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Not a soul enjoys being sick, especially in The Barrel. First of all, you’re in The Barrel, which isn’t exactly the ideal place to be ill due to its dangerous nature. Secondly, being sick in The Barrel is a complete and total death wish. You’re sick, weak, and stuck in bed? A perfect opportunity for someone to break in and kill you. (Or to rob you of all of your belongings.) Anyways, after a recent, particularly risky heist, you fell achingly ill and are currently bedridden, just your luck. As a result of your high fever, you’re currently deemed useless to Kaz, stuck in your dingy room in the Slat.
It felt as if it came out of nowhere, but disease tends to spread like wildfire in Ketterdam. In numerous instances, diseases and plagues had cleared streets out completely, barely any bodies given the decency of a proper burial. It was a terrible sickness you had only heard rumors of, but thankfully, your situation wasn’t as dire.
Despite that, for the past few days, you’ve been practically rotting in bed, physically and mentally. Physically, you’ve been absolutely hacking your lungs out for days, sneezing just about every five minutes, and at this instant have the stuffiest nose you’ve had in your entire life. On the other hand, you’re mentally drained. You’re in a fatigued, sluggish, and miserably irritable state; you almost wish you had perished from your illness. Anything would be better than being stuck in your room while the rest of the Dregs take up jobs and get Kruge. As lonely as you are, you’d hate for anyone to accompany you in this moment.
You gazed around the quaint room you got to call yours. It was practically a barren wasteland; the wooden floors beneath you were old and grimy, the walls bare, the only exception being the small window above your bed, set in the corner. The window was partially covered by a sorry excuse for drapery; they were easy to see through and terribly frayed. Your bed wasn’t much better. Every minuscule movement caused it to creak and moan as if it were seconds away from giving out under you. The only reliable pieces of furniture in your cramped space were the nightstand beside your bed and the tiny closet that held your sparse belongings.
Over the past couple of days, very few have come to check on you because in times like these, you would much prefer to be by yourself. The only person who dared enter your space during your sickness was a certain Zemeni boy, but he never got the chance to stay for long before being dragged out by Inej or Kaz. Due to your exhaustion, words were quite hard to come up with, so it was much easier to simply not talk to anyone at all.
Just as you were reminiscing about how grateful you were that nobody was here to bother you, the door of your tiny room in the Slat swung open with a sharp creak. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.
It was Jesper, the only person who’d continuously attempted to check on you over the past few days. As much as you had a soft spot for his company, he was the last person you wanted to see during your fever. Normally, you didn’t mind his over-the-top volume or his flirtatious personality towards anything that breathed, but this was not ‘normally.’
Jesper strode in, halting at the edge of the bed. “Look at that,” he said, a flashy grin already on his lips, “I thought I’d find you here.” It was a dense statement, really. However, if you hadn’t been sick, it probably would’ve been quite funny.
He tilted his head, setting his hat on the nightstand as he spoke, “If it weren’t for all your coughing, I would have thought you were dead, love.”
You had lifted your head at the source of the noise, immediately letting it flop back onto the pillow once you saw him. “Yes, Jesper, where else would I be?” You groaned, clear irritation in your voice.
Most days, the two of you got along, but at the moment, Jesper was a horrid nuisance. After letting out an egregious stream of coughs, you turned onto your side to face him, “What do you want, Jes?” You muttered, wiping snot from your nose with your sleeve.
Jesper raised a brow, “To check on you,” He shrugged, letting out a snort of amusement, “Why else would I be here?” Technically, that was a fair question, but saints, every word that left his pretty mouth made you feel increasingly more ill by the second.
“To annoy me, obviously,” You rolled over, totally shoving your head into your pillow. Barely a second after, you regretted it, as due to your sickness, you could hardly breathe. “Go away,” you managed to sputter out into your pillow before breaking into a hissing fit of brutal, violent coughs.
Once the coughing dulled down, Jesper spoke up, “I assume you don’t want my company then?” Without even looking, you could almost perfectly identify the lippy smirk on his face. You could quite literally envision it.
You were growing gradually more annoyed with him, “I really don’t,” you muttered in a strained, congested tone, sick of his company, “Out. Now.” Complex words were hard to conjure when you felt so fatigued, so, without looking up, you sharply pointed a finger towards the door. “Out, Jesper,” you said, hacking out a fit of coughs directly afterwards. Promptly after your long coughing fit, you conceded, “Fine, stay.”
Too weak, sweaty, and sick to think clearly, you gave in. Rolling over to lie flat on your back, you looked up at him, eyeing the hardly restrained grin on his lips. It was an incredibly aggravating sight; however, you couldn’t keep denying support.
Jesper crouched down, his long legs bumping against the bed as he entered some sort of pseudo-doctor persona; at least he was attempting to take this seriously, and that was something you could appreciate.
You watched as Jesper cracked his knuckles as if this were a particularly arduous task, which automatically made you somewhat rethink how seriously he was taking this. Making a nearly dramatic effort to move any stray hair out of the way, he placed a hand on your forehead, which, due to your illness, was drenched in sweat.
“Yup, it’s just as I suspected,” he nodded, struggling to take this seriously, “I can confirm, you’re sick.” Jesper removed his hand from your sweaty forehead, opting to pat your slightly less sweaty cheek.
As irritated as you were, Jesper’s comment still pulled a laugh out of you. He had a clear knack for being able to make people laugh, no matter how upset they were. Saints, he’s even gotten an amused look from Kaz, on extremely rare occasions, but either way, it totally counts.
As he patted your cheek, you turned your head away from him, weakly attempting to conceal the charmed smile that had formed on your lips, “Really?” You questioned satirically, “Who would’ve guessed?”
For a moment, the two of you got to simply exist. There was no heist, no fighting, no near-death experiences, just two friends, spending time together. It was a moment of quiet, strong stability between two people. Seemingly noticing the change in atmosphere, Jesper’s usual restless behavior dulled; his typical rowdiness and inability to stay still seemed to halt in the moment.
As quickly as the quiet moment began, however, it ended. As shameless a flirt as Jesper was, the tension in the room, the possible unresolved feelings he held, overwhelmed him.
Once again, he began fidgeting, his hands lingering on his shiny pearl-handled revolvers. Jesper fiddled with his fingers, impulsively moving his hands to your bed to adjust the pillows and blankets around you. A self-conscious, awkward noise came from his throat as he tugged the worn-out, faded quilt tighter around your shoulders, “Just,” he stuttered, “Just making sure you’re comfortable. Are you- are you comfortable?”
This was completely out of character for Jesper, and it didn’t take a genius to see it. On a normal day, he was as witty and cocky as a flaunting peacock, but right now, he was almost completely silent. He was so silent that it was borderline worrying; it was as if he was caught in some sort of stupor. Just as you were about to ask if he was okay, a cough came from your throat, suddenly snapping him out of his daze, causing him to yank his rough hands away from the quilt. Then suddenly, you couldn’t seem to get a word out due to his rambling.
“You,” He fumbled to grasp his words, “What do you need?” Oddly, Jesper appeared to be almost out of breath. Shortly after, just as you were about to respond, he cut you off. “Tea,” He said as he squinted, raising his dark brows as he contemplated what to do, or perhaps, how to remove himself from the situation; he stood up, “I’ll bring tea. Tea and soup.” Jesper turned sharply, pointing a thin finger in your general direction, “I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere,” he said with an amused grin on his lips as he sauntered out of the room.
“Right, as if I could,” you thought. But his joke only distracted you for a moment as your mind went straight back to his odd behavior from earlier. Jesper wasn’t exactly the type to stutter or fumble on his words; rather, he was an obnoxiously confident man who placed unlikely, dangerous gambles, so why was he being so cautious? The only other times you’ve seen his confidence falter were when he struggled with his identity as a Grisha and when he was confronted about his gambling problems.
This instance felt different, however. The two of you had shared a quiet moment with no stress of identity and no unwanted confrontation; you didn’t think so, at least. It really made you question what he was truly thinking, behind his practiced mask of hubris and teasing.
Jesper wanted to crawl out of his skin; he was many things, and a smooth-talker happened to be one of them, so why was he like this? He couldn’t even count the number of times he’d flirted with different men and women, so why had he felt so weird?
Was it because no matter how exhausted they were, they still tolerated him? Or maybe because of how they laughed at his terrible jokes? Or was it how they looked at him when he was being particularly obnoxious? A terrifying, intimidating thought entered his brain: “What if he liked everything about them?” The idea was absolutely spine-chilling, and it was something Jesper did not want to confront whatsoever. In fact, he didn’t plan to. He planned to act the same as he always did: witty, cocky, and horribly loud.
“Yes, of course,” Jesper thought, “I’ll act normal because nothing is wrong.” As Jesper pondered on his genius, he began his short journey to the common room of the Slat to scavenge whatever tea or soup he could find. He descended the creaky, narrow stairs, already contemplating how he could get decent soup and tea for them. Successfully, he navigated the ugly, crooked building, entering the common room. This was the only time of day the Slat was quiet, in the slow hours of the afternoon, a perfect time for him to find a warm meal.
Jesper entered the kitchen, combing the room for dinnerware, tea bags, broth, chicken, and vegetables. Good food was difficult to come by in the Barrel, so he’d have to make do with what he could find.
Although he had to commend Kaz for fixing the place up. As far as Jesper knew, it was a total wreck in the past. At least he could find some drinkable tea around here. As he gathered up his materials, he realized one problem: he wasn’t exactly skilled at cooking. Jesper sighed, drumming his fingers on the unkempt countertop. How was he going to pull this off? He reached up, messing with his curls as he contemplated how exactly he could do this.
Stuck in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the shadow coming up from a few feet behind him. It was a small, silent, and graceful shadow that approached from the dark corner of the Slat. Jesper sighed, rubbing his face, as he contemplated the feelings that had gotten him into this situation.
“Jesper.”
He let out a short yelp, immediately whirling around to face the shadow. It was the Wraith, better known to him as Inej. He looked down at her, taking in her long, dark hair and even darker eyes, his long fingers moving to mess with the revolvers on his hips. “I didn’t see you there,” he said with full conviction, but they both knew Jesper not seeing her coming wasn’t a rare occurrence at all.
Inej looked behind him, her attention focused on the wreck of materials on the countertop. “Do you need help?” She asked; it was a blunt question, yet it sounded softer when it came from her.
Jesper didn’t exactly want to give in to help, but he truly had no other option, so he nodded, turning back to the worn-out countertop.
Inej got to work at helping him, occasionally making idle small talk while the two of them prepared the soup and tea. There was a look in Inej’s gentle expression that told him she knew exactly who this was for, and he was going to ignore that look for as long as possible.
Once they finished preparing the small meal, Inej finally exposed his vulnerability, “I know who this is for, Jes.”
Jesper let out a short laugh, glancing off to the side, “Yeah, it’s for me.” Following his statement, a loud coughing fit came from the upper floor of the Slat; the way it alerted Jesper told Inej everything she needed to know. “Okay,” he conceded, “Yeah, it’s for them.” Jesper smirked, “I guess I can’t help but be charming and helpful to those in need.”
Inej laughed softly, turning to head back into the shadows, “You can be honest with yourself, Jesper,” she said, “I believe it will benefit both of you.”
After she spoke, she disappeared into the silence of the Slat, leaving a stunned, alone Jesper in the dingy kitchen with a newfound sense of determination.
You were still lying in your bed by the time you heard him approaching. Still, you were drowsy, sick, and terribly weak by the time the door of your room creaked open. No doubt, it was Jesper. In his hands was a small bowl of soup and a cup of steaming tea.
“Did I keep you waiting?” He said, a charismatic smirk materializing on his lips. However, his grin seemed to soften once his eyes settled on you.
“I’m fine, Jesper,” you said, but the raspy, nasally tone in your voice proved otherwise.
Jesper rolled his eyes: he crossed the cramped room, placing the soup and tea on the nightstand beside your bed. He perched on the edge of your bed, turning to look down at you. “Alright,” he muttered, “Let's get you to sit up.”
You nodded, allowing him to grasp your shoulder and back to help you up. His hands felt warm on your body; It was a caring, gentle sensation that brought a comfortable, affectionate smile to your lips and a subtle flush to your face, one that definitely wasn’t a result of your fever. You were weary, but the intimate gesture still gave way to a borderline longing feeling in your heart. The act appeared to affect both of you, but it wasn’t something either of you were exactly gunning to confess to.
“Easy there,” he said, casting a sly, knowing glance your way, “You’re still quite under the weather, I can see that.”
He gripped the heated bowl, gently planting it in his lap. “Alright, let’s get some food in you,” he said, grinning down at you.
As much as you wanted to insist you could handle this yourself, deep down, you knew things would be easier with his help. Besides, perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to be pampered by The Jesper Fahey.
You turned just enough to face him, “Fine, help me out, since you insist,” you said, a surrendered grin growing on your lips.
Though you didn’t believe it to be possible, Jesper's smile grew tenfold. “I’m glad you’re accepting my help, love,” he teased, stirring the steaming soup in his lap.
Love. You had heard him address many others with the same title before, yet you couldn’t help but wish that it meant more when directed at you. With the way he was looking at you, you began to believe that it did. The philanthropic manner in which he looked at you, behind his regular wit and charm, seemed to be distinct proof of such.
Despite the warmth his teasing had brought to your cheeks (and urge to pull back and lecture him), you held your ground, allowing Jesper Fahey to feed you the warm soup he had prepared.
Once again, it was another quiet, vulnerable moment the two of you shared. Two moments of peace in a singular day? That was rare in Ketterdam, and though you didn’t want to admit it, you craved more of it, desperately. It was a simple process; Jesper would gather a portion of broth on the spoon, lightly blow on it, and hold it to your mouth. In turn, you would open your mouth to take his generous offering.
Vulnerability is what gets most people killed in this city, but whatever saints may be above, they allowed the two of you to partake in a moment of it. As Jesper held the spoon up to your lips, his gaze focused downwards on them, a tender look arising in his almond-shaped eyes. Every once in a while, a sniffle or cough would escape you, a reminder of your current sickness. You noticed the downturned smile on his lips as he slowly placed the spoon back into the half-empty bowl.
“What?” You said, an eye-crinkling grin beginning to show up on your own face, “Jesper Fahey, what are you planning?”
For a few seconds, you thought he seemed to be weighing his options. However, he either made up his mind extremely quickly or he wasn’t actually contemplating anything before he wrapped a lean arm around your shoulder, pulling you snug against him. He hastily moved the soup bowl back onto your nightstand, refusing to detach from you for even a moment. “Trust me,” he said, settling beside you in the bed, “It’ll make you feel better. If you’re okay with it, of course.”
He furrowed his brows, a questioning, sparkling expression on his face. The look in his eyes was pleading for you to say yes. You couldn’t help but nod; perhaps his company wouldn’t be so bad during your fever.
“Yeah, fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you shifted to lean against his side. Looking up at him, you watched as Jesper's cloudy grey eyes lit up.
He lay down in your creaky, narrow bed, pulling you down to rest comfortably beside him. “Perfect,” he murmured against the top of your head, “You comfortable?” He didn’t exactly seem to mind any possible repercussions that could arise from being around a sick person, especially one who very well may be contagious.
Of course, you decided to bring it up; he was the type of person who would forget an important detail like that. “You know that I’m sick, right?” You couldn’t resist the smile appearing on your lips, your eyes crinkling, “You don’t have to do this,” you said. Although deep down, you’d rather he not decide to pull away.
He looked down at you, his free hand moving to tilt your head to face him. His hand was rough and worn, yet it still carried an amount of warmth that instinctively led you to lean into him. “I don't mind,” he said, “In fact, I’d say that it’s pretty worth it.”
He was so confident, so sure of himself; you couldn’t help but admire it. A short laugh escaped you as you spoke, your tone nasally, a reminder of your illness, “You won’t be saying that in a few days, Jes. I swear, you’ll end up regretting it, but I suppose it’s your life.”
“You bet it’s my life,” he retorted,” besides, I don’t regret things.” His arm was now snug against your shoulder as he used his other hand to tug the tattered blankets tightly around the two of you. Once properly settled, his hand pushed up your sleeve, and he began to gently rub your bare arm. “Now go to bed, you’ll lose your voice entirely if you keep talking, and I don’t want to see that happen.”
You were about to argue, but the constant coughing had already left a raspiness to your voice, so begrudgingly, you complied. “If you insist,” you conceded, seemingly exhausted, yet you still couldn’t rid yourself of the grin on your face.
On a normal day, Jesper would likely have teased you relentlessly. Today, however, he just softly planted his head on top of yours, letting his grey eyes shut. The placid heat of his body against yours pushed you to do the same, your own eyes fluttering closed.
The soup and tea grew frigid on the nightstand beside you, but their importance paled in comparison to the tranquil moment you and Jesper were sharing.
You weren’t exactly sure how Jesper and your relationship would evolve in the future; he was a gambler who took too many chances on too many bad bets, but even in your sick, half-delirious state, you could feel the soft press of his lips on the crown of your head.
It told you all you needed to know.