Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was stupid, Wylan knew. Completely and utterly stupid. 

But he had come here anyway, despite his better judgement. And it would be a sweltering hot day in Fjerda before he backed out now. 

Nervously, he lifted his gaze from the depths of his pitcher of beer and let his eyes drift around the tiny, cramped venue. It was early in the afternoon, though already a few patrons had gathered in the dank corners or positioned themselves on rickety stools near the bar. Low, soft murmurs had become the background drone, as intangible as silence. In a way, it was oddly comforting. Wylan had the impression this was the sort of place frequented almost exclusively by the same regulars. 

The lone bartender - a silver-haired, stocky fellow with a tangled beard and faded tattoos on both his wrinkled arms - wiped the counter with a suspiciously dirty dishcloth and narrowed his eyes at Wylan when he caught him staring. Wylan hastily returned his attention to his own small table and clenched his sweaty fingers around the cold glass. This was not the sort of venue that he normally found himself in…not that he had much experience with Ketterdam’s drinking establishments to begin with. But Wylan had chosen it because it was perfect for his current purpose: a dark, hole-in-the-wall place just below The Lid that was never going to make its way onto a tourist map or a list of the city’s up-and-coming hotspots. The last place to be sought out by high-powered businessmen, society women, or fresh-faced university students. Namely, anybody that was likely to know or recognise him. 

That was the last thing he needed, to have to explain himself to one of his father’s colleagues or any of their snarky children, the peers he knew from the annual charity galas and country club meetings. He could just hear their sneers and jibes now. Look, everyone, Wylie here actually fancies himself on a DATE!!

He swallowed a mouthful of drink, trying not to wince as the bitter, frothy liquid made its way down his throat. Really, it was their fault to begin with anyway. Thaddeus Radmakker and Pascal Hoede, and their idiotic bragging two weeks ago at the Young Entrepreneurs Luncheon he had been forced to attend. 

“I’m telling you, the girls on here are wild,” he’d caught Pascal saying in a hushed tone, pushing his mobile phone towards Thaddeus. “I had this Kaelish girl last night…tits like you wouldn’t believe. ”

He’d made a vulgar gesture with his hands, and Wylan had wanted to gag. 

Thaddeus scoffed. “I don’t need a dating app to pull girls.” 

“No, but it’s something about the anonymity of it. Makes them go crazy,” Pascal tapped something on his phone again. “Look, all you get to see is their first name and a single sentence about themselves. No pictures, no conversation allowed until you meet them in person. You can be anybody on here if you want, and they’re none the wiser.” 

It was this more than anything that peaked Wylan’s interest. That stirred the all-too-familiar ache of loneliness that was ever-present within his gut. He could be anybody…which meant he might be somebody worth being with.

“Hoede,” Thaddeus said derisively, “you are not a beer pong expert and booty wizard.” 

Wylan had snorted at that, which unfortunately had caught their attention, putting an end to his eavesdropping. 

“Something funny, Wylie?” Thaddeus snapped at him. “Didn’t realise this was a public conversation.” 

Wylan had turned and hurried away with all the ease of years of instinctual defence. 

“Retard,” he heard Pascal spit in his wake. 

He hadn’t forgotten, though, and in the coming evenings he used what little down time he had to do some research. The app, he discovered, was called Kindling, and had been invented by some young tech prodigy at the University of Ketterdam. The intention was to encourage blind dating, for the two people to meet up knowing as little about each other as possible. To rediscover the art of conversation and to put aside all pre-conceived ideals that could distract from intimacy in the hopes of finding the perfect partner. 

It also had a speech-to-text function, which was the last push of encouragement Wylan needed. 

To sign up, hopeful singles had to fill out a rather lengthy questionnaire. The information would be stored privately, but would be used to match them with the most compatible prospective dates. If both parties then agreed, they could use the app to organise a meet-up, but would not be allowed to communicate with each other beforehand. 

Wylan filled out his questionnaire somewhat truthfully (Age: Twenty-one, Sexual Preference: Men, Looking For: Committed relationships), though a few things were embellished (When I’m with my friends, I like to: Have a deep conversation - as opposed to ‘What friends?’). It was difficult being so candid, but he was buoyed by the fact that nobody would ever see his answers. And maybe if he could get someone nice who also enjoyed music and solving difficult equations to meet up with him, he stood a chance of making an actual connection with another human being, before they realised what a pathetic loner he really was. 

It had been a mistake, though, Wylan thought as he chanced another sweep of his eyes around the bar. He had been sitting here for nearly three-quarters of an hour now, and his so-called top match was yet to make an entrance. Maybe he had taken one look at Wylan and already made a run for it. That was a best-case scenario. Worst case, this Jesper was actually a creepy old man or a serial killer. 

He picked up his phone, showing the pin on the map where they had designated to meet as well as the date and time, and then clicked back onto Jesper’s profile. He couldn’t read it, but he had memorised what it said when his phone read it out to him. 

I’m 6’3” and will put you on my shoulders at concerts and swimming pools. 

It had made him laugh. That was a good sign, he supposed.

He decided he would give it another ten minutes of sipping his disgusting drink and keeping an eye out for a tall man who looked a bit lost, before he would eventually give up and admit that this had been a total bust. At least he could say he tried. If he ended up alone and miserable for the rest of his life, it wouldn’t be because he hadn’t done anything to avoid it. 

He was just about to cut his losses, when the sound of the door swinging open interjected his thoughts. Wylan looked up instinctively, and then nearly fell out of his seat. Because damn. Oh, damn…

The man in the doorway was indeed tall, with a presence that commanded the attention of almost everyone in the room. He was about Wylan’s age, with skin the colour of coffee, built like a beanpole but lithe and delicately muscular in the best way. He filled out his clothes perfectly - a pair of dark denim jeans and a patterned shirt that had been left unbuttoned just below a jutting collarbone. A navy pinstriped coat with a thick collar and brass buttons clashed loudly with the rest of his outfit, but the mismatched patterns seemed to suit him in a way that Wylan doubted anyone else could pull off. 

This couldn’t be his date, he thought to himself, even as the man clocked him from across the room and came towards him in long, deliberate strides. It couldn’t be, because if it was he was completely done for. 

“Wylan?” the man asked when he stopped in front of his table, one dark eyebrow lifted slightly. He had a Kerch accent, his voice smooth and thick like molasses, but with a slight playful lilt to it which hinted at something else delectable. 

With a jolt, Wylan realised he’d been sitting and staring at him awkwardly, rendered completely speechless. 

“Oh! Yes!” he jumped to his feet, his voice sounding naturally high-pitched. “Hi. And, um, you’re…Jesper?” 

He held out a hand to shake, and Jesper stared at it in surprise before letting out a bemused chuckle. He clasped it briefly before pulling out a chair. 

Great. This was off to a flying start. 

Wylan returned to his seat, almost toppling his half-finished glass in the process, saving it from spilling all over the table between them just in the nick of time. He caught Jesper smiling at him. It wasn’t a cruel smile, per se, but it wasn’t completely void of amusement either. He felt himself turning red. 

“Well,” Jesper said, after a few seconds of painful silence, “this is awkward, isn’t it?” 

Wylan, who was halfway through sipping his larger, made an involuntary choking sound. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he answered lamely. 

Jesper had these cheekbones, Wylan observed, that were sculpted and angular and just absolutely implausible, as far as he was concerned. Despite the Kerch accent, he had the distinctive Zemeni look about him, with coils of short black hair that flopped over his forehead and full lips that were plump and inviting. His eyes, however, were almond shaped and grey as the mist over the harbour on a winter’s morning. When they were focused on him, he couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze. 

“Interesting choice of venue,” he heard Jesper say, and was relieved when his attentions turned to taking in their surroundings. 

A couple of older, rough-looking men - who had been sitting at the bar for Ghezen knew how long - had been watching them suspiciously since Jesper first walked in, and now hastily turned away. 

“Yes, well,” Wylan sniggered, “this isn’t the sort of place I’d normally come to.” 

“But you chose it,” Jesper said in confusion. 

Wylan chewed on his lower lip. “I didn’t want to run into anyone I know,” he said softly. 

Jesper rose both eyebrows at that, and Wylan instantly knew he had said something wrong. 

“I see.” 

Wylan toyed with a spare drink coaster, searching for something to say. He wasn’t a natural conversationalist at the best of times, and the cavalier air with which Jesper carried himself was making him more aware of how fucking awkward he was in social settings than usual. 

“What are you drinking?” Jesper eventually asked. 

“I don’t know,” said Wylan, holding up the glass. “It tastes awful though. Like some sort of home-brew, piss-poor Barrel garbage.” 

It had been an attempt at humour, a chance to lighten the situation a little, but unfortunately Jesper wasn’t laughing. 

“Home-brew, piss-poor Barrel garbage,” Jesper repeated. He sounded offended, but Wylan had no idea why he would be. Unless he was the brewer and Wylan was just too dumb to realise it. 

“I normally like to drink Ravkan wine,” he explained, “or rice wine from Shu Han. But they didn’t have any here.” 

Jesper snorted. “You won't find any of that below The Lid.” 

“I don’t…” he trailed away, finding he was slightly irritated. He had the impression he was pissing Jesper off, but for the life of him he couldn’t see what he'd possibly done in such a short space of time. If anything, he should be the one who was pissed. Yes, Jesper was the hottest man he’d ever seen, but that didn’t give him the right to act so rude. He’d shown up almost an hour late, for one thing, with no explanation or apology. And all he’d done so far was behave haughtily at worst and bored at best. 

Things had derailed before they even had a chance to begin. 

He sighed, preparing to give it another go. “What would you like to drink?” 

Jesper leaned back casually in his seat, his coat wide open to reveal the expanse of a firm chest. Wylan caught a glint of something silver strapped to his belt. Oh Ghezen, was that…a gun?!

“They’re empty, in case you were wondering,” he said, when he saw where Wylan was looking. “Family heirloom. I was just getting them appraised before I came here…” 

He seemed to wince when he said that, as though it hurt him. 

“Oh,” Wylan said nervously. “Okay, then. The old concealed-carry laws are archaic.” 

Jesper scowled. “Are they...” 

“Nobody actually needs to walk around with weapons anymore,” he laughed. “That’s what the Stadwatch is for.” 

To his annoyance, Jesper rolled his eyes, not even bothering to hide it. 

“What was that for?” he scoffed. 

Jesper opened his mouth, as though he wanted to say something, but seemed to think better of it.

“Nothing,” he said instead. “And if you’re offering, I’ll have a whisky neat. Firebrand.” 

Wylan nodded and scrambled towards the bar. He didn’t really like whisky too much, but he couldn’t read the drinks menu, and he didn’t want to risk just pointing at something and hoping for the best like he had last time. He ordered two of the Firebrand, which turned out to be a Kaelish label from the top shelf, and cost Wylan a pretty penny. He had a sizeable allowance from his father, but his spending habits were regularly checked, and he cringed at the thought of having to explain why his accounts had been charged such an extravagant sum from a dive in the middle of nowhere. 

“How old are you?” Jesper asked, when he returned to their table. 

Wylan blinked at the unexpected question. “I’ll be twenty-two in a few months.” 

“You look younger,” said Jesper, causing Wylan to blush violently. “What were you doing on a dating app, anyway?”

“The same thing as you, I suspect.” 

Jesper laughed. “Losing a bet?” 

“What?” 

“Lost a bet with a friend of mine,” he explained. “Told me I couldn’t go a week without folding my hand at cards. If I lost, said she’d make me a profile and force me to give this blind dating thing a try.” 

So he’d never meant to take this seriously at all. It was all a game to him. Wylan felt foolish. 

“Small world if we were both here because of nosy friends who believed that everybody would be better off being monogamous.” 

Oh fuck, Wylan thought, as Jesper grinned at him. Now he was dangerously close to getting upset. Wylie the crybaby…the old taunt was still fresh in his head. It was stupid, stupid. 

“We can’t all be hedonists,” he said bitterly. 

Jesper’s grin vanished. “No. Just the piss-poor Barrel garbage, I suppose.” 

Piss-poor Barrel garbage? What the hell was he on about with that? Wylan felt a sharp sting in the corner of an eye. 

Of course this was ridiculous. Of course, somebody who looked like that wouldn’t be waiting around on dating apps for the likes of him, or anyone else. This had been far worse than Wylan could have imagined. And, apparently, this was the best he could do. The person most likely to fit with him, according to an algorithm, and he couldn’t even manage to make himself come across as passably likeable. 

“I think I’m going to go,” he muttered, pushing the untouched whisky across the table. He stood up abruptly. 

Jesper studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Yes, alright then. Although it means I’ve just lost another bet.” 

He added the last part wryly, almost despondently, but Wylan had little interest in finding out what he meant. He left as hastily as he could, rubbing away the first tear that threatened to escape as he did. 

The only consolation was that he would never have to see Jesper again. 

Chapter Text

SIX MONTHS LATER....

It was early, but Wylan was wide awake.

Hadn’t been able to sleep, was more like it. Not for a few days now. He’d been lying flat on his back in the middle of the bed, watching the ceiling above him lighten to a grey then faint golden hue. Too tired to do much of anything. Too listless to calm his mind. And so he had settled for doing nothing instead, observing the hours pass by with little concern for how they were spent.

A faint knocking on his bedroom door barely roused his interest.

“Wylan,” a timid voice said, “are you awake yet?”

The door creaked open, and Wylan sat up in time to see Alys poke her head around the corner. She’d been crying again, he noticed immediately, the skin around her pale eyes all blotchy and red.

“Hey, Alys,” he said, attempting a small smile.

His stepmother padded across the room and perched at the edge of his bed. She wasn’t that much older than him (he didn’t know for sure, but if he had to guess he’d say she was barely past thirty), though in the past week she had seemed to age a lifetime.

“I was wondering if you felt hungry,” she said, “Julissa made eggs…”

“Not really, but thank you,” he said kindly. In truth he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything substantial, but that was normal, Alys had assured him. The same thing happened to her when her grandmother died.

“Okay,” Alys sighed, her face sympathetic. She patted his knee beneath the blankets. “But do try and eat something later. It’s going to be a big day.”

Wylan didn’t need reminding. He had been dreading it since all of this had first happened, or since he had first started to get his head around it at least.

“Okay,” he assured her, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. None of this was her fault, and she had always been good-hearted, if a bit spacey.

Evidently pleased with this response, Alys patted his leg again and stood up.

“You can come and talk to me about anything, Wylan, anytime you like,” she said. She’d been telling him several variants of the same thing for days now. “I know how you must be feeling, and it will get easier with time, I promise.”

Wylan seriously doubted she knew how he was feeling. If she did, there was no way she would be sitting here making clumsy attempts to comfort him.

“Thanks,” he told her meekly.

She returned to the door, offering a gentle smile before closing it on her way out. After she was gone, Wylan pushed off his blankets and walked over to open the large window that overlooked the expanse of the Van Eck estate grounds.

“Big day,” he murmured, into the silence that had always surrounded him.

“Mr Van Eck left his affairs in excellent order,” the family lawyer, Cornelis Smeet, stated matter-of-factly as he shuffled his papers. “Thankfully, he had the good sense to keep his last will and testament updated frequently, and had me review everything only a few months before he died.”

Beside him, Wylan heard Alys’ little whimper. She hadn’t been able to keep it together any time the words ‘died’, ‘death’ or ‘dead’ were uttered, and this was no exception. She clutched a snotty tissue in her dumpling fist and dabbed at her nose.

Smeet cleared his throat. Wylan had known the man most of his life, and well enough to know he was unlikely to approve of such exuberant displays of emotion. But he was also a man of business, and to his credit, kept his demeanour strictly professional.

He placed two separate stacks of warm copy paper in front of Wylan and Alys, who were sitting across from his mahogany desk in the well-furnished office.

“This is a full list of his assets, including his share portfolio,” Smeet explained. “As you both know, Mr Van Eck named me as the executor of his estate. He left me with very strict instructions.”

“So like him,” Alys sniffed, before bursting into a fresh round of tears. Unsure of what else to do, Wylan awkwardly laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Mr Van Eck’s will names two beneficiaries,” Smeet continued, once Alys had composed herself. He picked up a document and began to read aloud. “To my wife, Alys Van Eck, I leave behind a sum of thirty million kruge, to dispense of as she sees fit.”

It was barely a dent in the family fortune. Almost insulting after three years of marriage, in Wylan’s opinion, though Alys did not seem bothered.

“I don’t need money,” she sobbed. “My family has more than enough as it is. Everything should go to Wylan.”

Smeet coughed, the motion quivering his jowls. “I’ll get to the younger Mr Van Eck in a moment, if you please, madam…”

His eyes darted towards Wylan, and he looked uncomfortable. There were a few beads of sweat on his near-to-bald scalp.

“There was also a, uh, provision made here for any children that were to result from the union between Jan and Alys Van Eck,” he said.

Ah, Wylan thought, unsurprised. He understood that ‘provision’ meant said children would have stood to inherit a hell of a lot more than thirty million kruge.

Alys blinked at him. “But Mr Smeet, Jan and I didn’t have any children. That is to say, we’d been trying, but…”

She trailed away again, divulging into more sobs. Wylan handed her a fresh tissue.

“It’s quite alright, Mrs Van Eck, I was just making sure you were aware,” said Smeet hurriedly. “You may go if you wish. The rest of the will concerns the younger Mr Van Eck.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Smeet,” Alys managed to choke out. “It’s just…it’s been so hard…”

"I understand,” said Smeet, with as much sympathy as he could muster. “Mr Van Eck was a great man. He will be sorely missed.”

Beneath the desk, Wylan’s hands clenched involuntarily into fists, nails digging into his palms.

“Thank you,” Alys smiled through the tears.

Smeet heaved a sigh. “Why don’t you go and see if Anya can make you a cup of tea. I can finish discussing the estate with the primary beneficiary.”

Primary beneficiary? The thought of Wylan’s father naming him the primary anything was laughable.

Alys wiped her eyes. “Wylan, you’ll be alright by yourself?”

Wylan nodded encouragingly. “Of course. I can fill you in later.”

Smeet called in his assistant, a cheerful blonde woman whom his gaze lingered on just a little too long, to help Alys to her feet and down the hall to the staff kitchen.

It was then that Smeet expelled a deep breath that Wylan didn’t know he’d been holding onto.

“I’ll be honest with you, Wylan,” he said, adopting his first name now that they were alone. Wylan was secretly pleased not to be ‘the younger Mr Van Eck’ any longer. “Your father’s last will is…unusual, to say the least.”

Wylan didn’t falter. He had been prepared for something like this.

“You can tell me.”

Smeet’s glasses had fogged under the strain of his sweat. He cleaned them on his sleeve, not seeming to care about his expensive suit.

“As his only living heir, Jan left the vast portion of his assets to you, with the exception of the provisions he’d set aside for his wife,” Smeet hesitated, “However…”

“That’s only because he didn’t leave behind any children with Alys,” Wylan said evenly. “If he had, they would have gotten preference over me, and I’d be left with nothing.”

He’d already figured that out on his own, but it still hurt to have it confirmed in the way that Smeet fretted and squirmed. It was almost as if the lawyer actually felt bad for him.

“What about the business?” he asked.

Smeet folded his hands on top of his ample stomach. “Your father has entrusted the day-to-day management of his company to the board. You have been named as its figurehead. You will be kept informed of any significant business, but largely, you won’t be involved.”

Wylan nodded, his expression stoic.

“Wylan,” Smeet began slowly. It was clear he would rather be anywhere else at that moment. “There’s something else you need to know…”

Wylan tensed. He had been expecting the part about Alys’ children. That he might also be cut out of any company affairs. But he’d assumed, perhaps naively, that that would be the worst of it.

“When your father last updated his will, he was adamant about adding a new clause,” said Smeet.  “I had advised against it, and yet…”

He sighed, picking up the will and holding it out. “See for yourself, if you like.”

“No,” Wylan answered quickly, “that won’t be necessary. Just read it to me, please.”

Smeet looked vaguely like he was going to be ill. In a valiant effort, he drew the document closer to himself and began to read.

“I give, devise and bequeath the whole of my estate to my only son, Wylan Van Eck, upon my death, should I leave no other living heir…” Smeet flinched, skipping over a good chunk of text before continuing, “…with the proviso that Wylan Van Eck first willingly, and with conscious volition, enter into a suitable marriage contract with the intention of producing at least one living heir to survive him.” 

Wylan felt his mouth fall open.

“Marriage?” he said in bewilderment.

Smeet nodded grimly. “Should I continue?”

Wylan forced his lips to close and nodded.

“Should Wylan Van Eck predecease me, or should he fail to ever fulfil the obligations of the proviso above, I declare that all my company shares shall be bequeathed in equal measures to the members of my board,” Smeet drew in a deep breath, “and that all other estate assets be bequeathed in their entirety to my next closest living male descendant.”

It was a lot to take in. Wylan hardly knew where to begin.

“Do we know who his next closest living male descendant is?” he eventually asked.

Smeet sighed.

“At the moment, Thaddeus Radmakker. He is Jan's third cousin, on his mother's side.”

At that, Wylan finally did laugh. He should not have been surprised. Ketterdam’s ruling class had been solidified for centuries. It was a marvel they won’t all more closely related.

“I understand this must come as a shock,” said Smeet, perhaps misinterpreting the laughter for a peculiar expression of grief.

“He wants me to get married?” Wylan spluttered. The whole thing was completely absurd.

“Wylan…”

Strangely, he did cry then, in between the laughter. Both laughing and crying for the first time since the whole sordid series of events. Even in death, Jan Van Eck had been determined to make his son’s life as hellish as he could.

“Wylan...” Smeet tried again. The lawyer’s mask had slipped just enough to reveal that he pitied him.

The marriage was a byproduct of the true end goal, Wylan was aware. This was about the Van Eck family’s illustrious legacy, just as everything had been. It was his father’s way of attempting to secure a successful lineage through any future children he might have. A last desperate effort to preserve his honour, in spite of having such a disappointment for son.

“He does know I’m gay, doesn’t he?” Wylan sniggered, wiping the backs of his hands over his eyes. “Like, very gay. Zero chance I could get my wife pregnant even if I wanted to go along with this in the first place.”

Smeet said nothing, just handed him a tissue from the box he’d offered to Alys earlier.

“Sorry, I should say, he did know. Still not used to that.”

“Wylan…I represent your family’s legal interests,” said Smeet. “I’m not paid to try and comprehend what Jan Van Eck’s motivations or thought processes may have been.”

Wylan wiped at his damp cheeks, forcing his breathing to return to normal. Pull yourself together, you wet blanket…

“The stipulations of the will are air-tight,” Smeet went on. “I worked on it myself, in accordance with Mr Van Eck’s wishes. I’m afraid there won’t be any alternatives if you hope to claim your inheritance.”

“What about the house?” Wylan asked, the reality of his situation beginning to sink in.

Smeet fidgeted again. “The Van Eck mansion remains the property of the estate, until such time as the stipulations of the will are met. The will allows for you and Mrs Van Eck to continue living there, however…you are expected to live as tenants, paying for the upkeep of the property yourselves.”

The cost of maintaining such an enormous property would be astronomical. Alys’ money might keep them both afloat for a time, but it wasn’t a permanent solution. There was no possible way he could afford to live there long term. Where did that leave him? No money, nowhere to live, no friends...Alys might offer to take him into her family home, but would her relatives be okay with it? And she was still young. What would happen if and when she decided to remarry? She had her own life to live. 

“Who else knows about this?”

“No one else,” said Smeet. “Not even my legal team know. I kept this strictly confidential.”

Wylan stared across from this man he had known most of his life. He had never felt more on his own.

“Thank you, Mr Smeet,” he said steadily. “This has been…very helpful.”

He stood to go, making it to the door before he was stopped by Smeet’s voice.

“Wylan,” the older man said, “the will may be air-tight, but…I’d advise you to look at it closely. As soon as you can.”

Without another word, Wylan left him.

Chapter Text

The man behind the shop counter held a magnifying glass up to the golden watch in his hands, surveying it in the light.

“I’ll give you ten thousand kruge for it,” he said.

Jesper scowled. Ten thousand kruge was not going to cut it.

“It’s worth way more than that,” he tried. “I could sell it for double on the internet.”

The pawnshop owner grunted as he straightened his back, surveying Jesper directly.

“Ten thousand is generous,” he said. It was clear he knew Jesper was embellishing. Perhaps he sensed that Jesper didn’t have time to wait for an online buyer. He needed the money yesterday.

Nevertheless, Jesper decided to try again. “It’s Fabrikator made. Been in the family for generations.”

It had belonged to his grandfather on the Kaelish side, passed down to him when the old man had died. In truth, he didn’t actually know if it was Fabrikator made or not - and he really should know - but hell, maybe it was. Maybe the pawnshop owner couldn’t tell, either.

“Ten thousand,” the pawnshop owner repeated. “Take it or leave it.”

Jesper sighed, deliberating with himself. He bit his lip and nodded brusquely.

The pawnshop owner began counting out the purple notes onto the counter. Jesper watched carefully, adjusting his coat and leaning a hand against the glass display case in front of him.

“Now that looks like it could fetch a pretty price,” the man said when he caught the glint at Jesper’s holster.

His hand instinctively closed around the handle of his pearl revolver. The sensation of the cool metal pressed into his palm was as natural as breathing air.

“Not for sale,” he said, a shade darker than he’d intended to.

The pawnshop owner kept his eyes on it, a muscle in the corner of his mouth twitching.

“I could give you thirty thousand for it, easily. Forty if it’s Fabrikator made.” 

Jesper tensed, eyeing the meagre pile of crisp notes in front of him. He thought about the revolver’s twin, sold six months ago, the money already long gone.

“Not. For. Sale.” he repeated, slowly and deliberately. He snatched up the kruge before the man could protest further, stuffing it into his pocket and letting the door slam behind him.

It was late afternoon, and he was already running late for his shift at the Crow Club. Not that it mattered much - a perk of being closely acquainted with a certain floor manager - but he had some other business to handle first. He pulled out his phone and dialled a number, irritated when it went straight to voicemail.

“I have your money,” was all Jesper said before hanging up.

If the sharks wanted their loan repayments on time, they weren’t making it very easy for him. He had been hoping to settle this now and avoid the possibility of a run-in at work. Kaz was not going to be pleased if Black Tip goons showed up making demands of his best-earning bartender on the busiest night of the week.

He’d been hoping to collect more for his grandfather’s watch. The ten thousand in his pocket was barely enough to cover the interest he’d incurred. But at least it would buy him time.

The image of his father discovering what he had just done intruded his thoughts, and Jesper’s stomach sank. He hadn’t known his grandfather, but picturing Colm’s disappointment brought on a physical ache.

I’ll get it back, he imagined himself explaining to his father’s sad face, I’ll get it all back and then some.

Truthfully, he had no idea how he was going to manage that. It alleviated some of the guilt all the same.

Jesper checked his phone again when he reached the Crow Club. No missed calls, and only one text message from Kuwei Yul-Bo.

When will you be getting off later?

“Cute,” he muttered at the double entendre, but he didn’t smile. After what just happened, he wasn’t really in the mood.

Can’t tonight. Plans ;)

He kept his reply deliberately vague. They’d only hooked up a couple of times, and Kuwei was getting clingy. Jesper didn’t fancy having to remind him that he didn’t do boyfriends or girlfriends, and that this was only a bit of fun. He hoped his careful avoidance would speak for itself.

“You’re late,” a stern, raspy voice said when he let himself into the club.

Jesper kept his back to the stairs as he locked the door behind him, so Kaz wouldn’t see him wince.

“Not that late,” he said playfully.

He tried putting on a dazzling smile, but unfortunately, Kaz had always been immune to the Jesper charm. The floor manager glowered at him from his spot on the stairs. He was dressed in all black, as he usually was, cane supporting his weight.

“A reasonable person would have fired you by now,” said Kaz. “For once, you’re lucky I’m not a reasonable person.”

Jesper knew Kaz better than nearly anybody, but even he grew anxious when Kaz fixed him with that particular look.

“You can’t fire me, boss,” Jesper attempted to shrug nonchalantly, “I bring in too many tips.”

Kaz didn’t move, just scrutinised him within an inch of his life. Jesper always had the feeling that Kaz knew a lot more than he let on. He had the unique ability to see through even the most highly guarded facade. They were the same age, but under Kaz’s intense stare, Jesper felt like a child that had just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

Finally, Kaz broke their standoff.

“Get the bar ready to open on time,” he said as he limped back up the stairs. “Two cruise boats of Ravkan tourists are due in. I don’t want us to be slow off the mark.”

Jesper sighed, “Yessir.”

He heard Kaz’s heavy footsteps and cane thud all the way back to his office, then began setting up for a busy night ahead. He removed his coat and placed his revolver in the tiny hidden compartment beneath the cash register. These days, he never carried bullets, but he still liked to keep the antique weapon close. It had come in handy on more than one occasion when a couple of idiots had tried ambushing him in a dark street on the way home. Both times, they’d caught a glimpse of the way he handled the gun and hadn’t tried again.

He put some music on as he worked, humming to himself when he bent to retrieve a tray full of clean glasses.

He almost dropped them when he stood back up and found a lone figure sitting on one of the stools opposite him.

“Saints!” he exclaimed as he set the glass tray down with a clatter. “How long have you been lurking around?”

The girl at the bar smiled, but didn’t offer up her secrets.

“I heard most of that,” she said instead. Her large brown eyes pointed in the direction of the ceiling above them, where Kaz was still cloistered away.

Jesper huffed.

“You shouldn’t push him so much,” said Inej, her tone warm and compassionate. “He loves you, but he does have limits.”

She was right…at least about the latter part. Jesper wasn’t sure if Kaz Brekker had it in him to love another person.

“He loves that I make him money,” Jesper answered. Without thinking, he began mixing up Inej’s favourite drink.

Inej rolled her eyes. “Humble as always, Jes.”

“I can’t help it if this face brings the punters in.”

Inej snorted, which set both of them off laughing.

“Where have you been lately?” she asked when she’d calmed down.

“What do you mean? I live with you, don’t I?”

“You know what I mean.”

He did know, although he’d been hoping she wasn’t going to bring it up. How he’d been absent from their share-house - a dilapidated old building they’d nicknamed The Slat - more often than usual lately. How he’d been taking those suspicious-sounding phone calls at all hours of the day and night. How ornaments and trinkets from his room kept mysteriously disappearing every time he went out.

“Jesper,” Inej said slowly, “if you’re in some kind of trouble…”

She was being kind, just like she always was, but it set something off inside him. He didn’t want his friends’ help, or (Saints forbid) their pity. He’d gotten himself neck-deep into these muddy waters, and now he was going to pull himself out.

“Why do you always assume it’s trouble?” he snapped. “Maybe I’ve just been busy with something that isn’t your concern.”

He regretted the words as soon as they tumbled out. Inej was clearly hurt, but to her credit she maintained her composure.

Great work, Fahey, he thought bitterly. Real nice.

Inej only sighed. “If you say so.”

“‘Nej…” he was about to apologise, when the phone in his pocket vibrated intrusively.

He scrambled for it, ignoring the pointed look that earned from his friend, but it was only Kuwei ringing. He let it go to voicemail.

“I’m going to have to talk to that boy again,” he muttered. Clearly he wasn’t getting the message.

Inej caught the missed call notification before he put the phone away.

“You could always ask Nina to set him up,” she smirked, “take him off your hands.”

Jesper groaned the mention of their other housemate.

“She’s been insufferable ever since she got together with the Fjerdan. I don’t get the obsession with trying to matchmake everyone.”

Inej laughed, “She just wants us to be happy.”

“Not everyone’s definition of ‘happy’ is shacking up with a great big ball of fur. She needs to understand, ‘Nej, I’m not built for that sort of thing. Remember when she tricked me into going on that Kindling date?”

“How could I forget?” said Inej. “You complained about it for weeks. And she didn’t trick you. She made a bet with you and she won fair and square.”

“Tricked me,” he sulked, as memories of that night came creeping back.

If anyone needed proof that Jesper was no good at relationships, they’d only needed to be there to witness the disaster that had been his first and only blind date. Not that the boy he’d been matched with hadn’t been gorgeous. Any moron could see that. Those ruddy-gold curls, the pale complexion that flushed delightfully easily, and big doe eyes that were impossibly blue. And those freckles. Jesper had a soft spot for freckles, not that he’d ever admit it.

Despite not wanting to see the look of triumph on Nina’s face, he would have been willing to admit that he had been interested. That was until his date actually spoke to him, and it turned out he was a pompous brat who would rather risk being accosted in a gross dive bar than be seen in public fraternising with Barrel trash. He’d called Jesper a hedonist, complained about the cheap booze, and looked horrified at the thought of somebody needing to carry a gun with them because he actually believed the Stadwatch were there to protect people and not corrupt enough to throw a young Zemeni boy fresh off the boat in a jail cell just because they didn’t like the way he looked at them, and -

Yeah, he’d told Nina afterwards, this was why he didn’t date. He cut off his train of thought before it could run away from him, like it so often did. No sense in getting worked up about it. He’d never see the insulting little twit again, anyway.

He handed Inej her drink, which she accepted gratefully, and got back to work.

What was it Nina had said to him, when he’d reported back on that night? One day, you’re going to meet somebody who will sweep you off your feet, Jesper Fahey.

Not bloody likely. At least not in this lifetime. No, it was Kaz who had the right idea. The less you loved, the less chance you’d end up hurt and alone and broken.

It was late (or early) when Jesper finished up at the club. The tourists from the Ravkan cruise ship had been a lively bunch, with seemingly bottomless piles of cash to throw away on drinks and cards. Kaz insisted they stay open as long as the money was still flowing. By the time the last drunken tourists stumbled out onto the street, singing an old sea shanty at the top of their lungs, it was close to dawn.

Jesper’s pockets were heavier than they’d been a few hours before. There had been a group of women in their late twenties celebrating a bachelorette party who turned out to be very good tippers - in exchange for some well-timed smiles, compliments and a round of free shots in honour of the bride-to-be. One of the women had invited him to join them at their hotel, which had been tempting, but he was far too exhausted to take her up on the offer.

It had been so busy at the bar, in fact, that he’d barely had time to think about what was happening at the tables. Which was probably a good thing. Kaz had moved him off the dealer shifts a few months ago, saying that he needed more bartenders, which they both knew was a lie. On quieter nights, it was still hard to resist the allure of an open table, even when he was meant to be working. Especially when said table was occupied by spendthrift out-of-towners.

As he walked home, he felt the extra weight of the kruge he’d earned, and the familiar itch returned. Perhaps there was a venue on the way home that would still be open. He could double what he had in a matter of hours…and wouldn’t that be perfect timing…

He turned a corner into a narrow alley, cutting through the next block to The Slat. Even though Kaz technically lived there too, he had stayed back at the Crow Club to go over the night’s profits when Jesper left. He would probably end up sleeping in his office again, waking up just before the next shift was due to start. If he ever slept at all. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Kaz was human. Jesper made a mental note to talk to Inej and Nina about bringing him something to eat, because if he was staying at the club he was definitely going to forget about food -

Something thick and heavy slammed into Jesper’s side before he could finish the thought, and in a matter of seconds he was manhandled against the brick wall. The action toppled a nearby trashcan, sending a flurry of rats squeaking and scurrying to get away.

Jesper inhaled sharply as the wind was knocked out of him. He struggled to see through the darkness, which revealed only the outline of a densely muscular figure.

“Fahey,” the figure rumbled. Jesper recognised the voice instantly.

“Elzinger,” he said, as calmly as possible, “pleasure as always.”

At seven feet tall, Elzinger was one of the few people Jesper had to crane his neck up to look at. The peculiarity of that was unnerving.

He tried to compose himself, but Elzinger grabbed hold of his coat in two meaty fists and shoved him back into the wall again.

“Where’s our fucking money?” he spat. He was so close that a bit of spit sprayed onto Jesper’s face.

“I told your boss I have it,” he said evenly, trying not to show his revulsion. “If he ever answered his damn phone…”

The fists in his coat squeezed tighter. “Geels sent me to collect. He doesn’t waste time on dregs like you.”

Jesper forced himself to breathe. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, addictive as the anticipation of waiting for a winning hand. He remembered the pearl-handled revolver, hidden and secured to his right hip. It had been a while since he’d had to use it. If things fell apart, it might at least buy him some time to get away…

“Relax, Elzinger, you know I’m good for it,” Jesper held up his palms to show that they were empty. “There’s no need to get so handsy. If you’re up for a good time, you can just ask.”

He couldn’t see through the dark, but he guessed that a look of confusion and horror was currently set into Elzinger’s wide, squashed face. Saints, it was easy to mess with straight boys. So easy it almost wasn’t fun.

Almost.

The flirt had the desired effect of getting Elzinger to back off somewhat. He released his grip on Jesper’s front.

“I’m going to reach into my pocket now and get your money,” Jesper said, raising his eyebrows. “Unless, you wanted to look for it yourself? In which case, be my guest.”

“I don’t…as if I’d ever…” Elzinger gaped at him. Once he’d composed himself, he hesitated. “Don’t try anything funny.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dawn was just beginning to break, the gentle light revealing more of Elzinger’s face. He nodded.

Keeping their eyes locked, Jesper slowly lowered his left hand and slipped it into his pocket, retrieving the wad of cash. He held it out and Elzinger snatched it hungrily.

“You’ve made your point, Elzinger,” Jesper said. “Now you can go home and pat yourself on the back for a job well done.”

Elzinger ignored him. He had started counting the money at an agonisingly slow pace, lips moving as he tallied the numbers. At this rate, Jesper thought glumly, they would be here all the way until the Feast of Sankt Emerens.

“Do you need help?” he offered, when Elzinger appeared to lose count and start again. “I just got off a twelve-hour shift, and I’d really like to have a hot shower and go to bed.”

“Quiet,” snapped Elzinger, throwing him a glare.

An eternity later, he stuffed the kruge into his shirt’s front pocket, patting it beneath his jacket.

“Eleven thousand,” he said, and glowered at Jesper.

Jesper straightened up. “It’s enough to cover the interest I owe this month.”

“Repayment was fifteen.”

An odd sneer split across Elzinger’s face. It made Jesper’s toes curl - and not in a good way.

“Four thousand short is nothing,” said Jesper, “I can have it to you by next week.”

He’d barely gotten the words out when Elzinger’s fist crunched into his gut. He doubled over with a rasping heave, just as the other first smacked into his jaw. The pain was blinding.

A hand roughly clasped a handful of his hair, forcing his injured face upwards.

“You’ll have it in three days,” Elzinger said, his stale breath hot against Jesper’s face, “or else you’ll have to deal with Oomen. And we both know how that’s going to end.”

Jesper’s breaths flowed out in grating waves. Fucking Oomen. Elzinger was a puppy dog compared to that psychopath.

He could taste blood in his mouth where Elzinger’s fist had collided. He hoped to hell he hadn’t lost a tooth.

That disturbing little smirk still donned Elzinger’s features as he leaned in closer to whisper in Jesper’s ear.

“And next month,” he said, “if you’re payment is late, I’m taking one of those tricky fingers of yours.”

Chapter Text

Jan Van Eck’s funeral was held at the Church of Barter, attended by the highest of Ketterdam society and their ilk. Wylan carried his father’s gilded coffin on his shoulders, along with the other pallbearers, selected from Jan’s closest business associates and friends. He kept his head bowed, playing the role of the dutiful son, trying not to think about the way he could feel his father’s body weight shift slightly with every step.

During the service, he sat obediently in the front row beside his stepmother, listening to the Minister drone on about how Jan Van Eck’s lifetime of service to the pillars of commerce and trade would ensure he would be received by Ghezen’s firm hand. The speech was interrupted intermittently by Alys’ sobs, which were first met with sympathy and then later exasperation by the other mourners in attendance.

Jellen Radmakker, Jan's fellow Councilman and businessman - as well as Thaddeus’ uncle - gave the eulogy. He was widely considered to be the second most powerful man in Kerch, and probably the most respected member of the Council. Alys had asked him to give the eulogy after Wylan turned down the offer. She must have thought he’d done so because it would cause him too much grief, because she squeezed his hand while Radmakker spoke about Jan’s good governance, intelligence and faith.

“We shall never see another man like Jan Van Eck,” he closed on. Wylan secretly hoped that he was right.

Radmakker returned to sit in a pew beside his sister-in-law and her son. Since Jellen had no children of his own, Thaddeus stood to one day inherit a multibillion kruge company as well as a great deal of personal wealth. Wylan could imagine how Thaddeus would react if he ever found out he was next in line to the Van Eck fortune as well. He would find so much joy in taking over Wylan’s childhood home, tossing out all his most loved belongings, just because he could.

The Minister concluded the service with the old proverb, “Sacred is Ghezen, and in commerce we see His hand.”

Wylan and Alys led the procession out of the church and to the graveyard where Jan would finally be laid to rest. Wylan hated being at the Van Eck family plot, looking at all those headstones - all those many centuries of ancestors - and knowing that he would someday join them in the ground.

As they watched the coffin being lowered into the freshly turned earth, Alys wrapped an arm around Wylan’s shoulders, drawing him close.

“Last chance to say goodbye,” she whispered in a tearful voice. “I know it hurts, Wylan, but you’ll regret it if you don’t. It’s important that you have closure.”

Wylan nodded curtly, unable to take his eyes off the grave. Slowly, the other mourners began to depart for the wake at the Van Eck mansion, until only he and Alys remained.

She let go of his shoulders and rubbed small, comforting circles on his back. “I’ll give you a moment to yourself.”

He listened to her footsteps crunching away through the grass. It was a cool, crisp day, with a few lazy clouds drifting across a blue sky. In the stillness of the cemetery, it was possible to feel miles away from the city’s constant thrum and push.

Wylan peered down into the grave, musing at how small the coffin now seemed from this distance. At how ridiculous it was, as he gazed at it for the last time, that such an ornate, expensive coffin had been chosen to commemorate his father when it was about to be hidden under six feet of dirt forever, just like everyone else’s was.

He remained silent for a long while, listening to the birds. The soft breeze rustling through the trees.

“I hate you,” he finally said, just as a single tear dripped onto his cheek.

He walked over the uneven, soft earth towards the cemetery gate, without once looking back.

Wylan stayed at the wake for as long as he could stand it, which turned out to be not very long at all.

The constant stream of near-strangers wanting to hug him and tell them how sorry they were was overwhelming. Wylan did his best to be polite. He smiled, but not too much, and nodded in the appropriate pauses, remembering to thank each person for coming and for their kindness. It was a relief when the crowd began to disperse, with people moving to comfort Alys instead or helping themselves to tea and cakes. Wylan wasn’t hungry. He found a quiet spot to sit in a corner where he hoped he wouldn’t draw any attention and pretended to read something on his phone. With any luck, he would be able to quietly slip away soon.

Unfortunately, the moment of peace was short-lived. Thaddeus dropped clumsily into the chair next to him, then threw an arm roughly around his shoulders. From across the room, he saw Jellen Radmakker nod at his nephew approvingly.

“Tough break, Wylie,” said Thaddeus, all too loudly. “Your father was a great man.”

“Thank you,” Wylan mumbled.

“We’re here for you. Me and the lads, if you need anything.”

Wylan stared at his feet. “Okay.”

He felt Thaddeus clamp his shoulder, just a bit tighter than a friendly gesture would have been.

The other boy then leaned in to whisper in his ear. “The old man must’ve died just to get away from you, eh? Anyone with sense would.”

He laughed cruelly at his own joke. Wylan could still hear it after he’d disentangled himself and hurried out of the room, the front door, and across the mansion grounds. As far away as he could get. 

With nowhere to go, he wandered aimlessly along the Geldstraat, past Pascal Hoede’s sweeping family estate, the yacht club, the Geldrenner Hotel, and finally the prep school he’d attended briefly before his father pulled him out to be homeschooled instead. Even so many years later, the mere sight of the building brought on the sensation of dread…the memory of fighting with his nanny each morning as she dragged him kicking and screaming past the gate. He shuddered and strode past quickly.

He bypassed the university district - full of students reclining together in the grass or clustered in coffeehouses and cheap bars - and the prestigious old college dormitories which had housed generations of Van Ecks before him…a line that had never been broken, until he came along. He stopped at a bar in the financial district, which was completely empty except for the staff. In a few hours it would be full of business magnates eager to rub shoulders with other elites and drink themselves into oblivion. Wylan occupied a stool and ordered some rice wine.

“I know you,” the bartender said when he handed Wylan his drink, “you’re the Van Eck boy! I recognise you from the news. I’m sorry about your father, he - ”

“Was a great man, yeah,” Wylan cut him off hastily. He drained the entire glass in a single gulp, left some kruge on the counter and moved on.

The next bar was less sleek and modern, but still the domain of white collar workers. A flat-screen television which hung high on the wall was blaring the 24-hour Lion News channel. The focus was an economics report, the brash news anchor announcing that the stocks in Wylan’s father’s company had taken a sharp downturn since the sudden death of its Managing Director. An enlarged picture of Jan Van Eck appeared in the centre of the screen, depicting a man with sharp yet neutral features and steady blue eyes.

“What’s your most expensive drink?” Wylan asked the young woman behind the bar. “Whatever it is, I’ll take two of them.”

The woman’s eyes brightened as though she couldn’t believe her luck. She brought him two shot glasses of pure liquid at lightening speed, and he handed her a hefty tip.

He knew he shouldn’t be squandering the last allowance his father had ever given him, especially in the current circumstance, but the thrill of it was addictive. Jan had always been so careful with his finances. Pissing his money away like this felt like an act of rebellion.

He downed both shots of…whatever it was…ignoring the bitter aftertaste and the sudden feeling of lightheadedness that came with it. Perhaps it was unwise to be drinking like this when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything. What did it matter, he thought bitterly. Who else would care?

At the third bar, on the edge of the financial district, he ordered an entire bottle of Ravkan wine, and took up a quiet back corner to finish it in peace.

“What’s a pipsqueak like you doing in a place like this?” a middle-aged businessman came over to ask, when Wylan was halfway through his drink. “Shouldn’t you be out at the university bars or something?”

Wylan stared up at him. He had a pot belly and a rumpled white shirt, and he stank of tobacco.

“Come and have a drink with me,” he said. “I’ll pay.”

The man sniggered, but sat down nonetheless. Wylan gestured to the bartender and let the man order for them.

“Come here often?” Wylan asked. He wasn’t really interested, and truthfully, this man repulsed him. But any conversation was better than being numb and lonely.

“Every day,” said the man. He pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Wylan, who shook his head.

They drank together as a handful of patrons started to shuffle in. The man kept talking at him - something about the stock market and buying property and how everyone except him was an idiot - but Wylan barely listened.

“Time to go,” he said, when he finished the last of his cup. “Thanks for the company, I guess…”

The man skirted his chair closer. “You’re not going yet, are you?”

He placed a hand on Wylan’s thigh under the table.

“I thought we were having a good time,” he murmured, his breath stale from the smokes.

“I-I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Wylan stammered. He tried to wriggle away, but the man had a strong grip.

“Oh, I like a boy who plays hard to get,” the man smirked, revealing a row of yellow-stained teeth. He leaned in even closer, “If it’s money you’re after, no need to worry. I’ll pay whatever you're asking." 

Thinking fast, Wylan grabbed the man’s half-finished drink and poured it all over his lap in a single, swift movement.

“What the fuck!” the man shouted, pulling away.

“Whoops,” Wylan said. He took the chance and bolted.

“Fucking cocktease!” he heard the man call after him, drawing a few startled glances from the other customers.

Outside, the sun had now completely set, and though a few revellers were ambling long towards the Barrel, the streets were mostly empty. Not surprising, since it was the middle of the week. Wylan moved on towards the canal that separated the financial district from the Barrel, pausing to watch a few water taxis drift by.

Something warm brushed at his leg, and he looked down to see a small stray cat winding in and out between his feet.

“Hello,” he said, “where did you come from?”

The cat stopped, blinking up at him with yellow eyes.

“Are you alone as well?” Wylan smiled. “Maybe when I get kicked out of my house, we can be roommates.”

The cat, of course, said nothing. It rubbed its face against Wylan’s suit pants, then darted out and away down a dark corner, lost into the night.

“Guess not,” he sighed. Maybe the cat would rather die than be around him, too.

“Do you have any more Firebrand whisky?” Wylan asked the bartender at The Kaelish Prince.

It was the only Kaelish drink he knew of, and seemed to be in ample supply. He’d already had three. It wasn't actually that bad, for whisky. 

The bartender looked at him skeptically. She was a very pretty woman with flowing red hair, in a gaudy green dress that highlighted her immense cleavage. If he’d still been a teenager, Wylan likely would have stared down her top in perplexity, attempting to figure out what the big deal was.

“I think you’ve had enough, pet,” she told him affectionately. “We’ll be closing up soon anyway.”

“It’s only early.”

“Boss doesn’t like us to stay open late on quiet nights. Bad for business.”

Wylan sighed. So much for the infamous Barrel. He’d crawled along from the financial district to a few different bars, and all of them had called last drinks not too long after he’d arrived. He was beginning to take it personally.

“You should come back on the weekends,” she winked at him. “We’ve got traditional Kaelish music and dancing on weekends. And plenty of Firebrand, of course.”

Heck, Wylan thought, maybe he would. He was a free man now. A free man without a single kruge to his name, perhaps, but at least he could do whatever he wanted. And wouldn’t his father love to see him in a place like this? At the southern end of the Barrel, deep into his drink. How the mighty Van Eck legacy had fallen…

“You alright, love?” the bartender asked in concern.

Wylan blinked. “Yes. Sorry. Do you know anywhere else that’s open now?”

The bartender leaned forward, giving Wylan a view straight down her top. He looked away bashfully, but she didn't seem to notice. She tapped a sparkly, manicured nail thoughtfully against her chin.

“Well,” she said, “you can always try the Crow Club across the canal. They hardly ever close up early, so long as someone has money to spend.”

“The Crow Club. Thank you.”

He tossed a handful of kruge onto the bar, and her eyes widened.

“That’s way too much.”

“Oh,” said Wylan, “sorry.”

He placed another couple of notes on top, then walked away before she could argue with him. She’d been the nicest person he had encountered all day. She’d more than earned it.

He asked his phone to direct him to the Crow Club, which turned out to be only a short distance away. It had a black and red facade and few windows, and was fitted with a wingspread silver crow above its open doors. A warm light and inviting music beckoned through the darkness.

The bouncer hardly glanced at Wylan on his way in. Inside, it was a beautiful old building, which still retained much of its original decor and charm from what must have been a few hundred years ago. The wooden floors and black patterned walls had been updated in the modern style, but the elegant black columns and antique tables spoke to a long-forgotten era. An empty gambling parlour and a dance floor were annexed off to either side, and a staircase led up to what Wylan assumed were more private gambling rooms and offices.

He pulled out a stool at the empty bar. He could make out the back of a figure crouched beneath it, making loud clattering sounds. Knowing his luck, they were probably preparing to close.

“Be with you in a second!” a voice called out.

Ghezen, that sounded familiar…

“You’re not closing, are you?”

More rattling noises.

“Saints, no!” the voice said cheerfully. “Not as long as we’ve got a paying customer.”

“Phew,” Wylan sighed. “This is the fourth of fifth place I’ve tried, but everywhere’s saying they’re shutting down. I’m starting to think maybe I smell or something.”

The bartender laughed - a warm, lyrical thing. “You don’t smell to me. What are you having?”

“Firebrand whisky? Neat?”

“I like your style.”

Was Wylan imagining it, or did that voice sound slightly flirtatious? He wished he could pinpoint where he knew it from. It was damned attractive, he thought, and blushed. Maybe this bartender sounded like somebody else he’d met before.

“Sorry,” he began awkwardly, “I don’t…know you, do I?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” the bartender said, “you sound…”

He stood up, crate of empty bottles in hand, and froze.

“Familiar?” Wylan finished for him, just before he looked up into mesmerising grey eyes.

“Fuck,” said Jesper.

Wylan’s stomach sank. Of course, just as things had been starting to look up.

“Fuck,” he repeated.

Chapter Text

“I’ll go,” said Wylan after a pregnant pause. He motioned to get down off the stool.

Jesper rose an eyebrow. “Why?”

“S-Sorry?” he stammered awkwardly. “Do you mean, why am I here? Or…why am I leaving?”

When his feet touched the floor, he stumbled a little, gripping the edge of the bar to steady himself again. All the Firebrand whisky must have gone to his head.

Jesper watched him, still holding the crate of empties.

“Both, I guess.”

Wylan sighed. “I’m here because a very nice woman at The Kaelish Prince said that I could drink here for as long as I was willing to pay. And I’m leaving because I didn’t realise…well…”

“That I worked here?” finished Jesper. He grinned when Wylan nodded. “Well, that’s a relief. I was worried I had a stalker.”

“As if I would ever…” Wylan trailed away. “This was just a coincidence.”

“Bit of a strange coincidence, don’t you think? There are a lot of clubs in the city.”

Wylan bristled. “I am not a stalker. Trust me, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Me either,” admitted Jesper. He finally set the crate back down. If it had been heavy, he didn’t show it. “Honestly, I didn’t think you were the type to visit a Barrel bar.”

“What gave you that impression?”

Jesper scoffed, then seemed to realise that Wylan wasn't joking.

“There were hints here and there,” he said, in that irritatingly droll manner of his.

“I’ve been to plenty of Barrel bars,” Wylan huffed. It was true - if you counted all of the ones he’d stopped in on the way to the Crow Club that night.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh?” Wylan scowled. “Why is that?”

Jesper nodded to the outline in his pocket. “You still have your wallet, for one thing. And you stand out around here like a sore thumb. If you’d spent much time in the Barrel at all, you would have been mugged ages ago.”

He hated the way Jesper said it. Like he was some delicate, sheltered flower or something. Nobody ever thought Wylan was capable of taking care of himself. But that was his superpower, being underestimated. He’d fought off that creep in the financial district just fine and he’d put up with bullies his entire life. He didn’t need to be patronised.

“I can handle my own,” he said sternly, sitting back on the stool again. “And I’ll have that whisky now, thank you.”

He was not going to let Jesper make him feel any worse than he already did. This was the only place that was open, and he wasn’t ready to go home and face Alys or the grim reality of his life just yet. He would stay as long as he liked.

He folded his arms and glared across the bar, hoping that would make his point. To his surprise, Jesper laughed genuinely.

“Alright, then.”

“We can be adults about this, you know,” Wylan said, feeling his face grow hot. “Just because we dated - ”

“Went on one date,” Jesper corrected quickly.

Wylan rolled his eyes. “Yes, just because we went on one date - one time - it doesn’t mean this has to be awkward.”

“It might be less awkward if you stop bringing it up,” Jesper smirked.

Wylan’s mouth snapped shut. Oh, he would be more than happy to never bring it up again.

Jesper placed a glass in front of him and poured out the whisky. He was still as annoyingly attractive as he’d been six months ago. He was dressed in a sleek work uniform: tight black jeans and a black collared shirt with a silver crow embroidered onto the pocket. Wylan hadn’t noticed it the first time they met, but Jesper had a tattoo on the inside of his right forearm. It depicted an almost-empty wine glass, a few dregs sketched into the bottom. He stared at it longer than was probably acceptable.

“Not as fine as what you’re used to, no doubt,” Jesper said when he put the glass down.

Wylan was about to come up with a clever retort, but then Jesper gave him this sly little wink, and all other thoughts seemed to fade out of his mind. Of course Jesper was a bartender. He was perfect for this sort of job. Vibrant and flirty and gorgeous. He probably brought in a lot of clientele…

A memory from the last time they’d met stirred. Oh Ghezen, what had he said again? Something about home-brew, piss-poor Barrel garbage?

“You’re not a brewer, are you?” he asked.

Jesper looked bemused. “What?”

“I thought that since you’re a bartender, maybe you’re also a brewer.”

It would explain why Jesper had reacted so viscerally that night. Had Wylan insulted his profession after all?

“No,” Jesper laughed, “I’m not a brewer. I just like to drink.”

Wylan frowned. “Oh.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” said Jesper, eyes glinting.

“Yes I did. I told you - ”

“Why you’re at the Crow Club, yes,” Jesper interrupted. “I meant why are you here. In the Barrel, at this time of night, in the middle of the week.”

He waited expectantly, one chiselled arm resting on his hip, the other propped up on the bar. He drummed his fingers in a rhythmic pattern, hardly conscious of it, as though it were intrinsic for him to constantly be moving some part of himself.

Wylan’s hand closed around the whisky.

“I buried my father today,” he said into the glass, then swallowed the contents in one gulp.

He wasn’t sure why he’d voiced it. All the liquid courage, most likely. Or maybe he wanted Jesper to know he wasn't a completely frivolous person. 

The whisky burned on the way down, but not necessarily in a bad way. When he looked up, Jesper was gazing at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Don’t be,” Wylan answered dismissively, “he was an asshole. Can I have another one, please?”

Jesper stared at him a while longer. It wasn’t an uncomfortable stare, strangely, nor was it full of the usual sympathy or pity that made Wylan squirm. It simply gave him the impression of being seen. Objectively. For what he was, in that moment.

“I think we might need something stronger,” Jesper said. “Hold on.”

He collected the crate and disappeared out the back of the bar, leaving Wylan to ponder over the evening’s peculiar events. When he returned, it was with a clear bottle of eerily green liquid.

“Since you’re so fond of Kaelish drink,” Jesper winked as he filled his glass.

“What is it?”

“Green Fairy,” the other man replied. “Does what it says on the tin. A few of these and you’ll feel like you’re floating.”

That sounded awfully pleasant. It tasted like liquorice and warmed him from the inside out.

“It’s wonderful,” he admitted.

Jesper smiled.

“I still am sorry,” he said, “about your asshole father.”

Wylan snorted. “Thanks.”

“Was it sudden?”

Wylan took another sip and nodded. “Heart attack. He got up in the middle of the night to use the toilet and…well, let’s just say it wasn’t the most dignified way to go.”

“Saints…” Jesper muttered, listening intently.

“It’s ironic, actually, because he was always so obsessed with dignity. It was my stepmother who discovered him like that. I slept through the whole thing, so I only found out the next morning.”

“At least it must have been quick. He wouldn’t have suffered much.”

Wylan shrugged. He’d spent too much time going over it already. When had his father realised what was going to happen? Had he felt any pain? Had he been scared?

“I lost a parent when I was young,” Jesper said. “Not to say I understand what you’re going through, but…”

Wylan caught a glimpse of it, then. Just the slightest hint of vulnerability lurking beneath the cool facade.

“That must have been hard.”

Jesper leaned further against the bar and sighed, hands still fidgeting.

“We all have our shit. We just muddle through it the best we can, right?”

“Yeah,” Wylan said softly.

The sound of something creaking upstairs intruded their comfortable silence. Wylan jolted and glanced across his surroundings. He’d forgotten where they were for a moment.

The creaking turned into heavy footfalls and another thudding sound on the stairs.

“Jesper,” a deep, gravelly voice called out, “I need you to - ”

The speaker stopped at the bottom of the staircase when he saw that the bartender was not alone. He was, simply put, the most terrifying looking man Wylan had ever seen.

“I didn’t realise we had a customer,” the man said, staring at Wylan as if he could see right into his soul.

Wylan shuddered involuntarily, but Jesper was entirely unfazed.

“Were you thinking of closing, boss?” he asked jovially.

The man appeared to be around their age. Hardly someone one would expect to be called ‘boss’. He dressed all in black, with sallow skin and dark hair and eyes. His gloved fingers clasped a cane decorated with a crow’s head handle.

“I need to go out,” he said, thin lips pursed. “Business.”

Wylan had the impression there was more he wanted to add, but certainly not in the presence of a stranger. He hadn’t taken at least one eye off Wylan since he’d appeared.

Jesper checked the clock which hung next to the bar. It was almost midnight. What the hell sort of ‘business’ could this man possibly have in the middle of the night, Wylan thought. Probably for the best he didn’t find out.

“We may as well finish up,” said Jesper. “All the other staff have gone home, and I’ve only had the one customer in the last hour.”

Jesper’s boss glanced at the clock too, then back to Wylan.

“He’s alright,” Jesper said, nodding in Wylan’s direction, “I know him. Do you need me to come with you?”

Jesper vouching for him did nothing to allay his boss’ suspicions. He only narrowed his eyes further.

“No,” he said evenly. “No, that won’t be necessary, Jes. Just close the club after your…friend…leaves.”

It occurred to Wylan that perhaps Jesper’s boss recognised him as a Van Eck. If so, he kept that information to himself.

“As you say,” Jesper said, giving him a mock-salute.

The man slowly limped towards the door, letting it slam behind him.

“That’s your boss?” Wylan gaped, once he was gone. How did Jesper work for someone so scary?

“Boss and housemate, yes,” Jesper shrugged. “He’s actually a big softie once you get to know him.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Okay, well, he’s at least not as intimidating.”

He moved gracefully around the bar and weaved between the tables until he reached the front door, locking it and turning over the ‘closed' sign. He flicked a switch and the bright neon lights outside went out.

Wylan chewed on his lip anxiously. Time to go back to the Van Eck mansion, to face the reality of his situation. He wasn’t even sure how he was going to get home from here. He’d walked for miles across the breadth of the day.

Jesper turned back to face him, smiling brightly.

“So,” he said, “are we going to finish that bottle?”

“Bullshit,” Jesper drained his glass, then tapped it on the edge of the table.

“It’s true!” Wylan said haughtily.

The Green Fairy was almost two thirds of the way empty. They’d moved to a corner booth once Jesper had closed up the bar, sitting opposite each other, the low music from Jesper’s phone providing a comforting background sound.

Most of the drinking had been Jesper’s work, and he’d almost caught up to Wylan’s level of wasted. It was a good thing he’d paced himself somewhat during the bar crawl, breaking up the drinks with walks in between. Now, however, the Green Fairy had been doing its job, and he was feeling pleasantly buzzed and relaxed.

“Fuck off,” Jesper leaned back in the booth. “Your dad is not Jan Van Eck.”

“Yes he is! I’ll prove it to you, look,” he picked up his phone, holding the speaker to his lips. “Jan and Wylan Van Eck. Ketterdam Now article.”

The phone retrieved a tabloid piece that had been written a few days ago. It showed the usual portrait photo of Jan used by the media, as well as a picture of a sour-faced Wylan, side-by-side, underneath a blazing headline.

“Well I’ll be,” Jesper said, as Wylan grinned triumphantly. “You look nothing alike.”

“I take after my mother. Thankfully." 

Jesper’s eyes skimmed the article, and he smirked.

“Very little is known about the heir-apparent to the Van Eck legacy,” he read aloud, “but one source close to the family says that he is particularly fond of music and has a talent for mathematics and the sciences - ”

“Shut up,” Wylan blushed, “Give that back.”

He reached across the table for the phone, but Jesper artfully moved out of the way.

“Whether Wylan Van Eck has inherited is father’s business acumen remains to be seen,” Jesper continued. “Though with a vast wealth and a Fortune 500 company now under his control, it is certain that this young man of mystery just became Ketterdam’s most eligible bachelor. ”

“Seriously. Shut up. You’re the worst.”

Jesper laughed, sliding the phone back across the table. “I didn’t realise my one and only Kindling date was with a trust fund kid. And a Van Eck, no less! What a claim to fame.”

“It’s really not,” Wylan pouted, taking a large sip of his drink.

“I mean, I figured you were rich when we met. I just didn’t know you were that rich. A lot about you makes sense now, actually.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that you didn’t want to be seen with me in public,” Jesper shrugged.

“What?” Wylan shifted forward in bewilderment. “Why would you think that?”

Jesper eyed him curiously over the top of his glass. Wylan had forgotten what it felt like to be stared at like that. He looked away hastily.

“Well, you chose to meet in a dive bar where nobody would recognise you,” Jesper said evenly. “And I get it, Trust Fund. You’re not the first person from the Geldin District to get an itch for adventure and a desire to roll around in the muck with Barrel trash for a while. But I’m not interested in being anyone’s guide into Ketterdam’s underbelly before they run back to the safety of their mansion - ”

“You have it all wrong,” Wylan said, exasperated. “I didn’t know a single thing about you before we met. That’s how the app is supposed to work! All I knew was that your name is Jesper and you’re tall.”

He was the one Jesper should be ashamed to be seen with. Wasn’t that obvious?

“I didn’t set up that profile, remember?” Jesper said. “My friend made it for me. I had no idea what it said.”

Wylan sighed. “Doesn’t matter now, anyway. You and I obviously don’t fit together.”

“Obviously,” Jesper agreed.

He topped up both of their cups from the bottle, while Wylan glanced around the empty club. Was he imaging it, or was the room spinning a little more than it was before?

“So, Trust Fund,” said Jesper, after a pause, “what are you going to do now you’ve come into your inheritance?”

The question made Wylan flinch. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“I haven’t actually…come into anything, yet,” he explained, in answer to Jesper’s unasked follow-up question.

“But the article - ”

“Yeah, it’s not really common knowledge,” Wylan said hastily, “and I’d prefer to keep it that way. But there’s this…thing…I have to do first.”

“What, like spend a night in a haunted house or something?”

“Something like that.”

Jesper sniggered. “Saints, rich people are weird.”

“It’s not a rich people thing. It’s a my-father’s-an-asshole thing.”

“Ah,” Jesper nodded. He tapped his fingers on the table while he drank. He seemed to have trouble with staying still for too long, Wylan had noticed. The first time they’d met, he’d mistaken this tendency for boredom and disinterest.

“Let’s not talk about that anymore,” he said, waving a hand in what he hoped passed for a nonchalant fashion. “Tell me about…I don’t know, what’s it like working at this club?”

“You really want to know?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Jesper grinned, settling back in his seat. “It’s alright. Doesn’t pay the best, but the tips are nice.”

Wylan rolled his eyes. He could bet Jesper was in no shortage of tips.

“Did you always want to be a bartender?”

Jesper scoffed, “I didn’t ever want to be anything.”

“That’s depressing,” Wylan said.

“No it isn’t. Not everyone needs to have a plan. I like not knowing what’s coming next. Just ebbing and flowing with the tides.”

They really were different people. Wylan hated uncertainty, which was part of why he was struggling so much now.

“If you had to say though,” he pressed. “Like, dream job?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Jesper attempted to sound cavalier, but it was clear the question made him anxious. “Something to do with guns, I guess. Or a professional gambler?”

“Wow,” Wylan said sarcastically. “That’s the dream? Really?”

“You asked!” Jesper shrugged. “Honestly, I’d probably just settle for moving somewhere warm.”

That didn’t sound so bad. Ketterdam was pretty miserable in the winter.

“Why’d you want to know?” Jesper asked.

“Just curious,” said Wylan. He noticed Jesper continually glancing at the clock over his head. “Sorry, is there somewhere you need to be?”

“What? No, not really,” Jesper squirmed again. “It’s just…well, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could get four thousand kruge before tomorrow, would you?”

He laughed, but it was a glaringly unnatural sound compared to the mellow, easy tone he’d used before.

“Um,” Wylan stared in confusion, “why?”

Jesper was still fidgeting, running his finger through the wet stain his glass had left on their table. Was he actually embarrassed?

“Well, since we’ve been sharing,” he grimaced, “I might have a teeny, tiny little bit of a…credit problem. Just at the moment.”

Wylan blinked at him. “Are you asking me for a loan? Because I already explained about the inheritance thing - ”

“Saints, no!” Jesper said quickly. “I was just…forget about it. It’s not your problem.”

Wylan sighed. Ghezen, Jesper was irritating. A hot, irritating, unavailable, annoying mess, and he…

A pin suddenly dropped in his mind, and everything slotted into place. Of course. It made perfect sense!

“Are you okay?” Jesper frowned. “Your pupils just doubled in size.”

Wylan picked up his glass and drained it, slamming it back down on the table.

“Marry me,” he said.

Chapter Text

“Sorry,” said Jesper, as he gaped at his companion, “did you just have a stroke?”

Wylan Van Eck looked positively delighted with himself. There was a manic glint to his bright blue eyes.

“What? No,” he said dismissively, then grinned again. “Marry me.”

Clearly, Jesper had missed something here. He tried to puzzle it out as he watched Wylan reach for the bottle of Green Fairy. He had been joking about the stalker thing before, but…

“Absolutely not,” he decided, swiping the bottle out of Wylan’s hands. “No more. You’re way too drunk.”

“Am not,” Wylan scowled. His expression softened as he conceded, “Okay yes, but that’s hardly the point, is it?”

He went for the bottle again, so Jesper held it up to his lips and took a long, deliberate swig. He let some of the liquid splash back down the throat of the bottle.

Wylan cringed. “That’s disgusting. Now it’s all full of your spit.”

“So you’re grossed out by my spit,” Jesper said slowly, “but proposing to me out of nowhere is apparently a normal thing to do. Do you not remember the conversation we had about ‘not fitting together’ all of five minutes ago?”

“That’s why it’s so perfect!” Wylan exclaimed. He seemed to be annoyed that Jesper wasn’t picking it up fast enough. “It’s perfect because we already went on a date - and it was a huge fucking disaster, we both know that. So now there's no chance of it getting complicated. And it sounds like you’re in need of money…”

Jesper squirmed uncomfortably at that. He didn’t know why he’d told Wylan that particularly delicate piece of information. Desperation, he supposed, coupled with too much alcohol. He glanced up at the clock for the hundredth time that night.

“You’re in need of money fast,” Wylan corrected, tracking his eye movements, “and I know a way you can get it. A way both of us can get out of dodge.”

“By me marrying you,” Jesper deadpanned. He drank out of the bottle again.

Wylan nodded enthusiastically. “You know how I told you about needing to do a ‘thing’ before coming into my inheritance? Well, that ‘thing’ actually is…”

“You can’t be serious,” said Jesper, when Wylan trailed away. This had to be part of some elaborate joke. “Can you even do that? As in, legally?”

“It’s his money, he can do whatever he wants with it,” Wylan shrugged.

“It’s completely insane.”

“Yes, well,” Wylan chuckled half-heartedly, “you never met my father.”

Jesper studied the boy sitting across from him, his face flushed from all the drink and perhaps also from embarrassment. He had the most delightful way of blushing whenever Jesper said something even remotely suggestive. Up until now, he had found it entertaining, but the way Wylan looked when he mentioned his dead dad made teasing him the last thing on Jesper’s mind. What kind of person did that to their own son?

“So, what happens if you don’t get married, then?” he asked.

“The house and his personal funds pass over me and go to a distant cousin, and the business shares go to his board members,” Wylan explained. “I end up with nothing.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Jesper hesitated. “But…if all you have to do is get married, that should be easy enough, shouldn’t it? You could find a nice society girl willing to go along with your scheme. Why me?”

Vast fortune awaiting him aside, Wylan wasn’t exactly ugly. Far from it, in fact. Yes, he could be a pompous, rich brat who had very little idea of how the real world worked. And he came across as haughty and uptight at times. But he was also surprisingly easy to talk to, once you got to know him, and all in all, not that bad. Maybe he just need a few more good nights on the town like this to loosen him up. Or a good fuck…that might help him relax a little…

And that, Jesper realised, was a very dangerous thought. He quickly banished it from his mind.

Wylan was uncomfortable, chewing on his lower lip and avoiding Jesper’s gaze. He had these lips which formed a perfect cupid’s bow, and the most absurd, long eyelashes. Completely ridiculous...

“Do you not want it to be you?” he asked. “I thought you needed money.”

“I do,” Jesper said quickly. “It’s just that there are other options. Aren’t you supposed to be Ketterdam’s most eligible bachelor?”

A nice society girl would make a hell of a lot more sense. Or hell, even a girl from one of the West Stave clubs, who was trained to act like she was in love with any man willing to part with enough kruge.

“I don’t want word about this getting out. It’s too risky,” said Wylan. “There are people who stand to benefit a lot from me not going through with this stupid clause.”

“And you trust me to keep your secret?” Jesper asked incredulously. "You don't even know me." 

Wylan regarded him seriously. “You’ve got a lot to gain from this, and by the sounds of it, nothing left to lose.”

It was true. He was clever, this Wylan. Jesper didn’t understand why Jan Van Eck wanted to make it difficult for his son to be his successor. He seemed like the perfect candidate to take over a business.

“Anyway,” Wylan continued, “there’s more to it than that.”

“Of course there is.”

“According to my father’s will, I am supposed to ‘willingly, and with conscious volition, enter into a suitable marriage contract with the intention of producing at least one living heir’.”

“Ah,” Jesper said, “I see the problem.”

“You do?”

For someone so clever, he could also be incredibly thick.

“First of all,” Jesper gestured between them both, “and correct me if I’m wrong, but as far as I can tell, neither of us has the required…equipment…to produce an heir.”

If Wylan had been flushed before, this was taking it to another level. His entire face, including his eyes, turned a very distinctive shade of scarlet.

“So?” he mumbled.

“So we wouldn’t be fulfilling your dad’s clause, would we?” Jesper pointed out. “If you are supposed to get married with the expressed intention of having a child.”

“I-I…” Wylan stammered, but the sentenced trailed away into nothing.

“Secondly,” Jesper continued, “I am pretty certain that when he said ‘suitable marriage contract’, he didn’t have someone like me in mind.”

He’d never met Jan Van Eck, but he knew enough to assume that Zemeni farm boys with no prospects and piles of debt did not fit into the man’s version of ‘suitable’. He drained the rest of the bottle and let it rest on the table.

Wylan waited for him to finish, then a tiny smile split his features.

“What?” he asked.

“Sorry,” said Wylan, but he kept smiling, “I just didn’t realise you were such a conservative.”

Jesper scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not just the straights who can start a family, you know,” said Wylan, with a sense of righteousness that Jesper found incredibly annoying. “There’s adoption and IVF, and any other number of ways to go about it.”

“I know that,” Jesper muttered, feeling foolish, “but obviously your dad - ”

“Was a big homophobe, yes,” Wylan finished for him. “It doesn’t say anything in the will about marrying a man or a woman, though. It just says we have to 'intend' to have a child. And who’s to say we don’t? We just might end up getting divorced before those plans come to fruition. Whoops. Oh well. Who could have foreseen it?”

Despite himself, Jesper laughed. He’d almost fallen into the same trap as Jan Van Eck, assuming that ‘producing an heir’ could only refer to the traditional method. He doubted the old man had the slightest inkling to consider anything else. 

“And as to the other thing,” Wylan went on cheerfully, “I don’t really know what the issue is. You’re very suitable.”

It was genuine, Jesper realised with a start. Wylan really didn’t see how he would make for anything less than a suitable prospect. The knowledge surprised him, and suddenly he was glowing from the inside out. Strange, he thought. Must have been the booze doing it.

Wylan must have realised what he’d said, because he was blushing once again.

“I mean, you’re annoying and rude,” Wylan said, “but for this, you will do fine.”

Jesper grinned without helping it.

“So essentially, what you’re proposing is a business arrangement?” he surmised.

Wylan nodded. “Exactly. We pretend to be in love and get married for a while, and then when I get my inheritance, we go our separate ways. And I give you a cut of the payout, obviously.”

Jesper quirked an eyebrow at that. “How much are we talking here?”

Who was he kidding? He would settle for anything at this stage. Jan Van Eck had been one of the wealthiest people in Kerch - if not the entire world. Even just a small percentage of that fortune could make him richer than he’d ever dreamed. But although he was Zemeni born, he considered himself Kerch made. It was in his nature to barter.

Wylan appeared to think this over a moment, then said, “Ten percent.”

“Ten?”

“Of whatever is in my father’s accounts, yes.”

“Oh, I think I’m worth way more than ten percent,” Jesper couldn’t resist chiding.

Wylan rolled his eyes. “Ten percent is more than fair.”

“After we’re married, you might change your mind,” he rose his eyebrows in an exaggerated, suggestive manner.

“This...I…urgh!” Wylan gasped in frustration, much to Jesper’s glee. He picked up his empty glass and pointed it at Jesper accusingly. “Like you said, this is a business arrangement. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Jesper ignored him. “I really think we should settle on twenty-five. That sounds fitting.”

“Twenty-five? You’re dreaming. I’m not giving you a quarter of my inheritance.”

“Our inheritance, darling.”

Wylan bit his lip again, although this time it looked like he was biting back some very choice words.

“Ten,” he repeated sternly. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

Jesper grinned. He was fairly confident he could argue up his cut if he wanted. If not, it would still be worth trying just to make Wylan blush and squirm.

“We’ll see,” he said, then slid out of his end of the booth.

He looked up at the clock again, then back to Wylan, slumped in his seat in a way that didn’t seem natural for him. His expensive black funeral suit was ruffled, the tie now hanging loose around his neck. He’d ruffled up his own curly red hair, and was now tugging at it while he regarded Jesper with an adorably befuddled expression.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Jesper knew he had bigger issues to attend to tonight. Knew that he was already far too drunk and that he probably was not in the correct headspace to make any big life decisions. But here was Wylan, offering up the answer to all his problems on a silver platter, and in that moment, it could not have been more perfect. He felt like the stars had aligned, and luck was finally on his side once again.

His father had always said he must have been born under a lucky star. Maybe he had been right after all.

“It’s not every day you get engaged, Trust Fund,” he answered, jerking his head in the direction of the bar. “I think that’s worth celebrating a bit more, don’t you?”

Chapter Text

Jesper woke up to the taste of stale liquor on his lips and blinding light filtering beneath his eyes. He groaned, brows furrowing as he attempted to cling to the blissful oblivion of sleep.

Today was not going to be fun.

Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes, giving them time to adjust to the morning sun and his familiar surroundings. What time did he make it home last night? How did he get home in the first place? Saints knew he couldn’t remember. That was never a good sign.

He rolled onto his back, wincing with the effort, and noticed for the first time that he was not alone. A shock of red-gold curls - in stark contrast to the white sheets - poked out between the pillow and duvet at the other end of his large bed.

Oh, he thought, as memories from the night before flooded back to him.

Oh…

He must have taken Wylan home with him after they left the club. He didn’t harbour any suspicions that something had happened between them - they’d both been completely wasted - but he’d obviously clocked the boy was in no condition to make it back to the Geldstraat alone. A few flashes from their evening together crossed his mind. Empty bottles piled up on a rickety table, shouted words that gradually became too slurred to comprehend, laugh-lines in the corners of ocean eyes…and a bargain that seemed too good to be true.

Fuck, what had he gotten himself into?

As carefully as he dared, he pushed himself up and out of bed, ensuring that he avoided the creaky floorboard he knew was right below him. He had stripped down to his underwear at some point before falling asleep, his work uniform tossed haphazardly into a corner of the bedroom. Wylan, on the other hand, remained fully clothed in his funeral suit, even keeping on his socks. Jesper could see him much better now that he was standing over him. He was sprawled across his half of the bed, the duvet only covering half his lithe form, an arm and a leg jutting out over the edge at awkward angles. Half his face was mushed into the pillow, his lips parted as he breathed steadily in and out. Long dark lashes brushed over sun-kissed cheeks.

If Jesper’s head was pounding, he could only imagine how Wylan would feel when he woke up. Apparently, he’d been on a bar crawl all afternoon, and the Green Fairy would not have done him any favours. Would he remember much more of last night? The proposal? Did he still want to go through with it?

Did Jesper even want to?

There was a bit of drool on the pillow next to Wylan’s mouth that Jesper found oddly endearing - it was nice to know the very wealthy were just as human as everybody else.

He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a crumpled t-shirt from a pile of clothes near the dresser, then tiptoed to his bedroom door, closing it behind him as quietly as possible. Wylan didn’t so much as stir.

It was unusually quiet for The Slat, though that was definitely a blessing. Jesper could only hear one other person clattering about in the kitchen downstairs, accompanied by the sounds of a tune being hummed off-key. The welcoming scent of butter and freshly baked breads wafted pleasantly throughout the house.

“Morning!” Nina chirped brightly when he appeared at the bottom of the staircase. Far too brightly for this time of day, in Jesper’s opinion.

A smattering of sugar, baking powder and flour was strewn across the countertops. Nina was in the process of pulling open every kitchen cabinet and drawer, on a quest for…Saints knew what, considering all the cooking utensils they possessed seemed to be covering every available surface already.

“Is it still morning?” Jesper asked, pretending to check the time before realising he wasn’t wearing a watch.

His housemate rolled her eyes at him. Her chestnut hair had been pulled into a messy topknot, a few loose strands escaping to frame her face. There were a few butter-coloured stains on her white camisole and patterned pyjama shorts.

“Have fun last night then?”

“So it would seem,” he grinned, before pressing a hand to his temple and hissing. “Got anything to help with this?”

Nina pointed without looking towards their coffee machine. Jesper gave an exasperated sigh, but moved towards it nonetheless. What use was it having a hospital-employed Heartrender for a housemate if she didn’t keep them well stocked in remedies for exactly this sort of occasion?

“‘Nej said she heard you get in about four o’clock,” Nina said.

“Never any privacy in this place,” Jesper huffed, though he wasn’t surprised by it. Inej could hear a pin drop a mile away, and he doubted they had been subtle getting home.

Inej had certainly overheard that he wasn’t alone then, too. Thankfully, it seemed she hadn’t mentioned that fact to Nina, or he would be getting an earful of teasing right now.

“And Kaz said your shift finished around midnight.”

“That so?”

“Jes,” Nina paused her mission of rummaging through a drawer, fixing him with concerned green eyes, “you didn’t, did you?”

There was no need to ask what she meant.

“No,” he answered, and he mostly believed it was true. There was no way of knowing for sure though until he checked his bank balances, but the thought of that made him want to throw up.

Nina studied him a second before her gaze softened. “Good.”

“Just the usual debauchery.”

“Debauchery is fine in moderation.”

“Maybe a little revelry.”

“Well, you know I approve of revelry,” Nina laughed, then froze as her eyes landed on something. “Oh there you are, you little minx!”

She retrieved a piping bag from the depths of the drawer, holding it aloft in triumph. Jesper couldn’t help smiling fondly at her as he waited for the coffee to brew.

“Where are they, anyway?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the stairs. He knew Nina would know he was referring to their other housemates.

“‘Nej has her sailing lessons and Kaz is…” she chucked mirthlessly, “well, Saints knows where, really. But he’ll be back at some point, you know how it goes.”

Jesper did know. That man was always going somewhere, always up to something, always had another plan in the works. It was a large part of the reason why Jesper had gravitated towards him in the first place. He liked the uncertainty, the constant suspense that came part and parcel with Kaz Brekker.

Nina opened the waffle iron on the counter, revealing the source of that delicious smell. She placed two large waffles onto a plate along with some fresh strawberries, then filled the piping bag with whipped cream.

“Hey!” she slapped Jesper’s hand away when he reached for one of the berries. “Mitts off. This is for Matthias.”

Jesper whined. “What did he do to deserve such a feast?”

“He’s been up since before sunrise with boot camp,” Nina explained, smacking him on the wrist when he reached for another berry. “He’s more than earned it.”

Of course, Jesper thought wryly. Nina’s pious, brooding boyfriend and his tedious fitness program for underprivileged youth. He could be such a stick-in-the-mud about it, acting as if he was doing the work of Saints when really he was just forcing bratty teenagers to do endless rounds of burpees. What good was that going to do them?

In truth, Matthias wasn’t so bad, and he made Nina happy, but he certainly wouldn’t be Jesper’s first choice of friend.

“Suppose it’s in your best interest to keep him lean before plying him with sugary breakfast treats,” he rolled his eyes, filling up a mug of coffee instead.

Nina smirked and poked him in the belly. “You could do with a bit of bulking up yourself, you know. They’re always looking for more volunteers.”

“Hey!” Jesper scoffed. “This lanky body is a work of art, thank you. I’ve been told on multiple occasions. And I’d rather take my chances against the Darkling than be caught wrangling a bunch of hormonal delinquents at some unholy hour, without pay…”

“You might actually enjoy it if you give it a try!”

“Um, have we met?”

“Alright, alright,” Nina snorted. “But at some point you’ll figure out there’s more to life than partying until dawn, you know, and - Oh! Hello!”

Her eyes widened, and Jesper followed them to find a very disgruntled Wylan slowly making his way down the last few stairs. His curls were an absolute mess, sticking up at odd angles, and now that he was outside the stuffy confines fo Jesper’s bedroom, it was obvious his clothing reeked of booze. His blazer had been discarded - likely lost at some point during the walk home - and his undone tie hung very loosely around his neck. The first two buttons of his white shirt had come undone, revealing a small v-shaped patch of pale skin.

He looked adorable, if miserable. There was no denying either fact.

“I’m so sorry, did we wake you?” Nina asked, a bit too enthusiastically. “I would have kept it down if I knew we had company.”

She stared pointedly at Jesper, who only shrugged.

Wylan’s face was scrunched up in concentration, as if every second he was on his feet was an effort. He lifted a hand and rubbed at the corner of one eye, emitting a soft little whining sound that was just stupid and annoying, really.

Nina glanced between the new arrival and Jesper expectantly.

“Nina, Wylan. Wylan, Nina,” Jesper introduced them quickly.

Wylan’s bleary eyes struggled against the light.

“What time is it?” he asked in a voice that was far more gravelly than usual. “Where am I?”

“Saints, Jesper, what did you do to the poor boy?” Nina murmured to him.

“Nothing!” Jesper held his hands up defensively. He glanced at Wylan and couldn’t resist a tiny smirk. “Well…”

He winked at the other boy and was rewarded when he immediately turned vibrant red.

“I, uh…” Wylan trailed off, clearly at a loss of words. In his quest to look at anything but Jesper, his eyes met with the fresh plate of waffles still sitting on the counter. The cream that had been piped onto it was just starting to melt under the warmth of the pastry. Jesper watched Wylan’s pupils widen as his eyes finally came into focus.

Nina appraised him sympathetically. “Do you want some breakfast, Wylan? These just came out of the waffle iron.”

“I thought you said those were for Matthias!” Jesper exclaimed.

“And guests,” Nina added, pushing the plate to the other end of the counter. “Honestly, Jes, don’t you have any manners?”

Wylan had to tear his gaze away from the food. He anxiously searched Nina’s face, but - as Jesper had noticed last night - he appeared to have difficulty in making direct eye-contact with other people.

“Oh, no, sorry, I…” he stammered, “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, I can easily make some more,” Nina pushed some cutlery after the plate, then gestured to the nearby stool. “Go on, sit down and eat. Jesper will make you a coffee.”

“How do you take it?” Jesper asked, turning to grab a clean mug.

“Uh, however you take it is fine.”

When he turned back, Wylan had returned to staring at the food like he’d just won the fucking lottery. He cautiously moved to occupy the stool, toying with the fork. He had the air of somebody who didn’t know whether or not they should be there.

Nina was already preparing to make some more batter.

“You’re at The Slat, by the way - that’s in the Barrel. And it’s just gone after eleven in the morning,” Nina paused when she realised he hadn’t touched the food. “Please, I insist. Matthias is late so it was only going to go cold anyway.”

She pushed the plate another inch closer, and that was all the encouragement Wylan needed. He jammed the fork in and practically inhaled the first bite, barely swallowing before he was piling more food into his mouth.

“Saints, where do you put it?” Jesper marvelled when he placed the mug of coffee in front of him. Wylan’s cheeks reddened, but he didn’t slow down.

“I take it you like it?” asked Nina.

“Amazing,” Wylan moaned ahead of another mouthful. The way he said it was practically pornographic. Jesper doubted the other boy had any idea.

Nina beamed at him.

Jesper sipped his coffee, leaning casually against the counter opposite the boy who had shared his bed last night. It wasn’t the first time one of his housemates had been confronted with a random stranger he’d brought home in their kitchen; and they all knew Jesper well enough by now to assume they would never see said random stranger again. Despite this, Nina in particular was always friendly towards his one night stands. Especially when they complimented her cooking.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” she said. “Jes, where did you find him?”

Wylan gulped down the last mouthful of waffle, leaving the faintest hint of a bit of cream on his upper lip. They exchanged an awkward glance. How was Jesper meant to explain him, anyway? Just some boy he met in a Barrel bar? One-time disastrous date from that time he’d been forced to try dating apps? Fake boyfriend? Soon-to-be fake husband, if their absurd drunken plan ever came to fruition?

“Actually…” he began, though he had no idea where he was going from there.

The sound of the rusty front door opening and then struggling to close was a welcome relief.

“Nina?” a voice called out in a thick Fjerdan accent.

Nina visibly brightened. “In here, baby!”

Jesper expelled a sigh. Saved by Matthias, of all people…

Nina’s boyfriend was all muscle and long limbs, his blonde hair only now just long enough to tie back in a small bun behind his ears. His pale skin was flushed in patches from the morning exercise, and he stank of sweat.

He paused in the doorway when he saw Wylan, blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Who is this?” he asked, seemingly to no one in particular.

Wylan looked as though he desperately wanted to sink under the counter.

Nina came up beside him and was folded into a side-embrace. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

“This is Wylan,” she explained. “He’s a…err…friend of Jesper's.”

“Ah,” Matthias’ eyebrows raised when recognition dawned. “I see.”

He nodded politely to Wylan, though his disapproval was evident. Jesper groaned internally. The last thing he felt like right now was a lecture on propriety from the most boring man on the planet.

“I’m making breakfast,” Nina went on, picking up the bowl of batter. “Here, taste this.”

She lifted a wooden spoon laden with batter to the Fjerdan’s lips, which parted obediently. As innocent as it was, Jesper suddenly felt as though he’d intruded on a deeply intimate moment. His eyes met directly with Wylan’s as they both attempted to give the couple some privacy, then darted away just as quickly.

“Hmmm,” Matthias hummed happily as he licked at the spoon. “Incredible.”

Nina’s round cheeks flushed prettily. She put the spoon straight into her own mouth afterwards and sucked, staring at her now blushing boyfriend all the while.

“Urgh,” Jesper groaned aloud this time. “Well, as un-nauseating as this is, it’s probably about time we were heading off.”

He walked to the other end of the counter and placed a hand on Wylan’s shoulder, who jumped.

Nina was evidently surprised. Jesper was usually pretty eager to get rid of any late-night visitors the next day, not hang around with them.

“Where are you going?” asked Matthias, sounding annoyed at the interruption.

“Oh you know. Things to see, people to do…” he winked at Wylan, who flushed.

Nina laughed. “You can use our shower first if you like, Wylan. And feel free to borrow some clean clothes. Matthias and Jes are a bit too tall for you, but I think our other housemate Kaz might be about your size.”

“Oh! Are you sure?” Wylan said dubiously. “He won’t mind?”

“Of course not,” Nina said, though she and Jesper were very much aware that Kaz would definitely mind.

“I’ll show you,” Matthias offered. He made sure to give Nina a long, buttery kiss before jerking his head in the direction of the stairs for Wylan to follow him.

They listened in silence as the two boys trudged up the staircase, Matthias’ explanations of where to find things and Wylan’s stammered protests gradually fading to a dulcet murmur.

Nina’s green eyes were alight with mischief. She drew in a deep breath and opened her mouth.

“Don’t you dare start,” Jesper cut her off.

Grinning, Nina mimed sealing her lips shut.

“Where are we going?” Wylan asked from behind Jesper’s shoulder. He seemed to be having a bit of trouble keeping up with Jesper’s long strides.

Jesper turned to face him so he was walking backwards down the street. “Anywhere. You saw the way those two were looking at each over their waffle batter. Trust me, we don’t want to be around for what happens next.”

Wylan looked absurdly embarrassed.

“Besides,” Jesper continued, “we need to talk.”

It was always strange walking around the Barrel in daylight hours. Like walking into a casino with no card tables or a bar with no liquor. The coffeehouses were doing their usual trade, and a few laughing tourists were still meandering about, but without the flashing neon lights and the cacophony of streetcars and shouting, the atmosphere was eerie.

Jesper had no money to spend, and he doubted Wylan had much either, after his binging the night before. He led him to a spot he knew on Fifth Harbour in the end - a grassy knoll overlooking a long, still stretch of murky water. It had been a popular spot for drug deals back in the day, but had since been gentrified beyond recognition. A few families gathered on picnic blankets in the sunshine to watch trade and cruise ships sail past on their way to the docks.

They sat near the water’s edge, legs hanging over the drop a few feet above the bay.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jesper said, after a couple of silent minutes. He had never been good at silences. He could practically hear the cogs turning in Wylan’s head, and it was making him nervous.

Wylan’s forehead was creased in concern, staring into the water’s black surface, lips pursed together. Saints, he was so…pouty. Definitely annoying and stupid, Jesper decided.

After an eternity, Wylan said, “I stayed at your house.”

Well, that wasn’t what Jesper had been expecting to hear.

“Yes.”

Wylan refused to look at him. “I…slept in your bed.”

“Very astute.”

Wylan was quiet again, face heating up in anticipation of what he was about to say.

“We didn’t…” he began, before the words died in his mouth, “…um…”

Jesper grinned. “Didn’t what?”

Wylan gesticulated wildly. “You know!”

Jesper was being cruel, but he just couldn’t resist. It was far too easy.

“No, I really don’t. You’ll have to explain it to me.”

He might have actually broken him. Wylan was at a complete loss, all flushed with his mouth hanging open and pupils wide. Jesper had to bite down hard on his cheek to keep from laughing and ruining the game.

“Ghezen, you are infuriating!” Wylan snapped, finally looking at him.

Jesper did laugh then. “Relax, Trust Fund. Nothing happened. We were wasted and my place was around the corner, that’s all.”

Wylan looked dubious. “You’re sure?”

Was he really that horrified by the idea?

“I’m sure,” he winked, “if anything happened between us, you’d definitely remember.”

Wylan blushed again, but he seemed relieved.

“What do you remember?” asked Jesper.

Wylan pondered for a moment. “I remember meeting you in the bar. I remember talking, and well…after that it gets pretty blurry.”

Jesper nodded. It seemed they’d both lost track of the night around the same time.

“And do you remember what you told me?”

He was expecting Wylan to get embarrassed again, but instead he only frowned.

“Yeah, I uh, I shouldn’t have,” he sighed, rubbing at his temples. “It was dumb.”

Jesper studied him intently. He was dressed in a pair of Kaz’s black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt that was only just too big for him. It was an odd sight, this boy in his housemate’s clothing. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but at least he didn’t reek of booze anymore.

“You won’t tell anyone will you?” Wylan side-eyed him. “About the inheritance?”

Jesper scoffed. Not even he would sink that low.

“Who would I tell?”

“I don’t know,” Wylan said glumly. He sounded so defeated.

Of course, he was never actually going to go through with it, Jesper thought. He was going to find some debutante with connections and high standing who would look good posing next to him in the tabloids, then he would marry her to fulfil the obligations of the will. Not some Barrel trash. Jesper knew that. There had never been been a question…

“It will be quite the story someday, though,” he said lightly. “That I was once proposed to by a Van Eck.”

Wylan offered him a tiny smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The worst proposal ever.”

“I don’t know, it wasn’t that bad,” Jesper smiled back at him. He hesitated, then added,“The way you put it, it actually did make sense.”

Wylan lifted his head slightly. “Yeah?”

Jesper shrugged. “We both have problems we’d rather keep to ourselves. And there’s a hell of a lot worse ways to make money.”

Wylan pursed his lips again, gaze returning to the water.

“Does that mean…” he frowned, “…does that mean, you’d still consider it?”

Jesper almost laughed. Would he be willing to play house with a millionaire’s son for a while in exchange for a huge slice of pie? Was this boy serious?

“Does that mean the deal is still on the table?”

“Yes!” Wylan exclaimed, just a little too quickly. Jesper snorted as he turned pink. “I mean, yes, it’s still on the table.”

Jesper couldn’t believe his luck.

“If this is going to work, there needs to be some ground rules,” Wylan said seriously, some time later.

They had been going over the basics of their arrangement. A short while ago, they had relocated to a spot on the grass that was more comfortable, as far as possible from prying ears and eyes just to be on the safe side.

Jesper reclined back on the soft ground, propped up by his elbows and grinning. “I’m listening.”

Wylan looked at him and swallowed. He seemed to have lost concentration for a moment.

He cleared his throat loudly. “First of all - and this is probably the most obvious - we have to make sure that it looks real.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Wylan nodded, the picture of seriousness. “My father’s lawyer has done his best to keep this under wraps, but his business associates are vultures. If they get the slightest whiff of something off, they will be snooping around. We don’t need to help them along. It has to look like we are in a legitimate relationship from the start - marriage, planning to have kids, all of it.”

“Okay,” Jesper rose an eyebrow. “And how do we make it look…real?”

Wylan blushed into his lap.

“Well, I know it sounds difficult, but we should probably behave as though we actually like each other.”

“You’re right. That does sound difficult,” Jesper smirked.

Wylan shot him a look.

“Also,” he continued as though Jesper hadn’t spoken, “we should try and be seen in public together. Take photos and put them on social media, too. The sort of thing you do when you’re in a relationship.”

“Makes sense.”

Wylan tapped a few buttons on his phone, then pushed it towards him. “There’s this charity gala coming up next week that will be packed out with Ketterdam’s business elite. We should make an appearance.”

Jesper peered at the screen. It was opened onto an emailed invitation, complete with elegant black cursive lettering and gilded with a silver boarder. The type of exclusive event he could never even dream about getting courted for.

“A black and white ball?” Jesper read aloud, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

Wylan scowled and snatched the phone back. “It’s for a good cause.”

“Save the endangered Fjerdan squirrel? People for the advancement of trust fund babies? The foundation for less mischief?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wylan snapped, then muttered, “it’s for an organisation called ‘Speak for the Seas’.”

Jesper sniggered.

“It’s a research facility associated with the university,” Wylan said defensively. “They do a lot of environmental work.”

“Speak for the Seas,” Jesper repeated, smirking. “I suppose somebody has to.”

Wylan huffed. “If you’re going to be a prick about it…”

“Alright, no need to get upset. I’ll come to your black and white nautical charity gala,” Jesper said. “Any other rules I should know about?”

“Yes,” Wylan answered, evidently pleased to be moving on. “Because we have to make it look real, I don’t think we should be allowed to tell anybody that the engagement is fake.”

Jesper frowned. “Anybody?”

He could understand needing to play pretend in front of the general public, but there was no reason his housemates and closest friends couldn’t know, was there?

“Anybody,” Wylan asserted. “Even the people we trust might get a little loose-lipped at the bar one night after a bit too much to drink, and you never know who might be listening.”

He had a point, Jesper realised, not to mention the fact that there were people in his own life who might use the situation for their own leverage. A certain person in particular, who likely wouldn’t share his scruples about selling out Wylan to the highest bidder…

“Fair enough,” he said. “We don’t tell anyone about our arrangement.”

It was going to be tough, though, there was no doubting that. Considering Jesper shared a home with some of the most infuriatingly observant people in all of Kerch, including an actual Heartrender…

Wylan smiled softly. “Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

Wylan hesitated, turning that delightful shade of pink again. Jesper braced himself for something good.

“Well, it’s…” Wylan struggled, then tried again, “if it’s meant to be real, between us, we shouldn’t…you know…with other…”

Oh, this was better than he could have hoped for. Jesper felt the grin stretch across his face.

“Wylan Van Eck,” he said, “are you asking if we can be exclusive?”

“I don’t care,” the other boy said quickly. “You can do what you like. But imagine if, say, somebody I knew discovered you…”

“Fucking someone?” Jesper offered, unhelpfully.

Wylan was on fire.

“Yes, or, whatever else. It would raise some awkward questions, for both of us.”

“You’d have to pretend to be my jilted lover.”

Wylan nodded. “It could turn into a scandal. That’s the last thing we need. And while we’re on the subject…it is fake, so I don’t want you to…expect…that…”

“You’re saying I will need to be celibate for the next year,” Jesper summarised bluntly.

Wylan stared far away. “For ten percent of my father’s fortune, yes.”

“I thought you said it was twenty percent.”

“No, ten was what we agreed on last night.”

“I distinctly remember you saying twenty.”

“I did not.”

“I’m upping my price,” Jesper couldn’t resist teasing. “If you expect me to spend an entire year getting better acquainted with my hand…”

Wylan groaned. “If I say fifteen, will it get you to shut up?”

“Fifteen then,” Jesper brightened. “And you know, you might end up changing your mind regarding my expectations…”

“I severely doubt that.”

“Just promise not to fall in love with me.”

The look on Wylan’s face was priceless. “Excuse me?”

“That’s what they always say in the movies, isn’t it?” Jesper said. “When these sort of plot lines come up. But you know they are going to end up falling in love anyway.”

“Real life isn’t like the movies, Jesper,” Wylan answered.

There was something very appealing about the way Wylan said his name, Jesper was learning. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was because he didn’t say it very often. It was absurd, really, because the way Wylan spoke was so pompous and self-righteous, in that accent reserved for Ketterdam’s elite.

No, it wasn’t like the movies. If anything, they would be lucky to make it through the first month without throttling each other. Or without Kaz uncovering their secret. Trust Fund had no idea what he was getting them into.

But all that kruge…well, Jesper reasoned, thinking of his father back home, that was worth pretty much everything.

“So,” said Wylan, in a statesman’s voice he’d conjured up out of nowhere, “is it agreed then? We start dating officially from now, announce our engagement in a week or two, then get married as soon as possible without looking too suspicious? Then we divorce after a year or so - amicably, of course - and go our separate ways?”

It all sounded straightforward when he put it like that. Perhaps there was no reason to overthink it. The answer to his prayers had just fallen directly into his lap in the past few hours, and who was he to turn down the offer of a lifetime?

“The deal is the deal,” he said, adopting the old Kerch turn of phrase just as he had adopted this nation. He extended his hand.

Wylan’s smile was lit up with relief. His palm was soft in Jesper’s, but his grip remained firm.

“The deal is the deal,” he repeated.

Chapter Text

Wylan stood out the front of The Slat, and wondered once again if it was time to reevaluate his life choices.

The rundown terrace house might have been quite nice in its heyday, but time and neglect had clearly left their mark on the washed-out exterior. It was a narrow, crooked building with grimy windows and a tiny front garden that was half weed, half broken tile. There were bars across the front door; it may have seemed ominous, but given his current surroundings, Wylan actually found it practical.

In contrast, he knew from his previous visit, the interior was fairly well maintained. It was three stories tall, with a modern kitchen and living area, two decent-sized bathrooms and four bedrooms, one for each of the housemates. The hallways, staircase and surfaces had all been laden with clutter. It was the sort of thing one would never see in the homes of the Geldstraat, but it had made the place feel ‘lived in’. Like it had taken on a personality of its own.

Wylan pushed open the rusty gate, which creaked loudly in protest. He winced, knowing he had probably just announced his arrival. No turning back now.

It had been four days since he’d last seen Jesper. Four days since they’d agreed to go through with what had unofficially become known as ‘the deal’. Four days since Wylan had gotten blind drunk at the Crow Club, likely made a buffoon of himself, and then woken up in a strange bedroom that had a vaguely familiar smell. Everything about it was surreal. There were times when he doubted whether it had happened at all.

As it turned out, four days was more than enough time for Wylan to overthink things. He had gone back and forth on the deal ever since, shifting between absolute certainty and confidence in their ability to pull it off, and bouts of crippling anxiety. Today, he was sitting somewhere between the two.

Taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell. Then again when nothing happened. It took three attempts for him to realise the damn thing was broken, and he knocked politely instead.

“One second!” called out a voice he recognised.

Wylan trembled. He had been hoping Jesper might be home alone, but with so many people living under one roof, that had been wishful thinking.

When Nina opened the door, she almost fell backwards.

“Oh my Saints!” she exclaimed, her green eyes practically bursting. “It’s you!”

Wylan had no idea how to respond to that. He settled with a rather lame, “It’s me.”

“You came back!” said Nina. Thankfully, she looked pretty happy about it.

“I’m sorry,” Wylan answered, “did Jesper not tell you I was coming over?”

“He did not,” Nina grinned. “I thought you were the delivery guy. Come in, come in!”

She hastily unlocked the barred gate and gripped Wylan’s wrist, tugging him into the house. Wylan barely had time to think, let alone react to the foreign sensation of being touched by a near-to-complete stranger.

“I just got fresh croissants,” she explained as she dragged him towards the kitchen. “Have you been to Black Star Bakery yet?”

“Sorry?” Wylan asked, feeling very out of his depth.

Nina didn’t seem to notice. “It used to be this little hideaway place, but it’s blown up ever since the Influencers cottoned onto it. Now you have to get there early and line up for hours. Still worth it though.”

She continued talking to him about pastry even after they’d reached the kitchen, which he was dismayed to find occupied with three other people. Matthias, Nina’s somber-faced boyfriend, stared at Wylan as though he were a mirage. A short, thin Suli girl with a long braid of dark hair and kind eyes regarded him curiously from her spot on a kitchen stool. And beside her, sat Jesper’s terrifying boss from the Crow Club.

He was no less terrifying in daylight hours.

“Everybody, meet Wylan,” Nina announced, “he’s Jesper’s friend.”

The last word came out as an excited squeal. She was still holding onto his wrist, fingers lightly hovering over where his pulse was. Wylan wondered if her face hurt from smiling so much.

“Hi, Wylan,” said the Suli girl, gently and somewhat sympathetically. Matthias nodded at him.

Nina gestured to the others in turn. “This is Inej - and well, you already know Matthias - and this is our other housemate, Kaz.”

Kaz, Wylan realised with a start, putting two-and-two together. Oh Ghezen, he’d borrowed the scary man’s clothes…

“We’ve met,” said Kaz, narrowing his eyes at him. Wylan hoped he wasn’t somehow a mind-reader.

“You have? When?” Nina asked eagerly. She must have noticed Wylan’s discomfort, because she gave his wrist a quick squeeze and whispered, “Don’t worry, you get used to him.”

Kaz’s eyes were twin black pools, dense and unreadable as he scanned Wylan up and down.

“Recently,” was all he responded with.

Nina shrugged, releasing her grip on Wylan and giving his shoulder a little shake instead. “Croissants? You have to try one with raspberry and marzipan jam. It will change your life!”

She hurried off to fix him a plate, leaving him standing there with no clue what to do.

“So Wylan, how do you know Jesper?” asked Inej. She had a very calming tone of voice, which he was eternally grateful for. 

He smiled at her politely. “Actually, we met online. Have you heard of Kindling?”

They’d decided it was as good an origin story as any. According to Jesper, a lot of his friends had been finding love via the app lately, so it wasn’t too uncommon.

However, Jesper’s housemates evidently found it pretty novel. Nina gasped, Inej gave a startled smile, and Matthias’ eyes widened. Even Kaz seemed perplexed.

“That little sneak!” said Nina. “He didn’t tell me!”

“S-Sorry?”

“She means Jesper,” Inej explained. “He had a bad experience once with Kindling, so we’re just a bit surprised.”

Matthias snorted. “I would say that’s an understatement. He didn’t shut up about it. On and on for weeks about it being the worst date ever…”

Wylan internally cringed, but did his best to act like this was new information.

“Honestly, I think he was exaggerating about how bad it was. He’s always been a sore loser,” said Nina, then turned towards Wylan. “He lost a bet to me, you see. As punishment, I made him give online dating a try.”

Ah, Wylan thought. So Nina was the one who had invented the fake Jesper profile. The one who had been a perfect match for him, according to the app’s algorithm.

It was a pity Nina was a girl. And taken.

“I can’t believe he actually gave it another go,” she huffed.

“Well,” Wylan said awkwardly, “second time’s the charm?”

Nina’s expression of annoyance was instantly replaced by a warm smile. “It definitely is!”

Kaz frowned at her. “Your interest in Jesper’s love life is concerning, Nina. I think you need a new hobby.”

“Feeling left out, Kaz?” Nina laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll be my next project.”

It didn’t escape Wylan’s notice that Inej flushed slightly at those words, and suddenly became very interested in picking at her nails. He felt a huge swell of empathy for her.

“I wouldn’t count on it, if you want to keep breathing,” Kaz glowered. He stood and began fixing himself a mug of pitch-black coffee.

“Shouldn’t someone tell Jesper that Wylan is here?” asked Matthias.

“Oh yes, sorry!” Nina walked to the base of the stairs, then bellowed out at the top of her lungs, “JES! YOUR DATE IS HERE!”

Oh dear Ghezen…Wylan wanted to die.

“He should be down soon,” she said brightly, then handed him a plate.

The first time he’d eaten in days had been at her insistence. His appetite still hadn’t returned to normal since his father died, but something about Nina’s enthusiasm for food was contagious. He bit into the end of the croissant and it crumbled messily onto the plate.

“Nina always finds the best places to eat,” said Inej, as Nina coaxed him to the stool beside her, “and the weirdest. I keep telling her she should start a food blog.”

Wylan swallowed and hastily wiped crumbs from his mouth. “You should!”

Nina laughed and shook her head. “Not enough time. I’m way too busy with all the hospital work.”

“You work in a hospital?” Wylan asked interestedly.

“I’m just an intern for now, still a few more years before I become a fully qualified Healer. And then I also do a bit of freelance translation work on the side to make some extra cash.”

“Nina is very gifted with languages,” Matthias added with a touch of pride.

Nina grinned at him fondly. “Oh, stop it you. He’s my biggest fan, this one.”

She had said Healer instead of Doctor, Wylan noticed, which meant that she must have been a Corporalki. He was impressed; he’d never met a Grisha before.

“What do you do, Wylan?” asked Inej.

Wylan blushed. “I’m sort of…in between jobs at the moment.”

It had been a while since he’d thought about it. When his father was still alive, he had resigned himself to life as a figurehead whose job was mostly to stay out of sight and out of trouble. Only in his private fantasies had he ever entertained the idea of actually doing something. Given the choice, he would have liked to study music, or art. But he’d never had the courage to ask for permission.

“Plenty of time to figure it out,” Inej smiled, evidently sensing his discomfort.

Matthias perked up. “Have you ever thought about volunteering? I run a youth program - ”

“Oh Saints, don’t start,” interrupted a loud voice from the stairs.

Jesper looked as handsome as he always did, even in a faded pair of jeans and a slouchy burgundy sweater. He had mismatched colourful socks on his large feet, the tip of a big toe just poking through the hole on the right side. He’d stuffed his hands in his pockets and eyed Wylan somewhat sheepishly.

“Forgot you were coming today,” he admitted.

Wylan frowned. “Did you only just wake up?”

“Maybe.”

“Jesper…”

“I told you I’m not a morning person!” Jesper retorted, but he was grinning. “I’m at my best after dark.”

Wylan chose to ignore that. “Could have just put a reminder in your phone like a normal person.”

“You could have just texted me like a normal person,” Jesper said, “when you were on your way or something.”

Truth be told, Wylan didn’t have any friends to visit, so he had no idea whether that sort of behaviour was normal or not.

“It’s not my responsibility to make sure you get out of bed when you’re supposed to.”

Jesper opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short as he caught sight of something across the room. Wylan followed his gaze to see that Nina, Matthias, Inej and Kaz had all been watching their exchange silently and with the upmost attention. Kaz was unreadable as ever, Matthias looked confused, and the two girls were grinning stupidly.

Fuck, Wylan thought. They were supposed to like each other, not bicker like some miserable old married couple.

Jesper had obviously come to the same conclusion, because next thing Wylan knew the taller man had wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into his side.

“You’re right,” he said in a much softer tone. “Sorry, love. Forgive me?”

Wylan had no idea how to answer that, but he doubted he could have even if he tried. Jesper’s hold on him was firm but gentle at the same time, slotting him against a warm hip and chest. His clothing smelt faintly of cedar and balsam.

“Well, I never thought I would see the day,” said Matthias, amused.

Nina was about ready to explode.

“Try not to act like a pack of weirdos,” said Jesper. “You’re going to scare him off.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Inej.

Nina giggled. “Perish the thought.”

Kaz stayed silent, impassive. Wylan felt sure he was observing everything he did…it should have made him nervous, but it was hard to focus on that when he was still being held by Jesper and his face was bright red.

To his relief, Jesper released him. But it was only momentary, because soon he was clasping Wylan’s hand.

“We’re going out,” he said. “Don’t wait up.”

He tugged Wylan away from his half-finished croissant and towards the front door, where he stuffed on a pair of sneakers.

“It was nice to meet you, Wylan!” Inej called after them.

“Have fun, boys,” Nina added in a teasing voice. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That doesn’t leave much out,” muttered Kaz.

“Come back anytime, Wylan,” said Matthias, “I want to talk to you about the youth program!”

“Nosy sons of bitches,” Jesper muttered once they were outside. He sounded rather fond nonetheless.

He held Wylan’s hand until they had rounded the corner into the next street, then let go carefully and dropped it to his side. It left Wylan’s palm feeling strangely cold. He hastily stuffed his hand into his pocket and let Jesper take the lead a few strides in front of him.

As the island of Eil Komedie drew closer, Wylan couldn’t help leaving the warmth of the ferry’s internal cabin to watch it appear on the horizon from the front of the boat. A childlike excitement burgeoned in him.

“I’ve never been here before,” he explained when he saw that Jesper had followed him, and was watching curiously.

“Seriously?” Jesper sounded incredulous. “You’d have to be the only person in the city.”

An enormous ferris wheel was the first thing to become visible, followed by a roller coaster, some brightly coloured buildings and finally the docks. Beside them, a group of kids began pointing and chattering delightedly.

“My father never had the time,” Wylan said nonchalantly.

“Surely he had people who could take you. Like a servant or something?”

“Employees,” Wylan corrected. “We don’t have servants, it’s not the fifteenth century.”

“Fine, an employee then.”

Wylan had asked once, back when he was still at school and the theme park had first opened. His classmates had been eager to go on the rides and eat all the sweets; Wylan had been anticipating that too, but he was most looking forward to seeing the camera obscura. It was set high atop the tallest tower, and projected a fascinating and brilliant light show on the history of Ketterdam. Through it, he could travel back in time to a different era.

He’d waited a few weeks for his father to be in a good mood, after he’d closed on a huge business deal, when he knew his chances of success were at their best. He could still remember how small he felt, standing in the centre of his father’s office.

“How about this, Wylan,” Jan Van Eck had said, “you learn how to spell the words ‘theme park’ first, and I’ll let you go.”

Then he had laughed in his face and dismissed him.

“He wouldn’t have allowed that,” he told Jesper, “because then I might have actually enjoyed myself.”

He said it jokingly, but he could see something in Jesper soften, a tinge of concern to those grey eyes. It was the same expression he’d given him when he told him his father had died.

“You didn’t miss much,” said Jesper, leaning on the railing and staring forward now instead, “it was a pretty shitty theme park back in the day. You know it almost closed down a few years ago, before it was bought by an angel investor.”

“Dime Lion Inc.,” Wylan recalled. He’d overheard his father discussing it with his business partners a few years back. At the time, they all thought old Pekka Rollins had gone mad.

“Was it?” Jesper sounded interested. “I thought Rollins was a media mogul.”

Wylan shrugged. “His son likes the rides.”

“Huh. I suppose you can do that when you’re rich.”

In the years since, Rollins had turned Eil Komedie around, introducing new rides and special events and even a concert venue. It had brought the people back in droves, making it a popular spot for families and young couples.

All in all, it was a perfect location for a very public second first date.

They disembarked at the wharf, then joined the throngs queueing to have their prepaid tickets scanned and to pass through security. The full body scanner rang out a shrill alarm when Jesper approached, surprising nobody.

“Whoops,” he said casually, when a burly security guard frisked him and retrieved the pearl-handled revolver that seemed to be permanently joined to him from under his sweater.

“No weapons inside,” the man grumbled. “We’ll have to store it. You can pick it up when you leave.”

“I honestly forgot it was there,” Jesper said afterwards, when Wylan scowled at him. He didn’t understand why Jesper had to carry a gun everywhere he went. The city really should outlaw it.

“You’d forget your own head, I swear,” he sighed. There was no point in starting another argument. “Anyway, what do you want to do first?”

“Food?” Jesper said brightly, then glanced around the surrounding attractions. “Actually, no. Rollercoaster then food.”

“But - ” Wylan was cut off when Jesper grabbed his hand again, and he had no choice but to be led off through the crowd.

They sped past a long line of people waiting to get on the ride, using the express lane instead. Wylan had bought them all-access express passes for the day, which he was now regretting. He really needed to start being more careful with his remaining money. There hadn’t been much left after his bar crawl, so he had approached Alys for a loan for both himself and Jesper. He’d told her there was some trouble with Jan’s estate - something about it being tied up in equity - and she had gladly handed him over a few thousand kruge. It had almost been too easy. She was so gullible, he thought with a grimace. As soon as he could, he would pay her back.

“Something wrong?” Jesper asked. He must have noticed the look on Wylan’s face.

Wylan stared at him. From what he had gathered, Jesper was in some pretty deep shit, but it rarely seemed to phase him. He bounced around life like he was playing the best ever game, and it didn’t matter if he was losing, because at least he was having fun.

“Are you always like this?” he couldn’t help asking.

Jesper grinned. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he searched for the right words, “you’re so…”

“Handsome?”

“Energetic.” He’d wanted to say ‘alive’, but that would have been weird.

“I never understood people who just lie around all day. There’s too much to do.”

“Says the man who slept in until almost noon.”

“Yes, but that’s not all day, is it?”

The express line surged forward, and Wylan realised that they were still holding hands. He untangled their fingers delicately.

“Sorry,” said Jesper, sounding genuinely apologetic.

Wylan blushed and stared at the floor. “It’s okay.”

An attendant ushered them towards an empty cart.

“You can hold my hand again if you get scared,” Jesper said teasingly. He nudged Wylan’s shoulder with his own.

“Fuck off,” Wylan grumbled.

“Saints, Trust Fund,” Jesper snorted, “the mouth on you! Did you learn to swear like that at your fancy private school?”

The attendant pushed the safety handle down over them, and the cart lurched along the track before he could bite back.

Afterward, as they sat in the autumn sunshine with an assortment of sugary, oily foods, Wylan still felt as though he’d left his stomach somewhere upside down and high above them.

“That’s why I said rollercoaster then food,” Jesper smirked, leaning his head on his palm, elbows propped on the table.

Wylan cast him a withering look, even though he was right.

“Still looking a bit peaky there,” Jesper teased.

“Still looking like a smug bastard,” Wylan shot back, reaching for his lemonade.

Jesper laughed. “Alright, we’ll do something a bit more chilled out next. Hall of mirrors?”

“Camera obscura?” Wylan asked hopefully.

“Trust you to pick the most boring thing.”

“It’s not boring!” Wylan said, offended. “It’s history and art and science all rolled into one.”

“Exactly. Boring.”

Wylan huffed. How in the hell was that boring?

Jesper must have noticed his annoyance, because he sighed.

“Okay, look,” he said, pulling up a guide to the park on his phone, “the next show is in twenty minutes, which we are definitely going to miss. There’s another one two hours after that. We go do something else now, then make the later one?”

“Fine,” Wylan rolled his eyes, but he was secretly pleased.

They finished eating, and Jesper held his hand again as they were jostled along by shrieking children, harried parents and lovesick couples. As they walked, Wylan couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to come here with someone who actually wanted to be with him. Someone who kept holding his hand because he was proud to be Wylan’s boyfriend and not out of obligation. Someone who laughed at his jokes, and listened avidly to everything he had to say, and who thought he was interesting.

It made him feel achingly lonely.

“They have a mirror here that makes you look like you’re ten feet tall,” Jesper said conversationally as they lined up once again.

Wylan tried to smile. “Oh?”

“And another one that shows everyone what you look like with your clothes off.”

“Jesper!” Wylan blushed furiously.

“Kidding!” he said, then rose an eyebrow. “Or am I?”

“I hate you,” Wylan mumbled.

Jesper only laughed. “No you don’t.”

They wandered through the hall slowly, Wylan explaining how the refraction of the light created illusions in the glass, and giggling despite himself when they stood in front of one that made them swap heights.

“When you’re done flirting with yourself…” Wylan said, when Jesper spent a little too much time in front of a mirror that made him look extremely buff.

Jesper shrugged, walking backwards so he could face them on the way out of the attraction. “How do you remember all of that stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“The stuff about refraction and light waves,” Jesper shrugged, but Wylan could tell he was intrigued.

“Just do,” he said. He couldn’t resist adding smugly, “I told you science could be interesting.”

Jesper chuckled. “Alright, nerd. Where to now?”

“You can pick.”

“Hell Raiser?” Jesper rose his eyebrows.

“That sounds ominous.”

Before Jesper could reply, Wylan felt someone tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” a woman about their age asked, smiling hesitantly, “sorry to interrupt, but would you mind taking a photo?”

She held up her phone and pointed behind her to the water’s edge, where her boyfriend was waiting. He offered up a little wave.

“Of course,” Jesper interjected, when Wylan started stammering. He flashed her a charming smile.

The woman blushed. “Thank you. I just can’t get a good angle of both of us with the view.”

Wylan hovered awkwardly in the background while Jesper snapped a few pictures at different angles.

“Honestly, thank you so much,” the woman said delightedly when he handed her back her phone. “These are great!”

“It’s no problem.”

The woman glanced between Jesper and Wylan and smiled.

“Would you two like one together?”

“Oh!” Wylan exclaimed. “Err…”

“We’d love one!” Jesper beamed at her, and grabbed Wylan’s arm.

“What are you doing?” Wylan said, as he found himself being pulled against Jesper’s body for the second time that day. The heat was already rising in his cheeks. This was not going to be a good photo.

Jesper leaned in to murmur low in his ear, breath tickling Wylan’s skin. “Evidence of us on a date. Got to make it look real, remember?”

Fuck, was all Wylan could think, as he went rigid and tense in Jesper’s arms.

“Ready?” the woman asked, pointing Jesper’s phone. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” Jesper practically shouted. Wylan could not manage words.

The woman took a few shots, as Jesper kept both arms wrapped around Wylan, holding him so close, he thought they might merge together.

“Great!” she called out. “Just a couple more for safety.”

Without warning, Jesper lowered his head and planted a chaste kiss firmly against Wylan’s cheek. And that, truly, was the end of him. Something between a startled gasp and a squeak escaped him as he felt soft, full lips pressing firmly into his skin.

“So cute,” the woman said, handing Jesper his phone back.

Wylan waited until they’d said goodbye and the couple continued on their way before smacking Jesper on the arm.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“You can’t just go around kissing people out of the blue like that!”

“I was trying to make it look real,” Jesper rolled his eyes, “and it was just a peck on the cheek.”

“You…startled me,” Wylan managed to say, his face flaming.

“Next time I’ll give you a bit of notice, then. Happy?”

Wylan didn’t know if he would survive a next time. But maybe it would help…

“Notice would be nice,” he mumbled.

“So,” Jesper smiled, “Hell Raiser, then?”

The Hell Raiser turned out to be a new addition to the park, a 50ft drop from above sea level, hurtling towards the earth repeatedly at a lightning speed. Wylan managed to keep his lunch down, but only barely.

“Let’s do it again!” Jesper said afterwards, eyes alight from adrenaline.

“No,” Wylan stumbled away. “Anyway, it has to be time for the camera obscura now.”

Jesper checked the time. “We’ve still got half an hour. Let’s do the ferris wheel first.”

“I don’t want to miss it.”

“We won’t,” said Jesper, exasperated. “You have to do the ferris wheel once before we go. It’s iconic!”

Jesper led him away by his hand again, and that was that. Whenever Jesper took his hand, it was automatically the end of any debate. Wylan really had to do something about this.

Thankfully, the line for the ferris wheel was short, allowing them to get straight on. They sat opposite each other in the tiny, barred carriage as the door was sealed shut and then they ticked upwards.

“I came here on my first week in the city,” Jesper told him, as the carriage creaked back and forth.

Wylan realised he actually had no clue where Jesper was from. As his fake boyfriend, it was probably something he should know.

“Where did you grow up?”

Jesper smiled. “Novyi Zem.”

“Really?”

“What, it wasn’t obvious?” Jesper gestured to himself, referencing his appearance.

“It’s your accent,” Wylan admitted. “I assumed you’d always lived in Kerch because you speak our language like a native.”

“I was raised bilingual,” said Jesper, gazing out at the water. “We only ever spoke Kerch at home.”

“Was one of your parents Kerch?” Wylan asked trepidatiously. He remembered Jesper had told him one of his parents had died. He wasn’t sure if it was still a sore spot.

Jesper’s eyes flitted towards him. He smiled again, but there was a sadness to it.

“Dad’s Kaelish, but he wanted me to learn Kerch instead,” he answered. “He thought it would be more useful, language of trade and all that. I do know a couple of Kaelish drinking songs though. Dad would start talking and singing in the old language when he’d had a few too many at the pub.”

So it had been his mother who had passed away. Wylan imagined her as an older female version of Jesper, that same mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Do you get along, then? With your dad.”

Jesper beamed. “He’ll do.”

That must be nice, Wylan thought with a touch of jealousy. To have a good relationship with even one parent. Wylan’s own mother had walked out on them when he was eight years old, and he could barely remember her. His father said it was because he had turned out to be such a disappointment. It had just been the two of them since then - Alys only came along recently.

“So what brought you to Ketterdam?” he asked.

Jesper rose an eyebrow. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

“You’re supposed to be my boyfriend. We should probably know stuff about each other.”

“Fair point,” Jesper said, affecting a casual tone. “I came here about six years ago, for university.”

Wylan blinked. “You went to university?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’m not a complete idiot.”

“I never said you were!” Wylan exclaimed.

Jesper always went on about being from the Barrel like it was a badge of honour. Like he had been born into the lower classes and had never been afforded the opportunities he clearly believed Wylan had. But apparently he’d been accepted into one of the most prestigious universities in the world? Ghezen, he was complicated. Wylan was certain he could spend a lifetime trying to figure Jesper out and never get close.

“What did you study?” asked Wylan.

Before Jesper could answer, the carriage gave an unsettling creak and swayed in the breeze. Wylan involuntarily gripped the plastic seat. He hadn’t realised how high they’d gotten.

Apparently, Jesper hadn’t noticed. “I was doing Business. But I didn’t finish it.”

“At Ketterdam University?”

“Yep.”

“That’s a really competitive course,” Wylan remarked. Only the best students got into the university’s business school. Or those with family connections like Thaddeus and Pascal.

“Like I said,” Jesper answered, “not an idiot. I actually did pretty well at school back in the day. Got in on a scholarship and everything.”

Wylan couldn’t help being impressed.

“Why didn’t you finish?”

Jesper shrugged. “Wasn’t for me.”

Wylan sensed there was a lot more to the story. He was considering whether or not he should push it, when the carriage halted abruptly and started swaying again, with much more force than before.

“Oh dear Ghezen,” Wylan murmured to himself, clutching the seat again.

Jesper smirked. “You okay there, Trust Fund?”

“Is it supposed to be making that noise?”

“It’s just a bit old, but its perfectly safe,” Jesper rocked forward and back in his seat. “Look, it’s fine, see?”

“Can you please stop doing that?”

Wylan squeezed his eyes shut as the carriage lurched in rhythm with Jesper’s movements.

“Doing what? This?”

“Yes, that!”

He heard Jesper laughing. “I didn’t realise you were so scared of heights.”

“Am not.”

“You know, you can see all the way to the Barrel from up here.”

He know Jesper was trying to coax him to open his eyes again, but there was no way in hell Wylan was going to look. He was not scared of heights, and he did not need to prove that. It was just that the ferris wheel was clearly some sort of fucking death trap. He wasn’t going to feel better until he was safely back on the ground.

“We’re almost at the top,” said Jesper, a bit kinder now, “the worst of it will be over in a second.”

“Don’t patronise me,” Wylan muttered.

“Wasn’t trying to.”

He felt guilty almost immediately. Jesper was only trying to help. But Wylan had more pressing things to worry about.

With a deafening creak, the carriage came to a sudden halt. A strong breeze whipped against Wylan’s face. They must have been very high up.

“Why did it stop?” he struggled to keep the panic out of his voice.

“Not sure,” Jesper answered. He swivelled in his seat, and the carriage swayed again.

“Fuck,” said Wylan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Relax, would you. It’s probably fine.”

“Probably?”

“No, definitely.”

A tinny voice echoed from the speaker in the corner of the carriage.

“Folks, we are experiencing some technical issues at ground control at the moment. Please hang tight while our resident Fabrikators arrive to sort it out.”

“Fuck!” Wylan repeated. Things were definitely not fine.

They were trapped.

Chapter Text

The carriage scraped back and forth in the gentle breeze. Turning over his shoulder, Jesper could make out the people in the carriage just below them. They were too far away to hear, but he saw their lips moving as they glanced around their surroundings.

He sat forward again with a sigh. Ordinarily, he’d be glad they had stopped right at the top when the breakdown happened. It was a good chance to enjoy the view. Wylan, however, was clearly panicked. His knuckles strained as they gripped the plastic seat on either side of him, and his pale skin was practically translucent.

“We may be here for a while,” Jesper said. Even if he hadn’t broken the ferris wheel, he felt partly to blame. It had been his idea in the first place.

Wylan still hadn’t opened his eyes. Jesper considered whether there was anything he could do, but came up short. He didn’t have Squaller abilities, and it was the wind that seemed to be causing most of Wylan’s discomfort.

“Do you think it might help if you looked?” he offered.

Wylan shook his head very firmly. “I’d rather not.”

“It’s honestly quite beautiful.”

“I’ll take your word for it, thanks.”

A particularly strong wind sent them lurching again.

“Fuck!” Wylan sucked in his breath. He scrunched his eyelids even tighter.

“What can I do?” Jesper felt helpless.

“Distract me.”

“How?”

“I don’t know! Keep talking to me.”

Jesper was doing his best to sit still so he didn’t rock the carriage any more, but sitting still had never been his strong point. It was taking a lot of concentration to keep from fidgeting too much.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “about what?”

“Anything,” Wylan replied. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally run out of stuff to annoy me with. Tell me about…fuck - tell me about what it was like growing up in Novyi Zem.”

The first thing that came out of Jesper’s mouth was, “Warm. It was blistering in the summer. It could get freezing in the winter too, but it’s the heat I remember most.”

“Did you live in one of the big coastal cities?”

“No, we were inland,” he said. “It was a small community out west. I didn’t even see the ocean until I was like, sixteen or something.”

“Oh,” Wylan answered. The carriage creaked.

“But we had a river,” Jesper continued hastily, hoping the distraction would work. “A huge one. The biggest on the continent. We used it for fishing year-round, but in the warmer months all the local kids would go swimming there every day after school.”

Wylan smiled. “I still can’t picture you as a good student.”

“I was the best,” Jesper bragged. He was pleased this was making Wylan relax a little. “My teachers hated me though. Never paid any attention, even though I always got the top grade.”

“And you called me a nerd.”

“Shut up,” he grinned.

A vivid memory flashed into his mind, of his dad sitting beside him in a parent-teacher meeting, being told that Jesper would be able to achieve so much more if he would just apply himself. His dad had held up his report card and retorted that Jesper was clearly applying himself just fine, and that maybe the issue was that his son was just bored in class, which was really the teacher’s problem to begin with.

“Tell me some other stories from when you were in school,” Wylan urged when the carriage creaked again.

Jesper searched his memories, then said, “I got voted in as school captain in my final year.”

“Of course you did.”

“But the school gave it to somebody else anyway. They didn’t think I was mature enough.”

“Were you? Mature enough?”

“Saints, no!”

Wylan laughed, and suddenly Jesper was glowing again, like he had been that night at the bar. It was a peculiar swelling of pride, that he had been able to make his companion feel better. He noticed Wylan’s grip had loosened slightly on the seat.

“What were you like in school?” he asked. He could just picture a fresh-faced Wylan, all freckles and wide blue eyes, dressed in a smart uniform that was a size too big for him. He’d probably been very studious.

“I was terrible,” came the unexpected answer. Jesper might have imagined it, but he swore he saw Wylan flinch, despite the fact that the carriage was currently stable.

“How so?” He couldn’t imagine Wylan ever breaking the rules or not turning his homework in on time.

“Doesn’t matter,” Wylan said airily. “What was the river called, where you used to swim?”

It was obvious he was avoiding the question. Jesper was intrigued - what could he possibly have to hide? - but didn’t see any merit to probing further when Wylan was already upset.

“Bark River,” he said, translating the name into Kerch. “Don’t ask me why. I have no idea. Some of the Elders used to say it had another name once, long ago. There’s no one left around who can remember.”

“That’s sort of sad,” said Wylan, ponderously.

Jesper supposed it was. He had never really dwelled on it much.

“I had my first kiss in that river,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Wylan blushed. “Oh?”

“Yep,” Jesper grinned, “with a girl from my class at school. She made us kiss underwater, so no one would see.”

“Was she embarrassed?” Wylan sounded incredulous, like he couldn’t fathom such a thing. Which was hilarious, since he turned bright red whenever Jesper had held his hand.

“We were like, twelve, so yeah. Probably.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I was fifteen when I had my first real girlfriend. She was in the grade above me.”

He didn’t know why he was telling Wylan this. Mostly because it was entertaining to see how it effected him. He was so ridiculously bashful.

Adorably bashful, corrected a quiet voice in his head.

Jesper told the voice to fuck off.

“Good for you?” said Wylan, clearly flustered.

“She wasn’t a very good kisser,” he fought to keep the smirk out of his voice.

“Really didn’t need to know that…”

“She used to put her tongue in my mouth and just let it lie there…”

“Oh Ghezen!” Wylan’s eyes snapped open. “Do you have to be so crass?”

Jesper beamed at him until he realised what he’d done.

“You asshole,” he muttered, but he was smiling.

They sat in a companionable silence for a while, staring out at the water. Wylan stayed in the middle of his seat, away from the barred edges, though he had unclenched his hands enough to rest them on his knees.

“Can I ask you something?” Wylan blurted out, eyes fixed on the view towards Ketterdam.

“Sure.”

“When did you know…” Wylan trailed away, then tried again. “When did you first…?”

“Figure out that I like boys too?” Jesper prompted, to which Wylan gave a tiny nod. “I guess I always knew, but I didn’t kiss a boy until I first got to Ketterdam.”

He’d had crushes before that though. Plenty of crushes on boys and girls in his class or who lived on the vast farmlands surrounding the town. They never lasted very long. It was only after that first kiss - with a nervous Kerch boy at a university orientation party - when things finally solidified for him. He hadn’t needed to think about it any deeper. He was who he was.

“What about you?” he asked. “When did you know?”

Wylan only shrugged. “Same as you. Always.”

Jesper wondered who Wylan’s first kiss had been. Had he blushed prettily for them, like he was doing now? Had he closed his eyes so that those long, dark lashes brushed down on his cheeks? Tilted his head upwards…parted his cupid-bow lips in anticipation?

Wylan’s voice interjected, “I guess if I had to pick a time, it was probably when all the boys my age at the country club got obsessed with this one waitress’s cleveage. I remember not being able to work out what the big deal was.”

Jesper spluttered. He was glad to be thinking about something else.

The ferris wheel gave a low, shuddering heave, like it was breathing back to life. With a final screech, it begin slowly turning once more.

“Thank Ghezen,” Wylan sighed, “I thought we’d be stuck up here forever.”

Jesper smiled. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Maybe for you.”

He let Wylan get out first when they touched the ground, despite feeling antsy and eager to move again. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anybody more relieved in his life.

“Never again,” Wylan said, “never ever again.”

Jesper chuckled, then checked his phone.

“We’ve definitely missed the show,” he grimaced. It had been the last one for the day. “Sorry.”

Wylan shrugged, but it was obvious he was disappointed. “Not your fault. I can come back another time.”

It was true. It wasn’t as if Eil Komedie was going anywhere. Jesper glanced around them at all the people meandering along. He imagined what it must have been like for Wylan to grow up here. To be surrounded by such abundance, and yet to be lacking in the things that truly mattered.

To have a parent who not only couldn’t be bothered to take his son to a theme park, but who went out of his way to ensure his child remained unhappy.

“Really,” Wylan - who must have seen the look on Jesper’s face - continued to press, “it’s not a big deal. I can wait. It’s pretty boring anyway, isn’t it?”

Jesper turned to stare up the hill which led deeper into the park. The bulk of the crowd was teeming towards them, as many were heading home for the day. It was less than an hour until sunset.

He had made up his mind. Wylan had waited long enough.

“Come on,” he said, clasping Wylan’s hand and pulling him resolutely.

“Where are you going?” he heard Wylan’s confused voice behind him. “The ferry is the other way.”

“We’re not going to the ferry.”

“What - ”

“Just try and keep up, would you?”

He pushed them along against the current of people, swerving between crying, overstimulated children and couples who had joined at the hip. He didn’t give Wylan another chance to protest until they reached what he was looking for: a tall, circular structure styled like an old watchtower.

“It’s closed,” said Wylan, gesturing to the sign on the door. The entrance had been sealed shut with a padlocked chain.

Jesper didn’t answer, though he slowed his pace and strode casually around the side of the building, still holding Wylan’s hand. It felt clammy, likely from the exertion of walking so briskly uphill.

“Jesper,” Wylan hissed, when he approached the side entrance reserved for staff, “what the hell are you doing?”

Jesper felt his mouth twitch upwards at the sound of his name on Wylan’s lips.

“You’re seeing that camera obscura,” he said firmly.

“It’s locked,” Wylan protested, “we don’t have a key. We…”

Jesper had stopped listening, focusing intently on the lock. Saints, it had been a while since he’d done this. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Placing his palm over the smooth metal surface, he closed his eyes and allowed his body to tune to the pulse of the material. All matter had a pulse, his mother used to say. It was just a question of finding it.

Come on, he silently willed, Please….

After what felt like forever, he heard a soft click as the lock finally obeyed. He gently pushed the door open.

“How did you do that?”

Behind him, Wylan was gaping openly, with wonder and confusion…and perhaps a bit of fear. Jesper forced himself to grin and remain calm.

“Magic,” he said, and backed himself into the building.

The shocked expression was replaced with one of vexation.

“You shouldn’t walk backwards like that all the time. You’re going to fall over and hurt yourself one of these days.”

Wylan followed Jesper inside nonetheless, and Jesper closed the door behind them. They were at the base of a narrow stone staircase that curled into the gathering dark. There was nowhere to go but up.

“After you,” said Jesper.

Wylan hesitated. “We’re breaking and entering. It’s illegal.”

“Only if you get caught,” Jesper said brightly, but it only seemed to worry Wylan more. “We’re not going to get caught.”

“How do you know?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Jesper started up the stairs when Wylan refused to move. “I’m a master criminal. Best in the Barrel.”

“You’re a bartender,” Wylan pointed out.

“Or is that what I want you to think?”

“Honestly…”

He felt, rather than saw, Wylan roll his eyes. But he could hear him only a step or two behind.

“This is a terrible idea." 

“It’s a great idea. What’s life without a little risk?”

“There’s a very fine line between ‘a little risk’ and ‘jail’.”

Jesper laughed. “So, what’s so special about the camera obscura, anyway?”

Wylan stayed quiet a moment, the sound of his feet thudding on the heavy steps the only thing letting Jesper know he was still there.

“Do you actually want to know?” he finally asked.

He really did, he was surprised to realise. The stuff Wylan had told him earlier about mirrors had actually been pretty absorbing.

“If I’m breaking and entering for it, yes.”

Wylan huffed, but when he started talking, he sounded more animated than Jesper had heard him before.

“Okay, so, camera obscuras are important because they revolutionised the way that artists work with their mediums. They allowed for them to create more realistic images by having a visual reference of the scenes they were painting.”

“Like using a normal camera,” Jesper deadpanned.

“This was before cameras existed. About a hundred years ago, they were also used for entertainment. The one we are seeing was created for that purpose. It’s been on the island all that time, since before the theme park opened. They decided to revive it when the park started up.”

“I see,” said Jesper, trying to keep up.

“They work by creating a small hole in a darkened room for a tiny amount of light to pass through,” said Wylan, even more excited now. “When the rays of light from outside are admitted through the opening, they form an image of what is out there when they reach the opposite surface.”

“How?”

“Rays of light can retain information about the colour and brightness of objects that they travel through, and reflect those objects back to us. It’s how we are able to see,” Wylan explained. “The image that is produced is inverted - upside down and left to right - but by using a mirror and a lens it can be corrected and - ”

“You’re talking way too fast,” Jesper said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

“Sorry,” he heard Wylan say sheepishly.

“Keep going…”

“Anyway, for the past seventy years or so, the camera obscura has been recording daily footage of this island in real-time. They’ve spliced all of it together as a timelapse, so you can watch history unfolding right in front of your eyes. It’s pretty amazing, really.”

Jesper reached the top of the stairs, almost crashing into the staff entrance door. He turned to see Wylan come to a halt behind him. He was flushed, from exertion rather than shyness this time, and his were huge and blue and shining.

This was the real Wylan, Jesper realised. This smiling, nerdy person who was talking a mile a minute and grinning stupidly like he didn’t have a damn care in the world.

“It’s definitely something,” Jesper said.

Wylan’s grin broadened.

“History. Art. Science,” he said smugly. “Interesting.”

Jesper laughed and pushed open the door.

The dark, circular room was eerily silent, with rows and rows of empty seats that had been set up for punters. A large circular table was positioned in the very centre.

“How do we make it work?” Jesper asked.

He could sense Wylan standing beside him, almost shoulder-to-shoulder.

“I don’t know if it even can work. You need sunlight, and we don’t have much left. That’s why the daily show closed.”

“Well, we came all this way. May as well give it a go.”

Jesper felt along the side of the wall until his hand brushed over a control panel.

“Don’t break it!” Wylan said anxiously.

“I know what I’m doing.”

He really didn’t. But there was no point in telling Wylan that.

After a few attempts at pushing buttons, something whirred to life. Wylan jolted, then an eggshell white light appeared on the surface of the table.

“Right now, Eil Komedie Amusement Park is teeming with life,” a narrator’s cheesy recording rung out from the surrounding speakers, “but it wasn’t always this way…”

“Ghezen, it’s too loud,” Wylan said, glancing at the doors as though he expected them to burst open.

“It’s fine, nobody else is in here,” Jesper caught a glimpse of something move over the table. “Look.”

He took Wylan’s hand and coaxed him over. A faded projection of the island from a birds-eye view was covering the entirety of the surface.

“It’s working,” he heard Wylan say, baffled. When Jesper looked at him, he was completely mesmerised. He hadn’t even noticed his hand was still firmly in Jesper’s own.

“So that’s really happening outside right now?” Jesper asked curiously, studying the tiny specks that were people passing by far down below.

Wylan nodded eagerly.

They stood in the darkness and listened as the voiceover explained some of the history of Eil Komedie and how it was used in years gone by.

“Through the powers of science,” it continued, “let’s travel together back in time…”

“Kind of corny, don’t you think?” Jesper murmured.

“Ssh,” Wylan hissed.

The image of the present-day island vanished, and was replaced with stock footage from a brilliantly sunny day. The footage paused, then whirred backwards, playing in reverse as the days began to speed by. They saw the theme park rides being taken down rather than constructed, older warehouse and shipping structures taking their place.

Wylan unconsciously squeezed Jesper’s hand. “All those years…all that time. Most of the people we’re seeing in this footage are probably dead and gone now, those old buildings forgotten.”

Jesper watched as dock workers and warehouse employees zoomed past. Two men, partially obscured by their old-fashioned hats, talked and laughed and patted each other’s backs fondly.

“It makes you feel like you’re a part of something so much bigger,” Wylan added in a soft voice.

Jesper wondered if any of those dots on the projection had been a distant relative of Wylan’s. Had they known that their descendant would be here one day, watching some ordinary, mundane event from their life play out in fascination? Would Jesper eventually have descendants of his own, who would stand here and do the same thing? Wonder what sort of person he had been?

He could see how that might make Wylan feel less alone, but to him, it was strangely sobering. He was glad that Wylan was still holding his hand in that moment; it felt like an anchor.

The projection finished, with a swell of orchestral music, on a beautiful scene of a group of people coming to the island to relax with a picnic and enjoy the peaceful scenery. It was a world away from what the outside of the tower looked like now.

“Thank you for coming to the camera obscura,” the voiceover announced. “Please exit slowly to your right and…”

Jesper didn’t hear the rest of it. Beside him, Wylan blinked as if awaking from a stupor, then stared down at their entwined fingers. Jesper cringed and hastily untangled from him.

If Wylan was bothered by it, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he smiled up at Jesper in a way that made him feel sad and grateful and warm. It was that glowing sensation again.

“Thank you,” Wylan whispered.

Jesper thought the glowing feeling might be bright enough to shine through the darkened room.

Chapter Text

Wylan woke up to sunlight streaming into his bedroom and the knowledge that he was alone, like he was nearly every morning. He contemplated getting out of bed, but it was hard to see the point when there was nothing to get up for. No father to order him around. No schedule of tedious business meetings and social events to sit in on and smile politely during. Certainly no more homeschooling lessons, since his education had been given up on a long time ago.

He could lie around all day, and nobody would care or even notice. That wouldn’t have been so bad, if he could see an end in sight. Without having any control in his father’s company - apart from making an appearance at the odd event - he was committed to endless days just the same, stretching on until his old age.

I should be happy, he pondered. Hadn’t he always yearned to be free from Jan Van Eck? To live life on his own terms? He might return to composing music; he could release his songs under a pseudonym, maybe even get a piece of his performed by the Ketterdam Orchestra, if he worked hard enough at it. Or he could draw, filling page after page of notebook after notebook for years on end. Perhaps he’d even try learning to read again…

The mere notion brought back a tornado of memories. Of his father’s steely blue gaze. Of the harsh snap of a wooden ruler. He shuddered.

He should be happy, but he was far from it. Because what sort of person was made happy by the death of their own parent? How could they be, when the shadow of that parent still loomed around every corner? Wylan had wanted freedom, but not like this.

A while later, he managed to rouse himself to go to the bathroom and shower. He savoured in the soothing heat of the water on his bare skin, the sound of it rushing from the fountain head. It was a welcome change from the stillness of the mansion. Wylan had spent most of his life in silence, but only lately had it begun to feel more oppressive. He suspected that was Jesper’s doing. Their time together stood in stark contrast to everything else that had come before it - a whirlwind of colour and noise and emotion. The emotion was mostly annoyance, but it was better than nothing, he reasoned.

It was a few more days until he would see Jesper again. A public appearance together once a week was more than enough, after all. The days ahead seemed to stretch on forever, an endless expanse of quiet, dull and numb.

He towelled himself dry, brushed his teeth and dressed slowly. What was Jesper doing now? Sleeping in, most likely, after a night of working at the Crow Club. Or arguing with his housemates at The Slat. Wylan thought of Nina making breakfast, of Inej’s kind eyes and easy smile. The way Matthias intimidated him at first, but how his face would soften whenever he saw his girlfriend or brighten when he spoke about his volunteer work. Jesper laughing at his own stupid jokes…Jesper winking…

“You fool,” he muttered to his own blushing reflection. Because he wasn’t supposed to think about Jesper like that. It wasn’t part of the plan.

Jesper taking his hand and pulling him towards some new crazed adventure…Jesper holding him close and kissing him on the cheek…

“Stop it!” he said, a little more forcefully this time.

He yanked open the bathroom door, and was almost barrelled to the floor by a flurry of white and brown fur.

“Hello Rufus,” he said, pleased to have a distraction. The little dog danced around him until it finally calmed down, licking his hand fondly when he tried to pat its ears.

It was a new development, having Rufus nearby. Jan had always insisted on animals being kept within a designated section of the house, but since his death, Alys had allowed her pet dog to roam wherever he liked.

“Where’s your owner, hmm?” Wylan asked.

As if he could understand, Rufus ended his assault on Wylan’s fingers and trotted off down the stairs. Wylan followed to the second floor and down the corridor, where he could now hear a very clunky piano scale being played from the half-open door to the music room.

Rufus stopped in front of the door, panting and tail wagging enthusiastically.

“It’s hopeless, I’ll never get it!” Alys exclaimed.

“You’re already so much better,” a smooth male voice replied. “Keep at it. Nothing worth having comes easily.”

Wylan arrived in time to see a handsome Suli man leaning over Alys at the piano, pointing to the sheet music. He recognised him as his old music teacher, Adem Bajan, from his school days. His father had suggested him for Alys, when she had shown an interest in learning piano and singing shortly after they were married. Privately, Wylan thought that Bajan had the patience of a Saint.

Alys was gazing up at him, her pale cheeks flushed and a tiny smile playing about her lips. It was the first time Wylan had seen her smile since his father died.

He cleared his throat, causing the pair to jump apart.

“Wylan!” Alys gasped, entirely flustered. “I didn’t see…I mean…when did you wake up?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Wylan answered, smiling.

“We were just finishing the lesson anyway,” Bajan interjected. If he was phased by the intrusion, he didn’t show it. “Been practicing much, Wylan?”

Wylan nodded. Bajan was alright, all things considered. When Wylan was a kid, he had seen some of the worst he’d had to endure at his father’s hand and had never intervened, but he couldn’t be blamed for it. He had only been a youth then himself. And he was a good music teacher, if a bit of an airhead.

Bajan grinned. “Good lad. Would hate to see all that talent go to waste.”

He gathered his things and clamped Wylan’s shoulder when he reached the door.

“I-I’ll show you out,” Alys said quickly.

“That’s quite alright, Alys,” Bajan smiled at her. “I’ll see you same time next week?”

“Oh, yes!”

Alys watched him go, hands clasped together from the piano stool, then turned to Wylan with a deeply guilty expression.

“I thought that it might make me feel better, starting the music lessons up again,” she said.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Wylan assured her. “It’s nice to see you smiling.”

Alys slumped forward in relief. “Come sit for a moment.”

She patted the piano stool, and Wylan awkwardly slid in next to her. They had never been very close before, and he hadn’t realised how touchy she was until Jan's death. She’d obviously taken it upon herself to look out for him.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you anyway,” she said. “I know you said there’s been some problems with Jan’s estate - ”

Wylan’s breath hitched. Had Smeet told her? He doubted it, and he knew Alys would mean well, but she might unintentionally reveal his secret.

“- but Mr. Van Cornewal stopped by with his condolences. He mentioned there’s a board meeting coming up, and I thought, since you’ll be taking over the company any day now, it might be a good opportunity for you to go along?”

Wylan expelled his relief.

“Only if you feel up to it,” Alys added hastily.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I don’t think I’ll have that much to do with the company, going forward.”

“But you’re so smart!” said Alys, taken aback. “I don’t really know anything about business, but I know Jan was always taking you along to his meetings and such. He would want you to take an active role.”

That had been when Jan still held hope that Wylan might come good. Be the heir he always wanted. Now, those hopes had been transferred to Wylan’s hypothetical children.

“Alys, I - ”

Before he could finish, the phone in his lap started ringing. Both of them jumped as if they’d seen a ghost; nobody except Jan Van Eck ever rang Wylan.

“Boyfriend is calling,” the computerised voice of his phone’s AI announced in a gratingly loud tone.

Wylan scrambled to answer it, to hang up - anything to get it to stop - but in his haste the phone slipped out of his fingers and onto the floor underneath the piano.

“Shit!” he muttered.

“Boyfriend is calling,” the AI said again. It could have been Wylan’s imagination, but it sounded more demanding than before.

“Boyfriend?” Alys asked curiously.

Wylan ignored her, ducking under the piano to reach for it, his face flaming. Jesper had put his number into Wylan’s phone weeks ago. They’d arranged the amusement park meet-up ahead of time, so he’d had no reason to contact him before. The idiot must have put his number in under ‘Boyfriend’.

“Boyfriend is calling,” said the AI.

“Will you shut up!” Wylan snapped at it, just as his fingers finally closed around the phone and dragged it back out.

A word he couldn’t read flashed across the screen. Next to it, Jesper had added a kissy-face emoji and a red heart.

“What?” he practically shouted when he finally answered.

He heard laughter on the other end of the line. “Hello to you too, Wylan Van Sunshine.”

Wylan huffed out his annoyance. Jesper didn’t know about his reading difficulty, or that he’d programmed his phone to read out messages and caller ID to him. He couldn’t have guessed Wylan’s phone was going to start screaming ‘boyfriend’ at him in front of his stepmother.

Still, it was just such a Jesper thing to do…

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

“I’m with Inej right now,” Jesper said brightly.

“Hi, Wylan!” Inej called out.

“He says hello,” Jesper told her, before he could actually respond. “So listen, we’re going shopping for something for me to wear to the big nautical charity gala - ”

“Black and white ball,” Wylan corrected.

“Yes, whatever, and we need you to settle a bet.”

“Okay…”

“Not an actual bet,” Inej said into the phone, “Jesper’s just being a big idiot.”

Wylan grinned. “Sounds about right.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Alys still sitting at the piano stool, looking deeply confused.

“Don’t listen to her,” said Jesper. Wylan could hear the two of them scuffling in the background. “Just picture this, okay? Us rocking up to the ball…in matching white sequinned suits.”

“No…”

“With top hats!”

“Inej is right,” said Wylan, “you are a big idiot.”

“Ha!” he heard Inej say triumphantly. “Told you he wouldn’t go for it.”

Jesper whined. “Don’t you want to stand out? Every man in the room will be wearing the same boring black dinner jacket.”

“I hate standing out,” Wylan said. “And I like black dinner jackets.”

“Well I’m really not good at fitting in.”

Wylan overheard more scuffling and an irritated “Hey!” from Jesper as Inej ripped the phone away from him.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, I’ll make sure he looks presentable for you,” she said. He could actually hear the grin in her words.

“Thank you,” he blushed.

“He’s actually really excited,” she continued, despite more scuffling. “It’s sort of sweet.”

He heard her get up and walk away, ignoring Jesper’s protests.

“Oh, well, these things are mostly pretty boring, so…he’s doing me a huge favour,” Wylan laughed shyly. 

“You should come over again soon,” said Inej. “Everyone would like to see you.”

Wylan found that hard to believe.

“Especially Jes,” she went on, “obviously. I think he just wanted an excuse to call you, to be honest.”

“Inej Ghafa!” Jesper exclaimed. There was more commotion, and he finally seized the phone back. “I’ll see you on the weekend, yeah? I’ve got the night off.”

From Kaz, Wylan realised. Once again he was thankful that terrifying person wasn’t his boss.

“No sparkly suits,” he said, then quickly added, “or top hats.”

“Maybe one top hat…”

“No.”

“Just a few sequins, then. As a treat.”

Wylan sighed. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he could sense Jesper smiling. “Bye, Van Sunshine!”

The line went dead, and Wylan stared at his screen, baffled by what had just transpired.

Alys was still gazing at him, but now she was apparently beaming.

“Um…” he searched for a way to explain whatever the hell that conversation had been.

“Wylan,” she said cheerfully, “you didn’t tell me you have a boyfriend!”

Wylan ran fingers through his hair in an attempt to distract himself. “It’s really only a new thing…”

Clasping her hands together, Alys hurried to the other end of the room and dialled the intercom.

“Julissa, could you bring us up a pot of tea, please?” she asked.

“Right away, Madam,” came the housekeeper’s reply.

With a giggle, Alys, placed her hands on Wylan’s shoulders, steering him towards the couch in the adjacent corner.

“Okay, tell me everything,” she said excitedly. “When do I get to meet him?”

Chapter Text

“Oi, Jesper,” said Rotty, as he ambled over to the bar, “is that your man?”

Jesper looked up from his work and followed Rotty’s gaze to a table not too far away. A small group of university students were chattering loudly over a round of drinks, with the exception of one: a handsome Shu boy with shiny dark hair and a pale face, who appeared to be ignoring his friends while staring pointedly at the bar.

“No,” Jesper answered. He was about to add that he didn’t have ‘a man’, but then he remembered that wasn’t strictly true anymore. “Just someone I know from around the traps.”

Rotty leaned his large frame against the counter. He was meant to be working the card tables tonight, according to the roster, but he had never been one of the Crow Club’s most dedicated employees. He was also a terrible dealer, in Jesper’s opinion. Not that Kaz ever listened.

“No offence, but he’s kind of giving me the creeps,” Rotty shrugged. “Been staring at you like that ever since he came in.”

Jesper rose an eyebrow. “And how would you know that, Rotty? Been keeping tabs on me?”

Rotty snorted, but he seemed uncomfortable. Jesper remained silent until he inevitably caved.

“Look, boss asked me to keep an eye out for trouble,” he said, holding his hands up in defence. “I don’t want to get involved. Just following orders here.”

It didn’t take a genius to discern that ‘keep an eye out for trouble’ meant ‘keep an eye out for Jesper’. Had Kaz found out about his recent run-in with Elzinger from the Black Tips? If so, he was probably concerned about another incident occurring on the floor of his precious Crow Club, chasing away the tourists. Jesper wanted to be offended, but had to admit he would have done the same thing in Kaz’s position.

“I don’t think we can expect much trouble from a bunch of chemistry majors,” Jesper said. “Kuwei and his friends are fine, just leave them be. And you can tell Kaz there’s not going to be any real trouble either, by the way. I have it sorted.”

“Whatever you say,” Rotty replied. Before he sauntered back to the gambling rooms, he muttered, “Still gives me the creeps, though.”

Jesper glanced at Kuwei again, who hadn’t taken his eyes off him the entire time he’d been talking. He went back to ignoring him immediately.

It was true that there wasn’t going to be any trouble, at least not in the foreseeable future. The loan Wylan had procured for Jesper covered his debts for the month. He would worry about next month when it arrived. If everything went to plan, he’d likely be officially engaged by then. That was an entertaining thought…

They hadn’t done a bad job at selling it so far, the whole relationship thing. At least as far as Jesper’s housemates were concerned. Nina had been absolutely beside herself with glee. And Inej, who was normally very sensible, had been giving him these little knowing smiles ever since their shopping trip a few days ago.

“What?” he’d asked her that morning, when he’d finally had his fill of it.

“You seem happy,” she’d answered. “It’s nice.”

It had given him pause. Because maybe he did feel happier, lately. He supposed anyone would be, if they were about to come into a small fortune. But that annoying quiet voice - the one he’d tried so desperately to tune out since Eil Komedie - was adamant that it was more than just the money.

A ridiculous notion. So Wylan was attractive…and maybe there was more to him than the entitled, rich brat that Jesper had first assumed him to be. Maybe they were becoming friends, or at least something close to that. Which was fine as long as it stayed that way. He wasn’t about to change who he was. And he definitely wasn’t about to jeopardise everything the two of them were working towards.

Because it was about more than just the money. It was about family. About making things right.

He spent the next few hours serving customers, until slowly the crowds began to filter out onto the cold street. Jesper was looking forward to closing early and getting some sleep. He would go straight home. No detours to any other clubs in the Barrel. No hanging around to find out if Rotty or his other coworkers were planning to play a few rounds of cards after staff drinks. Nothing to satisfy the familiar growing itch when he thought about the tips that would soon be lining his pocket. Not at all.

The group of university students were among the last to leave the bar. As they gathered up their belongings, Jesper noticed Kuwei slip away and head in his direction. He grimaced, even though he had been expecting something like this.

“Kuwei,” he said, smiling but affecting a neutral tone.

The other man scowled. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He slid onto a barstool opposite Jesper and waited expectantly.

“I’ve not been avoiding you,” said Jesper, “I’ve been busy.”

He’d told Kuwei that they’d had a good time, but things between them had run their course. Kuwei insisted it was fine - that he would be content to be friends - but the persistent texting over the past few weeks said otherwise. Jesper had hoped he would get the message if he didn’t reply.

Kuwei folded his arms and leaned against the counter. He was wearing a bright red Ketterdam University sweater that clashed with his golden eyes.

“Busy,” he repeated, as if the word had been an insult.

Jesper sighed. “What are you doing here? You know it’s where I work.”

“It’s a free country,” said Kuwei, “I can drink wherever I want. And my friends wanted to try the Barrel.”

“Kuwei!” one of the students called out. They had reached the door.

Jesper nodded in their direction. “You’re going to lose your friends.”

Kuwei waved to them, then turned back to the bar. “I can catch up to them later.”

The student who had yelled Kuwei’s name shrugged, then disappeared onto the street with the others.

“What are you drinking?” Jesper asked. He was right about it being a free country; Jesper was at work, and Kuwei was a paying customer.

“You pick,” Kuwei smiled.

Jesper picked up a glass, ignoring the spike of irritation he felt, and poured out some of the local ale. He placed it on the counter between them.

“Thanks,” Kuwei picked up the cup, his eyes slowly trailing from Jesper’s face down to his chest. “You look nice tonight.”

Jesper scoffed. “I’m in my work uniform.”

“It’s a nice uniform. Brings out your eyes.”

Kuwei looked delighted with himself, much to Jesper’s chagrin.

“Kuwei,” he said, soft yet stern, “we talked about this.”

“About what?” Kuwei tilted his head to one side.

“You said you wanted to be friends - ”

“Because you don’t do relationships,” he interjected, the mischievous grin slipping.

Jesper stared at him. “Yes.”

Kuwei lifted his chin, his gaze never faltering. It felt like a challenge.

“Look,” Jesper continued, “please don’t take it personally. You’re great, and it was really fun, but - ”

“You lied to me,” said Kuwei evenly.

“Huh?” Jesper blinked. “When? I was up front about where this was going from the start.”

Kuwei pulled out his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. After landing on something, he placed it on the counter and slid it in front of Jesper.

Oh, Jesper thought when he saw the picture. Fuck.

It was the photograph of him and Wylan together at Eil Komedie last week. Wylan was all startled blue eyes, lips open in a silent exclamation as Jesper folded him in his arms and kissed his cheek. Jesper had forgotten about posting it on his socials. He’d done it under the pretence of selling their fake relationship, but also because he knew that Wylan would be embarrassed by the picture, and Embarrassed Wylan was quickly becoming one of his favourite things.

“Who’s that?” Kuwei asked, his voice dripping with contrived sweetness.

Jesper squirmed. He read the caption he’d posted underneath the photo: Theme park date.

When he didn’t respond, Kuwei pressed, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Idiot, he cursed himself, as guilt settled in his stomach. He’d ended things with Kuwei a few weeks ago, the day after he’d been ambushed by the Black Tips. And honestly, he hadn’t been thinking about him at all when he posted the picture online. Jesper hated the thought of hurting people; it was why he was always direct about not wanting anything serious when he first hooked up with someone new, and if it seemed like the other person was getting attached, he would end it right away. In this case, however, he had royally fucked up.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with genuine remorse. “It wasn’t planned. It just sort of…happened.”

The air of righteous anger Kuwei had carried vanished. Hurt was now evident in his entire demeanour, and to Jesper that was far worse.

“What’s his name?” asked Kuwei.

“Wylan,” Jesper conceded.

Kuwei flinched, as though hearing it was physically painful. He snatched his phone back.

“You could have just said you didn’t like me,” he mumbled. “You didn’t have to go and make up that whole story about not being available.”

“It wasn’t a story, I meant it when I said it. I didn’t know Wylan was about to come along,” Jesper tried desperately to explain. “And I do like you. Just not in that way.”

Kuwei picked up a drink coaster and began absently ripping at the edges.

“You don’t want to be with me, anyway. I’m awful. And annoying. Everyone says so. You can do way better.”

Jesper grinned, hoping to lighten the mood, but Kuwei still looked miserable.

“Why him, though?” Kuwei asked. “Why Wylan?”

He drew out the syllables in Wylan’s name.

Jesper rose an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Yes.”

He knew he had to respond delicately, to avoid hurting Kuwei any further and to sell the fact that he was really in love. He distracted himself by stacking glasses for cleaning while he mulled over the best way to balance the situation.

“Wylan and I…we understand each other,” he said.

“We understand each other.”

“Sure, but…” Jesper remembered the way Wylan had laughed, sitting opposite him on the broken ferris wheel, once he had started to relax. “With him, it’s just…I don’t know, it’s easy between us. It’s easy to talk to him. Which is ridiculous, because on paper we don’t really have a lot in common.”

Kuwei said nothing, watching Jesper with an somber expression.

Jesper continued working as he said, “He’s from a different background to me. But he’s not…I mean, he’s complicated. At first I thought we was this arrogant, spoiled brat - and sometimes he can be - but he’s also got this unique way of looking at the world. Like every stupid little thing can be fascinating if you pay attention to it. Like it all matters.”

He thought of Wylan in the hall of mirrors, getting Jesper to take an interest in science in the way that his teachers never could. How contagious his enthusiasm had been.

“He just…” he thought of Wylan smiling at him in the darkened room. What Inej had said to him the other day.

You seem happy. It’s nice.

And sometimes, said the quiet voice, when he looks at you, you glow.

“We’re good together,” was what came out.

Kuwei nodded slowly, his eyes turning misty. Jesper prayed to all the Saints he knew that he wasn’t about to cry.

“Sorry,” he said helplessly.

Kuwei sniffed loudly. “Well, I guess I asked.”

He pushed aside the drink he had barely touched and threw some money on the counter. Jesper watched him slide off his stool.

“Kuwei,” he said again, when the other boy made to leave, “I meant what I said, by the way. You can do a lot better than me.”

So could Wylan, for that matter.

Jesper hummed the following evening as he took the stairs at the Slat in twos, almost crashing into the wall when he reached the bottom. He was still dripping slightly from the shower, a towel slung casually around his waist.

“Off to the ball, Cinderella?” Nina teased. She was sitting at their dining table, which was normally piled high with baskets of laundry, but she had cleared enough room for her laptop and a stack of Kaelish, Shu and Ferjdan dictionaries.

“Not yet,” Jesper winked at her. “Soon.”

Matthias was in the process of placing a steaming cup of tea next to his girlfriend. He caught Jesper’s eye and smirked. The two of them had been in their ‘smug couple era’ for the past three years, but since they’d discovered Jesper was in a ‘relationship’ now too, they had been almost insufferable. It was a pity he couldn’t tell them it was fake.

Inej wandered in from the living room when she heard them talking.

“Oh wow, you’re getting ready early,” she remarked.

Nina laughed. “You really are smitten!”

“Ha ha,” Jesper deadpanned. He began searching the laundry piles for some clean underwear. “I think you’re all just jealous. Now that I’ve been accepted into the upper echelons of Ketterdam…”

“It really is a fairy tale,” Inej joked.

“He must have an excellent fairy godmother,” added Nina.

“Fairy?” Matthias asked, bewildered. “I don’t get it. Is it because Jesper is Kaelish? They have legends about the fairies, no?”

Nina patted his hand fondly. “Don’t worry about it, darling. I’ll explain later.”

“If my fairy godmother is listening, it would be nice if she could rustle up some decent underwear,” Jesper muttered, inspecting a pair that was pocked with tiny holes. “And a fancier suit.”

He actually did look good in the suit he’d ended up with, despite all his complaining. Inej had been thrifty enough to source it on a discount.

“He wanted to wear matching outfits with Wylan,” Inej explained to the others.

“Of course he did,” Nina grinned.

Ignoring them, Jesper held up a pair of neatly folded grey boxer shorts. “Matthias, can I borrow these?”

Matthias frowned. “You may keep.”

“Thanks!” Jesper said brightly. He picked up a pair of black socks from Matthias’ pile as well.

“Jes,” Inej called, before he could hurry upstairs, “Kaz says he’s been trying to call you.”

She held up her phone in one hand, indicating to an open text message with the other.

“Why?” Jesper asked, puzzled. He had definitely booked the night off from work.

Inej only shrugged. Of course, he thought, that would be right. He returned to his room and had to spend a few minutes searching for his phone amongst tangled blankets and dirty clothes.

“What’s up?” he said, as soon as Kaz answered. He put him on speaker phone so he could start getting dressed.

“Where have you been?” demanded the gravelly voice on the end of the line.

Jesper rolled his eyes. “Enjoying my day off. Don’t suppose you remember those.”

He wasn’t even sure when Kaz had last been back at the house. He was going to work himself to death at this rate.

“Rotty called in sick,” Kaz said. “I need someone to set up for the night before the other staff gets in.”

Jesper froze, midway through putting on a sock, his foot propped on the bed.

“Kaz - ”

“I know, Jesper. You won’t be late for your date,” he said the last part derisively, like it was some frivolous fancy Jesper had gotten into his head. “But I would say that your ongoing employment is probably more of a concern right now.”

“Kaz…”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.”

Jesper knew that last part would have cost him to say. Kaz was tough as anything, but there was still some things even he couldn’t do, with his bad leg. He would need Jesper to carry out the heavy lifting.

“Fine,” he conceded, checking the time, “give me half an hour.”

“Fifteen minutes,” said Kaz, before the line went dead.

Jesper hurriedly stuffed on the nearest set of clean clothes, not even bothering to look for his work uniform. He grabbed his phone and keys, shoving them into his pockets as he thundered back downstairs.

“What did he want?” Inej asked curiously when he emerged.

“I have to go in to work for a bit,” Jesper said.

“Jes,” Inej sounded anxious. “You can’t.”

“You must call Wylan,” Matthias said with a disapproving frown, “it’s wrong to stand someone up.”

“I won’t be standing him up,” Jesper replied haughtily. “Kaz just asked me to do a few things. I’ll only be an hour, max.”

Nina held out her hand. “Give me your phone, I’ll tell Kaz you can’t do it,” she said. “Or better yet, Inej can. He’s incapable of saying no to her.”

Inej ducked her head, blushing furiously.

“He’s my boss,” Jesper said finitely.

“He’s a workaholic, is what he is,” said Nina. “Get someone else to come in.”

“There is no one else. Rotty’s sick and the others are on late shift.”

“That doesn’t sound like your problem.”

“I’ll do it,” said Inej. “I don’t mind.”

Jesper smiled at her. “You don’t work for Kaz anymore. And besides, while you have many skills, ‘Nej, I think this particular job requires someone with more weight and muscle.”

“Matthias, then?” suggested Nina, looking hopefully at her boyfriend.

Matthias shrugged apologetically. “I have to run youth group tonight.”

Jesper rose both eyebrows and gestured pointedly to the empty space around them. They were out of options.

“He’s doing it on purpose, you know,” Nina scowled and folded her arms. “He wants to make sure you’re still going to choose him first.”

“He didn’t predict Rotty getting sick, did he?” Jesper scoffed. But then again, could he really be sure? “Look, the longer I stand around here arguing with you all, the later I’m going to be.”

“He has a point,” said Matthias.

Nina sighed. “Just make sure you don’t get sucked into the Kaz Brekker vortex, alright?”

“Don’t worry,” Jesper winked, “I won’t be late to the ball. After all, I have to be back before the clock strikes midnight, don’t I?”

“Why mid - ” Matthias began.

But Jesper was already out the door.

It took longer than expected to set up the Crow Club. In addition to his usual duties, Kaz had Jesper oversee the arrival of a new shipment of booze that had come in from Novyi Zem. He also had him change all the kegs in the cellar below the bar. By the time Jesper was done, his shirt was stained with sweat. He panted up the stairs to Kaz’s office, hardly bothering to knock as he entered.

“Anything else, boss?” he asked.

Kaz was reading over something on his computer screen, likely the profits from the previous evening. He glanced up at Jesper and leaned back in his seat.

“Yes,” he said evenly.

Jesper glanced at the clock on Kaz’s wall. He was going to have to hustle to get home in time to shower again, change and meet Wylan.

“Can’t Bolinger do it when he gets in? I have to - ”

“Wylan Van Eck,” Kaz interrupted, “is capable of waiting.”

Jesper paused. He didn’t recall telling Kaz or any of his housemates Wylan’s full name.

“When did you know?” he asked curiously.

Kaz rested his elbows on the arms of his desk chair, folding his gloved fingers together across his body. He gestured for Jesper to take the seat opposite him.

“Since the night I saw him with you here at the club. I keep track of all the Councilmen, their families and associates. It comes in useful at times. Like when your employee ends up suddenly keeping company with the heir to one of the biggest fortunes in the country.”

Jesper stared at his lap, fidgeting.

“You should have said something,” he said sheepishly.

“I was waiting to see if you would tell me. But since that obviously hasn’t happened…here we are.”

Jesper should have anticipated this. He was lucky the others in the house weren’t particularly keen on following local politics, the stock market or tabloid magazines. He had planned on sharing more about Wylan’s wealth eventually, but he was hoping they’d be engaged before then. It would be easier if his friends got to know them as a couple first, without that added element getting in the way of the ruse.

“Here we are,” Jesper repeated, with a wan smile.

Apart from the extent of his gambling debt, Jesper hadn’t kept secrets from Kaz before (although he was now beginning to wonder how much Kaz truly knew about that too). He hadn’t needed to. Because as much as the rest of his friends grumbled about him being too deep in Kaz’s pocket, there were forces at work that they would never understand. Kaz had been the one to see Jesper at his worst; to pull him out of the muck and filth, dust him off, and give him a place to work and to live when he’d had nowhere else to go. Even if the infamous Bastard of the Barrel didn’t do anything unless it was ultimately in his own interest, it was still more than anyone else in this Saints-forsaken city had done. He was the closest thing Jesper would ever get to a brother, in a strange, fucked-up kind of way.

And now he was mad at him.

“It’s interesting,” Kaz continued, “that Wylan would cross paths with you right when his father so tragically passed away, wouldn’t you say?”

Jesper shifted uncomfortably. “Guess you could call it kismet.”

“Hmm,” Kaz unlinked his fingers, then drummed a hand against the desk. “Has Wylan ever mentioned a woman named Anya to you, Jes?”

“No?”

“Around our age. Blonde. Very bubbly personality?”

Jesper shook his head.

“She recently came into quite a cushy office job: the Executive Assistant for a well-renowned lawyer by the name of Cornelis Smeet,” said Kaz. “She was thrilled about the position at first, of course. Great salary, lots of career opportunity, the chance to climb the rungs of Ketterdam’s social ladder. It’s a pity that her boss turned out to be such a pervert, though. Always leering at her when he thought she wasn’t looking…”

“Sounds like a charmer,” Jesper frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You see, poor Anya had grown to loathe Cornelis Smeet in the year or so she’d been working for him. She told me as much when I met her for drinks last Friday night, at her usual haunt in the financial district. After a few wines, she was more than eager to open up about her woes to a young paralegal with a penchant for flattery and a sympathetic ear.”

“I’m sure she was.”

Kaz smirked. “Unfortunately, things for Anya went from bad to worse that night. In her drunken state, she seemed to have lost her copy of the office key. There was a minor break-in that weekend. Nothing major appeared to have been stolen, but it certainly caused a stir come Monday morning.”

“You got that poor woman fired, didn’t you?” Jesper groaned. “Tell me it was at least worth it for something.”

“It was,” Kaz answered, “because now I think I finally understand. You won’t believe who Smeet happens to represent.”

He turned his computer screen around, so that Jesper could read the title of the open document.

The Last Will and Testament of Jan Van Eck

“I scanned it onto my phone,” Kaz explained. “The original remains exactly where it was last found, at Smeet’s office.”

Jesper stiffened.

“Kaz,” he said slowly, “you can’t tell. I gave him my word.”

Kaz stared at him. “You can relax, Jes. I don’t have any interest in spilling Wylan’s secret.”

Jesper expelled a long breath.

“I do, however, want to receive a cut of the Van Eck inheritance for my silence,” said Kaz. “How much is he paying you?”

“Fifteen percent,” Jesper said glumly.

“Well, another fifteen on top of that shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Wylan was going to be less than pleased. Jesper covered his face, pressing cool palms against his eyes.

“You should have told me,” he heard Kaz say in a low voice. Almost pained.

“I wanted to avoid this exact scenario,” said Jesper, without removing his hands. “And he asked me not to.”

The sound of the chair scraping against the wooden floor, followed by clunky, uneven footsteps, let Jesper know that his boss was limping over to the window.

“Your confusing loyalties aside, I am glad that it was you Wylan chose to set up this plan with.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” Jesper said bitterly.

He removed his hands, anger starting to fester. How had Kaz even found out who the Van Eck lawyer was, anyway? He wasn’t surprised, but he hated it all the same.

Kaz kept his back towards him. “Not just for the money, although that is an added bonus. No, there’s more to it than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think my ambition stops here? As floor manager for the Crow Club?” Kaz turned around, a dangerous light in his eyes. “Of course it doesn’t. While I’ve been working on making this place as profitable as possible, I’ve been chipping away at something else too. A little side project, you might say. As it happens, your new boyfriend could be the key to everything.”

Jesper smirked, despite himself. “Why do I feel like a scheme is coming?”

Kaz returned to his seat, smiling now too, that glint in his eyes even brighter.

“I’m going to change this city, Jes. Change the world,” he said. “And you and Wylan are going to help me.”

Chapter Text

The grandfather clock in the formal sitting room struck a dissonant chord. Wylan felt deflated.

“Maybe try calling him again?” Alys suggested, her lips pursed with concern.

Wylan stared at his phone, which displayed the last three attempts he’d made at contacting Jesper. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but the disappointment had settled deep within him all the same.

“He’s probably forgotten about it,” he mumbled into his lap. “He does that. He gets distracted easily.”

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Alys patted his arm. “It’s getting late. Should I call the car around? When Jesper rings back, you can tell him to meet us at the venue.”

Wylan smiled weakly. “Okay.”

It was a good lesson for him. This was why it was a bad idea to get attached. If he started to entertain the notion that Jesper might care for him beyond their business arrangement, he was only going to be let down.

The gala was held at the national museum in the financial district, a large square building carved from white marble in the Art Deco style. Other guests had already arrived and were dotting the expanse of the grand staircase, decked out in their black tie finery, glittering with jewels. Local media were frantically snapping pictures as well as chasing celebrities and senior business figures for interviews.

“It’s beautiful,” said Alys, looking out the car window. “Oh Ghezen, do I look alright?”

She was dressed in a black evening gown that came to her knees in a wide-brimmed skirt, her white-blonde hair falling freely past her shoulders. She pulled a hand-held mirror out of her clutch and began scrutinising her makeup.

“You look fine,” Wylan assured her. “Great. Lovely!”

Alys beamed. “You’re so sweet.”

They pulled up in front of the steps. Wylan got out of the car first, extending a hand to help Alys after him. It only took a few paces for them both to be swarmed by a small gaggle of reporters.

“Alys Van Eck, how are you coping with the loss of your husband?”

“Lion News. Wylan, have you taken over at Van Eck Enterprises yet?”

“Will their be any changes to the company’s financial strategy under your leadership?”

“Do you have any comment to make about the money laundering allegations from last year?”

“Ketterdam Now here, Wylan. What’s your reaction to being named our city's most eligible bachelor?”

His face on fire, Wylan artfully ducked out of the way. The reporters closed in around Alys instead, who smiled at them all politely.

“Thank you for your concern,” she said. “It has been really difficult without Jan. Losing him was such a shock.”

“Were there any signs of ill health leading up to Jan Van Eck’s heart attack?”

“No! He was in great shape, we actually - ”

A barrage of questions were thrown at her all at once. Wylan circled back and tugged on her arm.

“Best not to answer them,” he murmured to her. She was far too trusting for her own good.

They passed through security and were guided into an elevator that took them to the top floor. It opened onto a large, lavish ballroom, lined with marble pillars and lit by candles and gentle golden lights. A giant chandelier hung over the centre of the dance floor, which was already packed with guests mingling over the dulcet tones of soft music. Round tables draped in white with high-backed chairs lined the walls.

“Alys!” a woman called out, waving them over with a manicured hand.

Wylan stiffened. Thaddeus’ mother. The gala organiser.

“Wilhelmina!” Alys said brightly, oblivious to his distress.

The two women embraced and kissed each other’s cheeks.

“Darling, you look wonderful. I’m so glad you could come,” said Wilhelmina, holding Alys’ hands. “That dress! How stunning!”

Alys blushed. “Thank you.”

They continued talking about clothes, the venue and the fundraising effort, while Wylan stood to one side lamely. Eventually he slipped away unnoticed, inspecting the place cards on the tables until he found where he was supposed to sit. He almost winced when he saw Jesper’s name on the place card next to his.

The phone in his pocket remained silent. No messages or calls. And Jesper was over an hour late.

How long would it be until he could leave without drawing any attention? He couldn’t believe he had been sort of looking forward to this the past couple of days. It was a nightmare, just like these events always were.

“Can I offer you a drink, Sir?” a waiter asked, sidling up to him. He held a tray of flute glasses filled with fine sparkling wine from Ravka.

“Yes,” Wylan answered all too quickly. He downed half the glass right in front of him, then picked up a second.

“This one’s for my date,” he added sarcastically, with a gesture to the empty space at his side. The waiter laughed nervously and hurried off.

Directly across the room, Thaddeus was holding court over his merry band of followers. They had brought dates, which was a good sign; they tended to ignore rather than harass him when there were girls around. On Thaddeus’ arm was Birgitta Schenck, oldest daughter of Councilmen Hiram, in a virginal white dress with her auburn hair piled high atop her head. It was well understood that the two of them would marry someday, and in her presence Thaddeus was looking extra superior.

“A handsome pair, aren’t they?” a male voice said in a thick Kaelish accent.

Wylan jumped.

“Pity there’s only one good brain cell between them.”

“Mr Rollins!” Wylan exclaimed.

He stared up into the eyes of the most powerful man in Kerch. The story of Pekka Rollins was the stuff of legend: a self-made man from a small village on the Wandering Isle, who had risen to create a media empire. One word from Lion News could make or break a politician’s career, crumble a business or decimate the stock market. Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.

“Hello, Wylan,” said Rollins. “It’s been a while.”

Wylan blanched. He had spoken to Rollins all of three times in his entire life, though he had seen him at any number of society events. Even Jan Van Eck had not been bold enough to approach Rollins without an invitation, and he had certainly made every effort to keep Wylan as far away from him as possible.

He knew his son Alby, though. A round little boy with ruddy cheeks and a habit for finding mischief. People tended to overlook Alby as often as they did Wylan, which is why they so often ended up together.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your father’s funeral,” said Rollins. “Unexpected business in Shu Han. All this ludicrous talk of Bhez Ju seceding from the crown and forming its own government…”

“I didn’t know you were a monarchist,” said Wylan in surprise, before he had a chance to think better of it.

“I’m a capitalist, son. And a realist.”

Wylan contemplated for a moment. “The Ravkan trade embargoes on Shu Han wouldn’t extend to an independent Bhez Ju. You’re worried the city could rival Ketterdam to become the new international commerce hub.”

Rollins smirked. “Smart lad. I knew I liked you.”

A loud shriek from the other side of the room distracted them. Pascal Hoede had spilled wine on his date’s dress, and she was now chastising him.

“I hate these things,” Rollins muttered. “Speak for the Seas…as if this room wasn’t filled with the biggest polluters on the face of the earth. Shipping companies, oil barons, and worse no doubt. What a complete farce.”

“You sound like someone I know,” said Wylan, glancing at the doors. Still no sign of Jesper.

“Hmm,” Rollins stared forwards, taking a sip of wine. “Still, not much to be done about it. We all have to play the game.”

Wylan harboured no suspicion that Rollins cared about the ocean any more than the rest of the guests did.

“Your company’s in a tight spot,” Rollins said. “Last we reported, anyway.”

Wylan lowered his gaze. “It’s not really my company.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I haven’t been involved,” he added hastily, “yet.”

Rollins rubbed at the wiry red hairs on his chin. “You’ll need some guidance.”

“I will?”

“Young man like you…no doubt you’re in over your head.”

“What’s in it for you?” Wylan asked suspiciously. When Rollins narrowed his eyes, he hastily added, “Sir.”

Rollins snorted, like he had just made the best joke.

“You know how I did it, Wylan? How I built the world’s most influential media conglomerate from the ground up?” he asked. “How I found myself in this room, despite the fact that most of these people believe I should still be wiping the scum off their shoes?”

“Hard work and determination?”

Wylan offered a smile, but Rollins didn’t return it.

“Patience, lad,” he said. “Lots of patience.”

They were interrupted by the sound of someone clinking a glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Wilhelmina announced from the stage, “if you could please find your seats, we are about to serve dinner…”

Rollins took a business card from his pocket and pressed it into Wylan’s hand.

“Come and see me, if you ever need advice.”

Then he was gone.

Wylan was coming out of the bathroom when he overheard shrill laughter.

“I mean, did you see her?” Wilhelmina was telling a group of women. “The little harlot.”

One of the women snickered. “That dress! Who does she think she is?”

“It only comes up to her knees,” said another, sounding scandalised. “Did you see how all the men were ogling her? What a disgrace!”

“It’s the attitude I can’t stand,” Wilhelmina added. “You wouldn’t think her husband just died, what with her swanning about like that.”

“I bet she only married him for the money…”

“Why else would a young slip of a girl like that end up with Jan? The age gap is absurd.”

“He must have worked overtime to keep her satisfied,” another woman sneered.

“I have it on good authority that’s how it all happened,” said Wilhelmina, her eyes alight with a cruel type of glee. “That is, Jan exerted himself in the marriage bed, so to speak…”

“Well, that’s what happens when you get a younger wife!”

The women fell about cackling, and Wylan slipped away, hands clenched into fists.

“Wylan,” Alys asked anxiously, when he returned to their table, “are you okay?”

“Can we go soon?” Wylan asked through gritted teeth.

Alys blinked. “But we only just finished dinner and speeches! I want to dance. And Wilhelmina - ”

“Stay away from Wilhelmina.”

“What? Why?”

“Just trust me,” Wylan looked at her, and his expression softened. “You’re better than all this, Alys. Remember that.”

Because she was good and kind, despite being shackled to an ageing man who had treated her like a human incubator…

Alys studied him, her eyes wide with confusion.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll stay away from Wilhelmina.”

“Good.”

She glanced out at the dance floor, chewing on her lower lip.

“I might try to find Adem,” she said. “He’s playing with the band later tonight. I told him I’d say hello. Will you be alright by yourself?”

Wylan gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m fine. Go.”

Alys stood, then hesitated. “I’m sorry about Jesper. Maybe something came up. Like a family emergency…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wylan said. He had given up on checking his phone sometime during dinner.

She smiled back at him sadly, then left him on his own at the abandoned table. He toyed absently with the centrepiece, running his thumb across a smooth rose petal, and tuned out the sounds of laughter and joy from the dance floor.

“All alone, Wylie?”

Thaddeus dropped into the chair next to him, flanked by Pascal and another one of his cronies: Dirk Dryden, younger brother of Councilmen Karl Dryden. Wylan turned away so they wouldn’t see him roll his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

“My mother said you listed yourself as bringing a plus one,” Thaddeus picked up the place card in front of him and read from it. “Jesper Fahey…sounds like a made up name to me.”

Pascal and Dirk sniggered.

“Let me guess,” Thaddeus leaned in, his breath stinking of wine, “this ‘boyfriend’ of yours lives in East Ravka? And you met him online?”

Wylan bit down on the inside of his cheek. Years of experience taught him hitting back was not the way to get left alone, but it had been a terrible night, and he was at his limit.

“He’s Zemeni, actually,” he said sharply.

Thaddeus’ eyes gleamed. “Oh! Of course he is! And, um…is he in this room right now? Am I sitting on him? So sorry, Jesper.”

At that, Pascal and Dirk started howling. Pascal even had to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.

“I thought you were supposed to be Ketterdam’s most eligible bachelor,” Thaddeus scoffed. “So much for that, eh lads?”

Wylan rounded on him. “Are you jealous, Thaddeus? Is that it? Do you actually care what gets written about in some shitty gossip rag?”

He knew that this was likely going to earn him a beating later. He didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, Thaddeus Radmakker and his terrible mother could go and jump in the nearest canal.

To his surprise, Pascal and Dirk laughed at that too. Thaddeus’ face went brighter than his orange hair.

“You think I would ever be jealous of you?” he said with malice. “Everyone knows you were too stupid to finish prep school. ‘Private tutoring’, my arse! You couldn’t even read a picture book for toddlers when we were in the same class. And now you think you’re going to run a Fortune 500 company by yourself? Please.”

He drew in even closer, so that the next words were hot air on Wylan’s face.

“You’re going to humiliate yourself, just like you always have. And I’m going to be right there to watch it unfold.”

“What are you all doing over here?”

Thaddeus skirted away from Wylan so fast he created a breeze between them. Birgitta and two of her friends had wandered over and were eyeing them suspiciously.

“Just chatting with Wylie,” said Pascal, with a false smile.

Birgitta glanced at Wylan briefly. It was probably the most she had ever acknowledged him before.

“Look, I don’t you what you’re playing at, Thad, but I’m getting bored,” she said, hands on her hips. “Can we go dance or something please?”

Thaddeus scoffed. “I don’t dance, babe. You know that.”

“It's because he has two left feet,” said one of Birgitta’s friends. The other giggled.

“I’ll dance with you,” said Dirk, before Thaddeus cast him a scathing look.

Birgitta rolled her eyes. “Well if we’re not going to dance, can we at least do something? It’s still early.”

“What did you have in mind, then?”

Birgitta opened her mouth to reply, then stopped short as she caught sight of something across the room, the words dying in her throat. She rose a single, curious eyebrow.

“Ghezen,” said her friend, staring off in the same direction and grinning flirtatiously, “who is that?”

Wylan twisted in his chair. And then his heart stopped beating.

Jesper cut a distinctive figure across the dance floor. Wylan had no idea why he’d wanted some flashy outfit; he stood out already, and not just because of his height advantage. Nearly every woman - and a few of the men - turned their heads when he passed in long, looping strides. He was dressed in a sharp black suit which fitted him so well, it could have been cut to the shape of his well-defined body, complete with a crisp white shirt and a silky black tie. Grey eyes searched the room, unaware of the attention, seeking something out.

“Oh hell,” Wylan whispered to himself, wrapping both arms around his waist. Thankfully nobody seemed to notice.

“Does anyone know him?” asked one of the girls excitedly.

Birgitta hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

“Really? You know everyone, B.”

“Yeah, I think I would remember if we’d met. That’s not a face I’d forget easily.”

Thaddeus, who already looked thoroughly put out, grimaced further somehow. He narrowed his eyes at Wylan, as if this had been a clever plan all along to embarrass him.

“Do you think he’s here with someone?” asked the other girl.

“He’s probably just one of the staff,” muttered Thaddeus.

“That’s not a staff uniform, though,” Birgitta pointed out.

Jesper’s eyes finally locked onto Wylan, and his entire body slumped as tension oozed out of him. He flashed a brilliant smile and made straight for him.

Without realising it, Wylan had somehow made his way to his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” Jesper said, the second he drew close enough. He stood beside Wylan and placed a hand between his shoulder blades. “I got stuck with Kaz. He - ”

He stopped, taking in the other six people who were currently gaping at them. Pascal’s mouth had well and truly fallen open.

“These your friends?” asked Jesper cheerfully. He beamed at them all, and it was effortlessly charming.

Wylan had been rendered speechless. He had no desire to explain, anyway, that these people had in fact made life a living hell for him for the past twenty odd years.

Birgitta was the first to break out of her stupor.

“I’m Birgitta Schenck, and this is Nathalie and Ann.”

“Jesper Fahey,” he held out a hand to each girl in turn, keeping the other on Wylan’s back. Birgitta blushed when he took hers.

“You’re real,” Pascal blurted out.

Jesper winked. “Very real.”

He shook hands with the boys as well. Thaddeus offered his very reluctantly.

“And you’re…with Wylan?” Birgitta asked curiously.

“For as long as he’ll have me.”

The hand on Wylan’s shoulders trailed the length of his spine in a long, straight line, coming to rest on the small of his back. It sent a shockwave down with it, culminating in an involuntary shiver.

Such long fingers, Wylan thought as he felt them graze back and forth over his jacket. He blushed at the mental image that was blossoming in his head.

Nathalie sighed. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

“Good for you though, Wy,” Ann conceded.

Jesper gazed at him, his eyes shining. “Wy. I like that.”

“Better than Van Sunshine?” asked Wylan dryly. He knew he should be mad, but it was so hard to be when Jesper was looking at him like that.

Jesper’s grin broadened. “Nothing is better than Van Sunshine.”

“You know, it’s bad form to show up to these things late,” Thaddeus said loudly. “I suppose you wouldn’t know that, though…”

Their gaze split apart, and Wylan blinked. He’d forgotten where he was for a split second.

“I do know,” said Jesper, with an apologetic frown. “I wish I could have been here earlier, but I was held up at work. I’ve got a very demanding boss.”

Dirk chuckled. “Oh, I know how that goes. Got one of those myself. I’m a Junior Associate over at Schouten & Steenvoorden’s.”

“Impressive,” said Jesper. “How long have you been there for?”

He went back and forth with Dirk and Pascal for a while about the trials and tribulations of working in an office. Wylan was fairly certain that Jesper had no idea what Schouten & Steenvoorden’s was, or what either of them were talking about, but he did a damn good job at pretending. He ducked his head so no one could see him trying not to laugh.

“Anyway, I ended up going for one of those new pistols,” Pascal said a short time later. They’d somehow gone from talking about work headaches, to hilarious Sankt Emerens Day parties, to recreational shooting. “You know the adawe 360 model from Novyi Zem?”

Jesper nodded approvingly. “Nice, although I’ve always preferred the antiques, if I’m being honest. Can’t go past a classic.”

“You should come to target practice with us at the country club sometime,” suggested Dirk.

“Oh, yes!” Birgitta gleamed. “You have to have a drink with us when you’re there too!”

Nathalie and Ann nodded enthusiastically.

“Love to, as long as it’s okay with my better half.”

“Well, Wy should come too, obviously!”

Thaddeus, who had been sitting down, ignored, the entire conversation, abruptly got to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he said curtly, “but you’re not really with Wylie, are you? This has to be some sort of joke.”

Wylan hunched his shoulders to make himself smaller, as humiliation hurdled towards him like an out-of-control train. It was only a matter of time before Jesper learnt what these people really thought of him…

But Jesper was furrowing his brows and frowning at Thaddeus, who only glared back.

“I mean, come on. It doesn’t make any sense!”

The others were silent, the discomfort almost palpable. Wylan stared at his shoes, which were right next to Jesper’s; they were two almost-identical sets of sleek black leather.

“You’re right,” he heard Jesper say, and his heart sank, “it doesn’t make any sense.”

Warm fingers cupped Wylan’s cheek, tilting his chin upward, and suddenly he was staring into stormy grey.

“He’s way to good for me,” said Jesper softly, sincerely. “I’m a lucky man.”

He could sense Jesper searching, questioning, their faces only a few inches apart now. He knew that Jesper wouldn’t kiss him without permission again…knew that he had staged this perfectly, to give Wylan the option to if he wanted to seal the illusion of their love. His entire being tingled with the knowledge that he was completely in control. That if he wanted, he could close the remaining space between them and take whatever Jesper was willing to give.

Wylan leaned in ever-so-slightly, eyelids fluttering closed, and pursed his lips. It was clearly all the encouragement Jesper needed.

Oh, was all he could think, when warm lips slid along his, before his brain melted into a puddle on the floor. The hand that had been tilting his chin glided up his jawline, over his ear, those long fingers folding into his hair. This wasn’t his first kiss, but Wylan had never experienced anything like it before, and…oh…damn, was Jesper ever good at it. Just the right amount of firm, but not imposing. Gentle, but not shy. Never shy. Jesper moved his lips in ways that were surprising, and also so, so him that it still felt familiar.

The tip of a velvety tongue pressed into his mouth, teasing and questing. Wylan’s knees buckled and he collapsed into a firm chest. The hand that had been resting on the small of his back since Jesper first arrived helped to support him, a sturdy reminder that this was all real.

When they broke from each other, Wylan couldn’t help staring at Jesper’s lips, plump and glistening wet from their kissing. Without meaning to, he touched a hand to his lower lip where Jesper’s had just been, still feeling him there.

“Wow,” said Brigitta, sounding both impressed and amused.

“Say Wylan,” Ann laughed, “are there any more where he came from?”

Jesper’s expression was an unsaintly level of smug.

“I love this song,” he said. He picked up Wylan’s hand, entwining their fingers together. “Dance with me.”

He led Wylan out onto the dance floor, people parting in their wake to let them through. Wylan spared a brief glance behind him; Pascal and Dirk looked embarrassed. Thaddeus, who had gone back to sitting in the corner, was scowling.

“Do you even know how to dance?” Wylan laughed.

Jesper whirled in front of him, raising both his eyebrows. “Do I know how to dance? Oh, you better be prepared, Van Sunshine.”

He grabbed hold of Wylan’s waist as the band swelled into the chorus, clasping their other hands together.

“Not bad,” he chided, as they moved into an easy rhythm.

“My father made me take lessons as a kid,” Wylan grinned. “He said it was an important skill to have in high society.”

“It’s also fun,” Jesper grinned straight back, then gracefully led Wylan into a turn.

“So,” he murmured in Wylan’s ear as he brought them close together again, “are we going to talk about the fact that I just blew your mind back there?”

Wylan flushed. “No you didn’t.”

Jesper pulled back with a mischievous look. “Blew. Your. Mind.”

The arrogance would be insufferable if he wasn’t so endearing.

“Admit I’m a good kisser,” he urged.

“You’re actually terrible,” said Wylan.

“Your reaction says otherwise.”

“It was awful. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Jesper laughed and spun him again. “You loved it. I could tell.”

As they turned, Wylan spied Alys standing on the edge of the floor, beaming in her delight. She waved to them enthusiastically.

“Another friend of yours?” asked Jesper, as he smiled at her.

“Stepmother,” Wylan corrected. “And those other people weren’t my friends.”

“I figured as much,” Jesper grimaced, then glanced at Alys again. “She looks young. And not at all evil for a stepmother.”

“She is young, and she’s really quite nice.”

“At least someone here is.”

The song changed, and they slowed their movements to match the tempo.

“Where were you tonight, really?” Wylan asked curiously.

Jesper spun him again, but then caught him halfway through the turn. One hand held his waist, the other arm slid diagonally across his chest. Wylan’s breath hitched.

“Can’t tell you right now,” he whispered from over his shoulder, each word tickling Wylan’s ear. “Enemy is everywhere.”

“Enemy?” Wylan chuckled. He took in the onlookers and the other dancers, some of whom had stopped almost completely to watch them.

“Yes,” Jesper purred. “Come to mine later. I’ll explain all of it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

He wriggled out of Jesper’s arms and slid behind him, pacing slowly. He ran his fingers across broad shoulders as he went, taking his time, feeling the muscle below twitch. He sensed Jesper tracking his every movement.

“You could have called,” he said, as his fingers stroked down the length of Jesper’s arm. The stare it earned him alone could have made up for anything.

“I tried,” Jesper answered, his voice hoarser than usual, “soon as I could. You didn’t pick up.”

“Stopped checking,” Wylan admitted. “I assumed you ditched me.”

His fingers stopped as they reached the tips of Jesper’s own and slipped off. The same instant, Jesper snatched his hand and pulled him close, causing a startled gasp.

“I’m not breaking my promises to you, Wylan Van Eck,” he said seriously. “Any of them.”

He so rarely said Wylan’s full name, that it had the effect of making him go weak. Jesper took full advantage of the fact, wrapping an arm around his waist, swaying them gently to the music. His free hand caressed Wylan’s tie.

“Okay,” Wylan quavered. Jesper was so uncharacteristically earnest that he truly did believe him.

Jesper gave the tie a slight tug, drawing Wylan’s face closer to his own. Wylan could feel his heartbeat thundering in his own ears, when Jesper tilted towards him. He began to close his eyes in anticipation…

Then Jesper froze.

“I knew it,” he said teasingly.

Wylan struggled to open his eyes, in a haze of heat and tenderness. “What?”

Jesper’s smirk eclipsed his entire face. “You did like it. You want to kiss me again.”

Fuck. Wylan’s face caught fire.

“No,” he said. He had attempted to sound stern, but apparently it hadn’t come across that way. He scratched under the collar where a sudden itch had burgeoned. When had the room grown so hot?

“It’s okay that you want to,” Jesper continued to tease. “Just be honest with yourself, Van Sunshine. I am pretty irresistible.”

“You’re hideous.”

“Am I?”

“Can barely stand to look at you, honestly…”

He turned his back on Jesper as he chuckled, but soon both of Jesper’s arms were coiling around his waist again, drawing him back in.

“You’ve gone bright red, you know,” he said, resting his chin on Wylan’s shoulder. They had given up all pretence of dancing now. “What’s black and white and red all over?”

“Funny,” Wylan rolled his eyes.

“Those girls seemed to think I am.”

Wylan tensed at the mention of them. Ghezen, was he actually jealous? A complete nonsensical idea.

He pushed Jesper away with more force than before. He didn’t try to fight him.

It’s all fake, he reminded himself. Fake, fake, fake…

“What is it?” asked Jesper, concerned.

Wylan took a deep steadying breath, then reached for his hand.

“Hey,” he said, “want to meet my non-evil stepmother?”

Jesper smiled again. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Text

Jesper felt Wylan press against him on the dance floor. They turned to the music at a relaxed pace.

“I have to go,” he said. “Kaz is expecting me.”

Wylan stared, his eyes brimming with an unusual amount of confidence. It was a good look on him.

“That’s a shame,” he answered.

“It is?”

Wylan leaned even further into Jesper’s embrace, so that their chests were almost flush together. He gently clasped his fingers behind Jesper’s neck.

“I thought perhaps,” he said slowly, “we could kiss again.”

There were countless smug remarks he could have made - any number of stupid jokes - but the admission was so surprising that all Jesper could manage was, “Oh…”

Wylan’s lips formed a silent ‘Oh’ in response, before he pressed them against Jesper’s own, fingers caressing where they held onto him. It felt just as wonderful as it had the first time, to have Wylan go weak and pliant in his arms, sighing into his mouth…

Jesper kissed him back with full force, his hands gripping Wylan’s waist like he could hold him there forever. It was clumsy and awkward and desperate. He should have been embarrassed by how much he wanted…but oh, he wanted…

A slight giggle from across the room caught his attention. The three girls he’d met earlier - Birgitta, Nathalie and Ann - had been watching from the sidelines.

“Technique could use a bit of work,” Birgitta said. “He’s a bit…oh, what’s the word…brutish?”

“I was going to say ‘messy’,” said Nathalie, “but that’s to be expected from a Barrel boy. They’re always going to be rough around the edges.”

“Wy can polish him up though,” added Ann, “can’t you, Wy?”

Wylan’s hand touched Jesper’s cheek, tilting his face away from the girls and back towards him. His wide ocean eyes were brimming with adoration.

When Wylan kissed him again, it was softer than before, almost lazy. His fingers carved a delicate pathway over his collarbone and down to his chest. Deft fingers made featherlight touches over his pecks and nipples. Jesper gasped at the sensation. He couldn’t remember his clothing being this flimsy…and where had his jacket gone?

A man sniggered. “You can only polish a turd so much, you know. Once Barrel trash, always Barrel trash.”

Jesper followed the voice with a snarl. It was the young man from earlier…the angry ginger-haired one with a scowl permanently fixed to his face. Jesper couldn’t recall his name.

“You don’t belong here,” the man said. “You never will.”

Jesper lunged for him, but Wylan held him back with a surprising amount of strength.

“No,” he said firmly, his hands on Jesper’s waist, “stay.”

Wylan’s fingers inched further down his body, over his abdomen, before toying with his waistline.

“You’re not leaving me alone again.”

“No,” Jesper answered, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Their shirts were gone. When had they taken off their shirts? It didn’t matter. Wylan’s pale chest glistened in the faint candlelight. The hand dipped underneath his pants.

There’s somewhere I’m supposed to be, Jesper thought to himself, I know there’s somewhere else I’m supposed to be right now…

It was the last coherent thought he had before Wylan’s fingers closed around his length.

“You’re staying right here,” said Wylan. 

Jesper threw his head back and moaned, “Yes.”

“With me.”

“Saints, yes.”

Wylan’s hand moved up and down in expert rhythm, wasting no time. Their bodies were pressed up against each other as much as physically possible, skin-to-skin, heat radiating from them both across the cold ballroom.

“Are we going to talk about the fact that I’m blowing your mind right now?” Wylan whispered against his ear, before sucking the lobe into his mouth.

Jesper could hardly form words. “I-I- ”

“Just be honest with yourself, Jesper.”

The sound of his name on Wylan’s lips was almost more than he could bare. He clung desperately to the other man as he jerked him off.

“He’s right, you know,” another voice interrupted. Nina was standing a short distance away, smiling at him compassionately. “You need to be honest with yourself.”

“Nina…”

“You have to, Jes, or you’ll end up losing him. What do you really want?” 

Wylan had stopped moving his hand, frozen in place. He was gazing at him expectantly. It was enough to break Jesper’s heart.

“I want…”

“It’s good to know where your loyalty lies, Jes,” said Kaz, from across the other end of the room. He stood upright, arms folded across his chest, no cane in sight.

“I’m not choosing between you,” Jesper grimaced.

“No,” Kaz replied, “there is no choice.”

Kaz, he realised, I was supposed to meet Kaz…

Wylan grabbed his face again, turning it back to his own.

“Look at me,” he said, his hands now cupping each of his cheeks.

Jesper swallowed.

“What do you really want?”

“I want you,” he pleaded. His eyes flitted down to his pants, which had somehow come undone.

Smiling, Wylan’s hand slipped back down to continue working him. The ballroom onlookers all vanished.

“Then have me,” Wylan sighed.

He moved his wrist in an exquisite twisting motion that had Jesper doubling over, wrapping his arms around Wylan’s back and holding him close.

“So good,” he murmured, kissing into the crevice between Wylan’s neck and shoulder. He smelt incredible…like warm vanilla, sweet winter spices…

Wylan moaned, a little keening sound that caught somewhere in the back of his throat. “Yes. Oh, Jesper…”

He was so close…just a bit more and he knew he would have reached the edges of pleasure.

Somewhere in the distance, a grandfather clock chimed the hour. Wylan stopped and pulled away. The sudden lack of contact left Jesper cold.

“What is it?” he asked, in a haze of confusion and lust.

Wylan smiled again, but this time it was reluctant.

“Midnight,” was all he said.

Jesper woke up slowly, groaning into the empty sunlit bedroom. It took a moment for him to blink away the remnants of his bizarre dream and remember that he was at home, and that it was the day after the charity gala. He had tossed and turned and was tangled up in his sheets.

Glancing down the length of his body, he saw the evidence of his arousal tenting his boxers. Saints, how was he supposed to survive an entire year, if only a few weeks of celibacy had him like this already? Lusting after a figment of his imagination. Curse stupid Wylan and his stupid ball…his stupid eyelashes and his stupid freckles…his stupid fingers that had grazed down the length of his arm and left pins and needles in their wake…

With a grunt of frustration, he reached down and slipped a hand into his underwear, right before a tentative knock at the door brought him to an abrupt halt.

“Jesper?” Wylan called.

Fuck.

Jesper grabbed hold of the sheet, attempting to cover his body and in particular that part of it, but the sheet was still bunched and tangled around him and he couldn’t figure out how to fix it.

Wylan knocked again, “I know you’re awake. I can hear you moving around in there.”

He tried the doorknob, which thankfully Jesper had had the good sense to lock last night.

“Go away,” he yelled, then cringed at the way his voice sounded. So deep and addled with sexual energy.

Wylan sighed, the way he had done in Jesper’s dream. It sent desire shooting straight down to his groin.

“I see you’re in a pleasant mood this morning. How much did you drink last night?”

Not nearly enough, Jesper thought despondently.

“It’s too early,” he complained.

“It’s nearly midday. You told me to come over.”

“I’m naked,” Jesper tried again. Normally he would have played that for all the innuendo it was worth, but he really wasn’t in a position to be flirting with Wylan right now.

Wylan let out a huff of indignation. “So put some clothes on then!”

After a beat, he tried to jiggle the lock again. Jesper helplessly snatched up the nearest pillow and hurled it at the door. It collided with a thud.

“What the fuck?!”

Jesper groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his head under another pillow. His aching erection rubbed against the mattress as he did so, the friction of it almost unbearable. Just a couple of thrusts and he knew he would be finished…

“Jesper!”

“Coffee!” Jesper bellowed.

“What?”

“Go make us some coffee, alright?”

“Are you serious?” Wylan sounded more annoyed than ever before, which was saying something. “You almost stand me up, act all secretive, insist I come over so you can explain, and then order me to make you a coffee? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Is that so hard to understand?”

Jesper was quickly losing his patience. Dream Wylan had been much more agreeable.

“Why don’t you get out of bed and make your own damn coffee?” Wylan grumbled. “Or do I have to come in there and get you up myself?”

Jesper pressed his face into the mattress so it would muffle his moan.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Wylan cried in exasperation. “You’re acting so weird.”

“Coffee!” said Jesper again. “Seriously. Now!”

With an exaggerated sigh, Wylan finally abandoned the doorknob.

“Selfish…lazy…rude…” he muttered to himself. Jesper heard footsteps clunking down the stairs.

Underneath the pillow, squinting his eyes shut, he focused on conjuring up images of the most unattractive things possible. Like that time Inej accidentally cut her arm open and opted to stitch it up herself. That had been pretty gross, hadn’t it? Or what about when Matthias had broken their toilet last year? The entire house smelt for weeks before the landlord could be bothered to get it fixed properly.

Downstairs, the coffee machine whirred to life. This wasn’t working as well as Jesper had hoped. He still hadn’t been able to wash away the remnants of his dream. It was almost as though he could still smell the way Wylan had smelt…still feel the way his hands had caressed him, so close to perfection…

No time to waste. He had no choice but to take care of this before Wylan and his stupid, attractive face tried to barge in again. He reached over the edge of the bed to pick up the first soft thing he could find, which happened to be his undershirt from the previous night. He pushed down his boxers and wrapped it around his starved erection. Saints, he needed this. He pumped himself fast, his toes curling underneath the mattress, until soon his entire body was jerking and shuddering as he came.

For a handful of blissful minutes he was floating on a cloud of ecstasy and release. But then he realised that the coffee machine had stopped sputtering away in the kitchen, and shame swelled over him. That he’d just done that over Wylan, no less. And while he was downstairs…

Perhaps he needed to tone it back with the flirting and touching. The line between business and personal was becoming increasingly blurred, and it could only be dangerous.

Jesper pulled up his boxers, balled up the stained shirt, and carried it with him to the bathroom across the hall. There was no way in any version of hell he wouldn’t be tossing that thing straight into the garbage.

When he came back showered and in a fresh pair of grey track pants, Wylan was perched on the edge of his rumpled bed. He clutching a mug of coffee that read ‘Grisha Goddess at Work’ and gazing around the room. Jesper was hardly ever bashful, but in that moment, he was overwhelmed with a uneasy blend of guilt and embarrassment. Wylan’s eyes landed on his bare chest, and they both hastily turned away at the exact same moment.

“Ghezen,” Wylan murmured, “do you ever clean up in here?”

Jesper grabbed the nearest clean shirt and shoved it over his head. He took in his surroundings; dirty piles of laundry everywhere, clutter on every surface, a floor-length mirror with a giant crack in it that he’d attempted to plaster back together. There was a stack of old library books on the second-hand armchair in the corner that he was fairly certain had been with him since he was a student.

“We don’t all have employees to tidy up after us,” he said, tugging the shirt down to cover any hint of exposed skin.

“All the same, I’ve never made this much of a mess,” Wylan held up a wayward sock with the tips of his fingers, before flinging it rather disgustedly onto the floor. “Want me to help you organise things? I’m quite good at it.”

“It’ll only get messy again,” Jesper shrugged. He watched Wylan take a sip of coffee and chuckled. “Nice mug, by the way.”

Wylan blinked. “What?”

“The mug? Didn’t you read it?”

“Oh,” Wylan glanced at the words and flushed, “err, yes…funny.”

Jesper frowned. There was something suspicious about the way Wylan had reacted, but he wasn’t in the mood to push it.

“Did you make me one?”

At that Wylan instantly brightened. “Oh yeah, it’s on the nightstand there.”

“Thanks,” said Jesper, relieved. It may have been a ploy to get rid of Wylan, but he was grateful for it. “I’m fucking exhausted after last night.”

“You only just woke up.”

“Like I said, exhausted,” Jesper grabbed the mug and pressed it to his lips.

He instantly gagged.

“Something wrong?” Wylan asked, the picture of innocence. He actually had the nerve to bat his ridiculous eyelashes at him.

Jesper fought not to spit the sickening substance straight onto the floor. He slapped a hand across his mouth and cringed, swallowing.

“What the hell is that?”

“Coffee,” Wylan grinned. “Just like you demanded.”

“That is not coffee. That’s…” he smacked his lips together, then gave an involuntary shudder, “…an abomination.”

“Sure it’s coffee. Just with ten teaspoons of sugar added in.”

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe more, I lost count.”

“All Saints,” Jesper placed the mug back with a clatter, “what is wrong with you?”

Wylan’s eyes gleamed. “Since you’re so salty this morning, I thought you could do with a bit of extra sweet.”

Jesper searched around frantically until he found a half-finished water bottle kicked under one side of the bed. He scooped it up and chugged a mouthful, desperate to wash the sickening taste away. He saw Wylan giggle.

“Fine,” he conceded, “I deserved that.”

Wylan kept a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking, like he was afraid to let himself laugh at his own silly prank. His whole face sparkled with mirth. The real Wylan was back, Jesper realised.

“Sorry,” he said fondly, “it’s been a weird twenty-four hours.”

More so than Wylan would never know, hopefully.

Wylan calmed down, shifting the hand from his mouth to brush away a few wayward curls. He was wearing a collared shirt underneath a blue sweater that matched his colouring perfectly. It was almost unfair that he could make such preppy attire look good.

“So what’s going on?” Wylan asked. “Why all the secrecy?”

Jesper hesitated, then strode to the door. “Toss me that sock from before, would you?”

“Huh? Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Wylan picked up the sock with a grimace and threw it at Jesper, missing him entirely. Whether it was on purpose or not he couldn’t be sure. Jesper rolled his eyes, then bent to pick it up. He attached it to the outward-facing doorknob and locked it securely.

“Are you…” he heard Wylan stammer from the bed.

Jesper fiddled with the speaker on top of his chest of drawers, knocking a few trinkets off in the process. Some sultry music from a playlist on his phone echoed from the speaker and filled the room.

“Is that necessary?” Wylan had turned bright red. “Your housemates aren’t going to eavesdrop on us, are they?”

Jesper barely looked up from his phone. “Not intentionally, but Inej has ears like a bat. If they think we’re having sex in here, they’ll give us a wide berth.”

He flopped onto the bed, crossing his legs underneath him. Wylan was sitting on the opposite edge, back straight and prim and proper as anyone could be. However, it still felt deeply intimate somehow, sharing this space with him, with soft romantic music playing and the lingering memory of his erotic little fantasy hanging in the balance…knowing that they had kissed and touched each other so much only hours ago.

Wylan cleared his throat. “Jesper…”

He said his name just like he always did. Just like in the dream.

“Kaz!” Jesper blurted out, much louder than he’d intended.

“Kaz?” Wylan rose an eyebrow.

“Kaz,” Jesper repeated more calmly. He sighed; there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. “Kaz knows, Wy. He knows about the deal.”

At that, Wylan blanched. “This isn’t a joke?”

“No.”

“How?”

“I don’t think you want to know,” Jesper said darkly. “He has his ways of getting information, and they aren’t always above board. But the point is that he figured it out, and now he’s in the middle of cooking up some crazy scheme.”

“Some crazy scheme?”

“Yes,” Jesper said, “that’s what he does.”

He gave Wylan a moment to mull over this new information. There was a little crease of concentration in between his pale brows.

“Do you think he’ll keep it a secret?”

Jesper licked his lip. “Yes…”

“For a price,” said Wylan. It wasn’t a question.

Jesper stared at his knees. Even if it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d let Wylan down.

He heard Wylan sigh. “It’s alright, I expected as much. I can pay him to stay quiet. Although I really think you should look for a new job.”

“It’s not…” Jesper searched for the right words. “It’s…complicated, between Kaz and me.”

“Hmm…”

“I’m just saying, there’s some history there.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Wylan said evenly. It was somehow worse than the furious reaction Jesper had been expecting. He was oddly reminded of his father.

I’m not mad, Jes, just disappointed.

“I really didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, rather pathetically.

“Jesper,” Wylan’s voice was smooth. Comforting. “Honestly, it’s alright. If it wasn’t Kaz, it would be someone else. I’m actually surprised we’ve pulled it off this long already.”

Jesper was relieved to see Wylan’s tiny smile.

“You know, it might end up being to our advantage, having Kaz in the loop,” he mused. “It’s in his best interest now to make our relationship more believable. And he’s pretty good at cons and fraud.”

“Really not as reassuring as you think that is.”

“Trust me, it can be worth having him on your side,” Jesper paused. “While we’re talking, there’s something else.”

“There’s always something else,” Wylan groaned.

Jesper eyed him sympathetically. “It’s not a big deal. Just a teeny, tiny, itsy bit of a favour.”

“Oh Ghezen…"

“I mean technically, it’s not even stealing if it’s from your own company.”

“Jesper,” Wylan said warningly.

Jesper couldn’t help but grin. Even when he was annoyed, he liked hearing Wylan say his name.

“Look, Kaz is after a file,” he explained. “A file he is pretty certain your old man would have retained from a few years ago, in the company archives. Not sure why it’s so important - typical Kaz stuff - but he told me it’d likely be saved somewhere under the codename ‘Project Saskia’.”

Wylan looked perplexed.

“An old company file of my father’s?” he asked. “What would Kaz want with that?”

“He said it would all make sense eventually,” Jesper shrugged.

Wylan frowned. “You trust him too much.”

“Like I said, there’s - ”

“History,” Wylan finished for him simply. “Most of the archives are digitised. I could search for it.”

“Not that easy, unfortunately,” said Jesper. “Kaz thinks your dad likely would have only kept a physical copy. Databases are too easy to hack. He would have kept this bad boy under lock at key.”

“I see…”

Jesper saw something drop in Wylan’s demeanour. Like an animal on one of those nature documentaries, sensing danger and already yielding to its fate.

“You’re head of the company now,” he said encouragingly. “Nobody is going to question you.”

“I’m just a figurehead, I’ve got no real power.”

“That’s enough. All you have to do is walk into the building, find some confidential files marked ‘Project Saskia’, and get them out without anybody noticing. Piece of cake.”

“It’s not that simple,” Wylan muttered.

“What do you mean? Of course it is. Get in, find the file, get out. There’s nothing to it.”

“I can’t do that, though.”

“Sure you can,” said Jesper. “Look, this isn’t really the time to be having moral scruples. I know Kaz, and that file is clearly important to him. Far more so than the money.”

“No, Jesper,” said Wylan, “I can’t.”

After a brief silence, Wylan shifted on the bed, facing Jesper squarely now. The cold mug of coffee had been resting in his lap; he held it up so that it was more visible.

“Ask me about the mug again,” he said, his tone uneasy.

“Huh?” Jesper blinked. “It’s just a stupid mug Nina bought at a novelty store.”

Wylan could barely look at him. His voice dropped an octave, so that it was barely above a whisper.

“What does it say?”

Jesper grinned. This had to be some sort of joke. Or maybe a test?

“Can’t you read it?” he laughed.

Then he saw the look on Wylan’s face, and the grin instantly vanished.

“You can’t read it,” he realised, utterly taken aback.

He tried to think of a time he’d actually seen Wylan read something, in the past few weeks that he’d known him. There was the emailed invitation to the ball that he’d shown him, for one. Then the way he’d gestured to the signs at Eil Komedie. Then he’d recited a section of the will, of course, the night they’d run into each other at the Crow Club.

But had Wylan actually read any of those things? Or had he just memorised them, or garnered the meaning from context clues? Until now, Jesper had no reason to question any of it.

“Fuck,” he murmured, “I had no idea.”

Wylan scrambled off the bed and began pacing back and forth. A bit of coffee sloshed over the side of the mug and onto the floor, unnoticed by its holder. Jesper knew that feeling - the frantic, kinetic, anxious energy that powered the need to move. It had governed his whole life.

“I can recognise my name, if I see it printed,” he said as he walked, “depending on the font. I’ve seen it enough times to know vaguely what it looks like. Comes in useful. And some simple words are okay, but anything more than that…”

“And it’s been like that all your life?” Jesper probed. He remembered what Wylan had said to him about school, when they were on the ferris wheel. I was terrible…

“It’s not that I haven’t tried,” Wylan added, with a wry chuckle. “Believe me, I tried. For years. It’s just that words don’t work for me the same way as numbers or music do. The way they work for other people. No matter how much I focus, the letters get all jumbled and mixed up and they just don’t make any sense.”

He continued, talking much faster than he was pacing now. His spare hand flew up to tug subconsciously at his hair.

“That’s why I had to quit school, when it became obvious I just wasn’t going to get any better. It’s the whole reason the stupid will clause exists in the first place. My father’s dying hope was that the generation after me would turn out normal. Because who would want to leave their legacy behind to an idiot of a son who - ”

“Hey,” Jesper leapt to his feet and was around the other side of the bed in seconds, “Van Sunshine…”

Wylan seemed unaware of him, keeping up the constant pacing, his hand digging into his scalp so deep it must have hurt. Jesper stopped him in his tracks, placing a hand firmly on his chest when he tried to lurch forward.

“Wylan,” he tried again, staring at him until he would meet his gaze.

With some effort, he prised the coffee mug from Wylan’s grasp and set it on the floor. Then he took Wylan’s other hand and held both of them together, thumbs caressing over his palms.

“It’s alright,” Jesper repeated the words Wylan had used earlier. He smiled kindly, hoping to bring him the same level of comfort.

Wylan’s eyes were glassy. His cupid’s bow lip quivered just slightly.

“It’s not alright,” Wylan said. “Of course the one thing Kaz needs me to do involves being able to read. And now because I can’t do it, everyone’s going to find out and we’ll both be completely screwed.”

“We won’t be completely screwed,” he said calmly. “We’re just going to have to find another way. One that plays to our strengths.”

“You can’t tell Kaz,” Wylan said hurriedly. “Or anyone for that matter.”

“Not saying a word,” Jesper tried smiling at him again. “Breathe, Van Sunshine.”

He held Wylan’s hands steady as he took several deep, shuddering breaths. Finally, the rhythm slowed and returned to normal.

“Okay,” Wylan said, after a steady exhale. “What should we do?”

“I might have an idea.”

“Oh?”

Jesper smirked. “You know, as your future husband, it’s probably time I took an interest in the family business…”

Chapter Text

“Breathe, Van Sunshine.”

It was the same thing Jesper had been saying to him for the past few days, every time they went over the plan. But Wylan still hadn’t mastered his emotions any better and today was no exception.

All the same, he obliged by inhaling pointedly; on a loud exhale, he saw Jesper smile. Their hands were just inches apart on the car seat between them. Wylan almost reached for Jesper’s out of habit, before he remembered they weren’t in public, and there was really no reason to act like a lovesick couple. Instead, he balled his hands into fists and withdrew them to his lap.

“I don’t know how you can be so calm at a time like this,” he said, as he stared out the window at the passing skyscrapers. Only a few more minutes and they’d arrive at Van Eck Enterprises.

“This?” said Jesper. “Oh, this is easy. It’s chaos, and I’m good at chaos.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

The car manoeuvred easily through the mid-morning traffic. A disgruntled truck driver honked at them as he sped past when Kaz attempted to swerve in front, but Kaz remained completely impassive, his gloved hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes focused entirely on the road. They’d taken the Van Eck family car, but had dismissed the driver for the day. Kaz had opted to drive, much to Jesper’s chagrin.

“You’ll have plenty of chances to cruise around in fancy cars after your nuptials,” Kaz had told him when he’d complained. “Today, you need to look wealthy and important. Rich people don’t drive their own cars.”

“I would, if I owned this beauty,” Jesper had answered while running his fingers lovingly over the hood.

“Finish the job and you’ll be able to buy ten.”

It shouldn’t bother Wylan that Kaz had referred to his deal with Jesper as a ‘job’, but it definitely did. He’d tried not to act too resentful during their recent meetings at the Crow Club, where Kaz had grilled him for office security and information on key personnel. The man might be blackmailing him, but he would still maintain his dignity.

“This is everything I can remember about the company archives,” Wylan had explained two evenings ago, when he’d painstakingly sketched a detailed map of the basement floor. “Like I told Jesper, it’s mostly been digitised now, but a few older files are still held down here. It’s also where all the servers are, with backups of everything that’s currently stored on the company computers. Needless to say, it’s pretty heavily guarded. Security personnel patrol there regularly, and you need high level clearance to get in.”

Kaz had taken the map and studied it intently. He almost looked impressed…if you squinted.

“These are the servers here?” he asked, drawing a finger cross one of the charcoal lines.

“Yes. From what I remember. I’ve only been there a couple of times.”

“Can you label it?”

Wylan had glanced nervously at Jesper.

“Let me do it,” Jesper said, unfazed. “It’ll help me memorise.”

Leaving no room for argument, he’d picked up a pen and diligently wrote down where things were as Wylan dictated to him. As far as he could tell, Kaz hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

“If I was driving, we’d be there already,” Jesper complained in the present day, breaking Wylan out of his reverie.

Kaz glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “If you were driving, we’d already be pulled over by the Stadwatch for reckless endangerment.”

Jesper whined, “So little faith in me.”

“I haven’t forgotten Belendt.”

“To be fair, that situation called for reckless endangerment. And we made it out, didn’t we?”

“We made it out because Inej was able to disappear and distract the Stadwatch long enough for us to get away,” said Kaz.

“Exactly,” Jesper grinned, “there’s always a way.”

“Do I want to know?” Wylan grimaced.

“It’s a great story,” Jesper said, before he took in Wylan’s expression. “But maybe it’s better saved for later.”

They pulled up in front of the tall office building Wylan knew so well, even if it had been over a year since he’d last visited. Kaz parked and twisted in his seat to face them.

“Remember the plan,” he said seriously. “Timing is everything. No distractions, no going off-track. Jesper, if anything goes wrong, you know what to do.”

Jesper’s lips twitched into a tiny frown, barely discernible and gone just as quickly as it appeared. The mischievous glint had returned to his eyes when he followed up with a mock-salute.

“You got it, boss, but it won’t come to that.”

Kaz nodded. “Meet here in three hours.”

Jesper opened the car door facing onto the street and slid out. Wylan hastened to follow him, but the sound of Kaz’s raspy voice calling his name brought him to an abrupt halt.

“Wylan.”

Kaz’s dark eyes were fixed on him. Wylan fought the urge to look away and met his gaze squarely. He refused to be intimidated.

“I wanted to send you in alone, but Jesper convinced me you needed backup,” Kaz paused. “Being inconspicuous isn’t one of his talents. He’ll be relying on your authority as company leader to get him out of dodge if this goes sideways.”

“Okay,” Wylan answered evenly, “but I’m not a leader. And I certainly don’t carry any authority here.”

“Authority only resides where people believe it does,” said Kaz. “You have the name and the title already. Now just make them see.”

Wylan laughed mirthlessly. As if it could be that easy.

“How do I do that? By blackmailing the entire board of directors?”

Kaz’s eyes glinted dangerously. Despite all his efforts, Wylan did look away then.

“If that’s what it takes,” Kaz said. “The greatest asset to others’ authority is silence, so be the loudest one in the room. Make them think you hold all the cards. Now go, you’ll be late.”

Quickly, Wylan scrambled out of the car and joined Jesper on the street. It sped away as soon as he slammed the door.

“What was that about?” Jesper asked curiously.

They were both wearing business suits, which allowed them to blend in seamlessly with the passing office workers who were rushing to get to their next meeting. Wylan’s new shirt felt stretched across his stomach, likely the result of the enormous breakfast Nina had forced on him when he’d arrived at the Slat that morning. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but as he stared into the looming shade of the Van Eck tower, he could feel all the extra food churning around his innards.

“Earth to Van Sunshine?”

“Sorry,” Wylan answered. “It was nothing. What did Kaz mean when he said ‘if anything goes wrong, you know what to do?’”

Jesper began walking backwards and grinned. “Oh, that. Just our backup plan, to go in there guns blazing.”

“Maybe don’t joke about that when we’re so close to the security guards,” Wylan muttered.

“Who said anything about joking?”

Wylan sighed. “Really hate you.”

“You really don’t.”

He followed Jesper into the foyer, which was bustling with employees in expensive clothes making their way up to their offices, or pausing to chat with colleagues. Thankfully, they made it through security without attracting any added unwanted attention. Wylan had been anxious about being recognised on arrival, but apart from a couple of curious glances, nobody seemed to pay him any mind. Maybe fewer people read tabloids than he’d thought. It was Jesper who got most of the stares. Kaz was right about him being too conspicuous. A tall Zemeni boy in the middle of Kerch who also happened to be gorgeous…how could he not be stared at all the time?

Two receptionists were seated behind the large marble bench in the centre of the foyer. One - an older woman - appeared to be in the midst of a difficult phone call, while the younger woman was busily inspecting a chipped nail. A wide flat-screen TV behind them was playing the 24-hour Lion News channel at a low volume. Underneath it and on front of the bench was the company logo: a gold laurel emblazoned on a red background.

“Can I help you?” asked the younger receptionist when they approached. She seemed exasperated at being called away from her nail crisis. Not a hint of recognition passed through her face.

Wylan briefly glanced over at the large framed photograph of his late father just to the side of reception, propped up on an easel and wreathed in red and yellow flowers. Other employees had left their own floral tributes on surrounding the memorial.

“Uh, yes, sorry,” he said, tearing his eyes away from Jan Van Eck’s cold blue glare. “I’m here to see Mr Van Cornewal?”

The woman regarded him warily. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” he admitted, with a swallow. He doubted any of the board members were actually expecting him to show up.

“You’ll need an appointment,” replied the receptionist, “Mr Van Cornewal is a very busy man. You should speak directly with his EA.”

She had already gone back to her nails. Wylan was about to try again, when Jesper laid a hand on his shoulder.

“So sorry, there seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding here,” he said boldly. “This is Wylan Van Eck…the new boss?”

The receptionist eyed him up and down for a painfully awkward few seconds, until gradually her pupils widened.

“Ghezen help me…”

Jesper grinned. “There it is.”

She hurriedly wiped her hands on her black slacks, then held one out to him. “Mr Van Eck, of course, I recognise you now. I’m so sorry about your father - ”

“That’s alright,” Wylan interrupted before she could go on.

“If you could just contact Mr Van Cornewal, that would be great,” Jesper said brightly. “Thanks, err…?”

“Lyra,” the woman answered with a slight blush.

“Pretty name.”

“Thank you, Lyra,” Wylan grumbled.

He stood to one side with Jesper and waited while Lyra dialled a number.

“Mr Van Cornewal says to meet him at the board room,” she said once she hung up. “Would you like me to show you there?”

“That’s okay, I know the way,” Wylan assured her.

Jesper beamed. “Thank you for all your help, Lyra, you’ve been excellent.”

Wylan stalked ahead and pressed the button to the elevator. He waited with arms folded, not sure whether he was more annoyed at Jesper or at himself in that moment.

“Nice woman,” Jesper commented. He looked pleased with himself.

Jesper, Wylan realised. He was definitely more annoyed at Jesper.

The elevator doors dinged open and Wylan pushed in front, almost knocking him out of the way.

“Rude,” Jesper muttered as he followed Wylan in. The doors slid shut, leaving them alone. “What’s up with you?”

“Flirting with the receptionist?” Wylan deadpanned. “Isn’t that a bit cliche, even for you?”

“I’m just being friendly!"

“Well I’m just saying, it’s unprofessional.”

To his annoyance, Jesper chuckled.

“What?” he demanded.

Jesper’s lazy grin was textbook smugness. He rose both his eyebrows. “You’re jealous.”

“No,” Wylan spluttered. “I’m just making the point that you can’t go around flirting with everyone you meet.”

“Why not?”

“Because it just…” he sighed, “because you might end up leading somebody on. And that’s not a very nice thing to do.”

“Because I’m with you.”

“Exactly! It - ”

Wylan stopped, turning red. He had not meant to say that.

“If it wasn’t for the fake relationship thing, it wouldn’t matter,” he added quickly.

At that, the grin dropped from Jesper’s face. Perhaps the reminder of what was at stake had been enough for him to take this seriously.

“Right,” he said. He leaned back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling in silence.

They arrived at the top floor after a painstakingly uncomfortable trip. Wylan stepped out first, relieved he didn’t have to spend much longer in close proximity to his unnaturally quiet companion.

An impeccably dressed young man was waiting to meet them. His shoulder-length blonde hair had been tied back in a sleek ponytail, and he wore an earpiece along with an incredibly polite smile.

“Mr Van Eck,” he extended one hand towards Wylan. In his other, he clutched a tablet that displayed a very booked-out calendar. “I’m Robert, Mr Van Cornewal’s EA.”

“Just Wylan, please,” he urged him. “This is Jesper Fahey, my, partner.”

“Mr Fahey,” Robert shook his hand.

“Also just Jesper. I thought I would come along to take a look at the office. See where this one’s going to be spending all his time now that he’s the big boss.”

Robert chuckled politely. 

“Jesper is actually interested in growing his career in business,” Wylan said. “Maybe that’s something you could help facilitate, Robert. I’m sure you know of a few positions that are open…”

“Absolutely,” said Robert, with a meaningful nod in Wylan’s direction. Good old nepotism at work. “That’s definitely something I can arrange. Mr Van Cornewal is currently tied up on an important phone call, but you are welcome to wait with me. Can I offer either of you refreshments?”

“Oh, I love refreshments,” Jesper said cheerfully, as Robert led them down a corridor.

“He takes his coffee with ten sugars,” Wylan couldn’t resist chiding.

“No sugars,” Jesper looked vaguely sick. “Thank you.”

They found themselves seated in a waiting area, with plush carpet and a comfortable sofa. Robert fetched their drinks and placed them on a glass coffee table, next to the latest edition of Dime Lion, the Lion News daily paper. A headline image drew Wylan’s attention, positioned underneath a staggeringly bold font. It depicted a group of masked Shu men and women, marked with blood and staring furiously out from the page. One of them was bearing her teeth. Another carried a tattered Bhez Ju flag.

“Oh yeah, terrible isn’t it?” said Robert, when he saw what Wylan was looking at. “There’s been another attack from those radical separatists. No better than terrorists, if you ask me, stirring up all this trouble where there’s none to be had.”

“Hmmm,” Wylan frowned.

Robert tapped his earpiece. “I better take this, please excuse me a moment. Mr Van Cornewal won’t be long.”

“You okay?” Jesper asked, as soon as he was out of earshot. He was tapping his leg up and down in a jerky, impatient rhythm.

“Fine,” Wylan answered. He picked up the newspaper and turned it upside down, so he couldn’t see the image of the Bhez Ju separatists anymore.

“If I were you, I might be finding this all a bit surreal.”

Wylan took in more of the waiting room, with its fake potted plants, the sound of high heels clacking down the hall and hushed murmurs from office cubicles. Someone had framed an article and hung it up on the wall. Wylan remembered that day; the announcement of the company’s new ‘Diversity and Inclusion’ policy. The photograph depicted his father, five years younger and dazzling media smile firmly in place, posing next to a group of three employees - one Zemeni, one Suli, one Shu. All had been recent hires.

“It’s been over a month, and I still expect him to just walk in sometimes,” he admitted, knowing he didn’t need to specify who he meant. “Like this entire thing has been a massive joke, and one day he’ll just pop his head around the corner and wonder what the hell I’m doing here.”

He stared at the door as he spoke, almost waiting for that very thing to happen and prove him right. He sensed Jesper appraising him.

“I had that too, after my mum died,” Jesper said slowly. “I’d like to tell you it gets better with time, but…”

Wylan glanced at him curiously. Jesper smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You must miss her.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jesper shrugged. “Do you miss your dad?”

Wylan snorted. “Why would I?”

“Sometimes we can miss what we never had,” Jesper said. “The times when our parents should have been there for us and they weren’t. That type of loss can be just as painful.”

Wylan didn’t want to think about that. Especially not here, in this place, which still hung heavy with the weight of Jan Van Eck. He toyed with the newspaper instead, flipping it open to a random page and running his fingers along the outline of the photographs.

“You can ask me about it, you know,” he said softly, when he caught Jesper watching. “I can tell you want to.”

He’d never spoken about his affliction before, with someone who wasn’t a parent or a teacher. Some had guessed, though his father had taken pains to keep it hidden over the years through whatever means necessary. The day he had told Jesper he’d felt backed into a corner, seeing no possible way to lie his way around being unable to complete the simple task that was required of him. He’d been anticipating laughter, or judgement, or worse.

But Jesper had been kind.

“I just can’t believe you were able to hide it for so long,” Jesper said. “Wouldn’t someone figure it out eventually?”

“It’s amazing what you can do with technology these days. My phone is programmed to read everything out to me,” Wylan explained. “Like I told you, I can read my name okay depending on the font. Plus I have a good memory, which helps if I have to memorise something ahead of time. The rest of the time is just faking it.”

“Faking it?” Jesper probed.

Wylan nodded. “For instance, I can probably tell you this article is about the stock market, because of this graph and figures here. So if anybody asks me what I think of it, I could easily make something up based off this information. It’s just a matter of staying up-to-date with the latest news and trends."

Jesper’s eyes widened.

“It’s stupid, I know.”

“Stupid?” Jesper laughed. “It’s genius.”

Wylan’s cheeks turned pink.

“But, um…” Jesper hesitated, “didn’t anyone ever, I don’t know, try to help?”

“One of my prep school teachers told my father they thought I had dyslexia, before I got taken out. I remember it because of how angry he was, even though I didn’t understand what dyslexia meant at the time. And there was a private tutor I had for a while who was quite nice. She wanted to get me some extra support, but that would have meant registering for the Kerch National Disability Scheme, and there was no way in hell that was ever going to happen.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Jesper asked, incredulous. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

“No it wasn't, because then it would have been made public.”

Wylan dropped his voice when he spied Robert and a tall man with a hard, angular face and silver hair striding towards them. He leapt to his feet.

“Wylan,” Van Cornewal greeted him like a favourite nephew. If he was startled to see him there, he gave nothing away.

“Mr Van Cornewal,” Wylan said politely. He gestured beside him, “This is Jesper Fahey, my partner.”

“Jesper,” Van Cornewal clasped his hand and shook vigorously. “Yes, I saw you at the Black and White Ball. You made quite the impression. My wife tells me it’s been the talk of the country club.”

Jesper matched his firm grip. “All good talk, I hope.”

Van Cornewal chuckled. “I’m assured it is. Please, forgive my tardiness this morning. We weren’t informed you would be visiting us here in the trenches.”

“I was told there would be a board meeting,” said Wylan. He pictured Kaz, his features eternally smooth and stoic, affecting his own into the same expression as best he could. “Although…it’s curious I only found out through my stepmother first.”

“Yes, well…” said Van Cornewal. He shifted uncomfortably. “An oversight, on our part. Perhaps the other board members felt that it was too soon. We’ve all been reeling since the sudden loss of Jan; one can only image how you must be grieving.”

“It’s true,” Wylan cast a sideways glance in Jesper’s direction, “it is difficult to imagine.”

“I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Please,” Wylan placed a hand on Van Cornewal’s upper arm. Even though he’d known the man for many years, the unfamiliarity of the contact had him prickling. “I understand. I’ve already forgotten it.”

Van Cornewal looked relieved. Jesper threw Wylan a sly smirk, evidently enjoying his performance.

“Jesper’s come along today to take a look at the office,” Wylan said, removing his hand from Van Cornewal and placing it on Jesper’s shoulder instead. He stared into his eyes and smiled fondly, hoping to convey the impression of someone in love. “He’s actually expressed interest in a career with us here. I thought maybe you could arrange for someone to show him around.”

“Of course,” Van Cornewal said immediately, with the air of a man who was eager to please. “There are plenty of entry level positions available - ”

“Entry level?” Wylan interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

Van Cornewal coughed. “And a small number of senior roles, for those who are qualified.”

“I have half a degree from KU Business School,” said Jesper, flashing his most charming smile. “And I’ve been told I have great people skills.”

Wylan almost snorted.

“Well, I, err…that’s clearly…” Van Cornewal blustered, “I’m sure we can find something. Robin, perhaps you can facilitate a tour while Wylan and I meet with the board?”

Robert appeared crestfallen, though he didn’t correct his boss on the name. “Sorry, Sir, won’t you need me to take notes?”

“I’m sure we can manage without you.”

Jesper nudged Robert’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.”

With a sweeping gesture, Van Cornewal made to guide Wylan to a corridor on the left. “Right this way…”

“We’ll start with Sales first,” said Robert, leading Jesper in the opposite direction. “Follow me.”

As he was led away, Wylan turned over his shoulder and met Jesper’s eyes directly. He could feel the panic slowly starting to rise; he knew this would happen - it was part of the plan - but he hadn’t expected it would so soon. And now they would both need to do their jobs alone.

How had they thought this was a good idea? So many things to could go wrong. He stared at his fake boyfriend, hoping to convey everything he felt, to communicate his unspoken promise. I won’t fuck this up…

“Wait!”

Wylan dislodged himself from Van Cornewal at the sound of Jesper’s voice. The other man crossed the room in just a handful of strides. He placed a hand on each one of Wylan’s shoulders, and Wylan drunk in his face, ever-cheerful in the face of uncertainty.

“Everything alright?” he asked anxiously.

Jesper smiled. “Just wanted to say good luck, love.”

Then Jesper’s arms enveloped him, drawing him in close. He felt the faintest graze of lips against his temple, and without meaning to, he sighed, expelling some of the tension with it.

“You too,” he said, when Jesper pulled back. He glanced at their small audience and blushed. “With the tour, I mean. Good luck with that.”

A brush of his hair, a tiny laugh, and Jesper was gone. He threw a quick grin over his shoulder as he left with Robert, his grey eyes sparkling.

Resolutely, Wylan turned back towards the board room, ready to follow Van Cornewal. It was time to face his father’s inner circle.

Chapter Text

As a child, the boardroom had always seemed intimidating to Wylan. He had a vague memory of once being led into a meeting by his mother’s hand; he recalled a large oval-shaped table, unnaturally blue lighting, and a group of stern-faced men in dark suits glaring at them when they’d entered.

It was a memory exaggerated by time and an overactive imagination, no doubt. Yet as he walked into the same room now - met with the same unwelcome stares - it was easy for Wylan to feel like that small boy again, anxious to disappear behind his mother’s skirts.

Now, of course, there was nobody to hide Wylan away. He was an adult with a job to finish. Despite his trembling hands, he managed to take the seat Van Cornewal directed him to and pulled out his phone under the table. It was set up already; all he had to do was hit the ‘record’ button, and leave it balanced on his knee.

And not get caught. That was the important part.

“Young Wylan has kindly offered to join us for today’s proceedings,” Van Cornewal said in a somewhat strained voice.

There were a few murmurs of ‘welcome’ and ‘I’m sorry about your father’ from the other men around the table. Some were more enthusiastic than others. Wylan took in their pale, weary faces. Many of them had known him for years, but it was Jan they had been loyal to. Or at least, they had been loyal to his ruthless instinct, his growing power, and his wealth.

“We normally begin by dissecting the figures from the last quarter,” Van Cornewal began to explain.

Wylan nodded solemnly. “I shadowed my father a few times over the years. I remember.”

Van Cornewal pursed his lips. Across the room, another one of the men coughed.

“Forgive us, young man,” said another board member, Linus Fink. “Jan was always…rather adamant…that you did not share his passion for the industry. You must understand that we were not expecting…”

“Yes,” Wylan answered, “I can see how I might have given that impression over the years. But my father did entrust the company to me, and I intend to take an active role in its affairs. Starting from today.”

He looked around the table again. He could tell that this declaration was as distasteful to them as it was unexpected. He thought of what Kaz had said to him, not long ago.

Be the loudest one in the room. Make them think you hold all the cards.

He sat up straighter.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” he said evenly. “I believe we’re currently in a bit of trouble.”

“Hogwash,” said Fink, with a grunt of dismissal. “Nothing but Pekka Rollins propaganda, just like those absurd lies from last year.”

“It has been a difficult quarter,” admitted Van Cornewal, “although we believe it’s only temporary. The passing of our chairman and leader has created some caution within the market. Given time, we will prove that Van Eck Enterprises is as strong as it ever was.”

“A noble idea,” said Wylan. “Bit difficult to argue with the figures, though. Can I see the quarterly report?”

Van Cornewal exchanged an uneasy glance with Fink.

“Of course,” he conceded, before calling over his shoulder, “Robin, can you…?”

“You sent him with Jesper,” Wylan reminded him.

“That’s right,” Van Cornewal flushed.

“Perhaps I could look at yours?”

Gingerly, Van Cornewal slid a black leather binder across the table in Wylan’s direction. He opened it and skimmed past a few chunks of text to view a series of graphs. Despite being unable to read, they were fairly self-explanatory. Most of the Van Eck fortune had been made in the shipping industry, dating back to the time of Wylan’s great-grandfather. Under Jan Van Eck, the company had expanded to include terminal infrastructure, land and air freight, as well as technology investitures.

“It looks to me that profits had been steadily falling for months before my father died,” said Wylan, studying the graph. “Would that be an accurate assessment?”

“It…” Fink scowled. “Perhaps.”

“What strategies has the board implemented so far?”

There was a general murmur again across the table. A couple of board members actually looked abashed.

Van Cornewal cleared his throat. “We suspect there might be some redundancies across the company before the new financial year.”

Wylan glanced over the graphs again. He felt a prickle of irritation.

“It would need to be quite a few redundancies to make up the difference. What about reducing dividends?”

“Impossible,” said Fink, all too hastily. “Investors are already stirring. They need the incentive to stay.”

So they were willing to sacrifice their own employees to keep their bonuses, Wylan realised, as well as those of their wealthy compatriots. It was hardly surprising, but the thought still made him sick. Especially when he thought of the amount of people about to lose their jobs.

“Gentlemen,” said Van Cornewal, with an air of authority, “there will be no changes to dividends, I assure you. What we need to focus on in the immediate is how to restore public faith in the company. I propose an in-depth revision to our marketing strategy. We can hire outside contractors - ”

“Which would cost money,” Wylan pointed out.

For a split second, Van Cornewal’s mask slipped. It was just long enough to make out the simmering resentment that was lurking beneath its surface.

“It would be a necessary expense,” he said. “We need to remind our investors and our clients why they put their trust in Van Eck Enterprises in the first place. We are a legacy company, founded on the principals of core family values. We care about our people and their needs.”

Including their need to stay employed, Wylan almost said, but something stopped him. He wished it hadn’t. Jesper would have spoken his mind.

“Jan was the thread that held this company together,” said another board member. “What we need is to demonstrate that we still have strong leadership.”

Van Cornewal glowered at him. A few uncomfortable glances were thrown in Wylan’s direction.

“I agree,” said Fink, “which is why we should elect a new chairman as soon as possible.”

“I think it should be someone who embodies the company’s values,” said Van Cornewal. “A family man, for one thing. Somebody who was close to Jan, with good standing and reputation, and a long history of service.”

“Someone like you, you mean,” grumbled another board member.

“I am thinking of what is best for the company.”

Wylan stared out the floor-to-ceiling window and pondered. He had no interest in being chairman, but neither did he want to see any of the current board members fill that role.

Be the loudest one in the room. Make them think you hold all the cards.

“Diversity and inclusion,” he thought aloud. He remembered the framed article hanging in the waiting room.

His voice carried over the low thrum of discussion that had broken out over Van Cornewal’s bid. The men turned to look at him.

“Five years ago, my father introduced a new diversity and inclusion policy in the midst of a scandal,” Wylan explained at their blank expressions. “A female manager from Novyi Zem had complained about being unfairly discriminated against and took her story to the media - ”

“Ridiculous allegations,” interrupted Fink. “Nothing was ever proven.”

Wylan frowned at him. “And yet, public backlash was severe enough to see profits fall across all Van Eck sectors. Stocks plummeted. A PR specialist was brought in, and the diversity and inclusion policy proved to be the answer.”

“I remember, Wylan,” Van Cornewal said coldly. “But I am not sure what this has to do with our current predicament.”

“You’ll remember, then, that it worked,” Wylan answered, “better than we ever thought. Not only were the optics of the policy and the new hires good for the brand, but under more diverse leadership, the company began to soar to greater heights than ever before.”

He turned directly to Van Cornewal. His heart thrummed in his chest, and his face was on fire, but he forced himself to push through. Whether he was on the verge of a panic attack, or excited from the adrenaline of his new ideas, he couldn’t be sure.

“If you are concerned with image and leadership, what could be better than electing the openly gay son of the late company director as your future chairman? A son who is in a committed relationship - and perhaps soon to be engaged - to a man from Novyi Zem?”

Van Cornewal was flustered and Fink rolled his eyes. But Wylan could tell some of the other board members were intrigued.

“I represent two worlds: the old and the new,” he went on. “The long line of Van Ecks before me who have founded a business empire, and the ‘core family values’ they espouse. But I am also the future: a younger generation with bright, fresh ideas. A more progressive and inclusive generation. Not to mention, I was recently named Ketterdam’s most eligible bachelor.”

A few chuckled at that remark. Wylan could picture Jesper’s smile, and suddenly he wished he was here.

“I’ve never been involved in any public scandals, and I have the family legacy to back me up. It’s the safest choice.”

“It’s difficult to argue with,” one board member admitted.

Van Cornewal pursed his lips. “Of course, Wylan would be the face of Van Eck Enterprises regardless of who we elect…”

“Our employees will see through that immediately,” Wylan countered. “Not to mention the shareholders.”

“You have no qualifications,” spat Fink.

“I watched my father successfully run the company for years. He groomed me for the role, keeping me homeschooled so I could stay close to him and learn the business. What qualifications could be better than that?”

It wasn’t strictly true; Wylan was certain Jan had never intended for him to become chairman, nor had that been the reason for him to stay away from society. However, the other board members didn’t need to know that.

“I will announce my engagement to Jesper Fahey at the same time as we announce my appointment as chairman of the board,” he continued. “Picture the headlines that will generate for Lion News. No need to hire an outside contractor, the publicity campaign practically writes itself.”

Cornewal and Fink were disgruntled, but Wylan could tell he had swayed the other members of the board. The image of a progressive young man from a long line of business tycoons, who still held true to old fashioned family values, had clearly planted firmly in each of their minds.

“Perhaps we should return to this discussion at later date, gentlemen,” said Van Cornewal. “There are other matters the board needs to discuss.”

“Yes,” Wylan said quickly, knowing it was important he kept in the conversation. Loudest one in the room. “Like these redundancies. Are we sure there is no other way to cut down on expenses?”

“No possible way,” said Fink, shaking his head. “Our CEO is currently making a list of employees he believes to be the most expendable. It’s nothing personal, of course. Business never is.”

“I’d like to see that list,” said Wylan, “and speak with the CEO.”

“I can have Robin send it to you,” said Van Cornewal. Wylan suspected he would be damn slow about it.

He leaned back in his comfortable chair, resting his hands on his lap the way he had seen Kaz do before.

“Interesting that you are telling me we will be making job cuts, and also that there are plenty of positions open at the same time.”

Van Cornewal blustered, “We make certain…exceptions, of course. For the right candidates.”

“No Van Cornewal or Fink family members on that list, then.”

Fink bristled at that. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing, just trying to understand the way things work around here,” Wylan affected an expression of complete innocence. “Given what I’ve seen today, I would say business is very personal.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Wylan decided to let it play out, even though he would have given anything to flee in that moment.

After an eternity, Fink opened his mouth and drew in a breath, ready to speak.

It was right then that Wylan first heard the alarm go off.

Chapter Text

Jesper wondered if this trip to Van Eck Enterprises was a glimpse into a parallel universe. One where he had actually completed his studies and gone on to land a fancy corporate job, instead of wasting away his university days on endless spins of Makker’s Wheel and just as many one-night stands. Wouldn’t his dad be proud to see him walking these immaculate halls? A man grown, making business deals, a respectable partner at his side?

It’s the best I’m going to do, he thought when he once again pictured Colm Fahey’s face. And it was all a lie.

“Should we visit the Accounting department next?” suggested Robert.

Jesper grimaced. He had already spent close to an hour bantering with a bunch of Sales bros; he wasn’t sure he could handle accountants too.

“I think Accounting is more of a Wylan thing,” he answered. “I like working with numbers, but I’d prefer something a little more…high risk.”

Robert looked puzzled. “Production and Operations?”

“Not quite,” said Jesper. “What’s your job like?”

Robert paused halfway toward the elevator and began chewing on his lower lip. Perhaps he sensed that a man referred to frequently as ‘Robin’ would be seen as more expendable than the boss’s new boyfriend.

“Definitely not high risk,” Robert laughed nervously. “As Mr Van Cornewal’s Executive Assistant, I’m in charge of looking after all his administration needs. Scheduling his appointments, taking phone calls, that sort of thing.”

“Like a secretary?”

“No, definitely not. It’s far more important than that.”

“It sounds a lot like a secretary to me.”

Robert bristled. “An EA gets to do a lot of other work too. For instance, I get to sit in on a lot of classified meetings. Mr Van Cornewal lets me have input into budgeting, planning and decision-making. It’s all useful training for taking on a higher role someday.”

“I see,” Jesper made a show of looking ponderously into the middle distance. “Van Cornewal must put a lot of trust in you, then.”

“Naturally.”

Jesper almost laughed when Robert appeared to puff out his chest a margin. There had been a lot of Roberts at business school: boys who were far too eager to prove themselves and far too easily riled.

“But…” he trailed off.

Robert’s brows creased. “What?”

“Well,” Jesper smiled sympathetically, “he still calls you by the wrong name.”

Robert’s face burned. “He’s a very busy man…he can’t be expected to…”

“How many hours does he spend with you in a day, do you reckon?”

“I mean, all of it - ”

“I’ve known you for about an hour and I can remember your name, Robert,” Jesper pointed out. “That hardly seems fair to me.”

“I - ” Robert sputtered.

“Are you sure he’s really prepping you for a promotion?”

“Absolutely sure,” said Robert sternly. “If you only knew what sort of thing moves across my desk. I have the highest level of security clearance.”

“Really?” Jesper acted incredulous.

Robert proudly held up his bright red security pass. “See? Red is upper level. Blue is regular, and purple means limited access. Like yours.”

Jesper took it and compared it with his own visitors pass. “I hate purple,” he muttered.

Robert’s smile was smug. “Let’s take a look at Production and Operations now, shall we?”

“Alright then,” Jesper sighed, attempting to sound like he’d been reprimanded. “Lead on.”

He took a step forward, but Robert stood his ground and held out an expectant hand. Jesper hesitated briefly before handing the pass back to him, then followed him into the waiting elevator. He wished he’d had a bit more time to hold it and let the colour leak into his skin. He was so damned rusty…

As they descended, Jesper placed his security pass face-down on his palm and focused all his attention onto bleeding in the red colouring he’d drained from Robert’s, ignoring Robert and responding to him only when he had to. He hoped Robert would think it was because he was embarrassed about being put in his place; judging from the other man’s tone, he’d pulled it off. If only the rest of the mission could work just as smoothly.

He thought of Wylan, several floors above him now, trapped in the midst of a board meeting with a group of men he’d once described as ‘vultures’. How was it going? Was he okay? Had he managed to record the proceedings, as Kaz had asked?

What did Kaz want, anyway? ‘Project Saskia’…Jesper had searched his memories, but the name didn’t ring any bells. Whatever it was, it obviously mattered a great deal to him.

“Here we are,” Robert said brightly as the doors opened, “nineteenth floor. Accounting.”

He motioned for the exit, but Jesper grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“Did you hear that?” he asked warily.

“Hear what?”

“That creaking sound, like something was coming unhinged.”

Robert shook his head, deeply confused.

“It sounded dangerous,” Jesper said. “Stay here, I’ll check it out.”

“Don’t - ” Robert said warily, but he seemed reluctant to step into trouble. “Be careful.”

Jesper inched out of the elevator, like every step he took was precarious. Now for the tricky part, he thought grimly, and placed his free hand on the metal doorframe. He recalled his mother’s words from long ago. Find the pulse…

“It seems fine to me,” said Robert when he’d grown fed up of waiting. 

The doors slammed shut with a conclusive clang just as he was about to exit. He yelped.

“Shit,” said Jesper, his hand still holding the door. The elevator clunked as it slipped down a notch.

“I think it’s broken!” he called out.

“No shit,” Robert called back, clearly exasperated. “I’ll try the emergency button.”

Jesper heard a clicking noise as he pressed it a few times. It became steadily faster and faster when nothing happened.

“Don’t tell me that’s broken too,” said Jesper.

Robert groaned. “Fuck! I did not need this today.”

“Hang tight, I’ll go and get some help.”

“Don’t leave me!” Robert called. “Jesper, where are you going?”

But Jesper was already walking away.

“Sorry Robert,” he whispered to himself. He would be fine, Jesper knew. He had his phone, and in a busy office space somebody was bound to walk by in the next fifteen minutes. He’d just needed an opportunity to lose him.

He took the fire exit down to the next level of the building, where he knew a different set of elevators would be operating, thanks to Wylan’s drawings. As he waited, he dared to glance at the security pass in his hand. The red had bled into it, but so had a bit of the silver metal from the elevator door somehow. The result was now a strange muddy brown colour. He sighed; that would be right. Maybe, if he was lucky, it would still be enough to fool somebody. 

The elevator was already occupied by a middle aged man with round spectacles, holding a large bundle of papers. Jesper stood a reasonable distance from him and pushed the button for the lower basement level of the building.

The man was regarding him curiously. Jesper flashed him a smile.

“Hump day, am I right?” he joked. It was probably bad, how much he was enjoying acting the part of a corporate lackey.

The man’s face softened and he chuckled. “You know it.”

“Corrine from Accounts is sending me all the way to the archives,” he grumbled. “Something about needing a historic tax claim…I think she’s just doing it to punish me.”

“Bloody Corrine,” the man groaned, “she’s a real ball-buster.”

“Tell me about it,” Jesper laughed. The name had been an educated guess; there was always a Corrine.

“Have a good day, now,” the man called over his shoulder when he exited at the next level.

“You too,” Jesper gave him a friendly wave. “Don’t let the man get you down!”

He spent the rest of the ride attempting to correct the mistake he’d made on the security pass. He’d managed to fix it a little (maybe, sort of) by the time he reached his destination. This time, the doors opened on a much more sparsely decorated corridor, where only two people sat at rickety old desks, tapping away on ancient computers. A weak yellow light flickered overhead. It was utterly depressing; Jesper suspected this was where the other Van Eck employees came to cry.

There were a few shelves lined with old files in the shared office space. The archivists barely looked up from their work as he passed them. Jesper doubted Project Saskia would be found in such an open area. He bypassed the shelves and instead made his way deeper into the gloomy corridor, peering into unlocked rooms filled with more files on his way.

A dozen paces down, a sealed door was being guarded by a dozing security guard slumped on a rickety chair. His head had fallen onto his chest, and he was snoring quietly. There was an old novel lying on the floor beside him where it must have dropped from his lap.

Jesper cleared his throat, and the security guard jerked upright, all drowsy and confused.

“Sorry to bother you,” Jesper said, laying on a thick Zemeni accent, “there seems to be something wrong with my pass.”

He held up the mangled pass for the man to squint at. A beat of silence passed.

“It’s brown,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Jesper struggled not to roll his eyes. “Yes, well, it’s supposed to be red. And it doesn’t work.”

“What department are you from?”

“Upper management. I’m the new EA for Mr Van Cornewal.”

The security guard scowled. “I thought that was the other kid…you know, skinny blonde guy. Thinks he’s hot shit?”

“Yes, he’s First EA, I’m Second EA. It’s a new role. Mr Van Cornewal is so busy they decided the work was too much for one person.”

“Fucking trust,” he groaned. “Security’s been begging for new uniforms for months, but apparently there’s no money in the budget. Now Mr Fancy Corner Office has gone and hired himself a second assistant…”

“Don’t look at me,” Jesper shrugged, “I’m just trying to do my job. Mr Van Cornewal really needs some files.”

The man sighed. “Alright, hold on. I’ll just check your credentials with upstairs.”

He lifted his radio intercom and held it to his ear. In a split second, Jesper snapped his arm around him and squeezed the man’s thick neck, applying pressure to the exact spot he knew would send him to sleep.

“Can’t say the Barrel never taught me anything,” he murmured, thinking of his dad again.

The man slumped forward once more, heavy, but not as bad as Jesper had been expecting. He eased him back into his seat, arranging his limbs so it looked like he’d dozed off on the job again. He listened for any sign of disturbance from the office, but all he could hear was keyboards clacking away.

Jesper dug into his pocket and retrieved his security pass. There were cameras everywhere, no doubt. He was going to have to do something about that before they left, but he was nowhere near powerful enough to break every single camera in the building. No matter, there would be time to find the solution to that little problem later.

The room he stepped into was bitterly cold, with stark white tiles on the floor and walls. Computer servers were stacked floor to ceiling in clusters, blinking out bright blue light. It felt as though he’d stepped onto the set of a science fiction movie.

“Kaz, this better be worth it,” he said aloud, as he stared down the long corridor.

The physical files were stored inside a series of sliding cabinet doors, built into the very back corner of the room. It was strange to see the old system against the new; the crusty old cabinets were unlikely to draw any attention when compared with the sleek computer servers, which was exactly what old Van Eck would have wanted. Who would look twice at some old papers, buried all the way down here?

Wylan had been in right in that there weren’t many to begin with, but the dusty manila folders had been labelled with an irritating numbering system that probably made sense to the archivists but not to anyone else. Next to each number, the files had been assigned a woman’s name. Johanna. Susanne. Evi. But so far, no Saskia.

Jesper took a peak inside a random file, curious. He couldn’t make much from the information; just a series of numbers and data that made no sense to him. Another folder contained some very old employee files on personnel who were likely either retired or deceased. Why would Van Eck think it was worth both keeping and hiding such things? There must be more to it than Jesper could understand.

He had made it through a few shelves - running his finger along the folders to keep track and painstakingly reading all the names - when he heard muffled voices slowly approaching. He froze in place to listen over the whir of the ventilators.

“You hear that brat Robert from upper management got stuck in the elevator?”

“I know, hilarious! I was talking to Mya up on nineteen and she said - ” the voice cut off, and was abruptly followed with a loud groan. “Ghezen help us all, Markov fell asleep again.”

Jesper swivelled to hide behind the nearest server block. His hand instinctively fell to his hip, only to find it empty of holster and weapon. It left him feeling vulnerable.

“He’s out cold,” grunted the other voice. “That idiot. He was probably down at the Emerald Palace last night, getting drunk and hitting on Kaelish girls.”

“Should we report it?”

“No, fuck it. We don’t get paid enough for this shit. Let him sleep it off and we’ll do our patrol. I need to get the hell out of this dungeon.”

Jesper heard the swipe of the security pass, then the door clicking open. All Saints. He could handle one security guard easily enough when he was unarmed and underprepared. He wasn’t sure about two at once.

He glanced around for inspiration, finding nothing, unless he was prepared to hurl one of the servers across the room and rely on the element of surprise. It was beginning to look more and more likely. Finally, however, his eyes fixed on a small, winking object in the ceiling.

Jesper closed his eyes, breathing deeply, tuning out the sounds of the guard’s footsteps slowly encroaching. He couldn’t remember the last time he had used his powers so much. It felt…good. Bizarrely good. But there was no time to puzzle over that.

It was easier than the elevator had been. Jesper locked onto the pulse of the object much faster, his body tuning to the tiny cables and wires, the microcosm of matter which made up each and every thing that existed in the world. Within a minute, the room was filled with the shrill sound of the alarm.

“Fucking hell,” the security guard groaned again, “is there meant to be a fire drill today?”

“I don’t think so,” said the other, “some moron has gone and tripped the alarm.”

“I swear if it’s that bitch Corrine again….”

The door slid open.

“’s going on?” slurred another voice.

“You fell asleep again, Markov,” said the first guard. It was followed by the echo of a slap to the head. “You’re lucky I’m too lazy to report you.”

Markov still sounded confused. “I had the weirdest dream. There was this Zemeni guy with a brown security pass…”

The second guard snorted. “That’s what Green Fairy will do to you.”

“Come on,” sighed the first, “we better get out of here. Who knows, it might even be a real fire this time.”

The three of them hurried back down the corridor, and Jesper expelled a breath of relief. As soon as he was clear, he returned to digging through the shelves.

“Cordelia. Anika. Floris,” he muttered each of the names out loud. He was beginning to itch with frustration, especially with the alarm screaming in his ears. “Celine. Marya. Lotte…”

“All staff must move to the nearest evacuation point,” a deep voice bellowed over the intercom. “I repeat: all staff…”

“Come on, come on, come on,” Jesper begged, “you stupid piece of - ”

He stopped, hardly believing it to be true. In bold lettering, after what felt like an eternity, there it was: SASKIA.

Jesper punched the air triumphantly, then snatched the file from the shelf and stuffed it inside his blazer, in a hidden pocket he’d created for this purpose. He was about to make for the door, when he suddenly realised there was a new set of footsteps dashing towards him.

Of course, he thought as he ducked behind the servers again. He should have known. The door shifted open and he prepared himself for a fight.

Instead, a familiar yet strained voice called out, “Jesper!”

“Oh Saints,” he gasped, immediately rounding the corner, “don’t scare me like that, Van Sunshine.”

Wylan sped towards him, then paused, resting his hands on his knees. His face was flushed, but for once it wasn’t from embarrassment.

“Ran…all the way…top floor…” he heaved out in between huge gulps of air.

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“No elevators…had to…check…you okay.”

Jesper beamed, the reaction automatic.

“Sweet of you to worry about me.”

Despite panting, Wylan managed to shoot him a withering look. He closed his eyes and breathed steadily in and out until he’d composed himself.

“I tripped the alarm,” Jesper explained. “It’s a fake. Needed to lose some security guards.”

Wylan was perplexed. He glanced over his surroundings.

“How? It’s a smoke detector. There’s no smoke.”

Jesper gave him a noncommittal shrug. It was obvious Wylan wasn’t buying it. He could get away with one locked door at Eil Komedie - that had been easy to overlook - but two strange incidents in a row was more than a little suspect.

“Jes,” Wylan’s eyes searched his, “there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Even though he knew they had bigger problems, Jesper swelled with happiness.

“You called me Jes,” he said.

“So? Your friends call you that all the time.”

“Yeah. But I like it when you do it.”

Why had he said that, he cringed inwardly. It was far too flirty, even by his standards. And he was supposed to be putting a stop to all that. It was just really hard not to, when Wylan was looking at him in that manner of his. Almost an impulsive reaction that was out of his control, really, and -

“Someone’s coming,” Wylan hissed.

Jesper snapped out of it and grabbed Wylan’s shoulders, pulling him behind the server.

“It’s security,” Wylan whispered, “probably doing a final sweep to make sure everyone got out. Oh fuck, we are going to look so suspicious…if it was just one of us maybe we could say we got lost, but why the hell would we both be down here - ”

“Hey,” Jesper said evenly, “do you trust me?”

“Huh?”

“Just answer the question, Van Sunshine.”

“I, um,” Wylan searched his eyes again, then sighed, “weirdly enough, I do.”

“Okay, great, because I’m going to have to kiss you right now, and there’s really no time to explain.”

“What the - ”

Jesper leaned forward and crushed their lips together, before Wylan could finish the sentence. Wylan let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a whine and a gasp. His back crashed against the wall of servers, and Jesper used it to tilt Wylan’s head upwards, granting better access to his mouth.

Wylan was frozen in place from the shock, his muscles tense and unmoving. Then, without warning, he just melted. His body felt loose and pliant in Jesper’s arms, giving himself over completely, and Saints, Jesper lived for it. The soft slide of his lips when he began kissing back felt just as good as it had the last time. Better than it ever could be in his dreams or dirty little fantasies.

Hands slid up the length of his chest, over his pecs, and pressed open-palmed into the taunt muscles. Emboldened by Wylan’s explorations, Jesper slightly sucked on Wylan’s lower lip, eliciting a delicious moan which was surprising but certainly not unwelcome.

So good to me, Jesper thought, when Wylan’s lips parted obediently to let Jesper lick into his mouth. It tasted so perfect that he hummed in the back of his throat, pushing their bodies even closer together. He let one of his hands slide into Wylan’s soft curls, gripping and pulling just slightly. He was rewarded with another breathy, keening sound.

“Fuck,” he heard Wylan whisper against his lips. It had the same effect as when he’d seen Wylan touch his lips in disbelief after their last kiss. He grinned into his mouth as they joined together again.

The fingers on his chest clenched into the scratchy shirt fabric. Jesper tentatively pressed his thigh between Wylan’s legs, and they spread for him instantly. He takes directions so well, Jesper mused with satisfaction, then gently began to grind his leg against him. It was the barest contact, but enough to drive him wild when Wylan shuddered and rolled his hips forward, like he was desperate for more.

“Hey!” a voice bellowed, more startled than anything else.

Jesper dragged out the last of their kissing as long as he could, reluctantly pulling away to face the pair of security guards who had happened upon them. They must have been a sight. Wylan was thoroughly kissed out and breathless, flushed pale pink underneath his scattering of freckles. His pupils were blown wide and his hair was a mess. Jesper imagined he must look about the same.

“What’s going on here?” the guard demanded, crossing her muscular arms.

“Can’t you hear the fire alarm?” the other groused. “These damn office romances…I swear they’ll be the death of me.”

“S-Sorry,” stammered Wylan.

The first guard narrowed her eyes. “How did you get in here, anyway? This area’s restricted.”

“Don’t you recognise him?” asked Jesper. “He’s Wylan Van Eck. He can go anywhere he likes here.”

The two security personnel swapped a look, equal parts confused and stunned.

Wylan drew up to his full height. “Yes. That’s right. It’s my company, after all.”

He pushed Jesper off him and subtly adjusted his trousers. It was a marvel - and incredibly endearing - that he was able to muster up so much dignity given how they’d been found.

“You’re Wylan Van Eck?” gaped the female security guard.

Wylan held up his red security pass. “I was just trying to find somewhere private for the two of us. Imagine my surprise when you come barging in here like this. It’s outrageous. Don’t you know there’s an emergency going on?”

He folded his arms in the same manner as the woman and tapped his foot impatiently. Jesper couldn’t help it; a tiny giggle escaped his lips, before he clamped them shut when Wylan gave him the side-eye.

“With all due respect, Sir,” said the male security guard, “you really should have left the building when the alarm went off. It’s not safe - ”

“As you can see, we are perfectly safe,” Wylan shot back. He retrieved his wallet and pulled out two crisp thousand kruge notes. “I’d appreciate it, however, if you were to keep this little rendezvous under wraps. The tabloids have a peculiar interest in my love life.”

The security guards looked at each other again, then accepted the money at the same time.

“Understood, Sir,” said the man.

“You were never here,” said the woman. “But please, Sir, would you and your friend follow us out? We really should be at the evacuation point already.”

Wylan huffed, looking very put-upon. “I suppose, if we must. Come on, Jes, we can get back to this later.”

He held out a hand, and Jesper had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming after all. He took Wylan’s hand and walked with him out of the freezing room, behind the security guards. One sentence played over and over in his mind during their silent trudge up the stairs.

We can get back to this later.

We can get back to this later.

We can get back to this later….

The warmth of the sun and the fresh air was welcome and long overdue when they stepped outside. They followed the security towards the evacuation area, before cutting off down a side street, hopefully unnoticed. It was likely the two guards were scarred from catching them in the act and had no interest in following them.

Kaz was waiting beside the car where he said he would be. He was dressed in his usual black, but the driver’s cap pulled low over his eyes managed to make him look less menacing.

“What happened?” he asked the second they approached. “I heard the alarm and came early.”

“Job done,” Jesper grinned. “No need to worry.”

“Some need to worry,” Wylan said. “Who knows what they caught on the security tapes…”

He blushed furiously, as the same thought must have occurred to him as Jesper.

“You have the file, though?”

Jesper tapped his blazer pocket. The paper inside it crunched.

With an expression of relief, Kaz pulled open the car door. “Get in, both of you. I need to know everything.”

Jesper had to battle not to stare at Wylan’s full lips the entire ride back to the Crow Club.

At this rate, he was definitely going to need to buy more undershirts.

Chapter Text

Wylan knocked tentatively on the half-open door.

“Come in,” said Kaz, without looking up from his papers.

Wylan crossed the floor and sat opposite the desk. The wooden floor pulsed from the music and laughter downstairs; the Crow Club was alive with people celebrating the start of the weekend.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

Kaz glanced up at him and rose a single dark eyebrow. Wordlessly, he pushed a large sheet of paper in his direction.

“What is that?”

“You tell me,” Kaz rasped.

Wylan hovered a finger over the paper and waited for permission to pull it closer. Kaz only stared at him pointedly until he got the hint and slid it further down the desk. He almost sighed in relief when he saw it was a picture, rather than words. For a moment, he’d feared this was Kaz’s way of forcing him to expose his secret.

“It’s a blueprint,” he said, studying it, “from one of our standard cargo ships. Looks to be about…eight years old, if I had to guess? These were decommissioned ages ago, we don’t build them anymore.”

Was this what Kaz had sent them into Van Eck to retrieve, he wondered. What on earth would he want with the blueprints of an outdated freight vessel?

“Notice anything unusual about it?” Kaz asked.

“No,” Wylan confessed. He cast a more discerning eye over it. “Oh. Wait, there’s…huh. That’s odd.”

He traced a finger over the ship’s hull. Kaz was silent, but he leaned an inch forward in his seat.

“These days, our container ships are electric. That is, they’re operated mostly autonomously, with a skeleton crew installed for emergencies,” Wylan explained. “Back then, there would have been more crew on board, so more need for accommodation, but even then - ”

“Then what?” interrupted Kaz. He was clearly growing impatient.

Wylan leapt straight to the point. “This extra compartment here, below deck. I haven’t seen it before.”

Kaz hastily pulled the blueprints back over to him and stared. “You’re certain?”

“Very,” said Wylan, “I’ve seen hundreds of these blueprints. None of them had this.”

Kaz appeared to drink it in hungrily. He muttered something indiscernible under his breath.

“Why are you so interested?” Wylan asked curiously. It was strange, but surely there was a reason for it. Maybe this ship had been built for a particularly long journey?

Kaz ignored him. Wylan had the feeling he’d forgotten he had company, but after a few minutes, the Crow Club boss finally leaned back.

“I have a theory,” was all he said. The subtext was clear: he didn’t trust Wylan enough to reveal more.

His attention turning to the computer screen, Kaz hit a button and the sound of Wylan’s own voice filled the room.

“Let’s begin, shall we? I believe we’re currently in a bit of trouble.”

“Hogwash. Nothing but Pekka Rollins propaganda, just like those absurd lies from last year.”

Kaz paused the recording.

“Do I really sound like that?” Wylan cringed.

Kaz only responded with, “What do you know about the Van Eck scandal from a year ago?”

“Not much,” said Wylan. “My father gave up on letting me shadow him at meetings around the time he married Alys, so I wasn’t really privy to a lot of the discussion at the time. I just know the public details: a Lion News journalist published an expose accusing Van Eck Enterprises of running a money laundering operation. She said she had reliable sources, but she refused to reveal their identity. I can’t really remember her name…it sounded Ravkan…I think it was G-something?”

“Genya Safin,” Kaz replied without hesitation. Wylan sensed that this was all old information to him.

“That’s it. Anyway, my father was horrified, as you can imagine. He hired a team of lawyers and sued her for defamation. She lost the case, her job, and also her credibility, by the sounds of it. I haven’t heard anything since.”

“So you have no idea who the source was?”

Wylan shook his head. “I only know that they were discredited during the trial. Nothing was ever proven.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Did Kaz believe there was some truth to the allegations? Was that what this was about? Wylan found it hard to believe. Jan Van Eck was a lot of things, but he preached about the sanctity of the market like religion. There was no way he would have been involved in anything that wasn’t above board.

“Tell me, Wylan, how well do you know Pekka Rollins?”

“I, uh…not very well, honestly. Even my father was scared of him,” he laughed wryly. “I don’t think publishing that expose had been under his direction, though. He seemed pretty eager to get rid of the journalist, or at least to throw her under the bus.”

“I see,” Kaz said evenly. “Maybe it’s time for you and Mr Rollins to become better acquainted.”

“I…don’t understand. What does Rollins have to do with it?”

Kaz appeared disinterested in hearing this. He picked up the blueprint and calmly tucked it away under a blank sheet of paper. “What news, Inej?”

Wylan jumped. The Suli girl was sitting casually in the windowsill, listening to their conversation. He hadn’t even heard her come in.

Inej swung her legs inside and stood, gracefully and silently. She was dressed in navy blue, her dark hair looped into a braid that fell to her hip.

“It’s done,” she said in her usual calm tone. “The security footage at Van Eck from the past week has been completely wiped. It hasn’t been reviewed, and now it never will be.”

“And you weren’t seen?”

“Please,” Inej practically rolled her eyes. She spied Wylan sitting there, looking alarmed. “Don’t worry, Wylan. I don’t know the details, and I really don’t want to. Kaz told me that you and Jesper were in some sort of trouble and needed my help. That’s good enough for me.”

Wylan expelled a breath of relief. “Thank you.”

“But next time you and Jes want to hook up, maybe don’t do it in a high-security vault full of cameras, yeah?”

“Saw that, did you?” Wylan blushed.

Inej smiled. “That was one hell of a kiss.”

Kaz cleared his throat.

“Did you need anything else?” asked Wylan.

“No,” Kaz answered, already returning to his work.

All too eagerly, Wylan stood and followed Inej out the office door.

“I don’t know about you,” she said once they were on the stairs, “but I could use a drink.”

“Me too. Desperately,” Wylan said. Maybe he could stop off somewhere on his way home…

“Do you know where our regular booth is?”

“Hmmm?”

“Our regular booth? Kaz keeps it reserved for us, so long as no high-rollers are wanting to use it.”

Wylan’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh! You meant…did I want to get a drink…with you?”

Inej laughed. “That was the idea. No worries if you have other plans, though.”

He didn’t have other plans. He never had plans. Hell, this was the first time anyone had willingly invited him out with them before.

“Sorry I just…” he trailed away, then laughed nervously, “never mind. That sounds nice.”

She led the way past packed tables and crowds lining up haphazardly for the bar. Inej was able to weave in and out of the punters seamlessly, while Wylan was jostled about and shoved despite tracing her footsteps. All of the booths were occupied, with the exception of one, which had been marked off with red rope and a sign that Wylan assumed labelled it as reserved. Inej motioned for him to duck underneath and take a seat.

“I’ll get us something,” she said, “won’t be long.”

“I’ll pay,” Wylan instantly reached for his wallet.

Inej shook her head fondly. “Your money’s no good here. Kaz never lets us pay. But if you wanted to get the drinks so you can see Jesper - ”

“No no no,” he said hastily, “that’s fine.”

He had no desire to watch Jesper flirt his way through countless people all night in exchange for tips.

Inej gave him a knowing smile. “No stress. I’ll be back in a moment. I'll ask Jes what you like to drink, okay?”

She left him alone, which was how he was most comfortable, and he marvelled at where he was as he took in the warm surroundings and happy drunken faces of strangers. Here was Wylan Van Eck, on a night out with a nice, friendly person who apparently wanted to spend time with him. With no ulterior motive. A month ago, he wouldn’t have believed it possible.

“That took forever,” Inej groaned, when she finally came back. She placed two cocktails on the table, one bright pink and the other lime green. She pushed the green one in his direction. “No idea what this is. Jes picked it for you.”

Wylan took a sip and was annoyed to find it tasted superb.

Inej relaxed into the seat opposite him. A metal chain around her neck slipped down, revealing a talisman attached to the end of it, depicting one of the Ravkan Saints.

“Inej,” Wylan began, softly as he dared over the pounding music.

“Yes?”

“Just wondering, how did you come to know Kaz and Jes? You seem so…”

Normal. Kind. Unlikely to be drawn towards their less than scrupulous pursuits. Wylan wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase what he wanted to say, but thankfully he didn’t have to. Inej appeared to catch on to what he’d meant.

“Actually, I worked for Kaz for a while,” she explained.

“At the Crow Club?”

“You could say that, yes,” Inej hesitated, “although, mostly I helped him out with his…side projects…”

Wylan was surprised. “Oh. Really?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice to begin with. Kaz saw some potential in me, and what he had to offer was better than my situation at the time, but after a while things changed,” she lowered her gaze. “It’s like that, with him. He has a way of getting under your skin.”

Wylan wasn’t sure why so many people had fallen under the Kaz Brekker spell. He was yet to feel any sort of affection for the man.

“Did he have something on you?” he asked, curiously. Maybe Inej had fallen victim to Kaz’s blackmailing too.

“No,” she chuckled, “at least nothing like what you’re thinking. You see, I didn’t come here entirely…legally…”

“Ah.”

“Or of my own volition.”

Wylan wasn’t sure how she could remain so calm, as her words conjured some fairly dark images in his mind. He knew that this sort of thing happened, despite being outlawed in Kerch for many years, but he had never been exposed to it before. People trading in human misery and suffering operated in the shadows, thought to be found only in the murky bottoms of the Barrel. An involuntary shudder passed through him.

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. He hadn’t meant to bring up her trauma.

Inej was smiling, but the light behind her brown eyes flickered.

“It was many years ago, when I was a teenager. It was Kaz who got me out, in the end. He mortgaged the Crow Club to buy out my indenture to the Menagerie.”

Wylan had heard of the Menagerie. Thaddeus and Pascal made jokes about going there all the time. Wylie’s so ugly, the only way he’d ever have sex is if he paid for it…

“I didn’t know he owned the Crow Club,” he commented, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else to say about that.

“He used to. He built this place from the ground up, made it successful. But he ended up having to sell it to pay off the debts he accrued over getting me out,” Inej told him. “The man who bought the club, Per Haskell, let him stay on as the floor manager. He mostly keeps out of the way and lets Kaz take care of the daily business. He knows that’s the only way this place continues to turn a profit.”

Wylan had no idea. That Kaz was so young and had created a successful business from scraps…that he’d traded all of it to save her.

“Again, it’s not what you think,” Inej said quickly. “Like I said, he saw potential in me. I grew up in a family of travelling acrobats, so I’m light on my feet. Good at gathering information. I was a valuable asset.”

“I think there might be more to it than that,” Wylan said.

Inej just laughed it off. “Either way, once I was free, I went back home to Ravka for a couple of years. Found my parents, spent time with them, tried to heal. But soon, I figured out that I had to come back. For better or worse, Ketterdam is my home now. The city and the people. So I’m doing night school here, since I never got to finish my education. And I do sailing lessons, which is fun.”

Wylan smiled at that. “Why sailing lessons?”

“I used to go and watch the boats in Fifth Harbour whenever I was at my lowest,” Inej explained. “They looked so calm…so free. It appealed to me. And even though I got out, there are a lot of others who haven’t been so lucky. One day, I’m going to find a way to help them, even if it means chartering a boat and going after the traffickers myself.”

There was a fire burning in her when she said it. Wylan had no doubt that she would be unstoppable. It was hard to believe that she was so remarkably well adjusted. The mental fortitude it must take to go through such a thing, and to come out wanting to fight for something better, was unfathomable.

“I want to start an organisation for survivors. One aimed at helping them to rebuild their lives after being forced into labour and servitude, as well as tracking down and reconnecting them with their lost families,” she went on. “But that will take money and time. Still, every choice I make leads me one step closer. I’m blessed to have my friends, my faith, and my health in the meantime.”

“I know your friends feel blessed to have you as well,” said Wylan. “Thank you, for telling me all of that.”

“Of course. You’re part of the family now,” said Inej, warmly. “I should get us more drinks before these run out. Same again?”

“Sounds great.”

She disappeared through the crowd with more ease and poise than Wylan had ever possessed. He pondered over her words and felt an immense sense of guilt. Part of the family. He wasn’t really, though. He hated lying to her when she had been so honest and open with him. After everything she’d been through, she didn’t deserve to be deceived, no matter the reason.

“Excuse me,” a cautious voice interrupted his train of thought, “are you Wylan Van Eck?”

The speaker was a Shu boy with tousled dark hair and golden eyes. He was short, and very handsome, but with a youthful look about him that made Wylan question whether he was legally allowed to be in the bar. He held a drink in one hand and was studying Wylan curiously.

“Uh, yes?” Wylan blushed. He hadn’t expected to be recognised here.

The boy smiled. “Sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. It’s just…I’m a bit of a fan.”

“Of the company, you mean?”

Maybe this guy was after a job. Wylan couldn’t imagine why on earth he’d be approached like this otherwise.

The boy looked confused, creases forming across his wide brow. After a beat, he laughed.

“No no no,” he said quickly. “Sorry, my Kerch isn’t so good. I just, um, I read that article you wrote in Scientific Weekly a few years ago? You know, on the Datura Meloxia flower?”

“Oh!” Wylan exclaimed. He had almost completely forgotten about that. He had been seventeen at the time, and the magazine had been calling for submissions from young writers on a topic of their choosing. He had spent nights hunched over his computer, dictating lengthy paragraphs on the significance and intricacies of the flower’s unique pollination process. His article had been selected for publication, but he had never shared it with anyone he knew.

“I didn’t use my real name though,” he said. “How did you know it was me?”

The boy gave a little shrug. “You called yourself Wylan Hendricks. It didn’t take a genius to work out you’d used your mother’s maiden name. I traced it back to you easily.”

Ah, Wylan thought. In retrospect not he best alias he could have picked.

“I’m Kuwei, by the way,” he gestured to the mostly empty booth, “do you mind if I…?”

“No, go ahead,” Wylan shifted over, even though there was plenty of room. Kuwei dropped into the seat.

“You must get this all the time from geeks like me,” he said, with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Actually, never,” Wylan admitted. “You’d be the first person to recognise me from Scientific Weekly, of all things.”

“Really?” Kuwei was incredulous. “It was a great article. But then the Datura Meloxia has always been a passion of mine. They’re rare, even in Shu Han.”

“I know,” said Wylan. “I’d love to see one someday.”

Kuwei nodded. “I loved the way you described the pollination process with the cyan morpho butterfly as a ‘little love story’. How they need each other to survive.”

“Guess I’ve always been a bit of a romantic.”

It was embarrassing, yet also strangely gratifying, to be known for something he’d done rather than for his father’s name. Wylan couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

“Well,” Kuwei said, “I don’t want to take up your whole night, but I would kick myself if I didn’t at least offer to buy you one drink.”

“Oh no, please. Our table doesn’t pay for drinks here, apparently. And my friend will be back from the bar any minute.”

“Of course,” Kuwei motioned to get up, “I understand. It was nice to meet you, Wylan.”

“No, stay!” Wylan said hastily. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…that is, please stay and have a drink. On us. I’ll introduce you to Inej, she’s lovely.”

Kuwei paused, grinning almost wickedly.

“Well,” he said, “if you insist.”

Hours later, Wylan was pleasantly buzzed, wedged between Inej and Kuwei, and straining to listen to the conversation over their increasingly noisy surroundings. Inej had texted Nina and Matthias, inviting them to join in, and the couple had arrived a short time ago. They were looking rather dishevelled and pleased with themselves.

“Oh, I hated him at first,” said Nina, nudging her boyfriend’s shoulder. Kuwei had asked how the two of them had met. “I thought he was so serious and dreary.”

“And I thought she was frivolous and vain,” said Matthias. “Hardly the makings of a great love story.”

“Matthias clearly doesn’t watch a lot of romantic comedies,” Inej whispered to Wylan, who giggled.

“Once I got to know him, though,” Nina continued, “I realised there was so much more to him. That he’s kind, and giving, and thoughtful and smart…”

“You overdo it, Nina,” said Matthias, patting her hand.

“Not to mention humble,” she laughed. “At first I thought it wouldn’t work out - we’re just so different on paper - but now I can see that’s a good thing. Matthias keeps me grounded.”

“Nina keeps my life exciting and full of joy.”

Their eyes met, and the love between them was so palpable that it was almost overwhelming. Wylan had to look away.

“The perfect little love story,” said Kuwei, with a grin in Wylan’s direction.

Nina leaned into her boyfriend’s side. “I think so.”

Inej beamed at her friends, genuinely happy for them.

“Shall I get another round?” she asked.

“Oh, I’ll come and help,” Nina pecked Matthias on the lips, then slid out of the booth.

“I’m sorry,” said Matthias to Kuwei, once the girls had gone, “I know I said it already, but I really feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Kuwei only smiled. “Unless you do chemistry at KU, we probably haven’t met.”

“So strange,” Matthias shrugged, then locked eyes with Wylan. “How are you, Wylan? Have you thought more about doing some volunteer work with me?”

“Oh,” Wylan remarked. In truth, he had forgotten about it completely. “I haven’t really had a chance, to be honest with you.”

“You should,” Matthias said. “Nina has been trying to get Jesper to join for ages. He might actually do it if you sign up.”

Kuwei’s gaze flittered to Wylan, watching him intently.

“I don’t know about that,” Wylan laughed. “Also, I don’t know how much help I would be.”

“You don’t have to do the fitness program. There are many other areas. And the kids are great, very enthusiastic.”

“Fitness isn’t really my area of expertise. I’m only really good at science, or music. I’m passable at drawing.”

Matthias brightened. “Music. Perfect! You don’t know how many of the kids want to be pop stars.”

“I only know how to play the flute and piano.”

“That’s fine. They just want to learn how to play the notes. You can show them.”

Wylan laughed anxiously.

“Sounds like fun to me,” Kuwei added.

“It is,” Matthias said enthusiastically. “Not only that, but it’s very rewarding. It gives you purpose.”

Purpose. The word struck a chord Wylan hadn’t known he needed to hear.

“What the heck,” he said, because he was just tipsy enough and just high enough off the notion of being out with friends that he felt he had nothing to lose, “I’ll give it a go.”

“That’s the spirit!” Matthias grinned and clinked glasses with him.

The girls returned to their table, arms laden with drinks.

“Okay, finish these quickly,” said Nina, with the air of someone briefing their team members before a busy shift, “because that dance floor is filling up and we are missing out on the action.”

“I am fine with missing out on the action,” Matthias said glumly.

Nina groaned. “Please, baby? It’s not as fun without you there to watch me.”

The Fjerdan muttered something under his breath in his native language, then downed his glass in one gulp, much to his girlfriend’s delight.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” said Kuwei, “I’m a terrible dancer.”

Wylan laughed. “Maybe I should go with you. I don’t live too far from the university.”

“You can’t leave now!” Nina exclaimed. “Don’t you want to see Jes after he finishes work?”

Wylan blushed. Would Jesper mind that he’d spent the night hanging out with his housemates? Surely, it was okay.

“I mean, I do,” he said hastily, “want to see him.”

Boyfriends wanted to see each other, after all. It was only the logical thing to say, wasn’t it?

Kuwei looked rather dismal.

“Sorry,” Wylan said, “will you be alright getting home by yourself?”

“What?” Kuwei blinked. “Oh, yes. It’s not far. But here, give me your number. We should stay in touch.”

Wylan brightened, more than happy to oblige. A potential new friend who shared his interests; it was almost too good to be true. Kuwei bid farewell to the others and left, and Wylan was dragged deeper into the club. A DJ was playing to a dance floor packed with sweaty, gyrating bodies.

“This is really not my thing,” Wylan called to Inej as they pushed forward. He liked dancing, when it was structured and required him to perform a series of memorised steps. This sort of free-form dance was completely foreign to him.

“I don’t think it’s anyone’s thing,” said Inej over her shoulder, “except maybe Nina’s. The trick is to get so drunk you forget to feel embarrassed.”

“Ah,” Wylan laughed, “that’s where I went wrong.”

Nina stopped when she reached the centre of the dance floor, pulling Matthias towards her. He was reluctant at first, but was unable to resist smiling and moving with her when she teased him into it. She pulled over Inej and then Wylan next.

“I’m so happy for Jesper,” she said, a touch too loud in Wylan’s ear, as she embraced him. “I was hoping he’d meet someone like you. You’re perfect for him.”

He blushed deeply. “Thank you?”

“Just be careful with his heart. He’s a lot more vulnerable than he likes to think.”

He was about to ask what she’d meant, but Nina had already pulled back from him and was holding onto his arms, forcing him to twist with her in time to the music. He grinned at her little gestures and exaggerated movements - her joy and zest for life was infectious - and soon he found himself moving of his own accord, as the beat pounded and the people around him laughed and kissed and celebrated and lived.

Despite living in Ketterdam his whole life, he had never felt more a part of the city.

Chapter Text

The night was drawing to a close, the club finally emptying out, and Wylan was exhausted. He had blanked out a short while ago, and woke up to find he’d been dozing off on Matthias’ shoulder. Not that the Ferjdan seemed to mind. He was a lot more laid back when he was drunk, and he’d merely laughed when Wylan startled awake - a loud guffaw that carried right across the bar and was incredibly contagious.

“We’ll be out of here soon,” Nina assured him, “just as soon as those girls clear off.”

Wylan followed her gaze over to the bar.

“I don’t think Jesper is in a hurry to get rid of them,” he said, attempting to sound nonchalant.

He must not have pulled it off, because Nina and Inej exchanged a knowing look.

“I think Jes would try flirting with a rampaging Volcra if given the opportunity,” said Inej, “I wouldn’t read into it too much.”

“Nina flirts with other people all the time,” said Matthias with a shrug, “it doesn’t bother me anymore. I trust her.”

“I’m just a very friendly person,” Nina huffed.

Wylan laughed. “That’s what Jesper says.”

Kaz had been speaking with one of his employees on the other side of the room. As the employee left, he hobbled across to their table, his strides more stilted an uneven than usual. His leg must have been causing him pain after a long night, but he kept his face neutral. Wylan had only seen him about in the last few hours, mostly keeping to the gambling rooms and avoiding the crowds.

“It’s only you lot,” he said evenly. “I thought perhaps you were paying customers. Better call it in, then.”

Nina checked her watch. “It’s three in the morning. I’d say it’s been a pretty successful night.”

Kaz shrugged. “It wasn’t bad.”

He caught Jesper’s attention and made a gesture with his hands. Jesper nodded in response.

“Are you coming home tonight, Kaz?” asked Inej. She blushed before adding hastily, “With all of us, I mean.”

Kaz stared at her. “I haven’t decided,” he said.

Nina scoffed. “Don’t be daft, Kaz, even you need to rest sometime.”

“Nina says your heartbeat has been off kilter lately,” said Matthias. “You should get a proper sleep. Night shifts can be bad for your health.”

Wylan couldn’t believe they had the gall to speak to him like that. Kaz’s eyes shone dangerously, but he didn’t refute them in the end.

“I suppose I’ll lock up,” he conceded.

He winced as he walked away, every step evidently causing him pain. Wylan considered offering to help so he could sit down. Inej clearly recognised his intentions, however, because she gently placed a hand on his arm and shook her head. He settled back in the booth instead.

The girls at the bar finally left, and after closing, Jesper wandered over in their direction. If he was unhappy to see Wylan hanging around his housemates outside of their regularly scheduled ‘dates’, he didn’t let it show. In fact, he was grinning broadly.

“I see you’ve all been busy corrupting my boyfriend,” he said by way of greeting.

“Us?” Nina feigned disbelief. “Never.”

Jesper looked at Wylan seriously. “Whatever they’ve told you, I deny it.”

“I’d say we’ve been a very good influence,” said Matthias. “At least, Inej and I have.”

Nina shoved her boyfriend playfully. “I take offence to that.”

Kaz returned and with a nod, they were summoned to their feet. They left through the back door, Nina and Matthias in the lead, Kaz bringing up the rear with Inej after ensuring everything had been locked up correctly. It must have been difficult for him to keep pace in his condition, but nobody dared to slow down or mention it.

“I didn’t think you were one for late nights in a club,” said Jesper as he and Wylan walked side-by-side.

“I’m not, normally,” Wylan admitted, “but they invited me to join them. I hope that’s okay?”

“Why wouldn’t that be okay?” Jesper smiled and took his hand.

The intimacy was so familiar now that it barely took him by surprise. It was just for show, Wylan reminded himself. Nina and Matthias had their arms wrapped around each other; it would look odd if there was no affection between him and Jesper.

“Actually,” he said, in part as a distraction and partly because he was proud of it, “I made a friend of my own tonight.”

Jesper quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Wylan nodded. “He knew me, but it’s not what you think. He recognised me from something I had published in Scientific Weekly a few years ago.”

“Only you could go to a club and end up talking to somebody about Scientific Weekly.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Jesper laughed. “Are you sure it was just the science article he was interested in?”

“What else would he be interested in?” Wylan caught the look on Jesper’s face and grimaced. “Oh, come on. It’s not like that.”

“Hmm,” Jesper mused.

Wylan rolled his eyes, “He just wanted to talk about Datura Meloxia.”

“Deltora what?”

“Never mind,” Wylan sighed. He could tell Jesper wasn’t convinced, so he couldn’t resist chiding, “Anyway, so what if he was interested? Are you jealous?”

“Of course not,” Jesper said, “I could never be jealous.”

Because he doesn’t want that with you, Wylan thought. Not really.

But then Jesper continued, “I don’t need to be. Because I know you’re crazy about me.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Seriously. You are infuriating.”

They turned into the street that would take them to the Slat. Wylan was overcome with deja vu; he must have walked this same path with Jesper on the night they’d made the deal. The night he’d been blind drunk and had crashed out in Jesper’s bed. His heart fluttered a little at the memory.

“I-I should probably go,” he stammered. It was partially drowned out by Matthias opening the rusty front gate.

Inej heard it though, because she said, “It can get pretty rough around this area at night, Wylan. You’re better off staying here.”

Nina drew her eyes away from Matthias. “What was that?”

“Wylan was going to go home.”

“Why?” Nina insisted. “Inej is right, it’s not the safest neighbourhood in the city. Stay with us. Jesper certainly won’t mind.”

She gave them both an exaggerated wink, and Jesper spluttered.

“I understand being worried about propriety, Wylan,” Matthias added when he saw Wylan blush, “but please don’t be on our account. We know you are in a relationship, so there’s no judgement.”

“Besides,” Nina pressed, “it’s only Kaz on your floor of the house, and he has a good pair of earplugs. Don’t you, Kaz?”

Wylan was now flaming with embarrassment, despite Kaz knowing that there would be no need for earplugs to begin with. The Crow boss gave a stiff shrug; evidently, he wasn’t interested in intervening either way.

“I suppose,” said Wylan, with a nervous glance at Jesper. Jesper was still holding his hand, completely unfazed.

Nina clapped her hands together. “That’s settled then. Anyone fancy a late night snack? Oh and we should go to brunch tomorrow. There’s this place I’ve heard of which sets sausages on fire…it’s meant to be really good.”

They settled in the living area, and the coffee table was quickly cleared of clutter and replaced with an assortment of food that Nina had magicked out of nowhere. Kaz left early, emitting a soft grunt as he climbed the first few stairs.

“Is he…okay?” Wylan murmured.

Inej only shook her head again, a warning not to intervene.

“He just needs to rest,” added Nina, before plying him with more food.

It was warm and comfortable, leaning back on the couch and listening to the rest of them banter with each other. Inej went to bed next, followed by Nina and Matthias, eventually leaving only Wylan and Jesper.

“Tired?” the latter asked.

“Hmmm,” Wylan hummed, forcing his eyes to remain open, despite wanting nothing more than to drift off right where he was sitting.

Jesper was smiling at him from where he relaxed in a saggy old armchair. Beautiful, Wylan thought sleepily. The intrusion of it made him snap awake.

Jesper chuckled. “Come on, I’ll get you a toothbrush.”

“You have spare toothbrushes?”

“No, but the girls do. You can borrow something of mine to sleep in, too. Not sure that Kaz would want you borrowing his clothes again.”

“Not sure that he wanted that in the first place,” Wylan muttered, as he followed Jesper up the stairs.

He waited in the messy bedroom he now knew so well, standing in a corner as Jesper wrangled up an old t-shirt, a toothbrush and a towel.

“I don’t think I have anything else that would fit you,” he said apologetically as he passed over the bundle.

Wylan clutched them to his chest. “It’s okay.”

He crossed the short hallway to the bathroom Jesper shared with Kaz. He splashed some water on his face and took a deep, calming breath, studying his anxious face in the mirror. Both of them knew very well that there was only one bed in that room. Was Jesper expecting them to share again? The idea of it was as scary as it was exciting. Apart from that first stay over, he hadn’t shared a bed with another man before. And this time he would be sober enough to remember it.

He cleaned his teeth and put on the shirt. It hung off his skinny frame and revealed far too much of his legs, but it was soft and comfortable. He breathed it in, smelling cedar and balsam and Jesper. Then he winced with embarrassment at the fact that he’d just smelled Jesper’s clothes, despite no one being around to witness it.

Ghezen help him. He wasn’t going to get any sleep at all.

When he returned to the bedroom, Jesper had just finished changing to a shirt and a pair of shorts. He scooped up his crumpled work uniform and threw it carelessly into an ever-mounting pile in the corner, much to Wylan’s annoyance.

“You good?” Jesper asked. “Need anything else?”

Wylan shook his head, remaining by the closed door, still clutching the towel and his old clothes. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to do next. Nervously, his eyes darted to the bed, and Jesper tracked the movement.

“You can take that if you like,” he said, “I don’t mind crashing out on the floor.”

Wylan blinked, then found himself shaking his head again.

“No, no it’s fine,” he said quickly, “there’s enough room for both of us.”

It was rude to ask someone to sleep on the floor in their own house, wasn’t it? Wylan would not be a poor house guest. That was definitely the reason he’d said that - and nothing else.

He approached timidly. “Just…make sure you stay on your half of the bed, okay?”

Jesper grinned. “My half? Technically, it’s my bed, so they’re both mine.”

“You know what I mean,” Wylan said witheringly.

He placed his belongings neatly on the floor, then pulled back the covers. He could feel Jesper’s eyes on him. He drew the blankets up high when he lay down, so that they covered everything from the neck and below.

As Jesper adjusted the pillows, Wylan noticed the tattoo on his arm as his muscles flexed, depicting the almost-empty wine glass. Jesper paused, following his gaze, and then a smirk spread across his lips that just couldn’t be good.

“Like it?” he said, flexing his arm again. “I have another one, but it’s not anywhere you can see. At least not while I’m dressed.”

“Really?” Wylan blushed. “You’re going to make jokes like this now?”

“Wasn’t a joke.”

He climbed into the bed, as Wylan’s mind filled with theories of where that second tattoo could be. Not that he would give Jesper the satisfaction of asking about it.

“Normally I sleep naked,” Jesper said in that irritatingly cavalier manner of his, “or close to naked. But since you’re here, I decided to be a gentleman.”

“Wow,” Wylan mumbled into the duvet, “I am so honoured.”

“You should be. Shall I turn off the light?”

Wylan nodded, and was relieved when the room went dark. The streets outside were eerily quiet in the dead hours of the morning.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Jesper said into the stillness.

“What’s weird?”

“That we’ve kissed and gone on dates, but sharing a bed is still a novelty.”

Wylan tensed. Did he have to keep bring up the kissing now, when they were lying only a space apart?

“Why would that be weird?” he asked, as innocently as possible.

The sheets ruffled and he felt Jesper shift his weight.

“I guess because, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t wait this long before taking someone to bed.”

“Oh…”

“To be fair, I don’t normally go on dates to begin with, so…”

That’s right, Wylan realised. That was what he needed to focus on. The fact that Jesper didn’t do monogamy, outside of their arrangement. That he was unavailable.

“Have you always been like that?” he asked.

“Like what?”

Wylan searched for the right words. “Adverse to…dating?”

Jesper chuckled. “More or less.”

They settled into a brief silence again, before curiosity got the better of him.

“Why?” Wylan questioned.

There was a beat before Jesper replied. “Not everyone has to enjoy being monogamous.”

“That’s true. They don’t.”

But there was more to it than that. Wylan thought about what Nina had told him earlier in the evening.

Be careful with his heart. He’s a lot more vulnerable than he likes to think.

“I know our relationship is fake,” he said slowly, “but it seems like…well, I thought, at least, that we’re becoming friends.”

“We are friends,” Jesper answered without hesitation.

“So I’m just saying…you can talk to me, if you want. About stuff. About anything, really.”

In the darkness, Wylan could just see the outline of Jesper’s body, sprawled on his back with an arm folded underneath his head. He shifted on his side so they were facing each other; the gap between them was big enough to fit another person in, but suddenly Wylan felt like they were pressed closer together, breathing in the same air.

“If you don’t let anyone in, then they can’t disappoint you,” Jesper said softly. “I learnt that a long time ago.”

Wylan lifted his head slightly from the pillows. “Who disappointed you?”

Jesper lowered his eyes. Wylan could hear him breathing, shallow yet even.

“What about you, Van Sunshine?” he asked. “Is that what you want, when this thing is done? Monogamy? A real relationship?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I am. Now answer the question.”

Wylan rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He sighed.

“Yes,” he said, “eventually. I’d like something real, if it’s possible.”

“Of course it’s possible. Any number of boys in this city would jump at the chance to be with you.”

“Because of the money.”

“No. Because you’re you.”

Wylan’s heart started beating faster. If it wasn’t so dark, he would have hid his face under the covers.

“I did try the whole one-night stand thing once, you know,” he confessed. “It wasn’t for me.”

“Oh?” Jesper sounded surprised.

“It was very, um…mechanical?” he laughed humourlessly. “Then when it was over, he just sort of…left. And stopped talking to me.”

“That guy sounds like an asshole.”

Wylan spluttered. “To be fair, he had to leave eventually. He was in Ketterdam with his father to make trade deals. We met at a business luncheon. I knew he was only staying for a few weeks. Still felt like crap afterwards, though.”

“Well,” Jesper said warmly, “it was his loss for ditching you like that.”

Wylan smiled. “Thanks.”

“Where was he from?”

“Djerholm.”

“Ah. Makes sense now.”

“Actually,” Wylan grinned, “I learnt a few phrases in Fjerdan from him, so it wasn’t all a waste of time.”

“Like what?”

Wylan had to bite back a giggle before he spoke, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

“Ole hiljaa tai joku kuulee meidät.”

“What does that mean?”

“Shut up, or someone will hear us.”

“Van Sunshine!” Jesper pretended to be aghast, as Wylan laughed openly now. “Saints, I didn’t think you had that in you. I’m scandalised.”

“Don’t be such a prude.”

He reached over and shoved him. When Jesper shoved him back, he did the only reasonable thing he could think of and attacked him with a pillow.

“Excuse me,” said Jesper, laughing now too, “what happened to staying on your half of the bed?”

“I’m expanding my territory. It’s a soft power takeover.”

“Feels pretty hostile to me.”

He snatched the pillow from Wylan’s hands, tossing it onto the floor behind him.

“Fuck you!” Wylan grinned, then lunged for it.

“Honestly,” Jesper snorted, “the mouth on you!”

Jesper’s arms wrapped around Wylan’s middle, and he collapsed onto his chest, hand still outstretched to grab his lost weapon. He could feel Jesper’s whole body shaking from laughing so much, his chest a firm and stable anchor.

“You’re ridiculous,” Jesper said, but with a fondness that made Wylan radiate from within.

Wylan untangled himself and flopped onto his side, his hand landing on Jesper’s chest, their legs somehow now wrapped together. He could feel coarse hairs rub against his shin.

“Ow,” Jesper mumbled when Wylan’s elbow dug into his side. His grey eyes shone in the pale light of early dawn.

Wylan’s eyes drifted to his lips, so full and inviting, as he lay underneath him on the bed. It wouldn’t take much, he was aware. Just an inch or two closer…and maybe - just maybe - Jesper would let it happen too. Maybe he wanted it to happen. The way he was gazing up at Wylan, it wasn’t so hard to believe.

Unavailable, he reminded himself sharply, he is unavailable. And this is all pretend.

“You okay?” Jesper whispered.

Wylan scrambled out of their strange little embrace and shifted over on the mattress. His side of the bed had already grown cold.

“Fine,” he said casually. “Can I have my pillow back?”

Jesper appeared puzzled, but he lifted the pillow off the floor and swung it in Wylan’s direction.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

He lay back, eyes fixed once more on the ceiling. Beside him, Jesper was doing the same, his body stiff. He drew in a sharp breath.

“And, um,” he asked hesitantly, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jesper sighed, “just thinking.”

“About what?”

“I’m thinking about the time Inej accidentally cut her stomach open and I watched her stitch it back up.”

Wylan flinched. “That’s…really disgusting.”

“It really is, hey. Pretty sure I saw her guts come out.”

Wylan had no clue why Jesper’s mind had gone to such a random and revolting place. It was a welcome distraction all the same.

“Why didn’t she just go to Nina to get fixed up?”

“This was before Nina lived with us. It was just Kaz, Inej and I for a while.”

“Oh…”

They continued to stare resolutely ahead, engulfed in silence.

“We should probably try and get some sleep,” Jesper finally said.

“Probably.”

He rolled over onto his side, back facing in Wylan’s direction.

“Night, Van Sunshine,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Wylan swallowed. “Goodnight.”

He stayed awake a long time, as the ceiling grew steadily lighter, and Jesper’s breathing slowed to a deep, even pace. A few cars passed down the otherwise quiet street, a sign that the Barrel would soon be waking up.

This wasn’t how things were meant to go. He had chosen Jesper because they were terrible together. They had different values, different lives…different perspectives on the world. At the time, it had seemed like there was no danger of things getting complicated beyond what they needed to do.

But Wylan couldn’t avoid it any longer. Couldn’t keep lying to himself.

Because in spite of everything - including the fact that he knew it could never happen for real - he was now painfully aware of a very unfavourable truth.

He didn’t want to be with just any boy in the city.

He wanted Jesper Fahey.

Chapter Text

When Jesper woke, he could feel eyes fixed on him, so he kept his firmly closed.

“Are you watching me sleep?” he teased.

He heard the sheets rustle, accompanied by a small voice, “No.”

He opened his eyes and saw that Wylan’s were now squinted shut, with only the faintest hint of a smile playing about his lips. He looked a mess, his hair sticking up at strange angles and his pale face exhausted. The real Wylan, Jesper thought; this more confident, playful Wylan he had grown to care about in such a short space of time.

“I told you,” he couldn’t resist saying, “you’re crazy about me.”

Wylan’s eyes sprung open and to Jesper’s utter amusement, he smirked.

“You wish,” he muttered, then sat up in the bed. He rubbed at his face and groaned softly, before running the same hand through his hair.

“Does it always get so tangled in the morning?” Jesper asked. He reached over and touched a clump of curls that had knotted together.

Wylan’s cheeks turned pink. “Do you mind?”

“It’s like a little bird’s nest or something.”

“Leave off,” Wylan batted his hand away and tore his own fingers through the knot.

Jesper laughed. “No need to get so precious about it.”

“It’s annoying. I should just cut it extra short.”

“Don’t,” said Jesper, perhaps a touch too quickly, “it suits you this way.”

He gently prised Wylan’s fingers from the knot and replaced them with his own, combing it in a much softer and hopefully less painful manner.

Wylan froze, his entire face now heating up. He scrambled out of the bed so fast Jesper barely had a moment to comprehend what just happened.

“I should, um, that is…” he mumbled as he shoved on his chinos, “I should go.”

Jesper frowned. Had he done something wrong?

“Don’t you want to stay for the flaming waffles?” he asked.

“Flaming sausages,” Wylan corrected.

“Really? I thought Nina said waffles.”

“Sausages. Definitely sausages. Why would you set a waffle on fire?”

“I don’t know,” Jesper shrugged. “To be honest, I only listen about fifty percent of the time when Nina is talking about food.”

Wylan barely glanced at him, picking up his shirt. He sniffed it and grimaced.

“Can I borrow this?” he said, gesturing to the one he was wearing. “Mine smells like the Crow Club.”

Jesper had bought that shirt from a tourist shop his first month in Ketterdam. It was a faded, grungy grey colour with a quote from the Komedie Brute in faded red lettering: ‘Mother, Father, Pay the Rent!’ it proclaimed. He hadn’t worn it in years, but he liked the way it looked on Wylan.

“Sure,” he shrugged. He was about to get out of bed, when he hesitated. “Is everything…alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You seem a little off.”

“I’m fine,” said Wylan. “Perfect. Great.”

He was a terrible liar. Jesper narrowed his eyes and waited to see if he would explain himself. He might have broken down and confessed what was bothering him, but the phone in his pocket started ringing loudly not soon after, making him jump.

“Adem Bajan is calling,” the AI announced.

“Who’s Adem Bajan?” Jesper asked.

“My old music teacher."

Wylan stared at the phone, perplexed. He answered it, and Jesper leaned back on the bed, listening to half the conversation.

“Yes?…Oh, really…that’s odd…and she didn’t…no, nothing…yes, yes thank you for letting me know.”

“What was that about?” he asked when Wylan hung up. It clearly hadn’t been a call he was expecting to get.

Wylan worried his lower lip.

“It’s Alys,” he explained, “she had a music lesson booked in for earlier in the week, but she cancelled it at the last minute. Said she was sick. Then when Bajan stopped by to check on her this morning, she wouldn’t come to the door.”

“And that’s not like her?”

“Not at all, she loves those music lessons. She wouldn’t cancel unless there was something really wrong.”

He began pacing the length of the bedroom floor, tugging at his hair the way he did when he was anxious.

“You better go check on her.”

“Yes…”

“Want me to come?”

Wylan paused, blinking at him with those wide ocean eyes.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “It’s not your issue.”

Jesper shrugged again. He couldn’t let Wylan go alone, not in this state.

“She’s my soon-to-be stepmother-in-law,” he said, “kind of is my issue.”

Wylan’s smile was grateful. “Thank you.”

Jesper scooped up his wallet and peered inside. Thankfully, he’d made plenty of tips on this shift the night before.

“Let’s take a water taxi, that’s probably the fastest way to get to the Geldstraat,” he said. “I’ll get ready, you tell the others we can’t make it to waffles.”

“Sausages,” said Wylan, but he was already leaving.

Jesper hadn’t been to the Van Eck mansion before. It was positioned in the heart of Ketterdam’s most sought-after neighbourhood, on its most exclusive street. The four-story townhouse was wider and better maintained than the Slat ever had been, its elegant front garden sculpted with rows of flowers and a water-feature which gurgled happily as they passed.

“Most of the staff take the weekends off,” said Wylan as he unlocked the ornate front door. “There shouldn’t be anyone else home.”

Jesper’s eyes roved over the grounds. He whistled appreciatively.

“Red tulips. I’ve never seen that before.”

“My mother chose them,” Wylan explained, “she loved landscaping, apparently. We never bothered to change anything after she left.”

Jesper hadn’t heard Wylan speak about his mother much before. He wondered where she was…why she wasn’t around. From what he’d heard of Jan Van Eck, it was no surprise she’d wanted to leave him. But surely, she would have at least kept in touch with her son…

“This way,” Wylan gestured into the house.

If it could even be called a house, Jesper thought, as he stepped into the black-and-white tiled hall. It had been decorated with expensive furniture, including an antique vase blooming with more red tulips. A chandelier hung over the sweeping staircase. At the other end of the building, wide glass doors opened onto a deck with a view of more beautiful gardens and the Geldcanal. At the very edge of the property was a large boathouse.

A tiny dog came skidding down the stairs at lightening speed. It leapt around Wylan at first, then began clawing at Jesper’s legs, sniffing excitedly.

“Hello, Rufus,” Wylan said fondly. The dog bounded back over to him and he scratched behind its ears. “It’s alright, no need to worry. Jesper’s a friend.”

Rufus nuzzled into Wylan’s hand, then started slobbering all over it. Jesper half-expected Wylan to pull away in disgust, but he hardly seemed to mind.

“Alys’ room is on the second floor,” said Wylan, once Rufus had calmed down. His eyes were lowered and he looked rather miserable, though that could just be concern for his stepmother.

“Lead the way,” said Jesper. “I’ll wait outside in case she’s…you know…really sick.”

He’d only met Alys Van Eck once, and he doubted she’d want a near-stranger hovering around her bed if she was in a bad way. He followed Wylan upstairs and onto the landing, which was less ornate than the hallway below, but probably still worth more than his entire year’s salary.

“Alys?” Wylan called out timidly.

Down the end of the hall, a single piano note was being played over and over again in a jerky rhythm. Jesper didn’t know music, but even he could tell it was poorly tuned. He exchanged a glance with Wylan before they followed the source of the noise.

“Alys?” said Wylan again, as he pushed open the door.

It led into a music room, taken up almost entirely by a grand piano. A couch, coffee table and two armchairs were positioned against the adjacent wall. A music stand with a single chair stood opposite, Wylan’s flute propped on it and the open case resting beside it. Underneath the windowsill, there was a bookshelf filled with sheet music.

Alys stopped hitting that solitary key when they entered. She was wearing a fluffy grey dressing gown, despite it almost being the middle of the day. Her hair was clipped back from her face, which was much paler than it had been the last time. It was obvious she’d been crying at some point in the last few hours.

“Oh!” she said as she strained to smile. “Wylan, Jesper! It’s nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too,” Jesper said.

“We came to check on you,” said Wylan. “Are you…um, Alys, are you feeling okay?”

Alys sniffed and rubbed at her bleary, red-rimmed eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just been a bit off lately. I think it might be the stomach flu, so make sure you stay back.”

She was almost as bad at lying as Wylan was.

“Adem Bajan rang me,” said Wylan.

Alys’ eyes widened. “He did?”

“Yes, he came by to see you, but you didn’t answer. He’s worried about you.”

Alys sniffed again. She was still smiling, but for one heart-wrenching moment, Jesper thought she might cry again.

“That fool…” she whispered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, never mind,” she gave a strange little laugh, “you can tell him not to worry. I’m really a lot better. I just need to rest. Actually, I probably should go back to bed.”

“Are you sure?” Wylan pressed.

“Can we get you anything?” asked Jesper almost at the same time.

“You’re both so sweet. No really, it’s fine. A few days in bed and I’ll be back to normal.”

Her voice faltered just an inch on the last word. She stood and shuffled over to the door, one hand on her stomach.

“I should stay with her,” Wylan murmured as she passed. “I can’t leave her alone like this.”

Jesper nodded, “Definitely.”

Alys suddenly froze when she reached the door.

“Oh Ghezen,” she gasped, “the car! I forgot about the stupid car!”

“What about it?” said Wylan, puzzled.

“It’s booked in for its annual service, with the manufacturer in the warehouse district. I’m supposed to take it this afternoon, or I’ll have to wait another six months for an appointment,” Alys cringed. “I knew I shouldn’t have given the driver the weekend off!”

Jesper frowned sympathetically. Luxury cars like that could only be serviced by a specialist mechanic, usually found at the dealership. It could take an eternity to get in.

“Alys,” Wylan warned, “you can’t drive if you’re this sick.”

“I’ll do it,” Jesper said quickly. When the others turned to look at him, he added, “Really, I don’t mind.”

“Would you?” Alys said hopefully. “I really don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s not a bother. Just let me know the address and time. I’m sure I can get it back here before my shift starts tonight.”

“You’re sure?” Wylan asked.

He looked at Jesper in that way that made him glow.

“I’m sure,” he smiled. “Anything for you, Van Sunshine.”

Jesper’s fingers itched at his sides when Wylan flicked on the light to the garage. The black luxury vehicle looked to be freshly polished and glinted in the light.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Wylan asked anxiously. “We can always just cancel the appointment. It’s not a huge deal.”

“It’s fine,” said Jesper, staring at his reflection in the side door. “Any advice for handling her?”

“Don’t crash?”

Jesper turned towards Wylan and narrowed his eyes. “Yes, that was the idea.”

“Sorry,” Wylan mumbled, “I’ve never driven it before. Can’t read the road signs. Not that my father would have let me anyway.”

He wrapped his arms around his middle, staring at the floor.

“One day, we’ll have to take her for a spin out in the country. Somewhere where the road signs won’t be an issue.”

Wylan smiled faintly. “That would be nice.”

Jesper unlocked the car and opened the door, breathing in the aroma of the expensive white leather seats.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered, hand trailing over the controls.

He heard Wylan come up behind him. “Why do you keep calling it a girl?”

“She’s not a girl. This, my dear, is a lady.”

Wylan snorted. “I can’t believe I’m marrying a car guy.”

Jesper sat behind the wheel, grinning up at him.

“Back in a couple of hours, yeah? Let me know if Alys needs anything while I’m out.”

“Thank you,” Wylan glanced back towards the stairs, his mind clearly on his stepmother. “I’m going to make her some tea, see if she keeps it down.”

Jesper suspected it wasn’t so much the stomach flu that was bothering Alys Van Eck as it was some sort of emotional distress, but he didn’t see how it would be helpful to bring that up.

“She’ll be fine,” he tried to assure him, “just let her sleep it off. If it gets worse and you think she needs to see a Healer, let me know and I’ll see if Nina can drop by.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that, but thanks,” Wylan motioned to leave, then paused. “I meant what I said, by the way. Don’t crash. This car is still technically property of my father’s estate until the will is settled.”

“Not sure who you think you’re talking to. I’m a great driver.”

“I’m just saying…Belendt…”

“You weren’t there for Belendt.”

“No, but Inej gave me the details last night, and it was definitely your fault,” Wylan tapped the hood. “See you in a bit.”

He walked away before Jesper could refute. He watched him jog back upstairs, more amused than anything else, then gleefully returned his attentions to the task at hand. The engine purred to life, its raw power tangible beneath the steering wheel.

Despite taking a few minutes to get used to the gears and controls, the car handled like a dream. Jesper had grown up driving on the family farm in Novyi Zem, but he’d never been behind the wheel of anything like this before. After fiddling around for a short while in the driveway, he’d managed to sync his phone with car’s speakers. He sang along to some music as he glided around corners and sailed past points in the city where he’d spent hours waiting for public transport or water taxis.

He had just arrived in the Barrel, en route to the warehouse district, when the car’s display board informed him that Kaz Brekker was calling. He pulled over on the side of the road to answer it.

“Guess what I’m doing right now?” he grinned.

“Gambling,” Kaz said evenly.

“Guess again.”

“Picking up backpackers at fifth harbour.”

Jesper rolled his eyes. “Nope. I have a fake boyfriend now, remember? That means no fake cheating.” 

“Can’t imagine what, then.”

“I’m driving Jan Van Eck’s car,” Jesper said happily. “The Zewolde 27SR. Did you know that only a few hundred of them were ever made?”

“Don’t crash it,” Kaz said. He sounded distracted.

“Honestly, you and Wylan both have no faith in me.”

“On the contrary, we both put too much faith in you. It’s about the only thing we have in common,” Kaz spoke over the sound of a keyboard clacking. “Is he with you right now?”

“No, his stepmother is sick. He’s at home looking after her.”

Kaz kept typing away. Jesper wondered if perhaps he’d forgotten he was still on the phone.

“So were you just calling for a friendly chat?” he asked dryly.

The typing stopped abruptly.

“I think I’ve found Genya Safin,” said Kaz.

“Sorry, is that name supposed to mean something?”

“She’s a journalist,” he explained. “Was a journalist, before her name got dragged through the mud. Ask your fake boyfriend about it. I assumed she’d gone home to Ravka after her career went to shambles, but apparently she’s still living in the city. Working at a clothing store. Goes by a new alias.”

“Okay,” said Jesper slowly, “what’s that got to do with us?”

“The file you and Wylan retrieved is one piece of the puzzle. Genya Safin must have the other. I’m considering sending you to make the initial contact with her.”

“Why?”

“Wylan is Jan Van Eck’s son. I’m nobody. She’d have good reason to mistrust us,” Kaz said. “But you, Jesper, are uniquely placed for the task. You’re Wylan’s partner, so you’re an insider. At the same time, you didn’t grow up in that world, and you have no allegiances to it. You also have a knack for getting people on side.”

“Meaning you think I’m charming and funny,” Jesper teased.

He heard Kaz sigh.

“Don’t be like that; you know I’m going to do it. Wouldn’t hurt to pay me a compliment once and a while, though.”

“I thought I just did.”

Jesper laughed. It was as good as he was ever going to get.

“I’m sending you a copy of the article Genya wrote for Lion News,” said Kaz, “before she was sued for defamation.”

“If she was sued over it, why is it still up?”

“It’s the internet, Jes. Nothing is ever truly gone.”

“I’ll have a look while I’m waiting for the mechanic.”

Jesper stared out the car window. On the opposite side of the street, a Stadwatch patrol car had just pulled up. The driver appeared to be speaking to someone over the radio.

“What I still don’t understand,” Kaz continued, “is why Rollins would have allowed the article to go live in the first place.”

“Did he have some personal beef with Van Eck?” Jesper suggested. “I’m guessing the article was about him, if she’s not likely to trust Wylan over his name.”

“It was, but them being at odds with each other isn’t in line with my working theory.”

Jesper pondered. “It could have been a way of getting at him without having to air his dirty laundry…have the journalist be the scape-goat.”

“It doesn’t seem like Rollins. He’s more calculated than that,” said Kaz, “unless…”

He might have said more, but Jesper was no longer paying attention. The Stadwatch officer was out of the car and crossing the road, heading in his direction.

“Kaz,” he said, “I’m going to have to call you back.”

He hung up just as the officer reached him. Reluctantly, he rolled down the window.

“Nice ride,” the officer said appreciatively. Jesper read his name badge: Officer Van Daal.

“It’s my boyfriend’s. I’m borrowing it.”

Van Daal sniggered.

“Is there a problem with that?” Jesper prickled. “We can call him, if you like. He’ll confirm it.”

“I didn’t know dead people could have boyfriends,” said Van Daal.

His chapped lips curled into an unsettling smirk. Jesper did not like where this was going.

“I’m sorry?”

Van Daal took his time responding, like it was something to be savoured.

“I ran the plates, this vehicle belongs to Jan Van Eck,” he ran a discerning eye over Jesper, “you don’t look like Jan Van Eck.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Jesper said irritably, “I’m together with his son. Wylan Van Eck.”

Van Daal held out his palm. “I’ll need to check your licence.”

Jesper sighed. He knew better than to argue with Stadwatch, but the man’s patronising tone made him yarn to punch him in the face. He retrieved the licence from his wallet and handed it over.

“This is a Kerch licence,” said Van Daal, clearly surprised.

“I’ve lived in Kerch for six years. Of course it’s a Kerch licence.”

“Careful now,” the officer’s eyes glowed dangerously, “you wouldn’t want to make things worse for yourself.”

He passed back the licence and Jesper hoped, perhaps naively, that this would be the end of it. Van Daal had had his little moment of power, and that might be enough. Unfortunately, he leaned his heavy frame against the car and waited expectantly.

“It’s not stolen,” Jesper caved after a brief lapse of silence.

Van Daal licked his dry lips, smirking again.

“I recognise you, you know,” he said. “I’ve seen you around at the Emerald Palace and the Gold Strike. You’re terrible at cards.”

“That so?” Jesper kept his voice neutral. He didn’t think Stadwatch officers frequented those types of clubs, but he wasn’t willing to push his luck and voice that thought out loud.

“We’ve even played each other a few times. Thought I’d taken you for all you were worth, but you just kept going…”

“Guess I don’t know when to quit.”

Van Daal stood back. “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.”

Jesper’s fingers clenched on the steering wheel. Nevertheless, he did as he was commanded. He tried to bite back his disgust when the officer frisked him.

“Now I know you’re a betting man,” he said. “What’s the likelihood of me buying that the Van Eck kid prefers slumming it with Barrel trash?”

Van Daal’s hand froze on Jesper’s empty revolver. He pulled it out of the holster and stared at it a moment, before tossing it carelessly into the car.

“I have a licence for that too,” Jesper muttered. Not that it would have made a difference.

“I’d say it’s way more likely,” Van Daal said, “that you and your sketchy little friends found a way to lift this from a hard-working, respectable family in the Geldstraat.”

He motioned for Jesper to turn around, continuing the frisk.

“Would that be right, hmm?”

Jesper lifted his arms, feeling Van Daal’s meaty hands pat them down a lot more forcefully than necessary. Had he done something to this man, when he was drunk and too deep into a game to be thinking clearly? More likely, Van Daal had just been having a bad day, and saw the opportunity to make someone else’s worse. A Barrel boy like him made for an easy target with uniforms.

And what would Wylan think, if he could see him like this?

“Come on, wise guy,” said Van Daal, when he’d finished his search. “My partner will take this back to the station. Lucky you gets to ride with me.”

Chapter Text

Wylan bit into his lower lip as he played through a major third. It still sounded terrible, but better. He made some adjustments using the lever.

Tuning the piano had seemed like a better pastime than worrying over Alys, or daydreaming about how attractive Jesper looked first thing in the morning. He just hoped it wasn’t keeping his stepmother awake. He had left her in her room with a cup of tea and the television turned on, and he could still hear it blaring when he paused in his work.

“What do you think, Rufus?” he asked. “Are we getting somewhere?”

The little dog lifted his head from where he was napping by Wylan’s feet. He looked at him blearily for a moment before returning to sleep.

“Hmm,” he said, “that’s what I thought too.”

He glanced at the clock on his phone, then placed it on top of the piano. Jesper was due to arrive back any minute. Wylan still hadn’t changed out of the shirt Jesper had loaned him earlier. He knew he probably should, so he could give it back to him before he went home to get ready for work, but so far he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. Every time he breathed in, he smelt Jesper…his room…his bed. Pathetic, really.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to have feelings for his future husband. They were supposed to be using each other as a means to an end, to ensure neither of them ended up adrift with nothing but crippling debt. Wylan couldn’t believe there had been a time where he’d looked forward to this ordeal being over. Now, even the thought of being married filled him with unease. Once it was done, they wouldn’t need to see as much of each other anymore. It would merely be a matter of waiting out the clock, until it was time to get a divorce and part ways for good.

Jesper had said they were friends, but Wylan knew that wouldn’t last. Knew he could never sit at the Crow Club and watch Jesper take home other men and women night after night, until his heart was fit to burst. After he’d paid him, Wylan would simply fade from Jesper’s life as quietly and painlessly as he could, and it would be as thought he’d never been in it to begin with.

He struck a chord with unnecessary force, the sound echoing through the room. Rufus jerked awake.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. Then, “Sorry,” to Rufus, who in his opinion looked extremely put-out.

The phone on the piano vibrated intrusively.

“Unknown number is calling,” said the AI.

Unknown number? Ghezen, Wylan thought, his phone had never rung so much in his life as in the past month and a half. He picked it up hesitantly.

“Hello?”

“Is this Wylan Van Eck?”

The male voice was gruff and unrecognisable.

“Yes? Who is this?”

The phone began to beep as another call attempted to come through.

“Kaz Brekker is calling,” the AI informed him.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’m getting another call. If you’re selling something - ”

“This is Officer Van Daal with the central district Stadwatch,” the man interjected. “Mr Van Eck, we regret to inform you that your car has been stolen.”

Wylan jolted to his feet. The call from Kaz was sent to voicemail.

“Stolen?!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“That’s right, Sir.”

Wylan’s first thoughts were of Jesper. Was he okay? Had he run into some trouble on the way to the mechanic? Ghezen, had he been hurt?

“Fortunately,” continued Van Daal, “we were able to apprehend the suspect. The vehicle has now been secured at our impound lot.”

“What about the driver?” Wylan asked hurriedly. He couldn’t have cared less about the car.

Van Daal sounded confused. “I’m sorry, what driver?”

Wylan said impatiently, “The man who was driving the car when it was stolen. Where is he? Is he okay?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“The suspect is currently in custody,” was all Van Daal said. “Sir, you should probably come down to the station. We’ll need to take a statement.”

Wylan was pacing frantically back and forth. He had no idea where Jesper was or if he was alright, and this idiot was more concerned with the stupid car.

“Yes, fine,” he conceded. If he went to the station, he might be able to get some real answers.

He memorised the address the officer gave him, then hung up. Fuck. What was he meant to do? Should he start ringing around the hospitals, see if anyone knew anything? Hastily, he grabbed a jacket and his house keys. Halfway through sprinting down the stairs, his phone rang again.

“Kaz Brekker is calling.”

“Kaz,” Wylan answered. He finished running the stairs and tugged open the front door as he spoke. “Jesper’s in trouble, he - ”

“He’s been arrested,” said Kaz evenly, “I know.”

Wylan froze in the midst of the front garden.

“Arrested?”

“He called me from the station,” Kaz rasped, “asked me to bring bail. He’s been charged with grand theft auto.”

“He what?!”

“I’ll meet you at the station,” said Kaz, “bring your lawyer.”

It took Wylan time to track down Cornelis Smeet and have him pick him up. The man was clearly flustered, dressed for golf with his clubs rattling around in the back seat of his car. He asked too many questions and repeated some as he attempted to get a grasp on the situation. By the time they arrived at the station, they were late and Wylan was livid.

Kaz was waiting for them outside. Smeet took one look at him and his expression turned from one of confusion to one of deep discomfort.

“They won’t release him until they speak to you,” Kaz explained. “They want to know if you’ll be pressing charges or not.”

“Pressing charges,” Wylan muttered, then marched up the stairs. Smeet scrambled to keep pace.

“Wylan,” he cautioned, “we shouldn’t do anything rash - ”

“They shouldn’t have done anything rash.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to go picking a fight with the Stadwatch.”

“The lawyer is right,” added Kaz. “Anger is motivating, so use it. But do it wisely.”

Smeet cast a nervous glance in Kaz’s direction. Wylan paused. Drew in a deep breath.

“Have it your way,” he said, then pushed open the door.

He barged his way directly to the front desk.

“I’m here to see Officer Van Daal.”

“Wylan Van Eck?” the receptionist asked, to which he nodded. “Good. He’ll want a statement from you.”

“There’s not going to be a statement, because there hasn’t been any crime.”

The receptionist eyed him warily.

“If you please,” said Smeet, “I represent the Van Eck family. Could we speak with the commanding officer on duty? Privately, if possible?”

He scanned the waiting area, full of people who were staring at them. Let them stare, Wylan thought.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the receptionist said, “take a seat.”

Smeet sunk gratefully into one of the hard plastic chairs, but Wylan was in no mood to sit around. He paced back and forth along the row of seats, while Kaz leaned against a wall, observing him passively.

“Officer Daal is out on another case assignment at the moment,” said the receptionist, after an eternity. “You’ll have to wait.”

Wylan grit his teeth. “Is there anyone else we can speak to, then?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Wylan,” Kaz interjected, before he could retort, “a word?”

He nodded to the window, indicating that they should move outside. Not knowing what else to do, Wylan followed him, once he had asked Smeet to update him if anything happened.

Kaz led him back down the steps and to a small cafe directly adjacent to the station. He pulled out a chair at one of the outdoor tables and nodded to it.

“What are you doing?” asked Wylan.

“Preventing you from doing something stupid,” Kaz retorted. “Sit.”

Wylan stood there defiantly. He was not going to be another Kaz Brekker lackey. With a shrug, Kaz lowered himself into the seat.

“Black coffee,” he said when the waiter approached. They both looked at Wylan expectantly.

“Just water. Please,” he muttered, then dropped into the opposite chair. He folded his arms and tapped his foot.

Kaz surveyed him carefully. He rested his cane against the edge of the table.

“Jes will get released,” he said. “They may take their time with it, but he will.”

“He shouldn’t have been detained in the first place.”

“No.”

He folded his gloved hands into an arch, propped up by his elbows. It occurred to Wylan that he’d never seen Kaz without the gloves before.

“Stadwatch don’t like to be humiliated,” he said, “least of all by Barrel trash. The best thing you can do for Jes is keep a level head.”

“I hate that term,” Wylan said, “Barrel trash.”

“Hating it doesn’t change anything.”

Wylan turned away. The blinding anger he had experienced earlier was now only simmering. A slow burn, which was somehow worse. He felt like a petulant child being put in his place.

“I’ll get him fired,” he threatened. “I could, easily. I could destroy his entire career.”

“Getting one Stadwatch officer fired won’t change anything either.”

“What good is money and influence if you can’t use it?”

“You really think this is about one man?”

Wylan scowled. “So I’ll find a way to fix the whole stupid system - ”

“You can’t fix what isn’t broken. The system is just doing what it was always intended for: it protects the wealthy Kerch and the rest of us become fodder for crows.”

There was something guttural in the way Kaz spoke those words. It was raw and edged with an acerbic bite that had Wylan wondering how long he had been sucking on this bitter pill.

Their drinks arrived. Neither man touched them.

“The day we met,” said Wylan slowly, “I told Jesper there was no reason for him to carry a weapon. I told him - ” he winced “ - I told him that was what the Stadwatch was there to do. To protect people.”

The notion seemed utterly ridiculous now. How naive had he been…

Kaz appraised him carefully.

“Everyone carries weapons,” he said, “some are just more obvious than others. Yours is your wealth and your father’s name. Jesper has guns. Inej hides knives in her pockets. Matthias spends hours a day at the gym and Nina has her Grisha powers.”

“What about you?”

“I have my cane.”

“Your cane?”

Wylan’s eyes drifted towards the object in question, leaning there harmlessly.

“How often do you think someone suspects a cripple of anything?” Kaz asked.

Wylan shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“If the world sees a weakness in you, turn it into a strength. Let the fools draw closer to the monster’s den, all the while denying that it can bite.”

The look in his coal black eyes was telling. In all the hours they’d spent pouring over diagrams and floor plans for the Van Eck heist, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that Kaz might have figured out Wylan was illiterate.

“Kaz…”

The Crow boss rose an eyebrow at him.

“What…” Wylan hesitated, “this thing with me and Van Eck Enterprises…what has it all been for? It can’t just be about money. Those files we lifted are worthless.”

“You want to see real justice in this country? So do I. And there’s only one way to get it.”

“But - ”

“What do you do, Wylan, when you know you can’t beat the odds?”

Wylan frowned. In truth, he had no idea.

“You change the rules of the game,” said Kaz, “and you do it brick by brick.”

Hours later, Smeet emerged from a meeting room. Wylan and Kaz instantly stood.

“They’re releasing him,” said Smeet, “just finalising the paperwork.”

Wylan expelled an exhausted sigh.

“When can we see him?”

“Wylan,” Kaz warned, “you should go.”

Wylan stared at him, completely confounded. He was desperate to see Jesper. Needed to know he was alright.

“There is no way in hell that - ”

“There’s a reason he called me and not you,” Kaz interrupted.

Could it be true? Did Jesper not want him here? Or was this part of the strange dynamic between Jesper and Kaz, and the power struggle that had been silently playing out between Wylan and Kaz since the day they met? Wylan chose to believe the latter.

“I’m staying,” he said, raising his chin belligerently.

Smeet cleared his throat. “Wylan, I should be off. The children are with the sitter, and my wife, she - ”

“Yes, I understand,” Wylan tore his eyes away from Kaz, “thank you, Mr Smeet, for everything you did.”

“Before I go, could we…?”

Smeet nodded in the direction of the empty room he’d just vacated. Wylan shot Kaz another glare, then followed him in. Smeet closed the door and double checked it was secured before he spoke.

“I wanted to offer your some advice,” he said softly.

“Legal advice?”

“No, this is of a more…personal nature,” Smeet coughed. “Jan was my client, but he was also a friend. I may not have always agreed with his choices…but I know how important legacy was to him, and I would hate to see anything threaten that.”

“Mr Smeet,” said Wylan, growing impatient, “you've known me a long time. You can speak freely.”

Smeet sighed, relieved. “I understand that it’s of the upmost importance for you to get married, as soon as possible. It’s only…well…”

“Yes?”

“Surely, there must be more suitable options. Karl Dryden, the Councilman, for instance. I hear he prefers the company of men. Or it could be a woman! Certain agreements can always be made. One of the Schenck daughters, perhaps. I know Birgitta is all but promised to Thaddeus Radmakker, though she has younger sisters…”

He continued listing other candidates, but Wylan was no longer listening.

“Cornelis,” he said sternly.

Smeet stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open.

“Thank you, for that advice,” Wylan opened the door. “You may go.”

Smeet’s mouth opened and closed helplessly for a few seconds. He was a fish floundering out of water.

“You will take this seriously, though?” he pressed, when he found his voice. “I’m sure these young men are perfectly good…people…but really, Wylan. I’ve heard you’re being considered for Chairman of Van Eck Enterprises. Do you really want to jeopardise that by being dragged into a public scandal?”

Yes, Wylan realised without reservation. If it was for Jesper, he’d risk pretty much anything.

“Please,” Wylan kept his hand on the door, “go.”

Smeet appeared to want to say more, then thought better of it, his lips setting in a firm line. His eyes reflected a kind of disappointment that Wylan knew all too well.

As soon as the estate was settled, he was going to find a new lawyer.

Once Smeet had left, Wylan walked back to the front desk, where his heart immediately started pounding. Jesper was standing there, talking with the receptionist, Kaz at his side. He looked peculiar somehow, with his shoulders hunched and his trademark grin missing. But it was still him, intact and safe.

He must have felt Wylan staring at him, because his eyes slowly travelled in his direction. It made Wylan swell with joy, yet it was only short-lived. There was no light behind those stormy grey depths. No teasing or jokes or ‘Van Sunshine’. Barely any recognition at all.

The receptionist handed Jesper some paper, and he snatched it from her, then stalked towards the front door.

“Jesper,” Wylan began, wanting to say so much and not sure how to start.

Jesper passed him without so much as a glance. A chill ripped into him.

He chased him outside.

“Jesper!”

Jesper’s long strides had already carried him down the steps and to the street. Wylan had to dash to catch up to him.

“I’m late for my shift,” Jesper said numbly. He kept walking at a maddeningly fast pace.

Wylan almost laughed. “You can’t be expected to go to work - ”

“What else am I going to do?”

“Stay home. Talk to me. Or Inej or Nina or…I don’t know, throw things at the wall. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes to fix this?” Jesper scoffed. “Go home, Van Sunshine. It’s getting late, and Alys needs you.”

“She doesn’t need me,” Wylan said quietly.

You need me, he wanted to add. But did he, really?

“Then go home anyway.”

“I-I…” Wylan faltered.

Jesper paused, so abruptly that Wylan almost toppled over beside him.

“This was a mistake.”

Finally, something they could agree on.

“Yes,” said Wylan, “it was a stupid fucking mistake by a stupid fucking moron.”

“No. That was a typical display from one of Ketterdam’s finest. This,” he gestured between them, “is a mistake.”

Wylan’s throat felt heavy.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know,” Jesper stared off down the street, “I need to think.”

“Jes…”

“Wylan.”

The sound of his real name on Jesper’s lips was halting. They gazed into each other’s eyes, the emotion a thick blanket that was set to smother them both.

“I’ll call you,” said Jesper with a meaningful look.

When he left this time, Wylan didn’t try to follow him.

Give him space, Kaz had warned when he later dropped Wylan at home.

Wylan had meant to. He truly had. But as the long hours of the night started passed, and he tossed and turned in his sheets, he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to stay away. Jesper’s words were tearing at his insides.

This was a mistake…

Close to midnight, he pulled himself out of bed and got changed, before calling a water taxi to the Geldcanal. Even as he approached the Crow Club, Wylan still wasn’t sure what he was planning to do. Barge in there and demand Jesper speak to him? Tell him that, while Wylan had made plenty of mistakes in his life, Jesper would never be one of them? That he was kind even when he pretended not to be, and so annoyingly smart, and infuriating, and wonderful - and that anyone who made him feel any less than that wasn’t worth an ounce of his attention for a single moment?

Ghezen, his newfound acknowledgement of his feelings was leading to some rather startling trains of thought.

All he knew, was that he couldn’t think straight until he at least attempted to sort this out. He took a deep breath and stepped into the heat of the Crow Club, which was as loud and alive as it had been the previous night. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Wylan pushed his way to the bar. The only staff member around was a very tall woman with short cropped blonde hair, who was serving a gaggle of tourists.

“Excuse me!” Wylan shouted at her over the noise. When she didn’t hear him, he yelled even louder. “Hey!”

The woman finished speaking to the tourists and stared at him blankly.

“Yes?” she said in a thick Fjerdan accent.

Wylan instantly felt embarrassed. This lady wasn’t at fault, and she didn’t deserve to be shouted at.

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just…have you seen Jesper Fahey?”

The woman looked confused. “Who?”

“Jesper Fahey? He’s supposed to be working here tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman shook her head, “I’m new, and my Kerch is not so good. Can you speak more slowly?”

“Jesper. Fahey,” Wylan tried again, annunciating as best he could. “Very tall? Zemeni? Grey eyes? Bit of a shameless flirt?”

“Ohh!” the woman’s eyes widened in understanding. “You are looking for Jes! He left just now.”

“He left?”

“Yes. Shift was over.”

“Oh,” Wylan felt deflated, “thank you.”

He stood at the edge of the bar and tried to think. Showing up to the Crow Club was one thing, but he didn’t think it was reasonable to turn up at Jesper’s doorstep in the middle of the night. It was probably for the best. This had been a terrible idea to begin with. Maybe he could wait it out until morning at the club since sleep wasn’t going to be on the cards…

“Wylan?"

He turned abruptly at the sound of his name and locked onto a familiar face.

“Oh,” he said flatly, “Kuwei.”

It wasn’t that he was displeased to see him, but…

“Were you expecting someone else?” Kuwei’s eyes shone knowingly.

“No, I…sorry,” Wylan sighed. “What are you doing here?”

Kuwei came up beside him, leaning an arm on the counter.

“I’m becoming a bit of a regular,” he chuckled. “I like this club. Nice atmosphere. Didn’t think I’d run into you again so soon.”

“Sorry,” Wylan repeated, “it’s not that I’m not pleased to see you. It’s just…I was looking for someone…”

“Your boyfriend?” Kuwei smiled.

Wylan nodded. “He works here. He’s a bartender? But apparently he’s already gone home.”

The smile fell from Kuwei’s face.

“Oh, I think I know who he is,” he said thoughtfully. “Smiles a lot? Tall, dark and handsome?”

“That would be the one,” Wylan blushed.

Kuwei’s brows furrowed. He seemed reluctant to meet Wylan’s gaze.

“What is it?” Wylan asked. Something in Kuwei’s demeanour unnerved him.

“It’s nothing,” Kuwei spoke hastily.

“It’s clearly something.”

Kuwei frowned. “Well…and, you know, I hate having to tell you this, right? But…”

Wylan was growing impatient.

“Kuwei…”

The other man gave an exasperated sigh. “I saw him leave. Your boyfriend. And he wasn’t exactly…alone.”

Wylan fought to remain calm, even as his heart dropped. It didn’t mean anything. Maybe he’d left with one of his housemates…although Kuwei would know who they were…

“He was with a girl,” the other man went on, “a pretty one. They looked real cozy together.”

Wylan’s mind was reeling. He leaned against the bar for support as he tried to process what was happening.

“I really am sorry,” Kuwei said. He sounded genuine. “I just thought you were better off knowing now, before you get your heart broken. I’d want someone to tell me, if i were in your situation.”

Wylan thought he may actually be sick. He needed some air. Needed to get as far away from the Crow Club as possible.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

He left Kuwei behind, calling out his name.

Chapter Text

“Place your bets,” called the dealer.

Jesper reached to place a stack of chips on the table, when a hand snatched his wrist.

“That’s enough, Jes. You promised.”

Jesper’s gaze was fogged as he tried to focus on the person beside him.

“I’m winning,” he said, disgruntled.

“Which is why you should stop now.”

Jesper tried to wrench his hand away. Poppy couldn’t tell him what to do.

He must have said that out loud without realising it, because Poppy narrowed their eyes at him.

“Actually, my fiancé is the floor manager here, so I kind of can tell you what to do. Come on.”

They coaxed him down from his chair. He stumbled a little, but managed to stay upright, leaning against his friend for support.

“Why is everyone getting married these days?” he muttered. “It’s so…boring.”

Poppy laughed. “It’s not boring. It’s getting older. Your priorities in life change - no, not that way, over here.”

Jesper found himself being manhandled into a different seat. Poppy pushed a glass of clear liquid towards him, and he was disappointed to discover it was just water.

“Besides,” said Poppy, “who else is getting married?”

Jesper counted on his fingers. “You’re getting married, Nina’s getting married - ”

“Nina’s getting married?”

“No, but she will. To her furry Fjerdan man,” Jesper was annoyed at being interrupted. Now he’d lost count!

Poppy gently touched his hand.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” they asked. “I haven’t seen you like this in months.”

Jesper avoided the question by looking around the Blue Paradise. True to its name, the venue’s decor, lighting and furniture were all decked out in varying shades of turquoise, azure and navy. Even Poppy’s sequinned dress was a stunning shade of midnight blue.

“Is it a girl?” Poppy probed. “Boy? Person?” when Jesper didn’t respond, their eyes widened. “Oh Saints, Jes, is it Kaz?”

Jesper tried to roll his eyes, but ended up making himself dizzy.

“No, it’s not Kaz.”

He grabbed the blue drink Poppy was hoarding on their end of the table and downed it before they could protest.

“Is it more trouble with the Black Tips? I thought you said you had that under control.”

“That’s not…” Jesper waved a hand around, “that’s not even a thing anymore.”

“I know you think you’re invincible, but you don’t want to fuck with Oomen. Did you hear about how he - ”

“What’s the worst thing you ever did for money?” Jesper interjected.

Poppy snorted. “Yeah, I am not falling for that trap.”

“It’s not a trap, it’s a genuine question. I bet my thing is worser.”

“Worser isn’t a word. If I take that bet would it keep you away from the tables?”

Jesper took a handful of chips from earlier and tossed them onto the table. Poppy laughed.

“Alright, fine. What’s your thing?”

“That’s not how this works! You’re meant to say your thing, then I say mine after - because it’s worser - and then I win.”

“Wait, what am I even betting against you? This makes no sense!”

Jesper pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” Poppy huffed.

“You used to be. Now you’re all responsible and serious. Here was I, thinking ‘I’ll call my old friend Poppy, they’ll be up for some dice and debauchery’, and instead you just want to talk about feelings and make me drink water.”

“Which, by the way, you should be doing,” Poppy pushed the water glass closer towards him.

“The feelings or the water?”

“Both.”

Jesper leaned back in his seat. He was exhausted and wasted and all he wanted was to keep drinking and gambling, so he could stay numb until dawn broke over the horizon and he could forget this whole horrible day. Why was that so hard for his friends to accept?

Poppy wasn’t going to give way. Their hand was resting on top of his once again, tender yet firm.

“Jes,” they said, their brown eyes tinged with sadness.

“Fine,” Jesper conceded. “It’s about a boy.”

It wasn’t all true. It was about so much more than that. But when it came down to it, it was Wylan who was currently haunting his mind. He shouldn’t have said what he’d said. He’d been angry and embarrassed and - fuck - Wylan had seen him like that. Brought down by the Stadwatch and made to feel so small. So worthless.

Poppy was nodding. “Theme park date boy? From your socials?”

“His name is Wylan.”

“I see.”

“See what?” Jesper asked. Poppy was surveying him carefully.

“You’ve fallen for him.”

The tiniest smile graced their face. Jesper had never seen anything more irritating.

“I haven’t,” he said haughtily. Poppy only smiled wider.

“Anyway,” he muttered, “it’s not going to work out between us, so it doesn’t matter.”

A fake breakup was probably the best thing he could do for Wylan at this point.

Poppy was concerned. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s…” Jesper sighed, “he’s from a completely different world. We have nothing in common.”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone.”

“Well, maybe everyone is wrong,” Poppy replied. “Angel and I don’t have that much in common on paper. Doesn’t mean we can’t work as a couple.”

“You and Angel both grew up in the Barrel.”

“Yeah, but that’s about where the similarities end. I’m a dancer whose parents migrated from Novyi Zem. Angel thinks the Ravkan Civil War was a giant conspiracy orchestrated by jurda farmers for some reason. Still love the idiot though.”

They both laughed at that.

“Or what about Nina and Matthias? When they first met they had completely conflicting values, and they seem to make it work.”

“This is different,” Jesper insisted. He leaned further in, like he was about to convey a huge secret. “Wylan comes from money. As in, money money.”

Poppy blinked. “Okay?”

“Do you know what people must think when they see him with me?”

“Jesper,” Poppy chuckled, “since when do you care what people think?”

They were right. Jesper didn’t care, not really. There was only one person who’s opinion truly mattered.

“It’s only a matter of time before he figures it out,” he said softly.

“Figures what out?”

That Wylan was too good for the likes of him. Obviously. An upstanding member of Kerch society and future leader didn’t need to stoop to the level of marrying Barrel trash with a chaotic past and a gambling problem. Even if it was just for money. The Stadwatch knew it, for one. Wylan’s business associates no doubt saw it too. Better that they called it off now, before Jesper could humiliate him any more than he already had.

“Jes?”

Poppy’s expression was brimming with concern.

Jesper sighed. “He can do better, is all.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but - ”

“Saints, Jes,” Poppy heaved, “you are so beyond frustrating.”

Jesper bristled. “I’m frustrating?”

“Yes! Did it not occur to you to ask him what he thinks before you go ahead and jump to conclusions? If he loves you, he won’t give a damn about where you live or how much debt you’re in. Clearly money’s not an issue for him, so why should it matter?”

Jesper laughed. Poppy could never understand. The entire thing was about money to begin with. It always had been. The notion that Wylan could love him was ludicrous.

“Just talk to him,” Poppy urged, “before you write him off. People are messy bastards and we’re all dealing with our shit. It just depends on whether or not you’re willing to work through yours together.”

They patted his hand with theirs and forced him to look into their eyes.

“Okay?” they said. “Please. I can’t stand seeing you mope around like this.”

“Fine,” he gave in, “I’ll talk to him.”

He lost all the money he’d made, but that was to be expected. Poppy took his wallet to prevent him from spending anything more. He’d managed to talk the bartender into giving him more drinks on the down low by convincing him he was a friend of Angel’s. The key was to get them when Poppy had gone to the bathroom and finish them as quickly as possible.

His friend must have noticed he wasn’t getting any more sober, though, because they’d banished him to a booth with yet more water. Poppy positioned themselves at the bar, talking to the employees, casting regular glances in his direction to make sure he was staying put. They seemed irritated, and Jesper was no better. He was fed up with his friends feeling the need to watch over him like he was incapable of taking care of himself.

Then again…maybe they had a point.

The thought made him yearn for another distraction from this reality. It was a vicious cycle with no escape. Self-loathing, drink, gamble, sex, and more self-loathing. Rinse and repeat, until the end of time.

He pondered whether it was possible to lose Poppy and make his way to another bar. Surely some of his old friends would be willing to look the other way while he indulged in a little self-destruction…

“Look,” the man at the neighbouring table nudged his companion, then nodded towards the entrance, “fresh meat.”

The other man looked positively thirsty. “Ghezen help us all. You know I love redheads.”

Jesper must have passed out at some point in the booth. That, or he was hallucinating, because there was no way Wylan Van Eck was walking towards him through a haze of blue just now.

He must not have seen him, because he stopped at the bar and said something to the bartender. Then to Poppy. It had to be wrong, Jesper thought. But even though his vision was blurred and he was lightheaded, he’d recognise that face anywhere.

Poppy pointed in his direction, and Wylan tracked their gaze to Jesper’s booth. He looked exhausted, and distraught. His clothes were rumpled and he’d either been tossing in bed or pulling at his hair, because it was as messy as it had been that morning. When his eyes met Jesper’s, his brows furrowed.

What the hell was he doing here?

“We should buy him a drink,” said the man at the next table.

Don’t you fucking dare, Jesper thought. Or said. Or both. He’d clearly made some sort of noise, because both the men were glowering at him.

Good. He was aching to start a fight. And the fact that these jokers had just referred to Wylan as a piece of meat put them very high on his hit list.

“Jesper.”

Wylan’s breathless voice was enough to pull away his attentions.

“Wy Sunshine,” Jesper said. He’d meant to say ‘Wylan’ and then ‘Van Sunshine’, but instead it had come out as some sort of strange hybrid nickname. He tried again, but this time it came out as, “Wysun!”

Wylan was not impressed. “Ghezen. How drunk are you?”

He was angry with him, but he was trying not to let it show. Jesper could tell by the tautness in his jaw and the way he kept his distance. It was fine. Wylan could join the long queue of people who were annoyed or disappointed by something he’d done.

“Why are you here?” Jesper asked.

Wylan’s brow creased with confusion. “You called me.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Like an hour ago. Left a long voicemail.”

Jesper honestly couldn’t remember doing that. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been in the Blue Paradise. It could be the middle of the day for all he knew.

“Forget it,” Wylan sighed. “Clearly it was a stupid drunk dial and you don’t remember - ”

“What did I say?”

After a brief hesitation, Wylan dropped into the booth next to him.

“Just that you were at the Blue Paradise,” he said, “and that you needed to tell me something, so I should come straight away.”

“Was that all?”

Wylan blushed into his lap. “Well…I was paraphrasing a bit. You said some other stuff.”

All Saints. What had he gone and rambled about? The more he thought about it, the more he vaguely recalled being on the balcony outside the club and talking on the phone.

“I went to the Crow Club, you know,” said Wylan, his eyes still lowered. “Found out you’d left with a girl.”

Jesper was confused. “I left with Poppy.”

“Yeah, I’m realising that now. We spoke when I came in.”

“Poppy’s not a girl. They’re non-binary.”

“Right. Good for them.”

It finally clicked and Jesper’s eyes widened. “You thought I left left with a girl.”

“Obviously, it was a misunderstanding.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Van Wysun. The deal is the deal, remember? We said no cheating.”

Wylan’s smile was conflicted. For the life of him, Jesper couldn’t read it.

“The deal is the deal,” Wylan repeated softly.

“Did you know your eyes are the exact same colour as the ocean?”

Jesper hadn’t meant to say it. He had a habit of creating word vomit when he was drunk. But leaning with his head back against the booth, he had the perfect view of the eyes in question, and it really was unavoidable.

Wylan gave an embarrassed little laugh.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t mean the murky ocean in Ketterdam,” Jesper clarified. Because it was important to make the distinction. “I mean the proper ocean, in Novyi Zem. It’s so blue…have you been?”

Wylan swallowed thickly. “Um, I went to Shriftport with my father once. But it was a business trip, we didn’t do any sightseeing.”

“You should see it.”

Jesper reached over and touched Wylan’s cheek, which was delightfully flushed underneath his freckles. The skin there was plush and soft and ridiculously smooth.

“I-I think I should take you home,” said Wylan, his voice hoarse. “Poppy said you’ve had way too much.”

“Don’t want to go home.”

“Poppy said that too. They’ve been trying to get you home for hours.”

“Don’t listen to Poppy, listen to me,” Jesper’s fingers slid up Wylan’s jawline. “Stay.”

What on earth was he doing? Poppy was actually right. He was drunk. He wasn’t making smart decisions….oh, Wylan’s hair was so soft, though…and messy…he should really fix that for him.

“Jes,” Wylan whimpered. His eyes were clouded and for a moment, it looked like he was in pain.

“D’sit hurt?” Jesper mumbled. He didn’t think his fingers had reached a knot, but he could be wrong.

Wylan bit his lip and whispered, “No.”

“You’re a bad liar, my Sunshine. I can read you like a book.”

“I think you meant to say ‘Van Sunshine’.”

“That’s what I said. My Sunshine.”

Wylan gently placed his hand on Jesper’s own and removed it from his hair. He folded their fingers together.

“Can we please go home?” he asked. “Please. You need to sober up so we can talk properly.”

He was so earnest and despondent that Jesper would have willingly leapt off a cliff to make him feel better.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

Wylan slid out of the booth, then helped Jesper to his feet. He kept their hands joined as they walked.

“Hey baby, you sure you’re making the right choice tonight?” said the man at the next table when they passed. “He looks like he can barely stand up, let alone keep it up.”

In a split second, Jesper had the man on his feet, his hand clenched in the front of his shirt. His friend was up as well, knuckles flexing, ready to jump into the fray.

“Jesper!” Wylan shouted.

“You want to start something?” the second man growled.

“Oh you have no idea,” Jesper smirked, imagining the satisfaction of seeing someone else get knocked down for a change.

“For Saint’s sake!” Poppy shoved both men crudely apart. “You two, get the hell out. And you,” she frowned at Jesper, “go home with your boyfriend. I love you to death, but seriously, spare my sanity and get your shit figured out.”

“Sorry, Poppy,” Jesper mumbled, “love you too.”

Poppy sighed, their face softening.

“Take good care of him,” they said to Wylan.

Wylan took Jesper’s hand again. “Will do.”

Later, Jesper wouldn’t remember leaving the Blue Paradise, which he was informed involved him almost falling down the stairs and trying to shout after the two men who had just been expelled from the club. All he could recall was gulping in the crisp fresh air as Wylan led him down the street.

“Are we walking all the way?” he slurred.

“Yes,” Wylan said, “you need to sober up. The fresh air will do you some good. And it’s not that far.”

“You’re mad at me.”

Wylan stared at his feet. “I’m not. Just worried about you. Something awful happened to you and you aren’t dealing with it.”

“I am dealing with it.”

“I meant in a way that doesn’t involve losing all your money and getting into bar fights.”

“Was defending your honour, Wyshine.”

“Wyshine?” Wylan smiled wryly. “Is that a new nickname?”

Jesper giggled. “Wyshine. Van Wysun. Wy. Wylie.”

Wylan’s hand tensed in his. “Never Wylie.”

“Okay,” Jesper said quickly, “never Wylie.”

They turned onto the next street in silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Wylan asked quietly.

Jesper sniggered. “You’d never understand.”

“No,” Wylan said, “but I can listen. I hate seeing you destroy yourself over something you weren’t to blame for.”

Maybe he was to blame, though. Not for the car or the racist Stadwatch officer, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t deserved to be in that holding cell. If only Wylan knew…

He turned and began walking backwards so he could face him.

“Careful,” Wylan muttered.

Jesper ignored the warning. “Hey, want to place a bet with me?”

“You don’t have any money left.”

Oh yeah. That was a problem.

“I’ll bet you…” Jesper thought hard, “I’ll bet you…a kiss.”

Wylan went red. “What makes you think I’ll take that bet?”

“Because you always want to kiss me. You clearly loved it, the last time. In the - at the office place…”

“You are so full of yourself,” Wylan said, but he was grinning.

“What are you going to wager against that, My Sunshine? It better be something good.”

“What’s the bet? I’m not going to wager something unless I know what it is.”

Jesper’s heel struck something on the path and he almost tripped over. Wylan’s outstretched hands prevented it at the last second. He clasped Jesper’s waist and held him on his feet.

“I told you to be careful,” Wylan mumbled, but he didn’t remove his hands.

“Bet me something,” Jesper urged. “Anything you like.”

He stared into Wylan’s eyes. They were the colour of the ocean, it could be confirmed. Mesmerising.

“Fine,” Wylan blinked and released him. “If you win whatever this bet is…I’ll get a tattoo.”

Jesper gleamed with excitement.

“Really?”

“Sure. I’ve been thinking about it anyway.”

“Do I get to pick where you get it?”

Wylan looked scandalised. “No.”

“Can I at least pick what it is?”

“You can have input. If you win the bet.”

Honestly, Jesper thought, this was sounding like a win-win situation to him.

He might have also said that out loud again by mistake, because Wylan was blushing again. He blushed so often, though, that it was hard to tell.

“Hard to tell what?” Wylan asked.

“Nothing. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done for money?”

They had gone back to walking again, without Jesper even realising it. He felt Wylan’s hand in his.

“Is this your way of telling me that the deal is the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“Saints, no!” Jesper laughed. “It’s the bet. If my thing is worse, I win.”

And his thing was definitely worse. Not that he minded losing, given what was at stake…

“Is the deal the worst thing you’ve ever done for money?” Jesper probed.

“Well, I haven’t really needed to do much for money before now. So by default, it probably is. And lying to people is pretty bad.”

“You are definitely going to lose.”

Wylan stared off thoughtfully. “Can I have another one?”

“Okay, but only because I’m nice.”

Wylan chuckled. “Well, I don’t know if it counts, but…there was one time, when I was a kid, and I decided I really wanted to go to the Belendt School of Music. Some of the students were performing in a classical music concert for one night only. At a venue in the Lid. Adam Bajan took me after convincing my father that it was a good idea. For my education, you know. It was brilliant. I was obsessed with the idea of Belendt after that.”

“Why couldn’t you go?” Jesper asked. “To the school, I mean. It’s not like Jan couldn’t afford it.”

“He told me he didn’t have the money, which I know now was complete bullshit. He just didn’t want me going off to school and revealing the dyslexia to anyone. But I was ten, and I believed him. I thought maybe I could make some money by busking with my flute. I’d seen street performers do it before, so why couldn’t I?”

Wylan began walking faster, and Jesper matched his pace to keep up.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he went on, “so I made sure to do it only when he wasn’t home. Told the housekeeper I was going over to Pascal Hoede’s to play - he lived on the same street - and she didn’t question it. I ended up making quite a bit from it, actually.”

“That’s because you’re a good businessman,” Jesper said.

“I don’t know about that,” Wylan spluttered. “Eventually, I figured I’d made enough kruge to help pay for the tuition in Belendt - it was only a few hundred, but again, I was ten - so I showed it to my father and explained what I’d been up to.”

“And he…didn’t like it?” Jesper questioned. If he had been off busking for his own money instead of mucking around with the village kids at that age, his own dad would have been cheering.

Wylan shook his head. His grip in Jesper’s hand was much firmer.

“He said…” Wylan sighed, “he said that it belittled the family name, for the son of Jan Van Eck to be seen in public begging for scraps.”

“Busking isn’t begging.”

“He didn’t see it that way. He said that I’d humiliated him, so…” he paused on the street, inhaling deeply, “…so as punishment, he locked me in my room for the next two weeks.”

Jesper froze.

“He said he couldn’t trust me on my own. That I needed to learn that actions came with consequences. I was allowed out twice a day for bathroom breaks, and the housekeeper put meals in through a trapdoor that had been fitted to the main door. She’d sometimes hide sweets on the tray…I think she felt sorry for me.”

Wylan laughed, but it was a pitiful sound. “So that’s probably the worst thing I ever did for money. I don’t know what happened to the kruge I’d earned, actually. My father took it and I was too scared to ever mention it again.”

Without thinking, Jesper rounded on Wylan and pulled him close, arms forming a tight circle around his back. He could feel him pressed up against his chest, tense only for a moment, before his shoulders relaxed with the release of a long, shuddering breath. It made Jesper want to hold on tighter. So he did.

When he finally pulled back, Wylan’s eyes were wide and confused. His lips were parted in that insanely alluring way, though he seemed somehow oblivious to the effect it had. Jesper gave into temptation and allowed his own lips to graze over those perfect peaks…just the slightest hint of a kiss. A ghost of what they had done before.

“Did I win the bet?” Wylan whispered.

“No,” Jesper confessed, “I just thought…maybe that would help.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yes.”

Wylan’s hand slid to his cheek, a gesture that seemed so tender and sincere. Jesper closed his eyes.

“I need to get you home.”

“It’s almost dawn. Let’s watch the sunrise.”

“We can do that from the Slat,” Wylan sounded amused, “come on.”

When they rounded the corner to Jesper’s street, a tall figure could be seen outside from a distance. As they approached, Jesper realised it was Matthias, stretching before a morning jog, his long hair tied up behind his ears.

“Are you two alright?” he asked. Despite wearing shorts, he seemed remarkably at ease in the freezing air.

“Fine,” Wylan raised a hand in greeting. “Good morning!”

Matthias’ eyes drifted to where their hands were joined and he smiled.

“Up for a run? I’m only doing a short one today, five kilometres.”

“I’d rather die,” said Jesper.

“Maybe not today,” said Wylan. “Tämä ilta oli kiireinen.”

“You know Fjerdan!” Matthias exclaimed brightly.

“Only a little bit.”

Wylan cast a glance in Jesper’s direction and they shared a mischievous smile.

“Okay, fair enough,” Matthias laughed, “but make sure you see the sunrise. It’s meant to be beautiful!”

He waved goodbye and jogged off in the opposite direction. Wylan opened the squeaky gate, pulling Jesper after him. They didn’t speak again until they were ensconced in Jesper’s room.

“You never told me your worst thing,” Wylan said.

Jesper sat on the edge of the bed with a groan. He needed sleep; he’d barely had any the past few days…

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve already won. We’ll get your tattoo tomorrow.”

“You can’t just say that,” Wylan protested. “Mine was pretty bad.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jesper pointed out. “Jan is an asshole and he should have been in jail for the way he treated you.”

It was a fact, but Wylan seemed taken aback by this admission.

“It can’t have been so bad,” he said.

Jesper laughed derisively. He attempted to kick off his shoe but couldn’t quite get at it. Wylan knelt to help him.

“Do you remember what I said last night?” he asked. It felt like the longest time ago.

Wylan’s hands paused on the shoe, but he kept his head lowered. “No?”

“My first month in Ketterdam,” Jesper explained, “I went to a bar with some other students. Everyone was still excited about starting and eager to get drunk. It was getting late, and these guys I’d met - new friends - were taking forever to leave. So I decided to wait for them outside.”

Wylan finished pulling off the shoe, then started on the other one. He never once looked at him, almost as if he were afraid it would make him stop.

“The Stadwatch came by and saw me sitting there - this skinny eighteen year old kid - and they came over to ask what I was staring at. I told them ‘nothing’, and they said I was being ‘belligerent’. Next thing I knew they were tossing me into a paddy wagon,” Jesper paused, his alcohol-fuelled mind still able to conjure the details after so long. “That was the first time I spent a night in a jail cell, apparently for being ‘drunk and disorderly’ in public.”

Wylan’s hands tensed as he pulled off the second shoe. He shuffled up from the floor to sit beside Jesper on the bed.

“After I got released, instead of going back to the dormitories, I went to a bar,” Jesper said wryly. “Then another bar, and another bar. Then I found Makker’s Wheel. I won a lot of money. It felt amazing. Strangers wanted to buy me drinks. People respected me.

“So I stayed there for a few hours. A day. A week. Then one day, I finally looked up and realised that I’d spent all of my scholarship money in one semester. I took out a loan. Spent that too. Got a part-time job and spent my salary faster than I could earn it. Asked for an advance and then spent that in one night. Got fired for not showing up to work the next day.”