Work Text:
kaz brekker does not believe in softness.
this is a well-known fact—etched into the crooked lines of his cane, whispered in the shadows of ketterdam, carved into every deal struck under dim lantern light. softness gets you killed. softness is weakness. softness is—
nikolai laughs.
it’s sudden, bright, completely out of place in the stale air of the slat. kaz doesn’t look up from the ledger in front of him.
“you’re ignoring me,” nikolai says, in a mock-sad tone
“i’m working,” kaz replies.
“same thing.”
kaz pauses. just for a fraction of a second. ink pools at the tip of his pen, threatening to blot.
nikolai leans against the desk like he owns it. like he owns *everything*. there’s a bruise blooming along his jaw—purple, ugly, recent. kaz noticed it the moment he walked in.
kaz notices everything.
“who did it?” kaz asks, voice flat.
nikolai snorts. “jealous ex lover. tragic, really.”
kaz rolled his eyes. “name.”
nikolai tilts his head, amused. “why? going to send the wraith after them?”
kaz doesn’t answer.
because no, he would go after them himself.
nikolai studies him for a moment—really studies him—and something in his expression shifts. softer. quieter.
“it’s nothing,” he says, more gently now. “you should see the other guy.”
kaz finally looks up.
their eyes meet. blue as the ocean and dark as the night sky. storm and something softer.
kaz hates that he notices the way nikolai’s smile falters just slightly. hates that he catalogues the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s favoring one side.
“sit,” kaz says.
nikolai blinks. “is that an order?”
“sit,” kaz repeats more firmly
nikolai obeys.
it’s strange—how easily he does it. like he’s choosing this. choosing kaz.
kaz doesn’t like thinking about that either.
kaz moves around the desk, each step measured, controlled. the familiar tap of his cane fills the silence. nikolai watches him the whole time, something unreadable in his gaze.
kaz stops in front of him.
up close, the bruise looks worse, with slightly noticeable scrapes.
kaz reaches into his coat, pulling out a small vial. antiseptic. standard. necessary.
he hesitates.
just for a moment.
because this—this is softness.
this is dangerous.
nikolai doesn’t move. doesn’t joke. doesn’t push.
just waits.
kaz exhales slowly.
“this will sting,” he says.
nikolai smiles, faint. “i trust you.”
the words land heavier than they should.
kaz presses the thin cloth to nikolai’s jaw.
nikolai flinches—just a little—but doesn’t pull away.
he shifts closer.
their proximity is… unnecessary.
but they don't comment on it
kaz can feel the warmth of him. the steady rhythm of his breathing. the faint twitches under kaz’s fingers.
“you’re always so gentle with me,” nikolai says softly
kaz stills.
“i dont know what your talking about.” he murmur's.
“oh, but i think you do.” nikolai says with a light smile
a pause.
“don't think to much of it,” kaz says.
nikolai’s smile widens.
“i will think as much of it as i want, thank you very much.” he says not unkindly
kaz finishes cleaning the wound, movements precise. efficient. careful.
gentle.
when he pulls back, the space between them feels… wrong.
empty.
“thank you,” nikolai repeats, quietly.
kaz nods once. turns away. returns to his desk.
distance restored.
control regained.
or so he tells himself.
nikolai doesn’t leave right away. he lingers, watching, like he’s trying to memorize something.
kaz pretends not to notice.
eventually, nikolai stands.
“try not to miss me too much,” he says lightly.
kaz doesn’t look up.
“impossible.” he say sarcastically
nikolai laughs again—soft, fond, dangerous.
“take care, kaz.”
the door closes behind him.
silence settles.
kaz stares at the ledger in front of him.
the numbers blur.
his hand, still faintly warm from where it touched nikolai’s skin, tightens into a fist.
softness gets you killed.
kaz knows this.
he’s built his entire life around it.
and yet—
he reaches into his coat, fingers brushing against the now-empty vial.
and for a moment,
just a moment,
kaz brekker allows himself to wonder
what it might be like
to be something other than unbreakable.