Chapter Text
Wylan sits, prim and proper as a statue while he waits for the legal team in front of him to finish their final assessments of the signed contract. He’s careful to make sure nothing is out of place about his composure. His eyes are firmly fixed ahead of him despite the effort it takes to ignore the fidgeting of the man in the chair beside him. There is nothing about this situation that he hasn’t experienced before. In fact, he’s so used to everything that he already knows the script by heart.
He will spend the next six months, give or take, elevating someone else’s career while the world feeds off their own sense of voyeurism, watching the young Van Eck heir fall in love again. In a way, he finds it all comical. It’s easy to deceive the masses with a few well crafted lies. His slight frame and gentle appearance have always lended well to the fawning Kerch public, centering him as the nation’s prince charming . Never guessing that each prior break with a lover was always so clean because it was entirely fake. If any of the men (and once, but only once, a woman) spoke up on the truth they’d find themselves sued into oblivion by Van Eck Industries.
They always received what they wanted in the end, anyway. That was never Wylan himself, and Wylan couldn’t say he’d ever truly mourned their loss. That didn’t do much to fill in the hollowness he felt every time he was told to do this dance again. Another false lover, desperate for fame and fortune. Another reminder that Wylan would only ever be worth this much.
The sound of fingers pinging off the sleek metal arm of the chair beside him finally draws his attention, despite his best efforts. He follows the line of those dancing digits upwards, until blue eyes fall on the side of a sharp face - full lips, bright eyes, a well groomed fade. The man is attractive , but then they always are. Tall, lean, and built for the spotlight in some way. Actors, singers, models . Wylan knows the man at his side is the latter, recently featured in Kerch Vanity . It’s the signal of a rapidly rising new face that the world is sure to love. For a time, at least. For as long as this one managed to avoid a scandal.
Jesper Fahey fits the look and demeanor of a model, judging from their first introduction - which had been a too familiar handshake and far too much winking. Wylan is still ashamed of the ferocity with which he’d blushed when he’d been called gorgeous . Watching the man now, Fahey’s knee bouncing in a rapid out of time motion to his fingers, Wylan has to wonder how in Ghezen’s name he ever manages to sit still long enough to do the kind of work he’s known for.
Wylan still can’t help being curious. Who from his PR team had picked this one? To say Jesper Fahey did not match the usual standards his father would have selected is … well . The fact he wasn’t Kerch was the most subtle way of putting it, but Wylan finds himself wondering if his father is even aware. Without ever stating it, because that would be career suicide, Jan Van Eck happened to be an abhorrent racist . Wylan can’t imagine his father wouldn’t know, which meant there was some other game being played here. Beyond making the next six months something unbearable for Wylan.
His brow furrows as he watches Fahey move, his lips curved down in a small frown while he tries to puzzle out his father’s motives. Whatever they are, he supposes Fahey doesn’t care enough about that, because he’s already willingly signed the contract. All things considered, Wylan’s opinion of this man - his morals or his attractiveness - didn’t really matter. He had also signed the damned thing. Not that he’d ever had much of a choice.
Fahey leans across the space between them, his voice low and his mouth crooked with a grin. “Either you’re as bored as I am, given that expression, or I’ve already done something to horribly offend you. In which case, I apologize, and I can’t promise it won’t happen again. I can assure you I’ll try not to let it.”
The dip between Wylan’s brows deepens. He can’t help the wary skepticism that flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t pull away immediately, instead calculating Fahey’s words and brazen body language. He can already feel the six months of headache throbbing. He wouldn’t even be able to get drunk to ignore it. Wylan’s lips quirk, expression sardonic as he leans in just a little closer himself.
“I’ll never tell you which it is.” He murmurs back, attempting to sound conspiring instead of scornful. Unsure how well he manages it.
Someone clears their throat in front of them, and Wylan immediately straightens his spine. Any glimmer of emotion is instantly wiped from his face like it never existed in the first place.
“Everything is in order, Van Eck.” Says one of the men, before the group of lawyers stand.
Wylan notes the way none of them bother to further acknowledge Fahey. A frown appears again before he lets out a tired sigh, nodding.
“Then our business here is done for today. Thank you.” He concludes, rising to his own feet.
“Your itinerary for public appearances will be forwarded to the both of you by the end of the day.” The same man tells them.
Wylan stiffens, but nods again in return, ready to leave without another word. He gathers his coat, making his way towards the exit without a glance back. This will be no different than all the others. They’ll make appearances, follow the script, life will go on. His stomach feels heavy as lead. He shrugs into one arm of his coat before Fahey catches up to him in three long strides to plant himself directly in the way.
“Oi, sweetheart! In a rush to get out of here, aren’t you? Have another appointment? I was thinking we could catch some lunch, have a chat.”
Fahey’s grin is still loose and easy. Wylan stops abruptly and blinks. Confusion etches itself vividly across his face before he manages to school his expression.
“Sorry?” He questions, instead of outright saying what? like he wants to.
What in Ghezen’s name is this man talking about?
“Did you not hear them? Our itinerary won’t be finalized until this evening.” He points out, that furrow returning to his brow in full force.
There was not a lunch date on his schedule. Or was there? Panic seizes him for a second and he forces it back down before the emotion can make itself known on his face. Has he missed something? Was there some new clause in the contract he wasn’t made aware of? He doesn’t think that’s something his team would neglect to inform him of, but then several things about this entire set up already felt strange. What has he missed, and how much trouble is he going to be in for not catching it sooner?
A bemused expression crosses Fahey’s attractive features. He shrugs into his coat as he speaks. “Yes, they said as much. This isn’t on the itinerary. It’s just… I thought maybe we’d get to know each other before we have to act romantic in public.”
Wylan slowly slides the rest of his frame into his own coat. A pensive, uncertain look glues itself to his face.
“If you’re busy, then.. well. Nevermind.” Fahey finishes with a shrug.
“I’m rather certain you were emailed a dossier on me before you agreed to this. Everything you should need to know about me is in there.”
Well, everything the public needed to know, which was every aspect of him that had been tailor made for the press to see. Down to even his food preferences, what kind of outdoor activities he enjoyed, his hobbies . Most of it not even remotely true, but he’s grown up with so much of his life dictated for him that it might as well be who he is by now. He glances down at his own hands as he smooths out the lapels of his coat, needing something to do that isn't just staring in abject confusion at the man in front of him.
Fahey fiddles with the buttons on his coat, as if he too needs something to do with his hands. “Ah - right, yeah. I read that. You got one on me too?”
“I.. yes.” Wylan says slowly. He thinks his team likely received something like that, but no one had been especially forthcoming in sending it, or reading it to him.
It wasn’t information he was meant to have an opinion on, that wasn’t his role in all of this.
“You don’t really get to know someone by reading a piece of paper or an email, though. I prefer talking to people.” Fahey pauses, then huffs, something about it sounding self-deprecating. “But I’m new to all of this, so what do I know?”
“Talking to people.” Wylan repeats, dully thinking he sounds a bit like a parrot. He feels his cheeks heat up for how stupid he knows he sounds.
All he wants to do right now is disappear for a few hours before he has to fly halfway across the world for three days. All to shoot some ridiculous ad for a shoe company he doesn't even like.
Wylan twists his wrist to stare down at his watch. “I’ve a plane to catch in three hours, but…”
But what? He’s not even sure what he’s trying to say. His father paid people to be seen with him in public, most of which were quite fine with ignoring Wylan outside of scheduled events. Saints, a few of them had been actively seeing other people while playing pretend with him. It wasn’t as if liking him was part of the package.
“Three hours? That’s plenty of time. I promise, I won’t take more than an hour of your time.” Fahey says, his grin crooked and looking hopeful. “Can probably even shave it down to a half hour, if that’s more to your liking. We can just grab a coffee or something.”
Wylan can already feel the migraine brewing. He tries to flit through all his pre-prepared lines that he might be able to use to get himself out of this. Or at the very least, move it along quickly. Instead he reaches up to rub at the bridge of his nose.
“Fifteen minutes, and we can grab a coffee from the lounge downstairs. If we’re seen together by the media before our officially scheduled first date I’m concerned my PR agent will actually have a hernia.”
Fahey’s expression has gone a bit more complicated, flickering through emotions and landing on something that looks a lot like disappointment. Then he smiles, broad and charming as if nothing at all has changed. Wylan watches the transition and tries to ignore the concerning flare of emotions that disappointment brings. Instead he smiles in return, just as practiced and forced, no light sparking to life in his eyes.
“That’s not even really fit to be called coffee, but if that’s what you’ll give me, then I suppose I’ll take it.” Fahey says, then seems to hesitate briefly before continuing. “Really, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. We’re being launched in, what, two days? Us getting a coffee together just before that will only make it more believable.”
Wylan reminds himself he needs to be polite and businesslike. “I won’t deny it's a suboptimal brew, but The Ostrich is two blocks away and my security detail is more likely to snap you in half than listen to why you think it’s a good idea to take an unscheduled luncheon just to… talk .”
He doesn’t think Helvar would actually do that, but the giant Fjerdan was prone to making threats with his eyes and muscles without uttering a single word.
“Two whole blocks.” Fahey mutters, rolling his eyes. “Saints forbid we have a casual interaction before the whole world thinks we’re in love.”
Wylan blinks, unable to help his incredulous stare. His lips purse and he takes a second to weigh his words, knowing he needs to make himself sound calm instead of spitting with agitation.
“You understand we’re meant to make them think we’re falling in … it’s not supposed to be an at first sight kind of thing. That’s not even real, or believable.”
Fahey groans, lifting a hand to rub it down his face. “I mean, yea? I assumed as much. I was there for the meeting too, you know. The falling in love part usually involves two people getting close - physically and emotionally. I’m not saying I expect any of that.”
Wylan makes his way towards the elevator, aware of Fahey close behind on his heels. As they step inside, Wylan stabs the button for the first floor and tries not to be too obvious with the way he curiously watches the other man from the corner of his eye. Fahey leans against the wall, looking less thrilled about the circumstances by the minute. A sentiment Wylan shares.
“You seem a bit too eager to play pretend boyfriends already. I would have imagined you’d be thrilled about a few more days of singular freedom.” Wylan notes, trying to keep his tone neutral, unbothered.
Fahey arches a brow at him. “Just trying to make the most of things, sweetheart. I don’t see a reason why we can’t have fun with it while it lasts. Relationships are supposed to be fun, after all. Besides, if we’re going to be spending time together, I assumed it would be easier if we actually had a conversation before diving straight into the media aspect of things.”
Wylan crosses his arms over his chest, wariness creeping into his expression despite his best efforts. A light dusting of pink crossing over his nose at the thought of having some fun .
“You do understand this is a job , don’t you? It’s a publicity stunt, not an actual relationship.”
When their contract was up, Fahey would be another person that walked away, considerably richer and without a single look back.
“Just because it’s work, doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it.” Fahey insists.
Wylan sighs deeply and feels himself relenting. He’d rather not argue. “What is it you want to talk about?”
He’d promised fifteen minutes of his time, so he’d give him that much.
“Well, I was just hoping to have a normal conversation with you. Introduce myself properly, but since you seem incredibly uninterested in knowing anything about me, I guess there’s no point, is there?” Fahey’s tone is flat despite his loose stance. “Sorry for assuming you’d be interested in having a friendly relationship while we pretend to be in a romantic one. I suppose that’s on me, isn’t it?”
Wylan feels like he’s at a sudden loss. Everything Fahey could possibly need to know to pull this off is surely in the file he’d been sent. He doesn’t understand this dogged insistence on becoming friendlier or having fun . He doesn’t even know what all that entails in this situation. His lips thin, his frame tensing, and he tries to think of anything eloquent he can say to diffuse the situation.
“You’re upset with me.” Is what makes it out of his mouth instead.
Wylan wrings his fingers together, feeling his stomach dip sourly. He’s well beyond his years where he should care about making people angry with him, but still it stings. He just doesn’t understand why this is all so important.
The elevator doors ding open on the first floor, dragging Wylan back into the present. Stepping forward, he can already see Helvar approaching them, his face severe as always. Wylan holds up a hand towards him before he can be scolded for anything, like taking too long to make it downstairs. That brief vulnerability in the elevator is wiped away - a calm, fake smile in place again.
“Has the car been brought around already? Please inform the diver we’ll be having lunch at The Ostrich.” He tells Helvar, who immediately looks ready to argue. Wylan shakes his head insistently. “My flight isn’t for three hours. I’m hungry, and we ought to show Mr. Fahey some Van Eck hospitality.”
Helvar sighs, but does as he’s told, relaying instructions to their driver by phone.
“Are - you sure?” Fahey asks from beside him, looking baffled by Wylan’s sudden change in behavior. “I mean, I’m happy to, but if you really don’t want to… I’m not trying to impose.”
“I never said -” Wylan feels the argument rise off his tongue before he can stop himself.
Slowly he closes his mouth, frustration flashing briefly in his blue eyes. He’d never said he didn’t want to , but the more the two of them spoke, the more Wylan was beginning to think maybe that was true. This man was proving to be annoying in a way that Wylan was wholly unprepared to deal with. Snobbery, elitism, and cold demands had become the standard, leaving Wylan confused on what to do with someone who seemed to actually want his attention. He takes a deep breath and wills himself to calm down. So much for a quiet hour before an awful weekend. He’d made the choice to extend this to an actual lunch, so he really had no one to blame but himself.
“Have you been to The Ostrich, Mr. Fahey?” He asks instead of otherwise addressing the question. He waves for them both to follow Helvar out of the building and towards the waiting car.
“Can’t say as I have, no. I hope I’m not underdressed.” Fahey quips, playing with the sleeve of his impeccably tailored suit. Both the trousers and jacket are a deep green, but still within Kerch standard. “Always happy to try something new, though. Do you have any lunch recommendations?”
Wylan purses his lips and shrugs. “I recommend the coffee.” He says, uncertain what Fahey’s preferences would be. What else might someone like from the place? “And the pastries.” He decides on, because that seemed safe. The establishment did pride themselves on their freshly made treats.
Fahey snorts beside him. “I’m always being told that coffee and a croissant don’t make a meal. Nice to see I’m not the only one who disagrees.”
Helvar clears a path for them as they step out into the bustle of the city. The crowd gives him a wide berth, be it from the man’s sheer size, or just the fact he's Fjerdan and therefore extra intimidating. Wylan waves a hand for Jesper to slide into the car first, and he’s aware it will take twice as long to drive the two blocks than it would to walk, but he’d rather not be recognized and have to deal with fans . A few pedestrians walking by have already noted him, pointing him out, and Wylan straightens his spine at their acknowledgement. He offers them a practiced smile, noting the phones snapping pictures, before he slips into the car himself. With a deflating sigh, he clicks his seatbelt into place and scrubs his hands over his face.
Saints, it’s only mid afternoon and he’s already so damned tired.
For a minute or two, everything around him zeroes into static. A dull buzzing noise before there’s a slight jostle beside him and the world snaps firmly back into place.
“Well, the rumor mill will start grinding.” Fahey says, breaking through Wylan’s dissociative episode and reminding him he’s still there. “Though, since you’re rather well known for modeling yourself, it’s likely they’ll just speculate at a team up. Shouldn’t do anything but help the cause.”
Wylan notes the way he’s steepled his fingers around his nose. His breathing is even, not frantic, so he knows he isn’t surfacing from a panic attack. He thinks he’s lost some of the conversation, the tinny words out of his reach. He lowers his hands into his lap, a small frown turning down his features.
Fahey seems to pause, his smile dimming. “You sure you’re up for lunch? I wasn’t trying to bully you into it, promise.”
“My net worth is in the millions, you can’t bully me.” Wylan snaps, wincing immediately as he realizes how nasty that comment sounds. Not to mention how wholly inaccurate it actually is, since he owns nothing without his father.
“Saints. As if I need reminding of your net worth , princeling. This car alone likely costs more than my entire house growing up.” Fahey hisses, slumping down into a slouch against the seat.
“You and me both.” Wylan mutters, nearly too quiet to be heard. “And I’d prefer if you didn’t call me that.” He adds, turning to stare glumly out the window.
He detested the way social media had popularized that moniker. He’d been dealing with it since around the age of ten.
“Alright, nix on the nickname.” Fahey agrees.
Wylan thunks his head back against his own seat, the start of a sulking pout on his lips. “Anyway, it’s fine. I offered. This is what you wanted, so when you receive a scathing call from Miss Saffin for not sticking to protocol, I’m not going to feel bad for you.”
Genya Saffin was the head of his entire brand, and she was not a woman to trifle with when things didn’t go according to her plans.
“I can handle her. Besides, we’re not really upping the timeline. People would have seen us both exit the building either way. They’ll know something is brewing. It’s not as if I’m going to kiss you goodbye when we’re done eating.”
Wylan doesn’t bother to argue about the speculation, even though they could have easily left the building at different times to avoid it. Instead he’s trying to ignore the way his cheeks have heated up at the thought of Fahey kissing him.
“ That kind of behavior already will definitely have my PR agent on your doorstep. A pity if she strangles you before we even have a first date.”
“Well, clearly your PR person didn’t do all her homework. I’m a very physically affectionate person.” Fahey drawls, throwing a wink Wylan’s way. “Only consensually, of course.”
Wylan feels his blush darken, fanning out into his ears. He ignores the sharp kick in his chest and returns to staring determinedly out the window.
“Genya is incredibly thorough. I’m going to tell her that you inferred otherwise.” He says, his tone smugly threatening.
“Oi, hey now. Please don’t turn your PR woman against me before I’ve even met her. I’m already fighting an uphill battle.” Fahey complains, but that easy grin is on his face again. “Seriously, you don’t have to worry, though. I’ll be on my best behavior. I’d like that first date to go well.”
Wylan forces himself to sit up, staring out at the view as they pull into a parking lot. “Contractually, it has to.” He replies, his tone firm.
“Contracts have loopholes.” Fahey points out, much too cheerful.
Wylan clicks his seatbelt off before the car has even fully come to a stop. “We’re here.”
That’s probably obvious, but he announces it anyway. He suddenly needs out of this vehicle.
The Ostrich , from the parking lot view, doesn't hold the appearance of anything spectacular. The building is small, almost quaint, but there are patrons taking up every available bit of seating outside. Very few appear to be dressed in the staid mercher blacks, but there is the occasional Barrel flash dotted blindingly around the venue as people mingle and enjoy their meals.
Wylan ignores the way Helvar glares at him as he lets himself out of the back seat.
“They’ve already sectioned off a table for you, sir.” The Fjerdan says, his tone curt and somehow aggressively formal.
“Thank you. There’s no need for you to go in. You should call your sister while we have the down time.” Wylan replies, reaching up to pat at one of the man’s too large arms. He ignores the look of incredulous annoyance on Helvar’s face.
“Sir, I do not think - “
Wylan sighs, giving Helvar a sterner look. “Matthias, Mr. Fahey will draw enough attention to us without having you looming behind my back as well. Stay with the car. Call Hanne. Wish her well with her studies for me.”
When he doesn’t receive another word of argument, Wylan nods, then glances towards Fahey before jerking his chin towards the building. “Shall we?”
Fahey smiles and falls into step beside him. “It seems we shall. Unchaperoned, even. How utterly scandalous.”
“I will turn around, get into that car, and leave you here .” Wylan growls in warning.
That is a threat he has no qualms seeing through immediately if Fahey continues to say things like that where people can hear him. Fahey only chuckles at him, the sound of it rich and - annoying .
By the time they reach the door there are already patrons watching them with open curiosity. Wylan can see a few pulling out their phones, suddenly aware of who it is walking up the steps. While he might be a semi-regular here, somehow it still seems to surprise people to see him. Possibly because this was an establishment not well known for having Geldstraat elite popping by. He does actually like the coffee here, and the pastries. The place is family owned and Wylan has been coming here for years now. Long enough that the matron meets them at the door, greeting them warmly.
Their seating arrangement finds them secluded in the back, barely within view, and it might only be a modicum of privacy, but Wylan feels the tense line of his shoulders ease some. He accepts the menu handed to him and sets it aside without looking at it. Instead he orders himself a coffee and one of their pork pies. Only after Jesper has also ordered (Wylan notes the same thing as him, with adjustments to the coffee), does he broach the subject at hand.
“Alright. What more do you want to discuss?”
Fahey grins back at him. “Well, from a practical standpoint - what sort of things do you actually enjoy doing? Because I’m pretty damn convinced that no one under the age of fifty genuinely enjoys watching golf matches.”
Confusion returns to Wylan’s expression, scrunching his face and making him look like he’s bitten into a lemon, only that he has no idea how it had ended up in his mouth in the first place.
“I don’t really see what that has to do with any of this…” He starts, only to find himself cheerfully talked over.
“I know most things are planned in advance, but I also know Nina will at least consider any requests or input I give her. I figure we can exchange notes on things that don’t bore us to tears and hopefully cobble together a schedule that’s not excruciatingly boring.”
That sour look on his face deepens.
“We’ll be receiving the itinerary tonight. Between our two teams, I am sure they’ve come up with something suitably enjoyable for both of us.”
Mostly they would be making appearances as things like charities, galas, parties of that nature. All things they already went to, only now they’d be doing so together.
“Yes, I’m very much aware of what an itinerary is, thanks. That’s not going to be the whole six months.” Fahey points out.
There’s a pause in the conversation as their server returns with their drinks. Wylan smiles at the woman, but it’s Fahey that winks at her and sends her running away with a deep blush. Wylan tries not to let it bother him. He takes a sip of his coffee to hide his frown.
“You shouldn’t worry so much about the details. That’s what Van Eck Industries is paying your team and mine to do for us.”
Fahey blinks back at him for a moment, before everything about him goes flat, even his tone. It puts Wylan on instant alert.
“Saints, you really don’t care at all, do you? Have you even actually liked anyone you’ve dated? Or have you just been following the itinerary? Why bother dating if you’re so clearly uninterested?” Fahey takes a drink from his coffee like he’s trying to rinse this conversation out of his mouth. “Dating is supposed to be fun . Not everything has to be a business transaction.”
Wylan finds himself staring like he’s been struck stupid. Saints, but where had his team found this man? Wylan understood it was overall a net good to help build up the careers of new stars, the return investment was often worth it, but this one seemed to not know how any of this business worked. Meanwhile, Wylan suspected his next five to ten years were already planned out for him in excruciating detail, and that was simply how things were. He wasn’t allowed to care.
He feels his cheeks flare with the heat of shame. He refused to let some known playboy talk down to him like this.
Lowering his voice, he responds with an agitated hiss. “This is a business transaction. If the alternative is flitting around from one dalliance to another without any care for the broken hearts you leave behind… I don’t see how you have any right to be so judgmental.”
Fahey’s eyes narrow and he leans forward, his voice dropping into a similar pitch. “So sorry if my being a slut has offended your delicate sensibilities, but as you keep insisting on pointing out - it’s a done deal. You’re stuck with me.”
Wylan’s eyes go wide, his face burning brightly, flushed a vivid red. That was not the word he had used! The sleeping around had not even been the important part of what he’d been saying. Suddenly he finds himself too angry to even form a coherent sentence in his head, let alone spit it out.
“I’m so incredibly sorry for daring to think that perhaps we could be friends while we’re stuck together for six fucking months.” Fahey continues, his grey eyes flashing like fire before he pulls out his phone. “But by all means, if this is how you want to play it, then fine.”
The words are sharp as a dagger, and Wylan finds himself almost glad Fahey isn’t looking at him anymore. He won’t catch the way Wylan flinches, and in an instant Wylan feels all the venom rush out of him. There is nothing but cold understanding left behind. All he’d wanted was for them to be civil, to be colleagues , because anything more was impossible. Instead he’d managed to offend Fahey so badly he didn’t even want to look at him anymore.
Wylan goes quiet, pulling his napkin into his lap to pluck at the edges. In the lull their pastries are delivered, and Wylan can only stare at it. His stomach feels like a churning wave and the pounding in his head is now a warning of something definitely nastier than a mere headache. Stuck together - Wylan worries that this really will be the longest six months of his life.
Fahey puts his phone away, choosing to eat in silence, one of his knees bouncing beneath the table.
“Look. I understand that you don’t like me, and that’s fine. I wouldn’t have pushed so hard for this lunch if I’d realized. I don’t know why you agreed to this when clearly I’m not what you’re looking for, so I can only assume you have your own reasons.” Fahey’s voice sounds exhausted, defeated, and Wylan can’t make himself look up.
“So, let’s just finish lunch, and go our separate ways for now. I won’t overstep anymore.”
Wylan feels himself nod, stuck in a place now where he could only go through the motions:
Pick at his food, finish his coffee, thank the wait staff, pay the bill, part ways without a resolution.
Six months of this might break him, but what choice did he have?