Archive of Our Own

Jesper isn’t sure what he expected to happen after the auction, after everything settled down. 

Possibly, for all of them to be alive, but that expectation went out of the window pretty quickly. 

Probably, for him and Wylan to sleep in the same bed, cuddling close to red-gold curls and kissing night and day.

Truth is, they don’t kiss a lot. There’s hardly room for lots of kissing, those first few days, and Jesper is fine with it, he is. 

He can’t be annoyed for not being able to kiss his stupidly attractive merchling, he can’t, he can’t. Or can he?

Pretty soon, he finds out that living with the merchling isn’t hard at all.

It isn’t hard, in the way his hair curls over his forehead or his ears, always looking so irritatingly angelic that Jesper doesn’t know what to do with himself. It isn’t hard in the way Wylan offers him fruit pastries in the morning, opening up in small, sweet smiles when Jesper eagerly lets himself be treated like a prince. It isn’t hard — that is —  being next to Wylan, annoying him, getting a huff or a light smack on the ribs or a blush out of that pretty face.

The next time they kiss, after the auction, after everything has settled down and their life feels slightly more normal, is on their couch. Well, Wylan’s couch, if you want to get technical, but Wylan has told him many times now that this is your home as much as it is mine, Jes. So he believes him — he tries to, at least. 

Next time they kiss, it’s on Wylan’s rich couch, flowery pattern on antique pink fabric. Jesper has never had a couch this nice at home, but he doesn’t think he minds it. It’s just — he’s not here for the fancy couch or the nice food or the big halls echoing with luxury. No, he’s here for Wylan, and isn’t that a weird thing to think about? Him, living with the merchling, of all people, with his slightly upturned nose and pretty eyes and good-natured spirit.

Jesper just happens to be struck a bit dumb, a bit stupid with how much he actually likes him, how much he wants him near, how much he craves his soft laugh and soft complaining. 

Their first kiss after everything settled down, though…it’s not a heated kiss, but not a shy kiss either. He just savours the feeling of Wylan’s lips on his: the soft, velvety feel of them, and is sure that he’ll never get tired of it. 

He feels like he wants to taste Wylan again and again, like he did with peaches growing close to their farm as a little boy. In fact, Wylan tastes a little bit like a peach — just as sweet, just as delicious. 

Right now, the kiss stays testing. Jesper had expected — maybe, in  some part, hoped — that Wylan’s ramblings about a certain down payment weren’t just talk, because he was quite desperate for it. But hell, this is good too. More than good, with the way Wylan’s hands come to cup his cheek, his nape, holding him softly like he’s a treasure. 

“Jesper,” Wylan mumbles against his mouth, still not properly pulling away. He smells of lemon, and of vanilla. Jesper thinks he could drown in it.

“Mh-mh,” he hums, still not pulling away himself.

It’s Wylan who puts some distance between them, looking up with wide eyes, face so damn serious Jesper can do nothing but listen to him.

“I know it’s probably stupid, but I still can’t believe you’ll stay with me,” he breathes. “I’m happy, don’t get me wrong, but I keep fearing that it’s too perfect: you and my mother back, my father in jail. I keep thinking that something bad will happen.”

Jesper sighs, brushing a spare curl and putting it behind his ear. This kind of touch, as simple as it is, still somehow feels like too much. It feels silly to even admit that, but Jesper’s still awkward, boyish, embarrassed about doing intimate things with Wylan. Hell, no one can blame him, really, when they haven’t properly put a name to this, or said the word boyfriends. It's normal for him to feel a little bit on edge.

“It’s not stupid, Wylan. I know this house doesn’t make you feel safe, too, but you’ll grow into it, I promise you. And you’re not holding me hostage, I chose to come live here.”

Wylan bites his bottom lip, now looking away. “What if someday you won’t want to live here anymore, then? And you won’t tell me because you feel bad?”

“Wylan, I really don’t think that will happen—”

“What if it will happen?” Wylan retorts, blue eyes stubborn to a fault. There’s hurt, too, but Jesper won’t push if Wylan doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“Then I promise that I’ll tell you. I promise Wylan, I know my word hasn’t meant much in the past but I promise I…I’ll make it matter with you.”

He watches him nod, then, like they’re two businessmen who have just made a serious agreement. Saints, he’s so Geldstraat that it makes Jesper’s heart warm, even here, even now, after vulnerable words spoken. 

That evening, their supper is quiet, save for Marya’s occasional fits of coughing. Jesper can’t help but observe Wylan: the way his eyes fill with worry, almost never leaving his mother, the way his shoulders are hunched high, and realises that he still doesn’t know all of him at all. That he’s the start of…something, but that living with Wylan might spin his word on its axis, changing what he’s learned about himself in the past few years.

Over the first couple of days, Wylan is often wary.

Jesper can see it in the way he carries himself, his body tense, anxiety never leaving his features. He doesn’t blame him, though, because Marya is recovering slowly, and he’s sure Wylan feels as if it all falls upon his shoulders. Jesper does his best to help him — with soft kisses to ease him up in quiet corners and light teasing that Wylan seems to appreciate. He always flushes a deep red and glares, but holds Jesper closer to him by tugging his collar and kissing him like his life depends on it. 

Jesper doesn’t complain, certainly, because kissing Wylan Van Eck feels a bit like breathing.

He doesn’t complain either when they get a little bit tipsy with rich people’s wine and Wylan ends up all giggly and cuddly, wrapping his arms around Jesper’s waist and laughing into the crook of his neck. Jesper usually walks him to his bedroom, on nights like this, but Wylan sticks as close to him as possible, and they end up stumbling like two fools.

Inej doesn’t show up often, not really. They have lunch and supper together, and she stays to listen to them playing the piano or singing, but he knows that she’s often sneaking out to meet with Kaz, when she thinks they aren’t paying attention. 

One night Jesper finds himself wandering, ghost like, through the Mansion's empty halls.

He usually sleeps like a baby, but not these past few nights, and lack of shut-eye has left him restless and a bit dizzy.

When he steps into the parlour, he immediately knows he’s not alone, and his body jolts like it’s just touched a live wire. His hands come instinctively to his hips, now devoid of his revolvers and holsters.  

“It's just me,” comes Inej’s familiar voice, from the place she’s resting against the window, back against it as she sharpens one of her knives.

“Saints,” Jesper breathes, heartbeat still racing hard in his chest. “You really scared the hell out of me, this time.”

Inej chuckles. "Kaz would make fun of us, the nice food and warm beds are getting to our heads.”

“They most definitely are. You can’t sleep either?” He murmurs, not wanting to be loud in fear of waking Wylan and Marya.

Inej silently shakes her head. “I’ve been having some rough nights. What about you?”

Jesper shrugs. “I….dunno. Been missing home a bit. It’s weird, cause I haven’t really missed the Farm or my father in years.”

“Mh,” Inej quietly muses. “Have you thought about writing to your father?”

Jesper smiles bitterly. “It’s not always that easy, ‘Nej.”

He can see her shrug, the dim light illuminating her face and her braided hair.“Sometimes it is, Jes. You still have a father to write to, after all. It’s not a privilege all of us have.”

Jesper rubs the back of his head. “Saints…you’re not usually this ruthless. Did you argue with Kaz?”

Inej stops the cloth running on her knife, looking up at him. “It may be surprising, but my emotional wellbeing doesn’t revolve around Kaz, or what he does to make me mad. Although he succeeds quite often.”

Her tone is hard, but she doesn’t sound angry, or bitter, just quietly scolding. Like Jesper is intruding and she wants him to mind his business. 

Jesper sighs, coming to rest with his back against the window, so he’s standing next to her. He lets his eyes wander towards the black canals, the city while it’s asleep, and the full moon reflected in Ketterdam’s waters.

“You like him a lot, don’t you?” He hears her murmur. Slowly he turns, but her expression from here is unreadable.

He knows who she’s talking about, though.

“Why are you asking?” He snaps, suddenly feeling exposed. He’s not sure he likes the feeling.

“It wasn’t a question,” she sighs. “You’re just…different, Jesper. No one’s ever made you quite like this. You really, really like him.” She says it as a matter of fact, and that might  be why her words hit him all that more.

Jesper is positive his cheeks are burning, by now, and he remains uncharacteristically silent. What is there to say? He really does like him, and now it’s making him quiet.

Inej smiles, and comes to elbow him on the side. “He makes you soft,” she sing-songs, more carefree and relaxed than he has heard her in weeks. Maybe since Matthias’ death.

Jesper grins, thoroughly flustered. “Do you think that’s a good thing?”

“Oh, he’s very good to you. It’s a matter of how open you are to whatever he brings into your life, but I say you’ll be good,” she smiles, elbowing him again.

Jesper laughs. “I’ll miss you, ‘Nej. Promise to write?”

“Of course,” she yawns, gently resting her head against his shoulder. “I promise.”

“ ‘Re you worried about your Ma, Wy?” Jesper asks, voice soft and so uncharacteristically quiet. 

Wylan has been incredibly silent all day, gnawing at his lip and biting his own fingernails when he thought no one was looking.

Jesper — he’s not nearly as observant as Wylan is — but he can read him pretty well, by now. There’s something about the merchling: when he believes in something, there’s a fierce sort of conviction to him, with eyes that spark like angry shooting stars and fists held so tight they become white. He can be pretty intense when his mind is set on something, and that happens to be pretty often.

The thing about it, though — is that it’s obvious when Wylan isn’t in the right state of mind. He’s pretty quiet, even if he speaks his mind loud enough. He’s more measured than Jesper, certainly, but even his silence is heavy, stained with a certain intensity, with keen attention and eyes so eager they burn in Jesper’s mind. So, it's easy to tell when he’s anxious, because it’s like he stops existing altogether, drawn into a world where he can hide from the shadows of reality.

He’s been like this all day, skittish and quiet in an uncharacteristic way. And even now, he’s not answering. But Jesper isn’t mad about that; he just seems lost in a different world altogether.

“Can I hug you?” Jesper whispers, a barely there sound.

Wylan doesn’t miss it now though, because his eyes dart towards Jesper, big and impossibly blue and a bit watery, and he bites his lip like he’s too stubborn to be seen crying.

Jesper wants to tell him that he doesn’t mind, really, that he has nothing to be ashamed of. But he’s not sure that would be the right thing, with how fragile Wylan looks, right now. 

Jesper has learned to think of him as brave and honest and strong because, really, he is. But right now, he just looks like a sixteen year old boy, not a merchant's son, not a criminal, not a bomb maker, just a boy who feels lost at the enormous weight that he has on his shoulders. 

Jesper doesn’t push, or prod, he just waits for whatever Wylan gives him.

“Please,” Wylan whispers back, and it’s all Jesper needs to close the distance between them.

The collision of limbs is just like Wylan: equally fierce and soft, taking his breath away with the honesty of it all. It’s Wylan gripping to his shirt like it’s a life saviour, Jesper’s gangly arms wrapped around his waist and his back, in a bid to keep him as humanly close as possible. It’s endlessly soft, because Jesper cares about Wylan a whole damn lot, but isn’t sure how to convey it with mere words. So he hugs him, and savours every inch of shaky breathlessness, every inch of Wylan’s anxiety, every inch of that ever-present doubt. 

“It’s going to be alright, Wylan, your mother is going to get better,” he murmurs, voice a bit muffled where his lips sit close to Wylan’s hair. He wants to kiss it, wants to kiss his curls and his forehead and his nose, but he’s afraid something would break. Mostly, he’s afraid that Wylan wouldn’t want it. So he stays as still as he can — which, admittedly, isn’t a lot — not pushing until he’s completely sure that’s what Wylan wants, too. 

“You can’t know it, Jes,” comes Wylan’s hitching breath reply, and Jesper can tell that he’s still stubbornly holding back his tears.

“Maybe not, but then you can’t either, all that worry is hurting you. She will feel better, and I’ll be here by your side. I’m not leaving you, merchling.”

Wylan steps back a little bit, looking up at him with serious, blue eyes.

“Promise to always tell me the truth?” He asks, and he looks so exposed.

An ugly feeling swoops in Jesper’s stomach.

He is anything but honest, has been anything but honest all these years. With his father, lying to him so deeply that he possibly couldn’t get back with the full truth. Lying to everyone in the Barrel so he could get that extra bit of money. But mostly, lying to himself.

Telling the truth — it doesn’t come easy to Jesper, and it hasn’t in a long, long time. Gambling was easier, running as fast as he could from anything hurtful was easier. So that was what Jesper did, most of the time.

But Matthias was right, Jesper is scared and angry, and he yet has to uncover everything about it. Because it scares him, mostly, but also because he doesn’t know who he is without being the easygoing sharpshooter, that one friend who’s always ready to crack a joke. 

But if there’s anything, anyone that actually makes him feel better—

“This action will have no echo,” he murmurs, cupping Wylan’s cheek in his hands, not listening to his own thrumming heart.

Wylan widens his eyes, and then that spectacular little worried furrow between his eyebrows is back again. “What do–”

Jesper laughs, unbidden, softly. He thinks his eyes are filled with affection, but he doesn’t have it in him to try and hide it. “It means I will try to, Wy. I’ll try to be good to you.” 

Maybe one day I will actually deserve you, his brain suggests, bitterly.

Wylan gives him a good smile though, a soft smile, and that makes the hurt in Jesper’s chest feel all the more bearable. Jesper smiles at him too, wide until his cheeks hurt a bit.

That ends up with another hug — an embarrassing one, because apparently they are still in the awkward stage — and Jesper’s gangly arms thrown around Wylan to hold him close. It ends up with Jesper chuckling and murmuring What do ya say about going on a date with me tomorrow, merchling? Too much work is bad for your health.

So, the following day, Jesper and Wylan go on a date — just a small, silly thing, out for waffles and then strolling in the nice Ketterdam alleys, buying orange-sugared pecans and sweet cider. He offers it all, even if Wylan protests, and he sneaks one hand out to hold Wylan’s – something he does so casually, just tugging Wylan’s hand close to his — but that sends too eager heat to his cheeks. 

Saints Alive, it’s not like he has never held hands with someone; he has already kissed Wylan on various occasions, but this, apparently, is what makes him flustered of all things. 

When he dares to look over his shoulder, he finds Wylan’s blue eyes already on him and they both erupt in embarrassed, breathy laughs. 

Being with Wylan, these first few weeks, comes with a lot of laughter and stolen kisses and days when they don’t kiss at all — even if Jesper would like to — because there’s a lot to do, and they haven’t properly put a word to this.

That’s alright with Jesper, because he knows Wylan cares about him just like Jesper cares about Wylan, and he likes his brilliant little merchling a whole damn lot. No, he knows he’s fallen in love, but that feels like too big a revelation to even properly think about.

So he reads to him, he flashes him big, stupid grins, he kicks his legs under the table — and Wylan kicks back, mind you — he ruffles his curls until Wylan bats his hand away, he sneaks into the kitchen to get him chocolate cake, and he kisses him whenever he gets the possibility. Being here, in a merchant’s house, is something he never would have believed he’d do, but it’s not like he minds it. Far from it, actually, because he gets to see Wylan every damn day and tuck him into a blush or that stubborn expression he makes right before kissing Jesper with bright determination. 

It’s a win-win situation, if you ask Jesper, and he doesn’t mean the warm bed he sleeps in, the good food, the luxury of it all. No, it’s all Wylan, with his bright eyes and the ways he tells Jesper to shut up, or they’ll hear us kissing with a smile on his lips and a hand to cover Jesper’s mouth and his stupid retorts. 

It’s all Wylan, through and through.

Marya starts getting better, and sometimes she has memories so vivid that she needs to rest for days, after. The mediks call them bad memories, although that’s putting it mildly. But they also tell Wylan that she’ll be alright, that it’ll all get better, and it’s not only a speculation now. 

It comes on a soft night — mid may. Jesper has been reading to Wylan, pacing around his study to better help his focus, while Wylan just scrunches up his nose and furrows his eyebrows in concentration. 

“Jes,” he hears Wylan whisper, and when he looks down, he finds him chewing on a pen. Damn, I wish I was that pen, Jesper thinks, and instantly kicks himself in the head for it. “Jes,” Wylan repeats, steadier now. “Would you like to come sleep with me?”

His face is red, and he’s biting his bottom lip, but he keeps looking at him, stubbornly and beautifully. Jesper wants to kiss him. 

“So eager to get laid with me, huh?” He grins, cocking his head to the side. Truth is, his heart has started beating scaringly fast.

Wylan blushes a deep, furious red, sending him an unamused glare. “That’s not what I meant. I just — you’re free to say no. I thought it would be nice to sleep in the same bed,” he mutters, flushing a shade darker. 

Jesper laughs, breathy as air. “You really don’t jump around things, eh? Saints, Wylan, I would love to sleep with you, no pun intended, but wouldn’t you be tempted by my gorgeous body then?” 

Wylan rolls his eyes. “If there’s anyone who will be tempted by someone’s gorgeous body, it’s you, actually.”

He’s not wrong, but Jesper doesn’t dare say as much. He just grins, wider than anything, unable to convey how much he actually wants this.

So Jesper follows him, and Wylan helps him settle all his stuff — clothing, guns and collection of hats included — into his own room. 

He feels a weird cocktail of anxiety and excitement  as he does so, taking in Wylan’s room’s light blue walls, the paintings, the music sheets. It’s all so Wylan that he feels like he could burst.

That night, lying on Wylan’s bed with his heart thrumming like a stampede of horses in his chest, he stares at the way the moon illuminates Wylan’s features in the dark. That night, Wylan comes closer to him, brushing his lips just faintly against Jesper’s. 

They’ve kissed plenty by now, but this feels far more intimate than anything they’ve ever done, more personal. Jesper feels everything heightened by the knowledge of Wylan’s body lying close to him, soft curls brushing on his forehead.

They fall asleep like that, with faces mere inches away, not touching, not cuddling, just facing each other.

In the very last week of May, Inej leaves.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He knows that would have happened, but it doesn’t mean it makes him any less sad. 

The day before, she was drinking and laughing with them in the parlour— and now she’s just…gone. 

Over the years, she has become his rock in the Barrel. Not the only friend he’s made, certainly, but the most honest one, possibly. It’s not a goodbye, and he knows that, but he still can’t help the part of him that aches and aches and aches.

She’ll be back by fall, and she’ll bring tokens from her travels, bright-eyed and free and courageous like she always is. She deserves this — the life that she’s always wanted, after all — he just selfishly wishes she didn’t have to leave him in the process.

Jesper is just a little bit sad about not being able to see his Da for his birthday, but then again, he knows the travel would take up to one entire month, and he has already spent lots of birthdays without him. But this year, he thinks of him, as he receives a letter packed with a box of Zemeni food and his favourite chestnuts. Wylan notices, with careful, observant eyes, and he hugs Jesper’s to his chest when he finds him sobbing quietly in their bedroom.

All in all, Jesper has a fucking great birthday. Inej is still out at sea, and they haven’t heard from Nina in weeks, but even Kaz graces them with his presence. 

He spends the whole day with Wylan — who had wanted to surprise him, and decided to take him out to the Kerch countryside, and Jesper feels so loved he could burst. It’s not an easy feeling to manage, so he laughs it off, running down hills until their laughter is lost to the wind and Jesper catches a breathless Wylan, whispering gotcha now, merchling .

At night, Jesper brings Wylan down to the Barrel to drink something with his friends. He hasn’t properly gone there in weeks, and he’s surprised to find out just how much he misses it. 

There’s Kaz, dressed religiously in black, and there’s some of the Dregs too — Keeg, Roeder, Anika and Pim, freshly boyfriend and girlfriend.

Jesper doesn’t stay awake too late that night, mostly because he gets tired, and wants to come back to bed with his boyfriend, even if Kaz says that Living under a merchant’s roof has softened you. Jesper doesn’t think he cares one bit, honestly, because he’s just happy, and what else matters? There was a time when Kaz Brekker’s words would have stinged him, would have made him more insecure. Would have made him doubt himself. But now, it only feels like an echo from the past, a ghost translucent in the darkness.

They haven’t done a lot — but Jesper isn’t mad about it. Just kisses, lots of them, hidden in cupboards and dark corners with embarrassed faces when someone walks in on them. 

When they kiss, Jesper sometimes starts to ramble, because his mind runs wild. Mostly, he rambles about Wylan, because he just has to, and Wylan always flushes a deep red when Jesper tells him you’re so handsome and like you so much, merchling.

The down-payment doesn’t come, and hell , Jesper is more than fine with it. He’s hardly here for Wylan’s sexual favours. He hadn’t even thought of proposing such a thing yet, until Wylan did — because of course he did — and now Jesper is left to feel all flustered whenever he thinks about it. But it’s not a problem, not really. He just happens to be a stupid, horny teenager, sometimes. 

Usually he and Wylan sneak into the kitchens at night, hoping to steal something sweet without anyone noticing, but tonight, Wylan is sleeping soundly at his side. All he can see is a mop of red-gold curls pressed against the pillow. Jesper, on his part, has been struggling with ongoing insomnia. He keeps waking up in the middle of the night, with an odd sort of restlessness.

It’s so weird, because it never happened to him in the Barrel. Or maybe it did, but he filled time with the spin of Makker’s wheel, so he can’t really tell. What he can tell is that there’s no easy distraction here, nowhere to go to escape the mess in his head.

Silently, he gets out of bed, his footsteps light against the hardwood floor. He used to love the night in the Barrel: so much to do, so many bright colours and raunchy laughter and cheap drinks and risks to take. Here, everything is different, quieter. When Jesper steps out into the corridor, he finds to none of his surprise that everyone is sleeping quietly, The rain is tapping not-so-gently against the windows, and the rich walls make him feel small, somehow.

Jesper has yet to learn every Mansion’s room for it to properly start feeling like home. There’s Wylan’s and his bedchamber, often messy with clothes thrown on the floor, or Wylan’s sheets full of equations and calculi. There’s the parlour, with its dark brown mahogany and austere look (they’re working on it, Wylan is hanging Marya’s paintings and Jesper promised he would fabrikate something).

The sunroom is probably the one he likes the most, though; it stares directly into the canal and their back garden and it’s the place for things such as having tea or painting.

It’s such a far cry from how Jesper grew up, but he thinks he’s starting to get used to it. 

Underneath him, the floor creaks.

It’s habit to sneak into the kitchens, really.

He’s not exactly hungry — he’s been growing spoiled with the Mansion’s generosity with food — but a little distraction might help.

He jumps in his wake when he spots someone in their nightgown searching for something in the cupboard. Well, not just about anyone. It’s Marya.

Saints, what is it with other people at night giving him the creeps?

She gasps loudly too, bringing a hand to her mouth. Her eyes go wide, and Jesper instantly feels bad. The last thing he wants to do is to scare Wylan’s mother, especially with how frail she has been.

“Sorry,” he is quick to say, “it’s me. I didn’t want to scare you.” He doesn’t add you scared me, even though it would be the truth.

“Oh, don’t worry darling,” she reassures him, gently catching her breath. “I am just struggling to find sleep these nights.”

“I’ve been too,” Jesper says unhelpfully, bringing a hand to scratch the back of his head. He feels sheepish, and he’s not sure why.

Marya quietly hums. “It drives you crazy, how big this house is. I used to be at peace here, but now it’s filled with memories and ghosts” she murmurs, almost to herself.

Jesper ponders what to say — which he isn’t very used to, admittedly, but he feels like he needs to with her. There’s no room for free idiocy. He wants to be deliberate, he wants to make a good impression. 

“You and Wylan are both very brave,” he says, tapping lightly with his fingers on the countertop. “It wouldn’t be easy for anyone, what you’ve been through. But you still manage to have the strength to come here and begin a new life. Hell, I’m sure that this house is going to start feeling a lot more yours soon. ”

Marya looks up at him, her eyes a bit glossy. “I appreciate that, darling. You’re doing so much to make Wylan happy and I can’t tell you how glad I am for that. He would be far more lost, if you hadn’t been there.”

Jesper smiles softly. “T’s only my pleasure. He makes me happy as well, but please don’t tell him I told you.”

Marya laughs loudly, tipping her head backwards much like Wylan does. It brings a little more colour to her cheeks, and Jesper is glad to see her smiling. 

“Do you want a piece of cake?” She asks, after a few seconds of silence. 

“Gladly,” Jesper answers, flashing her a grin. He takes the cake from the tabletop, hoping it will calm his nerves. All Saints and your aunt Eva, why does she manage to make him this nervous? What if she notices that he doesn’t quite fit in here, or deems him unfit for her son? After all, she wouldn't be wrong. Jesper is well aware that Wylan deserves much more than him, but the merchling is a stubborn little thing and he won’t let him go.

A few crumbs fall on his neck and chest, but he’s too preoccupied eating this frankly wonderful cake to bother. He would moan theatrically if Wylan was there, but with Marya, he holds back. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Marya says quietly. Her voice is not accusatory, but rather curious. He doesn’t know why it mortifies him that much.

“Sorry Ma’am,” he mutters, because what else can he say? He feels thoroughly and deeply scolded. His ears burn a little bit with shame.

Marya chuckles, like she’s so delighted by all of this. “You don’t need to call me Ma’am, dear. Just Marya is fine.”

Jesper nods, tapping with his foot on the floor and finding it hard for his arms to stay still.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t want it to sound like I was scolding. But rather…it pains me that I haven’t been coherent enough for most of the time, or able to greet you properly. I’ve only known you for a short time but I already see you as my second son, and this is your home too.”

Jesper feels tears welling up his eyes. Saints bless Wylan and his mother’s penchant for speaking so eagerly.

“Sorry,” he says weakly, for what feels like the umpteenth time this night. “My Ma passed away years ago. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I’ve been a little anxious about…talking to you. I don’t know. I’ve been without her for so long, that you kind of brought back something, and that made me nervous and not sure how to act, I guess.”

“Oh, dear,” she says, placing a hand on top of Jesper’s. “That must have been very hard for you, I’m sorry. I lost my mother at an early age, too. And it’s understandable for you to feel anxious, however long that might be. Feel free to keep avoiding me if you feel like it, in fact.”

Now it’s Jesper’s turn to laugh: more genuinely, loud and unbidden. “I don’t really want to avoid you, Ma’am, you’re actually less intimidating than I thought you’d be.”

Marya gives him a pleased smile, and right now, Jesper notices that she looks so poised. Everything that was taken away from her, all the pain she went through, the son she lost and got separated from…and she still looks and acts like the rightful matriarch of this house. Saints, the strength this woman has.

Lightly, Jesper elbows her at the side, grinning wide. “I can ask Wylan and then we can take you out one of these days, what do you say?” Jesper asks. “Out for waffles, strolling near the canals?”

Marya chuckles lowly. “That sounds lovely, darling. I miss strolling through the city. I had a favourite boutique that sold all kinds of watercolours, I wonder if it’s still there. I would like to go.”

“Wonderful,” Jesper applauds. “Whatever you want.”

Those first weeks, he learns a lot of things about Wylan.

He learns that he uses crayons to draw, sometimes, he learns that he has a completely adorable expression when he wakes up, he learns that he likes lemon and vanilla tarts best, even if he doesn’t like powdered sugar and ends up blowing it until it ends up on Jesper’s clothes. He learns that Wylan Van Eck kisses with the ferocity and the sweetness of a spring thunderstorm, making him feel treasured and thrilled at the same time. He learns that he absolutely adores dancing when no prying eye is around, and that he loves to put on music and grab Jesper by the waist and just swing with him, eyes locked in eyes and swinging hips. He learns that he loves pressing Jesper to a wall and kissing him stupid.

He loves it when Wylan crawls on his lap and they kiss for what feels like fucking hours, until one of them starts laughing breathlessly and the other follows suit, with soft murmurs of Do you want some biscuits? and Yeah, please that end up with them sneaking into the kitchens and kissing until they’re breathless there, too. Jesper loves sitting on Wylan’s lap too ( adores it, even) although at first he had been embarrassed because he’s as tall as a stork and Wylan is shorter and maybe it would be weird—

But Wylan loves it, and welcomes it with eager hands, always smiling softly when Jesper comes to sit on top of his legs, sneaking a hand behind his waist to hold him closer. His legs are ever-moving, of course, but sitting on Wylan like that, with his pretty blue eyes on him, he always feels his heart in his throat, his breath catching at the intensity of what he feels. They haven’t said the word yet, but Jesper knows, just like he knows the back of his hand, that he is falling, and falling ruinously head over heels with Wylan Van Eck. 

It started months ago, with soft glances and harsh bickering at the Ice Court, but Jesper feels like he just keeps falling and falling like there's no ground to hit, no grand finale. When he’s sitting on top of Wylan and he’s looking at him with those blue, earnest eyes, he thinks a lot of things, but mostly Saints, he looks like a prince and Goddamn, I’m so gone for this boy . 

Sometimes, he needs to reassure him — because for some inconceivable reason, Wylan still thinks, fears that Jesper is going to leave him, to go back to the Barrel and find someone better. 

As if. 

There’s no one prettier than Wylan Van Eck, and no one he wants to be with right now that isn’t his fresh-faced, brilliant merchling. Wylan scowls when he tells him as much, like he doesn’t believe him, so Jesper has to show him with kisses — lots of them. He trails kisses on his hands, on his cheek and on his forehead, careful about each and every of them. Wylan always flushes a deeper red, but if that’s the cost of Jesper proving to him how much he likes him, he sure can manage. Those kinds of nights always leave Jesper a bit breathless, the both of them kissing for hours, but he surely does love it. 

He loves it, too, when Wylan attempts at teaching him how to play the piano, and it ends up quite miserably. Or maybe it was the fact that Jesper kept staring at Wylan — hell, how does his nose look so good? — and at his hands and paying very little attention to his words. Wylan notices, of course he does, and he huffs and rolls his eyes and complains, but Jesper doesn’t miss the way he looks thoroughly pleased with himself. Jesper tries, he really does,  but he can’t pay attention. Every time Wylan asks Jes, what have I just said? he can only smile dumbly and try to win him over with a kiss. 

Sometimes, he wakes up to find the bed empty and free of Wylan, and he panics, if only for a second, only to find him painting in the sunroom.

He knows he struggles with nightmares and not being able to sleep at times, and painting always helps ease his nerves. Those mornings Jesper walks straight to him only to find him with not much on — just a shirt that hangs low on his thighs — and sees him focused and gorgeous with a paintbrush in hand that he thinks, I don’t want to rush things but damn, do I want to take his clothes off now. 

Sometimes, they both can’t sleep, and they lay in bed, in complete darkness save for moonlight filtering through the window, facing each other.

It starts with gentle touches: Wylan’s hand moving closer and closer until it sits against his chest, and starts stroking against his sleep shirt. Jesper’s breath always catches in his throat, and he doesn’t know how to tell him, ask him, to please keep touching him. It’s a gentle touch, a reverential one, but it sends him burning and exploding in quiet silence all the same. Jesper is never quiet, but on nights like this, they both are, and his eyes search Wylan’s curls in the darkness.

Wylan then lowers his hand just enough to make Jesper — stupidly, stupidly — think that he’ll push it down his pants, but it just sits patiently above Jesper’s waistband.

“Can I?” Wylan whispers.

Jesper isn’t sure what he’s asking for, but he nods anyway, because he’ll give Wylan whatever he wants. 

He finds out pretty soon that whatever he wants is to sneak his hand under Jesper’s shirt, and to caress the skin of his stomach, just touching like it’s exploring. Jesper gasps at the first feeling of his soft hand against his own skin, and then keeps gasping until he feels all embarrassed with himself. Saints, they aren’t doing anything racy and he’s already like this. What’s gotten to him? 

But it’s not his fault he melts under Wylan’s touch like wax on fire, it’s not his fault those soft, teasing touches make the butterflies in his stomach flutter their wings in a crazy haze of desire. It’s not his fault Wylan’s skin feels so smooth, so delicate that it makes his breath catch. He just lays there, feeling his body go pliant and dizzy with how much he wants him, trying to focus on every faint touch of Wylan’s hand, like holding on to a lifeline. I love him, he thinks, even if he’s not ready to utter the words yet. I love him, I love him, I love him.

Then, he gets an idea. Or, it’s not exactly a brilliant, original idea, but he doesn’t think he cares.

He’s just gotten lost in his own thrumming heart, breath catching and then catching again, that he’s forgotten he has two damn hands as well. So, he sneaks one of his own under the covers, resting patiently against Wylan’s sleep shirt until he whispers a faint Yes. Then, he really does touch his skin, fingers tapping and exploring and so fucking delighted to have all that skin under his hand. Jesper feels like he has just unwrapped the best present.

He stays where he is, and moves his hand on Wylan’s stupidly soft skin. He’s not as bony as Jesper, and even if he’s pretty skinny himself, the skin of his stomach is the softest thing he’s ever touched. He’s also much warmer than Jesper would have expected, and it’s making him a bit heady. A prince’s skin, he thinks in a haze, unable to do anything but take it all in with sheer reverence and awed breathlessness. It’s easy to caress his sides, his stomach and just explore. Jesper loved exploring, as a kid: loved getting lost in endless green hills, loved going on adventures, loved doing anything reckless. Now, in a dark room, with a hand softly tracing Wylan’s stomach, he loves exploring too.

Wylan’s breath comes out as a bit laboured too, and Jesper is glad he’s not the only one to be so affected by all of this.

“You’re gorgeous, how are you this gorgeous?” Jesper whispers. It’s the truth, though, and Jesper isn’t one for lying. Not about this, at least. 

That night, they fall asleep far past their usual bedtime, but he doesn’t mind it, trailing bold touches and faint kisses and feeling adoration run all over him.

“Jes?” Wylan murmurs, sitting on top of their couch.

Jesper dares a glance in his direction, lips a bit swollen and messy hair. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

Jesper doesn’t miss how Wylan flushes pink at the pet name, and takes mental note of it.

“Are you all talk and no action?” Wylan asks, sounding genuinely confused.

“Whatever do you mean?” Jesper asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“ I mean,” Wylan exhales, almost exasperated, “that you flirted so much, still flirt so much, but you still haven’t made a move to take my clothes off. I thought you’d be someone who gets what he wants.”

Jesper quirks up an eyebrow. “Is that what you want, merchling? For me to take your clothes off?”

Wylan shrugs. “Possibly, " he says with faux innocence.

Jesper rolls his eyes. “You know you’re kinda making me hot, right?” 

Wylan smiles. “It doesn’t sound like an inconvenience” 

Jesper wastes no time putting down the book he was reading and coming closer, ever attracted to him like pulled by an invisible magnet.

Wylan is wearing his blue vest, and that makes the gorgeous colour in his eyes pop even more. Slowly, Jesper kisses him, tilting his chin up and tasting the sweetness of his lips. Their tongues meet in between, and it leaves Jesper feeling all kinds of warm until he gets the urge to do something else.

To Wylan’s soft complaints, Jesper pulls away, only to lower his head.

Sucking and biting at the soft skin of Wylan’s neck is a gift on its own, and Jesper does that oh so eagerly. He uses his tongue and mouth and teeth, going slow, straddling Wylan’s legs and giving all his attention to the other boy’s neck.

He savours each light gasp Wylan makes, each gorgeous hitch in his breath. He’s so wonderfully responsive , and it’s more than a bit heady for Jesper to hear all those pretty, addictive sounds. He’s pressed close to him, practically, and can feel the moment Wylan starts getting interested. Jesper keeps sucking kisses on his soft skin.

Wylan doesn’t stop the hitch of his breath, until he starts making soft, needy sounds that set Jesper’s skin aflame.

“Saints, you’re killing me,” Jesper groans, breathless.

He pushes the collar of Wylan’s perfect shirt lower, until he can mouth at the skin of his collarbones.

“Did you… ah, ever imagine doing anything with me?” Wylan says above him, half breathless himself. 

He's got a blunt mouth on him, Jesper thinks, only a little surprised.

He thinks of the times he’s wondered about red-gold curls and what it would feel like to run a hand through them, or see those skilled musician’s fingers at work. That happened way before they set off for Fjerda, though, and Jesper’s a bit embarrassed to admit that he was having those kinds of thoughts about the merchling. Most of all, curious and annoyed and unable to stop his traitorous mind.

Definitely, he thinks, but he’s not able to say that. 

“If I’ve ever thought about you wearing hot, silky pants? No, but we can try, they look very good on me,” Jesper winks, pulling away from Wylan’s soft neck.

Wylan huffs. “Ghezen, why do you have to say things like this?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. “I just wanted to know the truth, Jesper.”

Soundlessly, Jesper sighs. The truth isn’t easy for him, and he’s not sure why he can’t simply admit it. There’s nothing wrong about it, after all, but deflecting and flirting is always easier.

“Yes, of course I’ve thought about it, Wylan,” he admits, quietly. “Hell, I’d really like to. I just…didn’t want to rush anything. You have enough things on your plate.”

Wylan flushes a shade darker. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like I’m some kind of desperate, over eager fool.”

Jesper smiles. “I know you aren’t.”

“It’s just…if you want me, why don’t you act like it?”

Jesper widens his eyes in disbelief. “Are you…have you been worrying about me not wanting you?”

“A little, yes,” Wylan quietly admits.

Jesper laughs incredulously. “Baby, that couldn’t be further from the truth, believe me. Hell, I’ll prove it to you if that will help.”

Wylan bites his bottom lip, trying to hide a smile. “It might help a little, yes.”

Well, if that’s the case…

That's the moment someone knocks on the door insintingly urgently.

Both of their heads turn towards the source of the noise, almost theatrically. 

The voice that speaks, still behind closed door, is accented with Ravkan. "Mr Van Eck, a man who says he is your friend is asking for a meeting.”

Loudly, Jesper groans. “This can’t be.”

Quickly, Wylan scrambles to stand up, unceremoniously getting Jesper off his lap.Then, he makes a small coughing noise and speaks intentionally loud. “Thank you Julien, tell him I’ll be there in a minute”

He rushes towards the nearest mirror, then, groaning as he takes in the purple marks on his pale skin. “Ghezen, they’ll — Jesper, look at the marks you made on me,” Wylan says, horrified. His eyes are wide blue pools, and he looks absolutely anxious.

Jesper laughs. “Give me a second and we’ll be able to hide it,” he murmurs. Then, he cocks his head to the side. “On a side note, they look really nice on you. You bruise so easily and sweetly,” Jesper coos, grinning.

Wylan scowls. “There won’t be anything sweet about all of this when someone sees your hickeys.”

“Which you liked,” Jesper remarks.

“You’re not helping,” Wylan grumbles.

Jesper sighs. “Give me a sec, love, I’ll find you a nice scarf. Actually, I’m more desperate about this, ” he says, his gaze pointed deliberately towards his own pants and the place he’s still straining against them. “Just when we were about to get it on... ” 

Wylan laughs. “See? That’s what you deserve for not thinking about taking my clothes off sooner.” 

Jesper scoffs. “I bet the man that wants to see you is Kaz. He would be absolutely delighted to know that he just ruined our sexually active afternoon. What a dickhead."

Wylan agrees gloomily. “It’s definitely Kaz.”

Initially, Jesper had thought Wylan was just a pretty face — an irritatingly pretty face, because he was just useless. He had thought that was all there was to him — this new kid, kept under Kaz ‘s wing for Saints know what. And when he had found out he was a merchant’son, he’d gotten even angrier. He had been jealous, too, because this rich kid didn’t belong in a place like the Barrel in any way whatsoever.

How wrong he had been.

The thing is, Jesper has always liked pretty faces. Back home in Novyi Zem, his first girlfriend had been a cute little girl with a radiant smile and tight curls and a gap between her teeth. They lasted a month together, because they were both twelve and got bored  soon after sappy kisses and I love yous . He wasn’t in love, but for a month, he had thought he was.

He liked people, and Ketterdam was no exception.

There had been a Shu girl with cute pigtails and black, silky hair. Now, she has a girlfriend — and hell, he always greets the both of them when he spots them at the market. A Ravkan boy with kind eyes and broad shoulders and lots of freckles. Well, not as many as Wylan, now that he knows they reach down to his back and stomach, too. There had been a girl from the Southern Colonies, too, with brown curls and the scent of freshly cut grass. 

There have been people he thought were pretty and tried to flirt with, just for fun. Sometimes nothing happened, for one reason or the other. Boys that weren’t into boys and girls that glared his way and called him insolent . Sometimes, he liked to flirt just for the sake of it; leaning with his back against a door and winking at someone, or offering to buy waffles even if he barely had Kruge for himself. It was always a reward: to see someone flustered because of him. It was a little like gambling. 

Although, he has found out, none of it is as big a reward as when he makes Wylan blush. The boy’s probably never been flirted with in his life, as sheltered from the world as he’s been, and Jesper considers it a pity, truly. He is so wonderfully easy to rile up, that it still sends a thrill up Jesper’s spine, even now that they live comfortably under the same roof.

The thing is — Jesper sometimes liked flirting more than the idea of kissing, or hooking up with people itself. He liked the rush, the thrill, the easy way he’d feel good about himself, sometimes bragging about things he hasn’t even done. 

Jesper isn’t mad about that. He knows what people think — Jesper Fahey, a flirt, always greedy for more. But that’s not the truth, not all there is to him. In truth, he’s always been awfully romantic, no matter what people think. He’s had his own share of fleeting crushes, because people were another sparkling distraction in his line of eyes to get addicted to, but that was it. It was nothing big, even if he still felt the burning sting of rejection when someone would say he was insolent and push him away. But he didn’t fall in love with anyone he’d meet, thank you very much, and he used to deal with the ugly feeling of rejection with the spin of Makker’s wheel just like he used it to deal with anything ever. 

There had also been Madeleine, a blonde girl with rich, not-Barrel clothes, except Jesper hadn't even kissed her. He would have, he supposes, after a waffle date, if only he hadn’t gone to Fjerda and then back and fallen disastrously head over heels with a merchant's son. Well, that’s just life, isn’t it? Jesper is very much satisfied with where he is right now.

Something changed when he met Kaz. He’d still flirt with people, still chase that ruthless sensation, but he had really believed he was in love with him, hadn’t he? Hell, he’s embarrassed to think about how down bad he actually was, knowing it was hopeless and finding comfort in it.

To think about it now, it is so much different than what he has with Wylan. Kaz was like drawing cards even though he already knew he’d lose, hurting himself over and over again, addicted to his intricate complications like Icarus drawn to the sun.

Wylan — though — Wylan makes him calm, he speaks earnestly, proper Geldstraat, pouring his heart out so bravely that Jesper sometimes feels like a coward himself. Wylan strips him bare of everything he had thought true about himself, challenging him with his generous way of seeing the world. Wylan is naive and soft about many things, certainly, but that might be what makes him so good for Jesper.

He had thought he was in love with Kaz, but this ? This is something different altogether.

Jesper’s seen lots of pretty faces in the Barrel, all kinds of people dressed in the most eccentric clothes.

But the first time he saw Wylan — he still remembers it so vividly. He had thought he looked like a prince, with skin that looked way too soft to be in the Barrel, and gorgeous red-gold curls that stuck to his forehead, damp with heat.

Everything from that moment on; every taunt, every tease, every flirting remark had been directed towards the merchling, as Jesper found his thoughts often straying to red-gold curls and freckled cheeks. Equally annoyed with him and unable to get him off his mind.

Jesper’s always liked pretty faces, and there’s a lot to like about Wylan: from the top of his silky curls, to his fucking gorgeous hands. The flush on his cheeks, his small, perfect nose that Jesper absolutely adores to kiss and kiss. His stubborn, incredibly blue eyes and his soft, well-shaped lips.

He looks like a prince, and Jesper has told him that on nights he was tipsy, or drunk maybe, because he’s a bit too embarrassed to say that when he’s sober. But he always, always thinks that. 

And, well, there’s no one prettier than Wylan Van Eck. 

It’s a rainy day that finds them in the library, not for reading, certainly not, although Jesper has started reading a book with folk tales to Wylan, and he’s always curious to know more. But right now, they aren’t reading, and he must admit that the mansion’s library is quite unused, as it is.

“Wy, mmh–”

Wylan doesn’t let him finish talking, because he just presses his own lips against Jesper’s a bit insistently, until Jesper’s head is a mess of incoherent thoughts.

Saints. 

He doesn’t mind it though, certainly not, especially when Wylan steps closer and he has all of Wylan Van Eck pressed deliciously against his body. It’s a treat, really, and Jesper runs his hand through Wylan’s curls to push him impossibly closer.

Jesper — mortifyingly — realises he’s hard in his trousers, just from kissing his stupidly attractive boyfriend. It’s fair, really, because Wylan is gorgeous and good and amazing and his body just reacts. 

“You know we don’t need to do anything just because we talked about it, right?” he croaks out, trying to muster up more firmness than he feels.

Truth is, he really, really wants to.

“What if I wanted?” Wylan says back.

Jesper is seemingly left speechless, and that’s as mortifying as it gets. 

“It’s…yeah, whatever you want, merchling”

“I don’t want to do whatever I want, I want to do this with you, Jes.”

And — well.

Jesper surges forward to kiss him.

His head is spinning already, made better by his hand on Wylan’s waist and the way Wylan keeps tugging him down by his collar. He’s already melting at his touch, and he’s barely touching him at all, but Jesper’s so in love and desperate for him that his knees buckle and his heart races.

“Wait, Wylan,” he says, placing a hand on top of the other boy’s vest, close to his heart. Wylan looks at him with furrowed eyebrows, almost confused as to why Jesper would ever hesitate right now. He’s not wrong, but Jesper feels the urge to get this off his chest like he’s never felt quite anything before. 

“I have to tell you something that’s been on my mind for weeks, now, maybe months.” He exhales, trying to muster up courage, because honesty doesn’t come easy to him, especially not about this. 

But Wylan has made him braver, in a way, and he really is sure that he deserves to know.

“Look, what I’m trying to say…” He starts, noticing the way Wylan bites his lower lip in worry, or doubt, anxiety clear on his face. Jesper looks away, and takes his hands off him completely, the touch almost too much. 

He takes a deep breath.

“I’m trying to say that I love you, Wylan. I’ve wanted to kiss you since that very first time at the tannery and now you’re mine and I’m stupidly in love with you and I’m not always good at telling you, but I do love you and—”

Two hands come to hold his face, steady and sweet, and when he blinks again he’s presented with the sight of Wylan beaming like he’s the fucking sun, or something. “I think I got the message.”

“You did?” Jesper exhales shakily.

“Quite clearly,” He says, still smiling wide, wide, almost bold. Jesper loves to see him like this: not doubting the love that he so naturally deserves, bright eyed and happy, with his cheeks all tinted pink. He wants to lean in and kiss him so bad.

“I love you too,” Wylan says, before Jesper can do anything. His voice is light, eager, honest, the very first thing that made him fall in love in the first place.

“ You love me ?” Jesper asks, incredulous.

“Of course I do, dumbass,” Wylan smiles. 

“Saints, Wy, I couldn’t be more or happy in love right now,” He says, still breathless. “Can we celebrate?”

“What, exactly?” Wylan blinks.

“The fact that we love each other! We should have cake and tell everyone. Well, maybe not everyone,” he’s quick to add, after seeing the panicked expression on Wylan’s face. “But I can tell Kaz.”

“He’ll hate it.”

“His problem, I want to be insufferable about this.”

Wylan laughs.

“Yes, yes, that’s all good and sweet, but you said you were going to…you know,”  Wylan gestures vaguely.

“Wylan Van Eck, you horny little shit…” Jesper laughs, widening his eyes in disbelief.

“Look, you said that you love me, but you’ve never even seen my dick. How can you know you really love me if you’ve never seen it? What if you don’t like it?” He blushes furiously as he says so, but he stays dead serious, which makes everything even more absurd. Jesper barks out laughing.

“Wylan, I really don’t think that seeing your dick will make me love you less. On the contrary,” He says, trying to be as patient and put-together as possible. “I will love it. Him. Whatever pronouns we’re using. Does it have a name?”

“ Ghezen, no,”   Wylan whines, hands coming to cover his face, now splotching red. “You’re terrible, I can’t believe I just told you I love you.”

“This is only the beginning, sweetheart,” he says, kissing the hands that are hiding his face. 

As Wylan laughs, and lets himself be kissed properly, Jesper’s only thoughts are a repeated chorus of: I love him, I love him, I love him.

They laugh a lot through it, and they kiss a lot, and it’s all so perfect and sweet that it makes his heart ache.

Inej was right — he really has gone incredibly soft for this boy, but he doesn’t think he minds it. Not even one bit.