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Some days, Kaz had more difficulty tolerating touch. He wouldn't explain why, stubbornly avoiding all inquiries as to what triggered the set back, preferring to brush over and ignore the problem or play it off as ups and downs, but there was more often some sort of trigger.
Though Inej sometimes struggled to admit it, Kaz's progress had been a shock even to her, and she had been a little bit jealous at the time. While she had been the first to truly touch him, at least to lock a pinky with his, Jesper had been the first to wrap his arms around his body and hold him tight.
She should have known, really, given how many weeks she spent away. Kaz deserved to grow, not to limit himself in waiting for her return, just as she chose to not wait for his growth.
“We don't have to discuss the jobs you've been on, I only felt it might do some good to communicate.”
“I understand,” Kaz murmured.
Yes, he understood. But it ended there. It was the same response she'd been getting all night.
He was still fully clothed; from a shirt crawling up his neck, to gloves covering his fingers, to socks embracing his feet. There were whispers among the crows, patterns that everyone had noticed together. It was the jobs he did for Haskell, whatever they entailed. Each time he would return a little uncharacteristically shaky, a little open and vulnerable, eerily like he would be while they were being intimate.
Perhaps that's what it was – a series of intimate rendezvous. But they were not monogamous, so there was no reason to lie.
And why suddenly detest touch, sometimes for days? If Kaz wouldn't talk, she would find out from Haskell. For now, she would keep Kaz company.
“Would you like some coffee? That seems to be a lot of paperwork to get through.”
Kaz paused for a moment, head tilted down toward the desk he sat in front of.
“Jesper says I need more sleep. Bad for business to be deprived of it.”
“I think he's right, you do your best work after some rest… no coffee then. How about a break?” She saw Kaz nod, but he made no move to stand for the bed. “I can leave if you'd–”
“No.”
She almost didn't hear it.
Kaz slowly turned in his seat, a wince straining his features that Inej was convinced stemmed from his knee. It was acting up again.
“When do you leave?” He finally asked.
It wasn't a subject she particularly wanted to discuss, but she knew she would have to before the night was over.
“Tomorrow night…” she saw Kaz's shoulders sink slightly, “I need to prepare my crew, grab the rest of the supplies. I– I may not be back to say goodbye.”
“For how long?”
“Sailing toward Ravka... and then passed it. We'll be trying to explore beyond the known world.”
“They say it's empty, Inej.”
“And what if it isn't?”
Kaz lowered his head in acceptance. She should have told him sooner. A trip beyond even Ravka, to explore the unknown, could take months. Perhaps longer. But a part of her had hoped something would get in the way… speaking it out loud to Kaz only felt like it was confirmed. There were no more plans for Ketterdam after this.
“I'm sorry, ‘nej, that I had to be…” he hesitated, hands tensing into fists on his lap, “this… on your last day. I don't want this to be how you remember me.”
“Every way I remember you, Kaz, holds value to me. There is no memory I do not cherish.”
Every single one, she wanted to emphasize. Everything that made him who he was, the bad and the good. Even when they disagreed, or frustrated each other, or felt disappointed, the love remained, because no average human hurdle could ever make her question what she felt, and she knew Kaz felt the same. There was often the problem, however, stubbornly nestled between expressions of love and Kaz, of having him believe that the words were true. But for once, the problem didn't loom its disruptive face. Perhaps it was her impending departure, but Kaz didn't object to her words.
Instead, he stood, taking a few hesitant steps toward her. His limp, even while steadying himself with his cane, seemed worse. He was exhausted, so much more clearly now that he was facing her, and his body was stiff as if he was sore.
“Don't move,” he murmured, “Just let me…”
“Of course.”
She kept her hands at her sides, locked against her hips. He didn't want to be touched, she reminded herself, no matter how close he got.
Even if he touched her.
Inches away he paused, but he was close enough that their combined breaths warmed the space between them. Sometimes, she had bad days too, and she prayed to her Saints that this day wouldn't be one of them. Not when it could be the last time she'd be with Kaz for months. The last time she'd smell the expensive suits on his skin, or the peppery scent she often found in his hair. The last time she'd see the dark freckles in his irises, or the spikes surrounding his pupils that grew in size every time he looked at her. The last time she'd hear the deep rasp in his voice, the way it softened sometimes just for her. The last time she'd feel–
Kaz's lips grazed against hers, the feeling dispersed and interrupted as if he was fighting with himself just to feel her. Quick and soft and gentle, so starkly in contrast to his rough and beaten exterior. She wished there could be more, but a chaste kiss was enough. Even something so simple and so short would carry her for whatever time she was gone.
He wobbled on his feet and she resisted the urge to hold him. She would catch him if he fell, but not before that. He was trusting her to give him space, trusting her to allow him to take the initiative, and he was trying his best to let go. To be vulnerable.
Saints, she would miss him.