to meet Wylan’s gaze across the table, tried to seek out that bright blue in the midst of all the grey that surrounded them. But he saw Wylan swallow, he saw the blue eyes he’d tried to find flicker momentarily to Kaz instead, and before he could register his own confusion, Wylan answered.

“No. I didn’t.”

Chapter Text

Silence fell, like the entire room had taken a breath and held it. Everyone, even the arbitrator, turned to stare at Wylan, who kept his expression carefully blank, his eyes carefully empty. Briefcase 1, who’d been asking the questions, cleared his throat.

“You may have misheard, Wylan. I asked if you ever engaged in a romantic or sexual relationship with Jesper Fahey…” The man trailed off, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Van Eck’s knuckles were white where his hands were clasped in front of him, his narrowed eyes watching his son. Wylan straightened a little, a small shift to cover the flicker of fear Jesper noticed in his gaze.

“I heard. I said I didn’t.” Van Eck cleared his throat, turning a fierce glare onto his lawyers, who rapidly spurred into action. One of them started frantically looking through his papers, while the other leant forward, smiling slickly at the arbitrator.

“We’d like to request a quick recess. Our witness has been unwell lately, and would benefit from a break.” It was a weak excuse, made weaker by the small, sceptical frown that flickered over Wylan’s face when they dubbed him ‘unwell’, but the arbitrator acquiesced anyway. In moments, they were back in the corridor, and Jesper only got a glimpse of ruddy gold curls as Wylan was hurriedly vanished into another office.

“What the fuck just happened?” He hissed to Kaz, who came to a halt next to him. Kaz gave a one-shouldered shrug, but his eyes were glued onto the same door as Jesper’s with a look of intent focus. Jesper turned to his friend properly, a heavy, sickening dread turning his stomach into knots. “Why would he do that? I wouldn’t- I never wanted him to- fuck, Kaz, he was meant to tell the truth.”

Kaz glowered at him, nodding quickly to a closed door and yanking it open. They slipped inside what turned out to be a dusty supply cupboard, shelves stacked with faded binders and mouldering boxes of pens.

“If you’re going to start confessing, at least make sure you’re out of earshot.” But Jesper was too deep in his panic, too close to knocking down doors and breaking noses to realise the jeopardy he’d put them in. Kaz shoved his shoulder roughly, gloved hand against Jesper’s too-small suit in an attempt to shake some sense into him. It was an unexpected moment of contact, one that usually would have surprised Jesper into awareness, but he was too far down the spiral.

“Did you see that bruise?” Jesper asked, wondering if this is what it felt like to be split in two, to have half of his soul trapped on another plane, close but still unreachable. “They’re hurting him, Kaz. Van Eck is hurting him, and now- fuck, now it’s only going to be worse.”

“Jesper, we have five minutes.”

“He’s on his own, Kaz! We’ve left him to them! He’s- he’s sacrificing everything to get me out and I don’t even want him to! Fuck it, I have to tell them. I have to tell them the truth, I have to get him-”

Once again, Kaz’s cane smacked against this leg. It was harder this time, the pain radiating through his shin, cutting off his thought and halting the step he’d unwittingly taken towards the door.

“If Wylan’s decided to save your sorry backside, I wouldn’t go wasting that opportunity, so whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

“But I could tell them-”

“And what good would that do? He’s already lied, Jesper. We all heard him. He’s dug his grave, there is no point digging your own in the plot next door.”

Jesper felt a scowl forming on his face, his anger at Kaz’s words mingling with the frustration of knowing the other boy was right.

“If it was Inej-”

“Don’t,” Kaz warned, eyes narrowed again. Clamping his jaw shut, Jesper glared back, time slipping away as they fell into stony silence. After an agonising minute, Kaz spoke, voice harsh as gravel. “We need to go back.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“If you don’t, Wylan will have risked it all for nothing.” Jesper clenched his jaw so tightly he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack. After Kaz shoved the door open, it was a short, tense walk back to the conference room.

The room was buzzing with activity, with one lawyer and the arbitrator caught in deep, terse discussion at the end of the conference table, and Van Eck and his second lawyer arguing in hushed whispers in the corner. A team of assistants seemed to be hurriedly milling in and out of the room, handing papers to various people and passing on quiet messages. With all the quiet chaos, it took Jesper a second to realise that Wylan was gone. Sharing a dark look with Kaz, who’d inevitably come to the same realisation, Jesper raised an eyebrow in silent question. Kaz gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod, and Jesper was back out of the door.

The corridor was empty, and Jesper knew he didn’t have much time. They could have already taken Wylan from the building, put him in a car, and begun his journey back to the Van Eck mansion, but Jesper knew they hadn’t. He knew he’d feel it if Wylan was gone, if Wylan had been ripped away from him again, and considering that what was left of his heart was still vaguely in one piece, he knew it hadn’t happened yet. He shoved open door after identical door, uncertain which exact one he’d lost Wylan behind before.

He'd almost given up when he reached the end of the corridor. Each room had been empty except one, which had been filled with people watching a presentation who all turned to stare at him in mortifying surprise when he slammed the door open. Pushing open the last door, Jesper slipped into the bathroom. Even if it was empty, he’d take a minute to himself before returning to the conference room to continue this travesty of a day. He was met with a second door, which he glowered at as he pushed it open, and then blue eyes met his own. Blue eyes, wide with surprise and confusion, ringed with exhaustion, that he’d know anywhere.

“Jesper?” Wylan asked, and that was all it took for him to cross the tiled floor and pull Wylan into him, arms tight around the smaller boy’s back. He felt Wylan draw in a sharp breath, his spine a single line of tension, and then Wylan’s arms were around his waist, hugging him closer as he pressed his face into Jesper’s chest.

“Hey,” Jesper managed, ducking his head to feel Wylan’s hair against his cheek, to close his eyes and inhale the smell he’d accidentally washed from his sheets weeks ago.

“Hey yourself,” came the mumbled reply, Wylan’s fists clenched into the back of Jesper’s suit jacket.

Eventually, when they’d both dragged in enough oxygen that their hearts were beating normally again, Jesper pulled back, cupping Wylan’s face with both hands and studying the younger boy, memorising every slight difference inflicted upon him, adding it to a mental catalogue of things to repay Van Eck for.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Wylan whispered despite the fact that they were alone, despite the fact that at that moment, wild dogs couldn’t have chased Jesper away.

“You shouldn’t have lied,” he answered, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the scar on Wylan’s cheekbone, brushing curls aside to take in the bluish-green of the bruise beneath them. Wylan pulled back slightly, pushing his hair back into place with a frown.

“You wanted me to tell the truth? You would have lost everything.”

“Not everything.” It was a pointed answer, one that Jesper dared to hope Wylan would agree with. But there wasn’t hope in Wylan’s eyes, just sadness.

“Oh. Oh, Jesper, it’s not… You can’t lose what’s already lost.” There was a crack in Wylan’s voice, a hoarseness Jesper hadn’t heard before.

“You’re not lost, Wy. We’re not lost, we can work it out when this is done, we can find you a lawyer, or we can go to the press, we could-”

“Jesper.”

“No, don’t do that, don’t say my name like that. You’re not giving up, you’re not walking away, not after this. I know you’re not. That’s not who you are. That’s not who we are.” But Wylan was taking a step backwards, falling from Jesper’s hold, shaking his head like he was just waiting for Jesper to realise what he already knew.

“They don’t have a case against you without me. They’re already talking about backing off, rescinding their claim.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that, Wylan!” Wylan flinched at the sudden spike in volume, taking another step back, and that was when Jesper felt it. The feeling he’d searched for before, the one that would tell him when Wylan was gone. “Wylan, please. I love-”

“Please don’t say it. It will be easier if we don’t say it.”

Jesper froze, the truth hanging between them unsaid, watching the boy in front of him take a shaky, steadying breath and close his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, Wylan’s composure was firmly back in place, and the only tell that something had been wrenched apart was the slight tremor in his hands. With a slight, uncertain nod, Wylan slipped around him and went for the door. Jesper twisted to watch him go, sure that the pain in his chest was one he wouldn’t survive. Everything about this felt wrong, like the world had tilted and changed colour, like he was watching everything through the lens of a broken camera. Wylan turned slightly, hand on the handle of the door.

“I am sorry, Jesper. I didn’t ever mean for us to end like this.”

“I didn’t mean for us to end at all, Wy,” Jesper managed, the wry smile on his face forced and unconvincing. Wylan pulled the door inner door open as Kaz pushed the outer one, the two brushing past each other in the small space. Wylan was gone, and Kaz’s dark gaze found Jesper’s.

“They’ve ended proceedings for the day. They’ve said it’s to reassess evidence, but I’d put money on their withdrawal by morning.”

Chapter Text

Jesper’s drink was more rum than it was coke, and it burned fantastically every time he drank. Inej kept shooting him glances from across the Crow Club, warning glares that he was definitely going to get cut off soon, if not for his own good then for the good of those around him, so he kept drinking while he still could. It was only his second night in a row at the club this week, and as far as his friends knew, that meant it was only his second night out. Had he spent the two of the previous five days bouncing from the Gold Strike to the Treasure chest and even once to the Saints-forsaken Emerald Palace? Maybe. Had this week been a tragic repeat of the weeks that came before it? Almost definitely. Waving a hand at Rotty, Jesper flashed an unsteady grin and gestured to his now-empty glass.

“Kaz said one more, Jes.” Groaning, Jesper slumped a little.

“Then make it a strong one, Rot.” The reedy blond shot Jesper a pitying look that made his skin crawl, and took the empty glass from in front of him.

It was odd, Jesper thought, that everyone who knew him pitied him, and everyone who didn’t know him currently envied him. In the two months since Wylan had perjured and endangered himself to save Jesper’s skin, since Van Eck and his firm had rescinded their claim thanks to a lack of evidence and reluctantly paid Jesper his due, Jesper’s career had taken a sudden turn for the better. The rumours surrounding their break-up, which neither of them had commented on, had led to an even bigger uptick in the press than their relationship, and an alarming number of the connections Wylan had helped him forge had reached out to offer contacts, hints about upcoming roles, casting calls and appearance opportunities. And Jesper, to give himself credit, held it together well when he had to. He’d learnt enough from Wylan to know when to smile, when to flatter, when to make a self-deprecating joke, and those skills carried him through even when he was reaching a chronic state of hungover. Only his friends knew that he was falling apart, and even then, he tried to keep the worst of it to himself. But his apartment was too empty now, the world around him too dull and lifeless, the ache in his chest too constant to keep him sober, and so he drank. He drank and drank, and occasionally called Nina or Inej or Matthias or, on one dire night, Kaz to rant and complain and eventually sit in lengthy, melancholy silence on the end of a phone call or on the floor of his living room.

“Kaz, Inej, get over here!” Nina’s call cut across the thinning crowd of the club, close enough that Jesper startled and nearly slipped from his stool. Moments later, Kaz and Inej joined them, Kaz with a scowl, Inej with a small, indulgent smile. But Nina was distracted, eyes wide as they remained fixed on her phone, tapping the screen repeatedly. “Have you seen it?” She asked, not looking up.

“Seen what?” Jesper asked, scowling as Inej pulled his glass away. “Hey! Rotty said one more.”

“What are you talking about, Nina?” Inej asked, ignoring Jesper’s protests.

“Rotty won’t be the one carrying you home,” Kaz muttered, despite being the one who set the limit to begin with.

“Stop trying to impress Inej, it’s-”

“Saints, all of you shut up, I’m talking about this!” Nina shoved her phone in front of them. It took a moment for Jesper’s eyes to adjust to the bright light, but eventually, he took the phone and pulled it closer.

“It’s an empty profile?” Inej asked, glancing up at Nina.

“It’s Wylan’s profile,” Nina responded at the exact moment Jesper recognised the username. But it didn’t make sense. Pulling the screen down to refresh it, Jesper frowned. “I saw it on my way over.”

“What the fuck?” Jesper asked, eyes wide. “What the fuck?”

“Everything’s wiped, it’s all gone. Not just on Instagram, on every platform, all of his accounts have been wiped. I only went on to see if he was attending the premier of that awful action movie.” Inej was on her phone now too, frantically typing.

“People on Twitter are saying his accounts were wiped about two hours ago.”

Jesper kept refreshing the page, dread fighting its way through the alcohol turning his brain to sludge. 

“Wylan wouldn’t do this,” he managed, closing and reopening the app to see if anything changed. “He’s too- he would never, not unless something-”

“Wylan hasn’t even been posting, Jesper. Everything from at least the last three months was clearly pre-made-”

“He could find a way to access those accounts,” Kaz said, the tone in his voice giving Jesper pause to glance at him quickly.

“We know they probably took his phone, Kaz,” Inej argued, prying Nina’s phone from Jesper’s hands to take a closer look, as if a photo would pop up out of nowhere, or over a thousand posts would suddenly be restored. Kaz only shrugged, ignoring Jesper’s frown.

For the first time in months, Jesper felt something other than utterly miserable. The surge of anxiety and confusion was almost pleasant, a break in the dull monotony of life as an open wound, but his thoughts were in chaos. Wylan worked tirelessly to create that profile, to build an entire career, a life, online. He wouldn’t wipe it for no reason, not unless something drastic had changed. Or someone had forced him. The urge to sprint wildly across the city was one Jesper had fought a hundred times over the past few months, but alongside his substantial paycheck had come an injunction that had ordered him to keep a solid distance from the Van Eck manner, and Kaz had made it clear that there would be dire consequences if he broke it. That, and the look in Wylan’s eyes when he’d ended things, were all that kept Jesper away. He couldn't bear to see that look again.

Reclaiming his drink from Inej, who was now handing the phone back to Nina and talking to Kaz in a hushed voice, Jesper let the burn of the rum calm the racing of his mind. There would be an explanation. A rebrand, a technical error, a problem with the app’s servers. There was always an explanation, and that explanation didn’t have to be the worst-case scenario, he told himself, though he wasn’t as convincing as he would have liked.

“He’s posted,” Nina said after minutes had ticked away and Jesper had reached the bottom of his drink once again. Her gasp dragged Jesper from his thoughts and Inej and Kaz from their whispered secrets, but it was her expression that caught his attention. Eyes wide with horror, mouth slightly parted in disbelief.

“Show me,” Jesper answered, already prying the phone from Nina’s hands. One singular post had been uploaded to the otherwise blank profile Nina had opened. Sitting back a little, Jesper clicked on the post. His heart was racing in his chest, pounding against his ribcage like a hammer, his palms inexplicably and instantly clammy. It was a thrumming, coursing kind of panic, the kind that came with knowing something big was about to happen, that something was changing around you and completely out of your reach.

The first image was a simple black square, hiding the rest of the post from view. Jesper swiped, hearing his own breathing coming hard and fast. The slides that followed stole those same breaths from his lungs, robbing him of his last scraps of clarity and calm. Slide after slide of clipped medical records, x-rays of broken bones, photos of bruises and cuts. Slides with sections from the contract screenshotted, slides outlining years upon years of bullying and abuse in brutal, clinical detail. And on the final slide, a video, blurry and clearly filmed in secret. Not caring that everyone was watching, that his friends had gone silent around him, Jesper turned up the volume and let the video play.

“-don’t be ridiculous, Wylan,” Van Eck’s voice crackled through the speaker, tinny and metallic but unmistakeably recognisable. “People like you don’t get to have friends. You have to grow up and realise that you are destined to be a burden to everybody around you. You should be grateful that I’m still allowing you to live under my name. Many people would have cast out a son who was born defective. Do you at least understand that?”

“Yes, father,” Jesper heard Wylan say, the first time he’d heard his voice in months, and it sounded hollow, lifeless. “Thank you, father.”

Drawing in a sharp breath, trying to regain some element of control over the adrenaline pumping through him, Jesper dropped his eyes to the caption of the post. It offered no explanation of the images because none was necessary. There was no long, wordy statement, no PR firm had reviewed the post in advance. Instead, only one short sentence, a statement that tilted Jesper’s world on its axis.

It ends now.

Chapter Text

For once in his life, Jesper was tired. He was tired in the traditional sense because he’d barely slept for five days and there was no end to his insomnia in sight. He was tired of the constant messages and posts and comments he’d been besieged by since Wylan had, for all intents and purposes, gone nuclear on Jan Van Eck in front of the entire internet. Mostly, he was tired of his phone constantly going off and it never once being the person he actually wanted to hear from. Rolling onto his side, Jesper glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was nearly noon, and he’d promised to meet Kaz at the Kooperom at two, but facing the world was getting more daunting by the hour.

A small, fragile kernel of hope had developed when they’d all seen Wylan’s post. Hope that Wylan was safe, of course, but also hope that he’d reach out, that he’d find a way to contact Jesper just like he’d found a way to out Van Eck’s abuse. But as each night passed and Wylan remained silent, remained missing, that kernel withered, dried up and became a husk, leaving nothing but more confusion and more misery in its wake. Wylan not calling could mean a hundred things, none of them good. It could mean that Van Eck had found whatever device Wylan was using and cut him off from the world. It could mean that Wylan physically couldn’t call, that he was already badly hurt. It could mean that he simply didn’t want to call, that he’d ended things not just because they were both at risk, but because he truly, really wanted to.

Pushing himself out of bed with a sigh, Jesper started hunting for clothes. He’d been opting for all black the past few days, and sunglasses had become a near-permanent fixture as he channelled Kaz’s bleak aesthetic in his attempts to avoid the press around every corner. In Wylan’s absence, the fallout of his post had fallen to the people immediately around him. Obviously, a large portion of that fell to Van Eck, who was yet to release a statement but whose popularity on and offline had taken a sudden and considerable hit. Some of it, however, fell to Jesper. He’d become aware of it in the drunken hours after the post went live, but true clarity about his situation really hit him the next morning. He’d woken to thousands of comments on his most recent posts, even more on any posts of him and Wylan. The best of them wished him well and told him to ignore the negativity. There was a large cohort of people desperate to know if he’d known, if he’d helped Wylan make the post, if he’d heard anything since. And then there was a small, loud, vitriolic group who’d begun to claim he’d known all along, that he was a part of the problem, that he and Van Eck both had been using and exploiting Wylan for their own gain.

His agent had reassured him that the tidal wave would pass, that everyone knew he had nothing to do with it but that the internet was a cesspit of toxic outrage. She’d sworn that their in-house PR had it under control, and a statement was being sent to him for release later that day, but that didn’t stop that familiar thread of anxiety lighting up within him at the comments, itching his skin with the urge to respond, to react, to scream and shout and swear at the people who had no idea, no idea what was going on inside his head, or what he’d be willing to do for a boy he couldn’t even talk to.

 The walk to the Kooperom was short, if not quiet. At some point over the last few days, his address had clearly been leaked, and a handful of photographers had been hovering outside his building ever since. The building manager, a Ravkan man in his fifties who Jesper had now known for years, helped Jesper to slip out of the rear entrance, giving Jesper a fatherly pat on the back that nearly overwhelmed him with its kindness. From there, it was a quick walk with his head down, where he ignored a number of people who almost definitely called his name, and dodged a few photographers who’d caught his tail. Slipping through the café door, Jesper let out a long breath of relief. Kaz was sat in their usual corner spot, two coffees in front of him, glaring at his phone.

“What did the phone ever do to you?” Jesper asked after he’d crossed the café, dropping into his seat with a huff of breath.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Or are you enjoying your sudden rise to fame?”

“Rude. I was already famous.”

“Not this famous, and not for this reason.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jesper complained, pulling the second coffee towards him with a questioning look. He only sipped once Kaz had nodded his affirmation, sliding down in the leather seat and letting the caffeine and quiet warmth overtake him.

“I have a job for you,” Kaz said, interrupting his small moment of calm.

“I have a job, Kaz. I make more money than you, I don’t need to run your errands.”

“Oh? Like I ran errands for you in court against Van Eck?” Jesper grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I guess I’m not that busy. I can help as long as it’s done before filming starts.”

“Which is?”

“Six weeks, but I need to be free in four. We have table reads and-”

“Fascinating,” Kaz interrupted, tone implying that it was anything but. “It’s a delivery, you can be done in a day if you want.”

“If I want?” Kaz slid the phone he was holding across the table, and that was when Jesper realised it wasn’t the phone Kaz usually used.

“There’s an address on here. You’ll need to hire a car, or you can take a few boats, a bus, and a taxi, but the journey is at least a full day. I’ll have the package ready on Friday morning.”

Jesper leant forward and pulled the phone closer, scanning the address Kaz had loaded into the maps application.

“Lij? Kaz, what is this? I can’t get into anything too shady right now, I’m already under the microscope-”

“Near Lij, not in the town itself. Will it settle your nervous sensibilities if I reassure you it’s nothing illegal?”

“It would reassure me if you told me what the fuck I was going to Lij for.”

“No can do, I’m afraid. Ears everywhere,” Kaz answered, gesturing around them.

“You sound like a kook from the internet, you know that, right?”

“Maybe I’ll comment on one of your posts.”

“I will block you.”

“Give me more credit than that, Jesper. I’d make multiple accounts.” Jesper sipped his coffee, scanning the map open on the screen once again.

“This is a long way to go, Kaz.”

“Like I said, you can take more than a day. If you needed to… get away from the city, perhaps.” Sitting back in his seat once again, Jesper surveyed his friend.

“That’s a weirdly thoughtful idea coming from you.”

“Inej suggested it,” Kaz muttered, picking up his own coffee.

“That makes so much more sense,” Jesper nodded, flashing Kaz a grin. “Friday, you said?”

“Morning. You should reach the place by nightfall if you drive.”

“Ooh, ‘nightfall’. Very dramatic.”

"Nightfall is nothing. I could have said 'sundown'." 

"Or you could have gone goth and said 'twilight'. It might match your outfit."

Kaz glowered at him from across the table, and Jesper’s grin widened. It was the first sense of normalcy he’d felt in months.

- 

The car Jesper hired was significantly nicer than the last car he’d driven. There was no point having a car in Ketterdam, where the streets were so winding and interwoven that traffic built up in minutes, and it was often faster to walk than try and drive through the centre. But for this, he’d hired a decent enough car, fast enough to get him across most of Kerch in a day, with time for pitstops and snacks on the journey. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting Kaz to hand him when he pulled up to the Crow Club that morning. Maybe a large brown envelope, or a locked briefcase, something with a mysterious aura around it. Instead, Kaz shoved a mid-sized black duffel bag into his back seat.

“Let me guess, I can’t look in it?” Jesper had asked, one hand still on the wheel. Kaz only shrugged.

“Like I said, nothing illegal. Look all you want.” The permission meant that Jesper had almost immediately lost interest, and the bag sat ignored for the rest of his journey.

It was a six hour drive to Lij, and the address Kaz had programmed into the phone was another forty-five beyond that. But Jesper, for once, was grateful for the quiet, for the ability and necessity to focus on driving and nothing but driving, and for the chance to inhale air that wasn’t entirely smog. He still hadn’t heard from Wylan, and the ache between his ribs seemed almost permanent now, but at least in the car, windows down, the sun rising and falling on his journey, he could breathe.

After stopping in Lij to grab some supplies for dinner, which was going to consist of oven pizza, oven-baked onion rings, and oven chips, Jesper set about on the final leg of his journey. It was no longer a clear shot south, instead the GPS guided him down twisting, unlit country roads, and had him taking turns and driving up steep hills that made his heart race. Just when he was about to call it a day and turn around, safe in the knowledge that the map was guiding him into the middle of a field, a turn pulled him into a short driveway. The sun was just beginning to set, and the sky lit up the small farmstead in hues of pink and gold, turning it into a house plucked straight from a fairytale. Glancing at the map, Jesper pulled the car to a stop. This was definitely the address.

With a confused frown fixed onto his face, Jesper grabbed his dinner supplies and the duffel from the back of the car, digging out the key Kaz had given him with one hand. The house was small, two storeys with a low, thatched roof and cream, speckled walls. The front door was dark and wooden, a small, oval-shaped stained glass window set into the planks that showed no light coming from inside. Unlocking the door, Jesper bumped it open with his shoulder.

The inside was dark, and after dropping the duffel on the floor, Jesper ran his hand over the wall to search for a light switch. Once lit, the low, flickering bulb illuminated a narrow hallway in light blue, a staircase running up one side, a doorway at the end and another to his right. For some reason, the eerie quiet of the place made him lighten his steps and shallow his breathing, and though he were disturbing inhabitants that did not exist. He crossed the corridor slowly and ducked through the doorway at the end, finding himself in a quaint kitchen. The fridge was, thankfully, up and running, and Jesper shoved his food inside quickly before glancing around. There was a good-sized gas range surrounded by wooden cupboards, a check-tiled backsplash and a window looking out from above the sink across the fields beyond. It was a very ordinary farmhouse kitchen, one that reminded Jesper of home in a sad, quiet way. It was this quiet sad that meant it took too long for him to realise there was a pan on unlit the stove, half filled with food being protected by the glass lid. There were mugs stacked next to the sink, a teaspoon balancing on the metal edge, a half-finished glass of water left on the small dining table. Someone was here, or had been here recently.

Taking a breath to battle off the unease, Jesper continued his exploration. The other room on the bottom floor was a small lounge housing a sofa and an armchair, once again with scattered signs of life. A newspaper with a half-finished sudoku, a cushion on the floor rather than neatly in place on the sofa. Leaving the empty room to its ghosts, Jesper carried on upstairs. The steps opened up onto a small stairwell, with two doors opposite the top of the stairs, and another to the left. The left door was ajar, a shaft of golden light spilling out onto the shadows of the hallway and beckoning Jesper in. Slowly, though he couldn’t explain why, Jesper walked towards the door. It was like balancing on a precipice, knowing something was about to change, knowing he was about to fall, but not knowing how he got there or how he could avoid it.

The door was silent as it swung open under his hand and revealed a small bedroom. Painted the same cornflower blue as downstairs, the double bed took up most of the space, accompanied by a small, rickety looking wardrobe and a matching bedside table. Amber light was pouring into the room from a set of bay windows, dust motes catching in the rays and giving the room a magical, untouched warmth. Curled into a window seat, sketchpad balancing on his lap, framed in gold and unaware of his newly arrived company, sat Wylan, staring out of the window. Jesper felt his breath catch and falter, felt his heart stutter and almost give out as he stepped forward. A floorboard creaked sharply under his foot, and Wylan startled, looking over at him with wide eyes. Jesper froze once again, hands raised slightly in supplication. There were a hundred things he wanted to do, a hundred more he wanted to say, but Wylan was staring at him in surprise and confusion, looking every bit like Jesper’s salvation cast in gold, and all of those words failed him. Instead, an uncertain smile formed on his face as he moved slowly closer.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

Chapter Text

Wylan watched in silence as Jesper crossed the room, only shifting to pull his legs in tighter and make enough space for Jesper to sit opposite him on the window seat. The movement jostled the sketchpad on Wylan’s lap, and he tucked the pencil he’d been holding behind his ear. Wide blue eyes remained fixed on Jesper, uncertain and heartbreakingly wary. Jesper wanted to jump for joy, wanted to demand an explanation, wanted to call Kaz and confess his undying gratitude for whatever scheme he’d pulled off, but each and every reaction would shatter the delicate peace of the house, and he wondered if that might send Wylan running like a hunted deer.

“What are you drawing?” He asked instead, slipping into the space on the seat that Wylan had made for him. Wylan blinked at him, that small, familiar crease appearing between his brows as he frowned and held out the sketchpad. 

“It’s just a landscape. I can’t get the shadows right,” Wylan answered, letting Jesper take the pad from his hand. His voice was gentle, a little hoarse, and that lilting Geldin accent curled around Jesper like silk. Flipping the book in his hands, Jesper studied the sketch. It was the landscape they were looking out over, rendered carefully in black and white. The shades made it seem bleaker than the reality stretching out before them, the golden and green fields sapped of colour, the arching trees almost menacing in their darkness.

“Well, I think it’s perfect.” A hesitant ghost of a smile quirked across Wylan’s face, and he leant over to take the book back.

“That’s because you don’t know anything about art.”

“How can you say that after the masterpiece I created in your living room?”

“I can say it quite easily,” came the retort, Wylan closing the sketchpad and setting it down on the floor next to them. His expression, briefly relaxed and almost happy, returned to one of confusion as he asked, “Are you really here? Or have I finally lost my mind?”

“Given the events of the past week, love, I’m tempted to say that both are true.”

“That answer really isn’t helping my grip on reality.” Jesper reached out, resting a hand on Wylan’s knee and squeezing gently.

“Definitely here.” He watched as Wylan’s gaze dropped to his hand, and the younger boy drew in a shaky breath, nodding slightly.

“How did you…?”

“Kaz sent me, though he told me it was a delivery job, not that – well. He didn’t tell me you were here.” A frown formed on Wylan’s face.

“You don’t- Kaz tricked you, you don’t have to stay-”

“I’m not going anywhere, Wy.” Those same blue eyes fixed him with another stare, darkened with scepticism. Face to face, there were changes to Wylan that Jesper was desperate to erase, a brittle fragility to the way he held himself that Jesper wanted to heal, to never see again. He was grey where he was usually just pale, his lips bitten and unsmiling. Rings of exhaustion circled his eyes, joined by the faint traces of a bruise marring the skin from his brow to his cheekbone. Wylan looked like a shade of himself, a phantom of someone who once was, and Jesper found his heart breaking in new, impossible ways.

“Jesper, I…” Wylan trailed off, frowning at himself as he searched for the words. “My father nearly bankrupted you. I- I broke up with you in a bathroom, I nearly sold you out, and then I blew up my entire life and probably took part of yours along with it, I don’t- I’m a liability. Being around me has done nothing but make your life more difficult. Why would you ever want to stay?”  

The video Wylan had posted was still fresh in Jesper’s memory. Van Eck had called Wylan defective, had told him he could never have friends, had told him he was a burden to everyone around him, and while Wylan had taken those words, taken that bile and malice and used it to gain some semblance of freedom and to expose Van Eck for the bully he was, Jesper quickly came to the realisation that that didn’t mean Wylan thought Van Eck was wrong. Cruel, yes. Abusive, maybe. But not incorrect in his accusations. Leaning forward, Jesper cupped Wylan’s face in both hands, seeking out that bright blue gaze with his own.

“Wylan Van Eck, I am so fucking in love with you that you could burn my house down and I’d probably thank you for visiting. You have made my life infinitely better just by being in it. Your Da, on the other hand-”  

“That’s a really weird way to say you love me for the first time,” Wylan interrupted, wrinkling his nose as he fought a smile that Jesper desperately wanted to see.

“Excuse me, I was halfway through my romantic speech.”

“You were going to talk about my father in your romantic speech?”

“Only briefly, it seemed relevant.”

“Weird.”

“Do you want my grand confession of love or not?”

“No, no, by all means, carry on.”

“Well, now I’m doubting myself.”

“Would it help if we pretended I never interrupted?”

“Like a second take? I’m not convinced.”

“I promise I won’t interrupt this time,” Wylan whispered, loosely miming crossing his heart, and Jesper took a breath, swiping the pad of his thumb lightly over the bruise under Wylan’s eye. He wouldn’t say the same thing, couldn’t think of the right words to erase the haunted look in Wylan’s eyes, to impress upon the boy across from him exactly how much he’d be willing to give for just a moment basking in his light. Sighing, Jesper let his forehead fall against Wylan’s, briefly closing his eyes.

“You’re not a liability, Wy. Everything, literally everything you touch, you make so much better. You’re not a burden, or hard work, or difficult, but fuck it, if you were then you’d be hard work I’d happily do. I will take every bit of trouble that comes with being with you, as long as I actually get to be with you, okay? I don’t care about your father, or the firm, or the fact that they tried to fucking sue me, I care about you. The worst part of this entire mess was that you were the only person I wanted to talk to about it, and you were so- you were-” Jesper closed his eyes again to stop them from burning, forcing himself to draw in a breath. The ache in his chest that had become a permanent feature over the past three months began to fissure and spread like cracks across glass, the agony of weeks living with Wylan’s absence, of knowing he was hurt and scared and alone, made sharper now by their reunion. Light, gentle lips were pressed against his own, and careful hands were cupping his face the way he held Wylan’s.

“I’m here,” came the quiet answer, and the air trapped in Jesper’s lungs left him in a long, shuddering breath. Unable to stop himself, Jesper dropped his hands and pulled Wylan into a tight hug, crushing their chests together in an awkward tangle of limbs, pressing his face into the same golden curls that had haunted him night after night. Wylan smelled the same and different all at once, the sweet curl of vanilla familiar to Jesper, a smell he recognised from sheets and pillows, from shared showers and afternoons on the sofa. But the smoky, charcoal smell of Ketterdam was missing, the country air replacing it with something fresh, something that reminded him of Zemeni fields and evenings under a broad, uninterrupted sky. Wylan wrapped his arms around Jesper’s shoulders, tucking his face into the crook of Jesper’s neck, and it was like a homecoming, all of that grief and joy and safety encompassed in one simple gesture.

Chapter Text

“It’s good to hear your voice, even if I can’t see you. Ketterdam’s weirdly peaceful without you in it.”

“The signal out here is awful, and there’s no wifi in this old house,” Jesper answered, pebbles crunching under his feet as he paced the garden path. “Otherwise, I’d gift you a view of my fabulous face.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Inej said, and he could hear the suppressed laughter in her voice.

“How is everyone? How’s Kaz?”

“I think the more important question is how are you?” The deflection was simple but deft, and Jesper let out a huff of breath, glancing up at the sky. Clouds were rolling in from the South, promising an evening downpour.

“I’m okay. I’m… I’m here, I’m with Wylan, so I’m okay. It’s been nice not to dodge cameras every time I step outside.” Inej paused, and Jesper could predict the question balancing on the tip of her tongue, but let her find the words anyway.

“And how is Wylan?”

Twisting to look back down the path, Jesper could see through the windows of the house into the living room. Wylan was curled on the sofa, face lit by the glow of the television. It was the same spot he’d occupied most of the day.

“He got out of bed today?” Jesper tried, scratching the back of his neck.

“He doesn’t usually?”

“Not… really? I’ve been here a week, and he’s managed to get out of bed twice. Not counting the day I arrived.” Pace slowing to a halt, Jesper turned away from the house, looking instead at the span of the horizon before him. It was late afternoon now, the sun creeping towards its rest, and apart from the faint hum of crickets in the fields, Jesper couldn’t hear a thing but his own thoughts. Containing them any longer seemed impossible. “He barely moves, ‘Nej. He sleeps and stares at the wall and watches awful reality television. Every now and then he draws something, usually something really fucking depressing, and it’s like even that wears him out. It’s like- I thought when I found him again it would all be okay, and I know that’s stupid, but this- I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”

“Oh, Jesper.” The sorrow in Inej’s voice was too much, too close to pity, and Jesper swiped at his burning eyes roughly. “Has he talked to you at all about what happened? About what it was like…?” Inej trailed off, letting Jesper fill in the blanks. What it was like after they lost contact. What it was like at his father’s house. What it was like after he saved Jesper’s skin and sacrificed himself in the process.

“He hasn’t said anything, and I don’t know how to ask. But it was bad, Inej. I can tell it was bad. Everything about recovery online says to be calm and reassuring and to give the victim space and time to heal, and to- to validate his decisions, but what decisions? How do I validate not moving for two days, not showering or eating? And what if asking him about it just freaks him out? Or just makes this all worse and then I can’t help? He could push me away, he could hurt himself-”

“Jesper, he’s your boyfriend.”

“I- yeah, ‘Nej, I’m aware of who he is. Wylan, Kerch celebrity, now-disowned nepo baby, probable love of my life. What’s your point?”  

“My point is that he’s your boyfriend. He’s not your patient, or your client, or something for you to fix. You can’t fix this. Wylan needs to get professional help, probably something long-term and from someone who specialises in the kind of thing he’s been through.”

“So you’re saying I can’t help?”

“No, I’m telling you that you can’t be his therapist and his boyfriend all in one, and knowing Wylan, he wouldn’t want you to be.”

“What do I do, then? Give up and wait for him to get help somewhere else?”

“Are you deliberately not listening to me? Is this what Kaz means when he says you’re deliberately obtuse?”

“Kaz said what- no, never mind. I can’t be his therapist, I get it.”

“But you can be his boyfriend. You can love him, and look after him, and maybe consider not tiptoeing around him like he’s going to implode?”

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I can do that.”

“Let me know how it goes. And I know you’re in Lij-”

“Outside of Lij, actually.”

“Outside of Lij, then. But if we can do anything, just let us know.” Jesper paused, glancing back at the house and then towards the darkening sky.

“I might have something, actually. But let me talk to Wylan first.”

“Of course. Send our love.”

“Even Kaz’s?”

“Oh, especially Kaz’s,” Inej laughed, the sound loosening the cord around Jesper’s chest as he murmured goodbyes and hung up. It was only a few seconds until he was back in the house, following the hum of the television towards the living room, towards Wylan. Stopping to lean on the doorframe, he watched the younger boy stare at the flickering screen, lost in thought.

“I think I’m going to drive into Lij, love. Want to come with me?” Wylan blinked slowly and squinted at him across the room as if it took a moment for him to even realise Jesper was speaking.

“Why are you going into Lij?”

“We’re pretty thin on the ground food-wise, if one of us doesn’t go we’re going to end up eating whatever those unlabelled cans are from the back of the cupboard. I don’t know if my stomach is strong enough to handle that.” Crossing the carpet, Jesper lightly nudged Wylan’s legs out of the way to take up the seat next to him. With a quiet grumble, Wylan dropped his legs back onto Jesper’s lap. The younger boy was still in his pyjamas, a set that had been packed in the bag Kaz had shoved into Jesper’s car, and the fabric was soft under his fingers as he skimmed a hand over Wylan’s calf. “You could come. Pick out something for dinner that isn’t beige and cooked solely in the oven.”

“I don’t know…” Wylan answered, reluctance written into every line of his face.

“We could get a bottle of wine, maybe even buy an actual DVD to watch since we don’t have internet.” He watched Wylan watching him, already sensing that the battle was lost.

“Are you asking me to come or telling me I should?” There was no accusation in Wylan’s words, just genuine, honest anxiety. Jesper squeezed his leg lightly. It had been a theme over the last few days, Wylan constantly uncertain that he was doing the right thing, that what he wanted was the right thing to be doing.

“Asking, my love. Always asking.” A small nod, and Wylan’s gaze flitted back to the screen.

“I think I want to stay here. Next time, maybe.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. That knowledge didn’t stop Jesper from pressing a kiss to Wylan’s cheek before standing up.

“Next time, then. I won’t be long, two hours if the traffic’s bad.” But Wylan’s focus had drifted again, not quite to the television, but not quite on Jesper. It was an odd kind of pain, Jesper thought as he grabbed the keys to the rental car and slipped out of the front door. Not the agonising stab of heartbreak when Wylan had left him in the bathroom, not the shadowy, creeping anxiety of Van Eck’s threat. Something different, bone-deep and unshakeable, a pain so intermingled with the love he felt that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

It wasn’t a difficult journey to the supermarket in Lij, or even a long one. The quiet of the country roads gave Jesper time to think away from the crushing sadness that seemed to envelop the house and formulate some kind of a plan. Wylan was still on the sofa when he returned, the television showing the same re-runs of some outdated sitcom, and he remained there while Jesper unpacked the food he’d bought, while he prepped ingredients and poured wine and lit candles. Inej had been right, he’d realised on the drive. He wasn’t a therapist, and wasn’t anywhere near knowledgeable enough to heal all of their wounds by himself. But if there was one thing he was good at, it was being madly, stupidly in love with Wylan Van Eck.

Kitchen set up and food very nearly ready, Jesper washed his hands and went to retrieve Wylan. The boy peered up at him, the room only lit now by the silvery light of the television, giving Wylan a ghostly, unearthly appearance.

“Come on, love,” Jesper asked, holding out a hand. If Wylan refused, if he didn’t want to move, Jesper wouldn’t make him. It would hurt, but he still wouldn’t make him.

“Where are we going?” Wylan asked, hand hovering over Jesper’s but not yet taking it.

“On a date. Don’t worry, the restaurant’s very local. Just down the corridor.” There was a hint of a smile on Wylan’s face, something close to curiosity in his eyes as he slipped his hand into Jesper’s, letting Jesper pull him up from the sofa.

“I’m not sure I’m dressed for a restaurant.” Pressing a kiss to the back of Wylan’s hand, Jesper led him out of the living room.

“I know the host, he said it will be fine. No dress code for VIPs.”

“You know the host and you’re a VIP?”

“I also know the chef. Nepotism pays, gorgeous.” Opening the kitchen door, Jesper stepped aside to let Wylan inside. The lamps were low and the curtains open, so the main light was emanating from the candles perched around the room and the moonlight now pouring in from the window. He’d bought enough candles to burn down a church but ended up only lighting a handful. Enough to see, enough to bathe the small room in a cosy kind of starlight. Releasing Wylan’s hand, Jesper set about dishing up the stew he’d made, letting the younger boy slowly take in the room. It wasn’t much, not really, but Wylan had fallen silent, arms wrapped around himself.

“Jesper, what…?”

“I made stamppot. I’ve never actually cooked it myself before, but it smells pretty close to the one we had at that street market with Nina, you remember? Kaz actually sent me the recipe, believe it or not, and I weirdly trust him not to poison us both. There’s wine, too, but I couldn’t get your favourite. I don’t think supermarkets stock many bottles of 1979 vintage, and honestly, they gave me weird looks when I asked,” Jesper turned, putting the bowls of food carefully onto the table. Wylan was still looking around, eyes flitting from the bowls to the wine glasses to the candles. “I was going to try and make waffles, but apparently you need a special waffle machine for those? And I remember you saying that baking was trickier than cooking, closer to a science, so I didn’t want to risk-”

“You did this for me?” Wylan interrupted, watching Jesper now, something raw and open as a wound in his gaze. Jesper paused in his rambling, forced himself not to fill the silence with inane chatter, and instead nodded slowly.

“I know you don’t want to go out right now.”

“You cooked?”

“Terrifying, I know.” A small smile, the first he’d seen in months, quirked across Wylan’s face, and Jesper could have shouted, could have cried.

“You asked a store clerk for a ’79 red?”

“It was embarrassing.”

“I don’t remember telling you that that was my favourite.” Jesper blinked, then shrugged slightly.

“You didn’t have to tell me, Wy. I love you, so I paid attention.” Something delicate hung in the air between them, new and fresh and hopeful as Wylan stepped carefully around the kitchen table. It was Jesper’s turn to watch, to remain frozen while Wylan took in the room one more time, while Wylan leant up and pressed a careful kiss to his mouth and let his hands fall against Jesper’s chest.

“I think this might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Wylan whispered, their mouths only centimetres apart.

“You have to know that that’s incredibly tragic, Wy.”

“Don’t ruin it.” Another kiss, quicker this time but more confident, more like a kiss from the boy Jesper had fallen for before everything went wrong.

“We should eat,” Jesper said instead of letting the hope bubbling in his chest pour out into the air around them. “The food will get cold.”

Chapter Text

Jesper huffed, dropping the book in his hands onto his face, the pages rustling against his skin.

“That’s the third time you’ve sighed in nearly as many minutes,” Wylan said, interrupting the comfortable near-silence that they’d occupied for most of the morning. The smaller boy was encircled in Jesper’s arms as he lay half on the mattress, half on Jesper’s chest, head tucked into the crook of Jesper’s neck. He’d been quiet for so long that Jesper had assumed he’d fallen back to sleep.

“Do you think Kaz likes flowers?” Jesper asked instead of answering properly, voice muffled by paper and card. 

“Instinctively, I have to say no. But maybe poisonous ones? Or carnivorous plants?”

“Like a venus fly trap?” Intrigued, Jesper removed the book from his face and folded down the corner to mark his page. Wylan wriggled slightly, moving further up until they were face to face, centimetres apart.

“Sure, but there’s no way those would last in Ketterdam,” he replied, a smile in his gaze even if it hadn’t reached his face yet. Freeing one arm, Jesper brushed curls from blue eyes, letting one wrap around his forefinger.

“You think they’d get stolen?” A faint frown darkened Wylan’s eyes, confusion briefly flitting across his expression.

“What? Oh, no, I mean because of the climate.”

“That makes more sense, I’ll admit.”

“Jesper?”

“Hm?” He was distracted now, letting his fingers skim along Wylan’s cheek, weave into the curls at the nape of his neck, find that soft spot on his side that made him squirm and smile.

“Why do you want to buy Kaz flowers?”

“No need to get jealous, love,” Jesper answered, but Wylan only raised an eyebrow in question, catching Jesper’s roaming hand with his own. “I should get him something. He… he got me here, got me back to you.”

“Ghezen, if we start paying our debts to Kaz in flowers, I might have to open a florist.”

“What do you mean?” Another frown, Wylan’s grip on Jesper’s hand tightening slightly.  

“I mean that you owe Kaz for a few things, but I think I owe him everything.” Wylan leant slightly, their sides pressed together. Kissing golden curls, Jesper sought blindly for the right words to keep the conversation going.

“You want to talk about it? What he did, I mean?” Jesper didn’t want to push, to pry and send Wylan back down into the silent spiral he’d lived in for the past week and a half. He’d been slowly crawling out of it, trying each day to smile and laugh and pull some semblance of joy back into his life. But the knowledge Jesper had been grasping for, the answers he’d been craving, seemed to be inching ever closer.

“Kaz… well, he broke into my father’s house.”

“He what?” Jesper sat up straighter, twisting to face the boy next to him. He knew that surprise must be written all over his face, but he was hardly expecting the laugh that Wylan choked on, the smile that lit up the room, the entire house.

“I know! He climbed through my bedroom window in the middle of the night. It was terrifying.”

“Explain,” Jesper asked, and Wylan blinked at him. “I mean… if you want to, and feel like you’re ready.”

“It’s okay, Jes.” Exhaling sharply, Jesper nodded. “I… it was about three weeks after we’d spoken, before mediation but- well, you remember. Things were bad. My father wanted me to testify against you, and I was-“ Wylan pulled his knees up, curling in on himself. “I was going to, Jesper. I didn’t want to, and at the start I refused, I denied everything, I promise, but after weeks there-”

“I know, Wy. It’s okay, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d got to the exchange and showed them our sex tape.”

“We don’t have a sex tape,” Wylan answered, confused enough that some of the panic began to ebb from him.

“And as I keep saying, we should rectify that. We’re both so attractive, it would be cruel not to."

"Have you said that before? I feel like I’d remember.”

“Maybe I said it to Nina. Either way, the point stands.”

“I’m going to need us to circle back to you wanting to sleep with Nina after this conversation."

"That’s not what I- never mind. I love you, please carry on.” Wylan rolled his eyes, but Jesper ran a hand down the younger boy’s back, feeling that he was more relaxed, less rigid and scared and wracked with guilt.

“Kaz came in through my window. It was like something out of a movie-”

“A horror movie?”

“In my head, action thriller, but sure.” Jesper nodded sagely, pressing a kiss to Wylan’s shoulder.

“He told me everything. I knew some of it, the vague outline of the lawsuit, but not all of it. He told me how much you stood to lose, that there was no way you could pay it, that any of you could pay it.” Jesper’s anger was a lance along his spine, frustration at Kaz and his tactless cruelty. He felt Wylan take his hand, lacing them together.

“He guilt-tripped you into lying?”

“What? No. No, not at all. He told me the facts, and then he- he said he could get me out. That it might take time, that he might not be able to do it straight away, but that if I wanted to get out, he’d make it happen.” It was Jesper’s turn to blink, brain almost freezing as he tried to parse that knowledge together with everything else he knew about Kaz.

“He said he’d get you out if you lied for me?”

“No. He said he’d get me out either way.”

“Is Kaz… a good person?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. He said something about tanking my father’s shares and making himself a ton of money, I have to believe that was his motivation,” Wylan answered, shaking his head. “But the result was the same.”

“Thank the Saints. I don’t think I was ready for that level of character development from him,” Jesper said, almost relieved at the reassurance that Kaz was definitely still Kaz. Wylan nodded, but his gaze was focused on their hands, their fingers intertwined. “So Kaz convinced you to lie for me?”

“I still wasn’t… sure. I don’t think I trusted that Kaz could actually pull it off, he hadn’t given me any details about his plan, and honestly, I was being a coward. I’m not like you, Jes. Or like Kaz, or Nina, or any of you. I don’t fight for things. I meant what I said to you that night, I’m not a brave person. I don’t think I knew I was going to lie until I saw you.”

“I never wanted you to-”

“I know. I know that, I do. I think once I saw you I would have lied even without Kaz’s promise. I just wanted you to be okay.” There was a sadness in Wylan’s words, a guilt that Jesper despised, that had him tightening his grip on Wylan’s hand as the boy continued speaking. "When I got home, I found the phone. Kaz must have slipped it into my pocket, because my own phone had been taken weeks ago, and I wasn’t allowed another. It had- it had everything on it, Jes. All of my medical records dating back decades, it had the contract, it had all of my accounts, all logged in already. He even- Ghezen, Jesper, he recorded instructions for me.”

“That’s how you made the post,” Jesper realised out loud, and Wylan managed a small nod, eyes drifting from their hands into the shafts of light currently illuminating whorls of dust.

“The instructions told me to call a certain number when I was ready to make the post, but nobody answered. I was convinced- I thought I was trapped there, that something had gone wrong, that trusting Kaz was a mistake. But I got this message, just one, from another number, telling me to leave through the back gate and get into a waiting car.”

“Kaz sent the car, then.”

“Not just the car, Jes. There was a whole suitcase of things from my apartment, a new phone, food, everything.”

“I see what you mean by action thriller.” Wylan nodded again, but his gaze had gone distant and empty, the only evidence of his anxiety the tight grasp he kept on Jesper. The question came out before Jesper had a chance to stop it, before he could wrangle it back into his throat and let Wylan talk at his own pace. “Why did it take so long, Wy?”

Blue eyes blinked, still watching dust mites spin and dance through the air around them. “What do you mean?”

Sighing, Jesper let go of the tight control he’d kept on his curiosity.

“I mean, Kaz gave you the phone after the trial. You didn’t make the post until two months later. We could have- you could have got out sooner.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t?”

“After the trial, after I was taken back to my father’s house, I knew it was going to be bad. I knew he would hurt me, and probably try and hurt you, and that even if Kaz managed to get me out that night, I still had hours ahead of me. My father- he can do a lot in a few hours.” Jesper kissed the back of Wylan’s hand, that protective monster rearing its head once again. He’d kill Van Eck. String him up in the streets, burn him alive, but Wylan was still talking, and that was more important than Jesper’s rage. “I had a panic attack in his office. I’ve- I have had them before, used to be able to hide them, but I couldn’t hide this one.” Wylan closed his eyes for a moment, taking a long, slow breath. “They used it as an excuse to sedate me. To restrain me, sometimes, if they felt like it.” Wylan ran his free hand along his arm, as if he expected to still feel needles under his skin, hands leaving bruises. “It took two months to convince them I could behave, and even then they wouldn’t let me out of my room. I had to climb through the window when I left.”

Swallowing hard, Jesper watched the boy next to him. Once again, he found himself lacking the words to wipe away the pain, to undo what had been done. Just as he was starting to hate himself, starting to silently curse his own ineptitude, Wylan dropped his head onto Jesper’s shoulder, sinking into his side once again. He murmured something, and Jesper strained to hear it.

“What was that, love?”

“I said, thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” It made no sense. Kaz had got Wylan out, Wylan had stood up to his father, while Jesper had done nothing. Jesper had caused trouble, enough to be kept out of the plan completely, and now Wylan was thanking him?

“For being here. Listening. I’m not exactly a natural storyteller.” Jesper pressed a kiss to golden curls, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, calming the itch of anxiety under his skin before answering.

“I’ll always be here, Wy.”

Chapter Text

The bed was cold when Jesper rolled over, and a wave of panic woke him, his eyes immediately open, his mind as sharp as it could be for the hours between midnight and dawn. For a moment, he thought Wylan was gone, and a hundred awful thoughts hit him like a freight train. That Wylan had run away, that Wylan was hurt, that Wylan had hurt himself. It was enough to have him sitting up in bed, swinging his feet onto the cold wood of the floorboards before he’d given his eyes enough time to adjust to the darkness.

“Jes? Are you okay?” Wylan’s voice was soft and tired, but already it was enough to slow Jesper’s heart rate. Squinting into the dark, he eventually found Wylan, even if he only appeared as an outline against the moonlit window. Loosing a long breath, Jesper nodded.

“I thought- never mind. Why are you up, love?” Slowly but surely, Jesper’s vision adapted to the weak light of the moon and the shadows of the trees outside, allowing him to make out Wylan’s perch on the window seat, the blanket pulled around his shoulders, the way his knees were pulled to his chest. Instinctively, and despite the chill of the room, Jesper slipped out of bed and walked across to him. Wylan tracked him with weary eyes and didn’t protest when Jesper sat opposite him, pulling his feet up onto the cushion of the seat.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Wouldn’t take a genius to work that out.” Wylan managed a small smile, tightening the blanket around his shoulders and resting his temple against the glass of the window. “Talk to me, Wy. What’s kept you up?”

A long silence stretched between them, and Jesper was conscious that Wylan was studying his face. His gaze felt gentle, but it was focused in its mapping, and Jesper found himself stilling, letting the younger boy find whatever it was he was searching for.

“You need to go back to the city soon.” Jesper blinked, surprised. The city, work, even his friends had seemed so far from him over the past two weeks that the mention of returning was like a splash of cold water, leaving him wide awake and almost recoiling. He loved the city, and his work, and his friends. But Wylan…

“I don’t have to. We can go back when you’re ready.” Wylan was still watching him, a small frown on his face. When he spoke, his voice was nearly a whisper, wretched with uncertainty.

“What if I’m never ready, Jesper?” Blinking again, Jesper looked out of the window. In the dark, the fields stretched into infinity, the expanse large enough to momentarily make their problems seem small, manageable.

“Then… then we’ll figure it out, Wy. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

“I don’t think we figured anything out. I think Kaz figured it out for us.”

“Well, we’ll pay him a commission and he can figure that out too.” Wylan smiled again, slightly brighter this time, closer to normal if not completely convinced, and Jesper felt a vice around his chest ease. “What’s worrying you about going back? Apart from literally everything, I guess.”

“Probably everything, yeah.”

“Makes sense, it was a stupid question.” The younger boy’s smile brightened even further, and Jesper reached out to push curls from his eyes, letting Wylan lean into his touch for a moment.

“I just don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to face people. Everyone I knew, everyone I worked with, they all… know now, I guess. Even if my father miraculously decided to leave me alone, everyone is going to treat me differently.”

“Different doesn’t have to mean worse. People might be really understanding about it.”

“In Ketterdam?” Wylan raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical.

“Point taken, loads of people will try and use it against you. Maybe you should try a disguise? Stick on moustache, bald cap, bow tie?”

“Bow tie?”

“I’m trying to think of things I’d never see you wear.”

“I’ve worn a bow tie before. With a tux.”

“When the sun is up and it’s not an unholy hour, I’m going to need to see pictures.”

“Only if you promise not to share them with your friends.”

“Our friends, but deal.” Wylan’s soft laugh resurrected the last parts of Jesper’s heart, even as they lapsed into silence. A small seed of an idea, planted a week ago on the phone to Inej, had started to grow into a vine, curling and clutching Jesper’s thoughts until he couldn’t shake it.

“Wy?”

“Hm?” Wylan had closed his eyes, still resting his head on the window, silver light wrapping around him like a second skin.

“What if you didn’t have to face everyone in one go? What if… what if you faced five people? Like a trial run?” Blue eyes peered at him now, quietly curious.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I could invite the others down here. Seeing them would basically be exposure therapy, and it might be nice. You know they won’t fuck you over, and you can practice…” Jesper trailed off, looking for the words to explain what he meant without being too harsh.

“I can practice being a person?”

 “Exactly. Pretend I said that but in a much more loving and romantic way.” Wylan sat up a little, clearly turning the idea over in his head.

“What if it’s too much? What if I can’t cope with it?”

“Then you don’t have to. I’ll kick them out, they’ll live.”

“I’m like, ninety per cent certain that this is Kaz’s house.”

“I’ll still kick him out.”

“It’s a seven hour drive.”

“They can camp.”

“What if they hate me?”

“Wy, they already love you.”

“I’m… different now.” Jesper paused at the very real anxiety in Wylan’s words, and at the deep well of sadness that lay beneath them. It was another thing Jesper couldn’t fix, Wylan’s awareness of his own situation, his own vulnerability and his own open, gaping wounds. Reaching out, Jesper tucked the blanket tighter around Wylan’s shoulders before finding the smaller boy’s hands.

“Sure, you’re a bit different now. But I still love you, and I know my friends, so I know that they’ll still love you too. And once they love you, you’re kind of stuck with them.” Wylan nodded slowly, gaze dropping to their hands. He always watched their hands, always sought out that connection, as though he was worried Jesper would let go, slip away and disappear.

“You think they’ll come?”

“Oh, I know they’ll come, love. If not for me, then for you.”

-

The tiny red car screeched horrifically as it pulled into the driveway, sending pebbles and dirt skittering across the floor. By the time Nina, Matthias, Kaz and Inej emerged from the car, Jesper was already outside on the path to greet them, practically vibrating with excitement and wearing a grin wider than the Geldcanal.

“Took you long enough! I thought I was supposed to be the one who was always late,” he complained, though his grin didn’t falter as he swept Inej into a hug, spinning the small Suli girl easily through the air.

“We had to stop halfway to swap drivers. It took nearly an hour because Nina and Kaz wouldn’t stop arguing,” Inej answered once Jesper had returned her feet to the ground.

“Only because he called my driving ‘a risk to anyone with a desire to live’,” Nina sniped, glaring sideways at Kaz even as she abandoned the car and pulled Jesper into a familiar hug.

“You backed into a postbox and killed at least one pigeon on the way here,” Kaz answered, leaning on his cane and only glancing in Jesper’s direction. “Hug me and die.”

“Didn’t plan on it, but always nice to know where we stand,” Jesper retorted, slipping around Nina to help Matthias grab bags from the boot of the car. “Saints, I didn’t realise you were moving in. Who brought all of this?”

“There are five of us, Jesper. And some things for Wylan, of course,” Nina said, both her and Inej turning to watch but not stepping forward to help unload the luggage.  “Where is Wylan, anyway?” Arms burning as he pulled a too-large suitcase from the car, Jesper managed half a shrug.

“Inside, I think. He probably won’t-”

“I’m right here.” Glancing up, Jesper found Wylan hovering in the doorway. He’d been out of bed nearly four days in a row, but this was the first time Jesper had seen him in clothes that weren’t exclusively pyjamas. The baggy green jumper he was wearing was definitely Jesper’s, but the jeans, the socks, the washed hair and the eyes that kept flitting to Jesper’s arms straining against the bag? All Wylan, and enough to make Jesper grin again. Nina’s half-shout, half-screech was the only thing to startle him from his thoughts, and he grimaced as she ran and dragged Wylan into a hug.

“I literally told her to take it easy,” he said to himself, shaking his head as he carried the bags over to the pair. Trailing, Matthias sighed.

“This is her taking it easy.”

Muttering a prayer to the Saints, Jesper ushered everyone inside, the cramped corridor of the house immediately alive with voices and movement as they herded towards the living room and Jesper and Matthias left the bags at the foot of the stairs. By the time they joined the others, cushions had been scattered on the floor, seats sought out and taken, Wylan in the same corner of the sofa he’d occupied most days. But he was smiling, and nodding as Nina complained about the journey, even if he did look a little shell-shocked.

“Can you believe Kaz demanded he ride shotgun the whole way here? Seven hours, Wylan, seven hours that man hogged the passenger seat!”

“Well… yes, I can believe that. Leg room, right?” Wylan glanced at Kaz, who had taken up the armchair and stretched his leg out in front of him.

“At least someone here has an ounce of common sense,” Kaz nodded, something unspoken passing between the pair that once would have made Jesper twitch with jealousy, and now just made him warm with contentment. He was not the only person here who cared about Wylan’s safety. He was not the only person who cared, full stop.

“I- well- I guess I didn’t think of that,” Nina grumbled, folding her arms.

“I wouldn’t class thinking as one of your talents, Nina, dear.”

“I can think in six languages, Brekker, how many can you think in?”

“I don’t need language. Money talks.”

“Did money tell you to get that haircut?”

“Were they like this the entire drive?” Jesper asked, nudging a distracted Nina aside so he could drop onto the sofa next to Wylan, who instantly leaned into his side. Inej tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded.

“Our only break was when Nina fell asleep. And she snores.”

“Inej!” Nina cried, false outrage in her tone.

“Oof. That’s rough.”

“How are you, Wylan?” Matthias asked, cutting across the nearly nonsensical bickering with a tone that silenced nearly everybody. Nina continued to mutter under her breath for a moment, but even her eyes went to Wylan, who blinked back at everyone. Jesper clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay silent. Wylan had wanted to practice, wanted to be treated normally, and jumping in to rescue him was definitely not what their normal should look like.

“I’m…definitely alive?” Wylan answered, uncertainty turning his answer into a question.

“That’s potentially the most relatable thing you’ve ever said,” Nina answered, and the others nodded in agreement, expressions thoughtful.

“That’s a damning indictment of my career, but thank you.”

“Ex-career,” Kaz pointed out, tapping his gloved fingers on the arm of the chair. Jesper pinched the bridge of his nose, already questioning every decision that had led to this point.

“Kaz!”

“What? He knows that. It was his choice.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to-”

“It’s okay, Nina. Kaz is right, I made a choice. I kind of have to be okay with it.”

“Everyone, listen. Wylan has just said something incredibly clever,” Kaz said, leaning forward as if imparting a carefully guarded secret. “’Kaz is right’. You should all take note.”

A pillow flew through the air, narrowly missing Kaz’s head and bouncing off the wall behind him.

“You’re picking that up,” Jesper complained, hiding his face in Wylan’s hair and fighting the urge to throw a second pillow. He didn’t know who towards, but he knew he wanted to.

“Maybe we should get drinks? There’s wine in the kitchen,” Wylan suggested, holding his hands up in an attempt to keep the peace.

“I’m sure alcohol could only be helpful in this situation,” Kaz added, and this time, Inej threw the pillow.

Chapter Text

This time, when Jesper woke to an empty bed and a cold pillow beside him, he wasn’t hit with a wave of panic. There was no fear, no racing heart, no thoughts of catastrophe that he couldn’t stop. This time, he woke to laughter downstairs, to the weak light of the morning sun through curtains Wylan must have opened, to the smell of frying bacon and the sound of someone in the shower down the hall. Wylan, for the first time in weeks, had beaten Jesper out of bed, and Jesper found himself smiling as he pulled a jumper on over his pyjamas and wandered down the stairs.

Inej and Nina were the first two he found, sat facing each other on the small sofa and talking quietly, mugs of steaming tea held close to their chests to ward off the chill. Inej glanced up when he entered, hair long and loose about her face, tumbling over her shoulders, and smiled at his sleepiness.

“Wylan?” He managed, glancing at the empty armchair and the cushions still on the floor from last night, the stacked plates with scraps of breakfast food on them, the empty wine bottles stacked damningly by the coffee table.

“In the kitchen with Kaz,” Inej replied, sipping her tea. Jesper felt his eyebrows raise in mild surprise, and he nodded slightly, searching for the way to phrase his next question without seeming overbearing, and without making Wylan seem, well, completely broken.

“Did he…?” Jesper glanced pointedly at the pile of plates, scratching the back of his neck.

“He ate, Jesper, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Not much, though,” Nina added, having twisted to look Jesper’s way. “Not by anyone’s standards, let alone mine.”

“He did eat, though? That’s- yeah, okay, cool. That’s good.” Both Inej and Nina were watching him now, the concern etched into their faces enough to make him itch all over.

“Is he okay?” Nina asked, lips twisting into a frown.

“Fuck, no,” Jesper managed, shaking his head. “Nowhere near. He’s doing better, though. Eating, showering, sleeping at night time and not all the way through the day. He’s smiled seven times this week already.”

“Saints, that’s depressing.”

“It’s an improvement, is what it is,” Jesper protested, tapping his foot absently. He wanted to check on Wylan, wanted to see him and talk to him and press kisses to his face until he smiled. More than anything, he wanted to know what Wylan and Kaz were talking about that had to be said away from everyone else. “Do you two want drinks? I think I want tea,” he managed, gaze slipping distractedly towards the door.

“We have drinks, Jesper.”

“He’s not really asking, Nina. He just wants to interrupt Kaz and Wylan.”

“Oh, I see! I should have known he wasn’t just being thoughtful.” Jesper flipped them both an obscene gesture, taking their slights as an excuse to leave. From the corridor, he could hear the remnants of Nina and Inej’s conversation mingled with hushed voices from the kitchen that propelled him down the hall.  

The kitchen door swung open with a creak as he entered, and both Wylan and Kaz looked up, falling instantly silent. They were sitting on opposite sides of the small wooden table, wearing the expressions of people caught in the middle of something they weren’t supposed to be doing. Two pairs of eyes stared at Jesper, Kaz’s dark and almost amused, Wylan’s wide and anxious. Neither of them spoke as Jesper stared back.

“Okay, so I’m definitely going to be overthinking this moment for at least a week. What’s going on, guys?” Jesper tried for casual, but there was a lump of discomfort lodging in his throat that turned his voice high and thin.

“Nothing,” Kaz said, shrugging.

“Taxes,” Wylan said at the same time, flushing pink as Kaz turned to stare at him incredulously. Blinking, Jesper joined Kaz in his incredulity.

“That was so obviously a lie I feel the need to let you try again. Do you want a minute to work your story out?”

“I think Wylan might need more than a minute. You built your whole career on lying and the best you could think of was ‘taxes’?”

“We’ve talked about taxes before, it seemed reasonable!”

“Good to know that you’re just owning the dishonesty,” Jesper interjected, closing the door and crossing over to the table. A small, white rectangular box sat in the centre between Kaz and Wylan, shrink-wrapped in transparent plastic.

“That was when you had financial assets. Your tax code isn’t interesting now.”

“I still have financial assets! At least, I think I do,” Wylan protested as he glared at Kaz. Jesper would have been worried, but it was the most engaged he’d seen Wylan in anything for weeks, so was torn between his frustration and his desire to let the two fight it out.

“I guess that’s something you might need assistance in figuring out,” Kaz answered, tone dark and pointed as he rose from his seat. “I wonder who you could possibly ask for help.”

Wylan’s glare only intensified as he slid down in his seat slightly, blush darkening until the tips of his ears were burning red. Kaz only rolled his eyes, taking his cane from its perch against the table and wordlessly stepping around Jesper as he left. After realising that Wylan wasn’t about to say anything, Jesper walked to his side of the table, perching on the tabletop and raising his eyebrows in question. Instead of meeting Jesper’s gaze, Wylan picked at the skin around his thumb, gaze fixed on the small box.

“So, if I’m honest, I don’t love it when you have secret conversations with Kaz and lie to my face about it, Wy. I’m trying to be gentle, I get that you’re going through a lot right now, but it doesn’t feel great to-”

“Come upstairs with me?” Wylan interrupted, looking up from the box to finally hold Jesper’s gaze with his own. Jesper blinked again, getting the sense that this conversation was about to give him emotional whiplash.

“Now? Really? I haven’t even brushed my teeth, I didn’t think you’d want-”

“Not for that,” Wylan said, shaking his head. “Just to talk? Maybe somewhere where the others can’t just walk in?”

“I need you to know that Nina can and will walk into our bedroom unannounced, but sure. If it gets me an explanation, I will literally walk to Lij.”

“Upstairs will do,” Wylan answered, standing and grabbing the box from the table with one hand, and taking Jesper’s with the other. Jesper let Wylan pull him upstairs to their room, offering Matthias a sheepish smile as they passed each other in the hall. They were being bad hosts, something Wylan would usually care about more than Jesper, but he didn’t have the heart to apologise when something important seemed to be happening.

Their room was a mess, Jesper realised as they walked in, the door swinging closed behind them with a thud. Clothes were scattered in heaps across the floor, their bed unmade, mugs leaning in a small tower on the lone bedside table. Wylan dropped the box unceremoniously onto their crumpled mattress and immediately started pacing. The movement made Jesper nervous. He was the livewire, the fidgeter and the pacer. Wylan, more often than not, managed to at least seem calm and level-headed. The role reversal, the fraught, electric anxiety Wylan was openly showing, was concerning.

“What’s going on, Wy?”

“I can’t- I don’t know the words.”

“Okay. Okay, what will help?” Jesper asked, stepping closer. Wylan stared at him for a moment, a butterfly of pink across the bridge of his nose, spreading to meet with the flush climbing up from the collar of his jumper.

“I don’t know,” Wylan answered, panic evident in his voice, eyes flickering as he sought for ideas. “Maybe, I mean- you could face the other way?”

“I could what?”

“Like, don’t look at me while I talk? Face the door, or something?” Jesper’s instinct was to laugh, to shake his head in disbelief, but Wylan was asking him for something, explaining something that would help, and the expression on his face was deadly serious. Validate his feelings, give him agency, Jesper reminded himself, taking a breath. Hesitantly, he turned to face the door.

It was unsettling, not seeing what Wylan was doing. Jesper could hear him pacing back and forth, could hear the rustle of his clothing, the creak of his footsteps, the sharp huff of breath he let out when he was building up to something. It felt like minutes crawled by before the silence became unbearable.

“Wy, love, is this-?”

“I’m nearly there.”

Jesper lapsed back into silence, studying the grain of the wooden door, the curves and whorls and dark spots. Eventually, all sounds stopped. The footsteps, the rustling, the uneven breaths. When his voice broke the silence, Wylan was quiet, like the words hurt to say.

“Jesper, I can’t read.”

“You… what? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t read. I’ve tried and tried, and people have tried all sorts of things to teach me, but I just can’t do it. It’s why- it’s caused-” Wylan stopped, breathing harsh and fractured again, and Jesper turned to pull him into a hug, unable to stop himself. There was a brief, rigid moment of surprise before Wylan melted into him, arms tight around Jesper’s waist.

“This is really important to you, yeah?” Jesper asked, grimacing at himself and the words he didn’t know, the thoughts he couldn’t express. “This is the big thing you wanted to tell me?”

Wylan nodded against his chest, and Jesper dipped his head, pressing a kiss to golden curls that smelled of vanilla and soap and Wylan.

“I don’t want to say that I don’t care, because I do care, but I only care because you care, if that makes sense?” Jesper tried, words muffled by Wylan’s hair and his own uncertainty. “This is important for you, so I care, but I wouldn’t if it wasn’t.”

“I think that makes sense? You said the word ‘care’ a lot.”

“Yeah, it’s really early in the morning to be having this conversation. Gotta let my brain catch up.” Wylan huffed out something close to a laugh, something tinged with bitterness that felt much, much older than their relationship. Jesper turned the sound over in his mind, pulling together the threads of everything he knew about the boy in his arms. “Wy, your Da…”

“Who would want an heir who can’t master a child’s skill?” Jesper nodded slightly, kissing Wylan’s head once again.

“I could kill him, you know.” It was a joke, a wish, and a threat all in one, and no matter how Jesper fought to keep the anger from his voice, he knew it was there, knew that Wylan would recognise it.

“I’d hate to have to visit you in prison.”

“Orange is my colour, though.”

“You think every colour is your colour,” Wylan answered, pulling back a little. His eyes were shining and ringed with red, his lips pink and bitten. Jesper kissed his cheek quickly, skimming hands down Wylan’s sides and letting them settle on his hips.

“Every colour is my colour, gorgeous. Kaz knows?” Giving a small nod, Wylan smiled apologetically.

“When he broke into my father’s house. I couldn’t- he tried to show me the evidence file, and I think it was obvious I didn’t know what any of it said. Usually, I can hide it, but, well. It’s Kaz.”  

“And the box?” Jesper glanced at the white box Wylan had thrown on the bed, the one he’d carried upstairs when they moved from the kitchen. A flush reappeared on Wylan’s face, day-lily pink staining his skin.

“Kaz gave me a new phone when I left Ketterdam, but I couldn’t…” Realisation dawned on Jesper, and he nodded slightly.

“The set-up instructions are all written. Right, of course.”

“I can usually find a video to copy or a guide online, but without my old phone or my laptop, I was stuck. I was trying to convince Kaz to help me in the kitchen, but he just told me he wasn’t my butler.”

“That’s what you were arguing about?”

“He wanted me to ask you.” Hesitating once more, Jesper nodded. He knew, in the way that he innately understood Wylan’s moods now, that Wylan had picked up on his hesitation, on the small pause he took to try and untangle his thoughts.

“I didn’t- it wasn’t you. You weren’t why I didn’t say anything, I just- I didn’t say anything to anyone. I haven’t, not since I was a child, and then Kaz worked it out and- I promise it wasn’t-”

“It’s okay, Wy.”

“But you know that, don’t you? That if I’d had a choice, you would have been the first person I ever…”

Jesper kissed Wylan lightly, their lips barely brushing, but it was enough for Wylan to relax, for the rigid line of his spine to soften, for the tension in his muscles to dissolve under Jesper’s hands.

“I guess I’ll just have to be the first person you tell all your other deep, dark secrets to.” Wylan nodded quickly, leaning up to kiss Jesper again.

“That’s all I want,” Wylan agreed, cold hands cupping Jesper’s jaw. “I don’t even know what I want right now, but I know I want that.”

Chapter Text

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Kaz asked, looking up from his laptop. Inej perched on the arm of the chair next to him, peering over his shoulder, while Nina and Matthias had created a makeshift sofa out of cushions on the floor. Jesper, sitting on the sofa with Wylan’s head resting on his lap, wound a few golden curls around his fingers.

“So unlike you to offer a choice, Kaz. Are you going to ask about our well-being next?”

“No. Inej told me to ask.”

“Makes sense,” Jesper grinned, shaking his head slightly. “Good news, then.” Wylan shifted, opening his eyes.

“No. Bad news first.” Kaz simply nodded, dark eyes shifting from Jesper, to Wylan, and down to his screen.

“You are technically homeless,” he answered, and Wylan groaned, pulling a stray cushion over his face.

“The apartment was in Van Eck’s name?” Nina asked, sitting up from where she’d dropped her head onto Matthias’s shoulder. Matthias snored gently. It was well past midnight, and all four of them were due to leave after breakfast.

“The apartment, yes. Its contents, no.”

“So I have furniture but nowhere to put it?” Wylan’s voice was muffled by the cushion he was now half-hugging to his face.

“Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean ‘technically’?”

“At least someone was paying attention,” Kaz sniped, putting his laptop on the coffee table between them and turning the screen so Jesper could see it. “Strange that it was you, but we’ll make it work. Wylan is only technically homeless-”

“I’m right here.” There was a snap to Wylan’s tone that made Jesper smile. A week ago, maybe even two days ago, he was too hollow and too sad to snap at anything, let alone Kaz Brekker. It was a moment of normality in the midst of absolute madness, and Jesper craved more of it like a drug.

“You’re only technically homeless because while the apartment was in your father’s name, you have enough money to buy it from him. Or buy somewhere else. Multiple somewhere elses, if you felt that way inclined.” Pulling the cushion from his face, Wylan sat up, expression twisted into a confused frown. 

“What do you mean?”

“Am I talking in another language? Nina, dear, this is Kerch, yes?” Kaz queried, irritation lacing his words.

“Definitely Kerch, with an accent of melodrama. You’re not exactly explaining clearly, Brekker.”

“I don’t have money,” Wylan argued, shaking his head. “I only ever listened to the contract, but I know well enough that any profit I made through my platform went to my father. The money I lived on was an allowance.”

“Everything you tell us about your life is so deeply tragic, Wylan. Have you considered therapy?” Nina said, reaching into her pocket and digging out a stick of gum.

“No, I haven’t. Can we go back to my finances, I’m still lost.”

“Wait, you haven’t considered therapy once?” Jesper asked, twisting to stare at his boyfriend in consternation. Wylan blinked back at him, raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t like doctors. Kaz, the money?” Wylan looked towards Kaz quickly, letting Jesper sit with a statement that, with hindsight, should have been obvious to him. Of course, Wylan didn’t trust doctors. Of course, he wouldn’t want a professional involved, not after everything that had happened, not after they’d been weaponised against him so consistently in the past.

“You’re right that you have none of the profit from your platform, that is true. You were legally an employee of the Van Eck estate, all of your profit goes to them regardless of the legality of the rest of the contract. That being said, there is the trust your mother left you.” The room was silent for a moment, five pairs of eyes shifting to settle on Wylan, who only stared at the laptop screen in confusion.

“My mother didn’t leave me anything. All of her belongings were absorbed into my father’s estate.”

“Who told you that?” Inej asked, voice gentle enough to guide Wylan to the conclusion the rest of them were just reaching.

“I… guess my father did. I don’t really remember.”

“Your father had oversight of the trust when your mother died, but that oversight expired on your twenty-first birthday. It was released in your name, he just never told you.”

 “You should have had access to it, Wy,” Jesper murmured, watching the younger boy closely, uncertain how he was going to react. Slowly, Wylan drew in a breath, steeling himself against the blow and nodding slightly.

“How much is it?”

Kaz gestured to the laptop, and Jesper took it from the table, resting it on his lap. In front of him was a lengthy document, and it took a moment to sort through the legal jargon and necessary nonsense to find the breakdown of Marya Van Eck’s estate, and what had been left to Wylan. Quietly, he swore under his breath.

“What does it say?” Wylan asked, watching Jesper rather than the screen.

“She left you- Saints, Wy. She left you nearly fifty million kruge.”

                                                                                                                         -  

Wylan leant back against Jesper’s chest, one arm still raised in a wave, the other clasped over the hand Jesper had resting on his hip. The tiny red car that had screeched into the driveway four days ago was trundling precariously back towards the road, starting hour one of the seven-hour drive back to Ketterdam. Once the car turned out of sight, Jesper pushed away from the doorframe and leant forward, pressing kisses to Wylan’s cheek and neck and that soft spot beneath his ear that made him laugh. Wylan twisted, briefly meeting Jesper’s lips with his own, the ghost of a smile still on his face. Jesper wanted to capture the moment, to freeze time until he’d memorised every inch of it, committed it to some hidden part of his brain that wasn’t constantly in chaos.

“You should have gone with them,” Wylan whispered, smile finally fading. Jesper dropped his forehead against Wylan’s, turning the other boy gently so that he was encircled in Jesper’s arms.

“Now, why would you go and say something like that, love?”

“Nina told me your filming schedule starts in less than two weeks.” Internally cursing his friend, Jesper kissed Wylan’s nose.

“Nina doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Jesper.”

“Wylan.”

“You can’t put your life on hold for me.”

“Why not? You’re incredibly rich, I could choose to never work again.”

“If that was what you wanted, sure. But it isn’t. You love your job.”

“I love you.”

“You can love both but don’t give up one for another. Don’t stay here because you’re worried about me, I don’t… I don’t want that.” Jesper sighed, tugging Wylan inside and letting the door swing shut behind them.

“I’m not leaving you out here by yourself, Wy. Not after- no. Unless you tell me you want to be on your own, I’m staying.” Wylan watched him quietly in the dim morning light of the hallway, love and resignation and that beautifully stubborn glint all mingling in his gaze.

“Well, if you won’t go without me, and I won’t lie and say I want to be by myself, then I guess we’re going back to Ketterdam, aren’t we?” Jesper blinked once, and then blinked again.

“I- what?”

“It’s the only logical option. You have a series to film, and you can’t do that from here. If you won’t leave without me, then we’re both going.”

“But I thought- what if you’re not ready?”

“If we leave on Saturday, that gives me five days to make myself ready. And I think- I think I should go back. I can’t hide here forever.” Jesper studied Wylan’s face again, looking for any hint that this was bravado, that he was forcing himself to do something that would make him feel worse. Shaking his head, Wylan kissed him lightly.

“This is the choice I’m making, Jesper.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it is hard to argue. But if it gets to Saturday…”

“I’m a big boy, if I can’t do it, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Jesper slid his hands down Wylan’s sides, nodding in agreement.

“The deal is the deal, gorgeous,” he answered, kissing Wylan quickly and lifting him by the waist with a grin. Wylan made a small, startled, entirely adorable noise, bringing his legs around Jesper’s waist and instinctively holding his shoulders.

“What are you doing?!”

“Me?” Jesper asked, kissing a line down Wylan’s neck and listening to him laugh as he carried the smaller boy towards the stairs. “Everything I couldn’t do while Kaz and Inej were in the room next door.”

Chapter Text

“Wy? Are you up?” Jesper called as he slipped through their front door, letting the quiet of their apartment settle around him, a balm against the chaos that Ketterdam consistently rained down on him, even early in the morning.

“In the kitchen,” came a softer reply, half interrupted by Jesper kicking the door shut with his foot. It took seconds to toe his shoes off, leaving them in the middle of the corridor and knowing full well that Wylan would moan about it later, and then Jesper’s feet were sinking into the rug, carrying him along the hall and towards Wylan’s voice.

Their apartment, a two-tiered maisonette in a house on the border of the Zelver district, was cosy enough not to feel overwhelming, but bigger than Jesper’s old place, which they’d quickly realised upon returning to Ketterdam was too small for two people. The kitchen lay to the left of the entrance hall, all green tiles and marbled surfaces, and Wylan sat at the table by the window, out of bed but not yet dressed, chewing the end of a pen while he studied a newspaper.

“Sudoku?” Jesper asked, dropping his rucksack onto the counter and placing the coffees he’d carried in down with a little more care. Wylan hummed his confirmation, jotting down two numbers quickly. After checking the writing scrawled on the coffee cups, Jesper freed them from their holder, grabbed a bag of pastries from his rucksack, and dropped into the second chair.

“Oh, seven definitely goes there,” he said, tapping one of the empty boxes on the page. Wylan glanced up at him, lips curling into the beginnings of a smile.

“There’s already a seven on that row,” he answered, using the tip of his pen to point at a number a few boxes along.

“Ah, well. You must have done it wrong. Coffee?”

“Please,” Wylan agreed, tucking the pen behind his ear to reach for the paper cup. “What’s in the bag?”

“Ah! Your choices for this morning.” Jesper tore the brown paper bag open, ignoring Wylan’s groan of protest. “Drumroll, please.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Spoilsport. Right, your options are… chocolate twist, cinnamon roll, raspberry turnover, or cheese scone.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Your therapist said it would help!”

“My therapist is also ridiculous.”

“You like Genya, you’re just being grumpy. C’mon, make your choice.”

“I assume you’re not going to tell me which one you want?”

“That would defeat the point, love.” Jesper fought a smile as Wylan wrinkled his nose in frustration, hand hovering over the pastries. It was obvious that a hundred different thoughts were racing through his mind, that Wylan was battling his instinct to let Jesper make the decision, or worse, to freeze and decide it was better not to eat anything at all than make some secretly wrong choice. A month ago, maybe less, the activity could have triggered a spiral of anxiety, but this morning Wylan narrowed his eyes and only hesitated for another moment before picking the cinnamon roll from the four on the table. Giving in and grinning widely, Jesper plucked the chocolate twist from the selection, getting up to put the others in a box for later. “How are you feeling about later? Good or bad?”

“Good,” came Wylan’s answer, mumbled around a mouthful of bread and cinnamon and sugar. “Maybe bad. Neutral with a chance of panic.”

“You know you don’t have to come-”

“It’s your launch party, Jes. I’m coming.”

“It’s the series launch party, and you don’t need to force yourself to go if it’s going to stress you out,” Jesper argued, clicking the Tupperware shut and leaning a hip against the counter. Wylan twisted to look at him, stubborn and frustrated and beautiful.

“Firstly, everything stresses me out. Secondly, shut up, I’m obviously going.” Holding his hands up in surrender, one still awkwardly holding his own pastry, Jesper gave in.

“Whatever you want, love.”

“I want to eat my breakfast and then maybe finish my sudoku in bed. I haven’t decided yet.”

“You’re not working today?” Wylan shook his head, turning back to the newspaper on the table and taking another bite of his food. Knowing that the smile on his face was almost embarrassingly fond, Jesper crossed over, pressed a kiss to Wylan’s hair, and sat back down to finish his coffee. Wylan didn’t need to work, Marya Van Eck had made sure of that. In fact, Wylan could spend the rest of his life doing absolutely nothing, and probably never have to worry about money. But after three months of doing nothing when they returned to the city, three months of bad days spent hiding inside, staring at screens and barely moving, and very bad days spent in Jesper’s on-set trailer or at the Crow Club with Kaz and Inej because being alone was simply too awful to bear, Inej had pressed a business card into Jesper’s hand and suggested that maybe, just maybe, a therapist she knew could help.

And it had helped, eventually. It had taken Wylan a while to warm up to the idea, and even longer to warm up to Genya, but the difference even a few months had made was significant. Instead of lying in bed all day, Wylan found ways to occupy himself. Sometimes that was art, sometimes it was cooking, and sometimes it was his part-time work as a music tutor to kids around Ketterdam.  And more and more, the bad days were being replaced with good days. There were still bad days. Still days when getting out of bed was too much, when the crowds of Ketterdam became a threat rather than a comfort, when Jesper could only hold Wylan to his chest and wait for the boy’s breathing to even out, for the panic to subside. But they were fewer, and farther between.

“Oh! Nina said she’s going to come over at lunch to get ready with us.” Wylan startled at Jesper’s sudden interruption, dropping his pen onto the table with a clatter.

“She needs that long to get ready?”

“She wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“She wants to take the town car with us to the venue,” Wylan argued, raising an eyebrow.

“That, too. The others will meet us there.”

“Why don’t they just come here? We can fit that many people into the car.”

“Are you sure? I thought you might want… y’know, calm in the build-up to the event.”

“So you invited Nina?”

“Touché. I’ll text the others.”

-   

The room was sparkling, a thousand glittering lights reflecting from a mirror ball in the centre of the room, and everyone around him was smiling, laughing, enjoying the glow of success and the open bar the production company had paid for. Jesper stopped next to Nina, who had collected a plate of the snacks waiters had been circling with.

“Have you seen Wylan? I can’t find him anywhere,” he asked in lieu of greeting her. Nina rolled her eyes and plucked a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter, pressing it into Jesper’s hand.

“Maybe he’s hiding from you.”

“What? Why would he be- oh, you’re joking.”

“I’m half-joking. Can you just relax? He’s here, he chose to come, he’s probably drinking with Kaz in some corner where they can moan about the economy in private.”

“I am relaxed!” Jesper argued, and Nina pointedly glared at his fingers tapping restlessly on the glass she’d just handled him. “Okay, I’m mildly stressed. This is a big night for him.”

“It’s a big night for you, Jesper.”

“But he hasn’t-”

“All the Saints and my Aunt Eva, Jesper! I get why you’re worried, Wylan hasn’t been to an event like this in a long time, but he’s an adult. He’s Wylan. He’s learning to make his own choices, and this was one of them. Can you just let him be here to support you? And then, when you get home, can you consider the fact that maybe you also need to be in therapy before you drive us all mad and I throw you out of a window?”

“You think I need therapy?” Jesper asked, trying to keep the affront from his voice.

“I think you’ve spent a year being so worried about Wylan that you’ve forgotten about yourself, and this is a classic example of that. This is a party celebrating work that you’ve done, something you’ve helped to make! But all you can think about is where Wylan is, and if he’s okay, and if he’s having a good time.”

“I just- I love him, Nina, I can’t help-”

“I love him too, Jesper. He’s like a slightly depressed, sometimes terrifying little brother. You have to let go a little.” Sighing, Jesper tried to shake the tension from his shoulders, knowing that Nina was right, knowing that even Wylan had said the same thing to him a dozen times over. “Plus, he looks like he’s having a good time.” Nina added, nodding in the direction of the booths lining one side of the room. Twisting, Jesper followed her gaze.

Across the room, lit up by golden light flickering across his hair and face and the green silk shirt he’d chosen for himself, Wylan was sat at a booth with about five other people, dealing cards and laughing. Jesper recognised Kaz and Inej instantly, and the others looked vaguely familiar, but they faded into the background, all focus drawn to the smile, the joy on Wylan’s face as whatever game they were playing started to unfold.

“Saints, is he about to try and beat Kaz at cards?”

“If anyone could, it’s going to be him.”

“Terrifying,” Jesper joked, glancing at Nina, who only shrugged.

“You’ve always had a type.”

Flipping her off, Jesper began backing away, gaze only occasionally flickering to where Wylan sat. Once the drinks were flowing and his anxiety had eased, the night passed in a blur. Occasionally, a brush against his hand or a squeeze on his elbow would let him know that Wylan was nearby, but Wylan seemed content to play cards and mingle independently, and Jesper was feeling more and more comfortable letting the night play out. Eventually, hours later, the crowd had thinned significantly, and Jesper had just watched a kissing Nina and Matthias stumble out of the door.

“Do you think they’ll make it home okay?” Jesper glanced at Wylan, who had appeared next to him. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, his sleeves rolled up, his hair curling wildly about his slightly flushed face. The image of debauchery, or at least someone definitely about to be debauched.

“They’ll be fine. Nina could scare off any potential attackers in her sleep.”

“They might get arrested for indecent exposure.”

“That really seems like a them problem,” Jesper shrugged, grinning at the surprised laugh Wylan huffed out. “Did you have a good night?” He asked, taking his boyfriend’s hand and leading him towards the centre of the room. Wylan trailed, a question in his eyes but going unasked.

“I did. Did you? You didn’t worry too much?”

“I worried a reasonable amount.”

“Ah. So way too much.” Jesper pulled Wylan closer, bringing the younger boy’s arms up to loop around his neck and letting his own hands settle on Wylan’s hips.

“Depends how you define reasonable.”

“Probably as less than you would normally worry. What are we doing, Jesper?” Leaning forward, Jesper kissed Wylan’s jaw, swaying gently to the music.

“Remember when you tried to teach me to waltz?”

“Vaguely. We were drunk, I remember nearly falling over in my living room and being a pretty awful teacher.”

“Yeah? I remember it being the first time you let me hold you,” Jesper whispered, leading Wylan in an easy, fluid box step under the mirrorball. Following instinctively, Wylan’s eyes widened, glancing down at their feet.

“Jesper Fahey, did you learn how to waltz?”

“Mhmm. Anything to impress a pretty boy.”

“Oh, you’ve got game now, huh?”

“I’ve always had game!” Jesper argued, turning Wylan in an easy spin and smiling widely when he lit up in another laugh, pulling him close once again, their mouths only centimetres apart when Wylan tilted his head back to look up at him.

“Want to go home?”

“With you? Always.” Smiling, Wylan kissed Jesper quickly, tasting of wine and hope and the thousands of futures they had laid out before them. Nothing in their life was perfect, except for this. Except for everything.