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The thing about Jesper is that he’s always been good at making things make sense.
Not exactly making them right — that’s different — but making them livable.
It’s a skill. A survival instinct. A kind of sleight of hand he performs on his own thoughts: tuck this away, smooth that over, this is all entirely manageable.
His father fits neatly into that.
Colm Fahey is a good man.
Jesper knows this the same way he knows a revolver in the palm of his hand. It’s entirely instinctive and unquestioned.
Colm Fahey is a good man who loved his son.
That’s the story.
-_ - ♡
Jesper hasn’t used his powers in years.
Not properly. Not like before.
There are moments — small, almost accidental things. The faint pull of metal luring him in a crowded room, the way he always knows how many bullets he has without checking, this thrumming twitch of awareness.
But that's not the same.
That’s instinct. What it's not is indulgence.
Because that’s how Jesper learnt to think about things.
It wasn’t a necessity. It wasn’t his identity. It was an indulgence.
A dangerous one at that.
He can still picture the first time he’d used them after his mother passed. The way Colm froze, not angry or horrified. Just quiet in a way Jesper wasn’t used to. “Jesper,” he’d said carefully, like fragile glass. “You need to be careful with that.”
He didn’t say stop.
Not then at least.
Just careful.
Jesper nodded. Of course he had. He’d always been good at nodding, at agreeing, at molding himself into the safest shape.
It was built up in smaller pieces; you don’t need it, it will draw attention, people will see, you’ll get hurt.
He never shouted. He never forced him. It was just reinforced.
Until it became something solid and unquestionable.
Until Jesper stopped reaching for that part of him without even realising he’d let go.
It wasn’t cruel.
That’s the important part.
Jesper holds onto that like a lifeline. It wasn’t cruel. His father never made him feel like something was wrong with him.
It was just… risky.
Unnecessary.
Something better left alone.
What was that if not reasonable? He saw how zowa were treated. He’d lived in Ketterdam long enough to know exactly how the world treats people like him.
His father wasn’t wrong.
He was protecting him.
That matters. It should matter more than anything.
-_ - ♡
The problem is—
Jesper liked it.
That’s what he can’t say out loud.
He had liked the way it became a box to tick off at the end of the day.
Focus.
Clarity.
Control.
Jesper had spent most his life feeling as if he was reaching for something just a fraction too far away. Using his powers helped him reach it. For a moment, everything would make sense. But then his father told him it was better not to.
And Jesper had listened.
Because of course he had.
Because Colm Fahey is a good man.
Because he loved his son.
Because he was keeping him safe.
Jesper told himself this as they sat down for dinner.
He tells himself this as Colm asks, mild and assuming, “Have you been practising?”
It’s not an accusation. It’s not even particularly pointed, it’s just a question. Jesper feels his answer boil in his throat either way, sharp and immediate. No. Flat. Casual. Mild.
“Not really necessary these days,” he says, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. Like it never mattered. Because it doesn’t. He’s safe.
His eyes meet Wylan’s across the table. Just briefly.
Colm nods slowly. “You’ve managed,” he says.
There's something about the way he says that, something he can’t quite name that makes his shoulders tense. Like this was an accomplishment. Irritation rises up in him, sudden and sharp. Entirely dramatic. Jesper doesn’t know why he’s so bothered. It shouldn’t bother him. He’s got everything he could ever ask for.
So why does it feel like something sharp is pressing against his chest?
Like there's something unsaid an inch away from tearing this all down?
He pushes it aside. Put on a smile. Moves the conversation along.
-_ - ♡
It wasn’t until they were back in Ketterdam Wylan said anything.
“You’re annoyed.”
“I’m always annoying.”
“Annoyed,” Wylan corrects.
Jesper snorts. “Congrats. You’ve got me all figured out.”
Wylan doesn’t rise to it.
“You were like that the other night,” he says instead. “With your Da.”
Jesper’s fingers thrum — just for a second. “I was perfectly pleasant.”
“You were tense.”
“I’m always tense.”
“Not like that.”
Jesper exhales sharply, drumming his fingers against his glass a little harder than strictly necessary. But he can’t stop. He keeps drumming. The room feels too small. Or maybe he’s too much for it — too loud in his own head.
He shouldn’t still be thinking about the dinner.
This always happens. Thoughts latch to his brain and outstay their welcome. They get under his skin in inconvenient ways. And he’s used to it. He’s used to pushing it aside to never think about it again. He just hasn’t quite gotten there yet.
“Jesper.”
He doesn’t stop drumming. “Nope.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“I know enough.”
Wylan shifts in his place against the door, arms crossed but posture loose, like he’s intentionally saying “look I’m not trying to corner you.” Even if he’s watching him with such intense attention.
“You’ve been like this for a week.” Wylan says.
“I don’t know what you're talking about, I’m always like this.”
“No you aren’t.”
Jesper huffs, sharper than he intends.
Wylan’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “You’re restless.”
“I’m always restless.”
“You’re—” Wylan pauses, searching for the right word. “ —irritated.”
Jesper lets out a short laugh. “At what?”
Wylan doesn’t answer immediately. Jesper hates that. Because it means he’s thinking. Because above all else Wylan is observant, especially when it comes to Jesper.
“At your Da,” Wylan says finally.
Jesper stops drumming.
It’s brief. Just a second — barely there — but it’s enough for Wylan to notice.
Then he’s moving again, faster now.
“I’m not irritated at my Da.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Jesper scoffs.
“Okay.”
That tone again — mild and neutral. Not pushing him at all.
It gets under Jesper’s skin more than if he’d argued.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe that you think that,” Wylan says.
Jesper’s jaw tightens. “I’m not.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” he adds, like that’s the real point. Like that settles the matter.
Wylan nods, “I didn’t say he did.”
Jesper falters slightly at that. Because that's not the argument he was preparing for. That's not the argument he’s been having with himself for years.
“He was — he’s —” Jesper drags a hand through his hair, frustrated with how suddenly difficult this feels to articulate. “He was trying to protect me.”
“I know.”
“He wasn’t cruel.”
“I know.”
Jesper’s voice sharpens. “He wasn’t like your father.”
The words land harder than he really intended. They hang there heavy for a moment, Wylan goes very still. But he doesn’t flinch. “That’s not really the point,” he says quietly.
“It is to me.”
Wylan studies him, expression unreadable. Jesper looks away and he can feel it building now. That pressure in his chest, restless uncomfortable awareness. He hates not knowing what it is.
“You keep saying that,” Wylan says.
“Saying what?”
“That it wasn’t that bad.”
Jesper exhales sharply. “Because it wasn’t.”
Wylan tilts his head. “Compared to what?”
Jesper’s stomach twists.
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t want to answer, because the answer is obvious and saying it out loud would make it… real in a way he’s been avoiding.
Wylan doesn’t push right away.
He lets the silence sit.
Jesper starts pacing again.
He drums his fingers—faster now, uneven. The cup slips, clattering to the floor.
He ignores it.
“Jes,” Wylan says, softer this time.
Jesper closes his eyes briefly. “What.”
“When we were there,” Wylan says, “you kept… shutting something down.”
Jesper frowns. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was not.”
Wylan doesn’t argue the tone. Doesn’t rise to it.
Wylan nods. “Okay.”
Jesper’s head snaps toward him. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
Jesper lets out a frustrated sound, running both hands through his hair this time. “Wylan—”
“I’m trying to understand,” Wylan says gently.
Jesper stops again.
There’s something about that—I’m trying to understand—that knocks the edge off his irritation just enough to let something else slip through underneath.
Something quieter.
More uncertain.
“It’s just—” Jesper exhales, shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal.”
Wylan watches him carefully. “It feels like one.”
Jesper laughs, but it’s thin. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“Maybe.”
Jesper waits for him to drop it.
He doesn’t.
Wylan shifts his weight, uncrossing his arms, taking a small step closer—not closing the distance entirely, just enough.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
Jesper hesitates.
Then, reluctantly, “You’re going to anyway.”
“Probably.”
Jesper huffs. “Fine.”
Wylan studies him for a moment before speaking.
“When you were younger,” he says, “before you stopped using them… what did it feel like?”
Jesper stills.
The question lands differently than the others.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jesper says.
Wylan doesn’t move. “Humor me.”
Jesper exhales slowly.
He could deflect. He could joke. He could turn this into a fight if he really wanted to.
He doesn’t.
“…quiet,” he says finally.
Wylan’s expression shifts—something like understanding flickering across it.
Jesper swallows. “It just—it made everything… line up.”
He gestures vaguely, frustrated with how inadequate the words feel.
“Like I knew where everything was. What I was doing.” His voice drops slightly. “Like I wasn’t—scrambling all the time.”
Wylan nods, very slowly.
“And you stopped,” he says.
Jesper shrugs, but it’s weaker now. “It wasn’t necessary.”
Wylan doesn’t argue.
“Was that the only reason?”
Jesper opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Because—
No.
It wasn’t.
There had been the looks. The careful conversations. The way his father’s voice would go softer when he brought it up, like he was trying not to push too hard while still… guiding.
There had been the understanding that settled in quietly: this is something better left alone.
Jesper exhales. “It was easier.”
“For who?” Wylan asks gently.
Jesper blinks. “What?”
“Who was it easier for?”
Jesper frowns. “Everyone.”
Wylan tilts his head. “Was it easier for you?”
Jesper hesitates.
“…yes,” he says, but it comes out less certain this time.
Wylan doesn’t call it out directly.
He just asks, softer, “Or was it easier for him?”
Jesper’s chest tightens. “That’s not fair.”
“I’m not saying it’s bad,” Wylan says quickly. “I’m just asking.”
Jesper looks away.
Because the answer is there, sitting uncomfortably in his chest. It had been easier for his father. Less to worry about. Less risk. Less fear. And Jesper had wanted that. He had wanted to make it easier.
“He was trying to protect me,” Jesper says again, quieter now.
“I know.”
“He wasn’t—” Jesper exhales, shaking his head. “He wasn’t like your father.”
Wylan’s expression softens, but there’s something steady underneath it now.
“Jesper,” he says gently, “I’m not asking you to compare them.”
Jesper swallows.
“I’m asking you about you.”
That lands. Harder than anything else Jesper’s fingers twitch—restlessly. There’s a faint pull under his skin, barely there, something he hasn’t reached for in years. He focuses on it without meaning to.
Just for a second.
Just enough to feel it.
“…it mattered,” he admits, voice quiet.
Wylan nods.
“You don’t have to decide if it was bad enough,” he says softly. “You just have to decide if it mattered.”
Jesper lets out a shaky breath.
It does.
It always has.
He just—
Never let himself say it without qualifying it. Without softening it. Without comparing it to something worse until it felt small enough to ignore.
“My father did his best,” Jesper says.
Wylan nods. “I believe that.”
Jesper’s throat tightens. “And it still—”
He stops.
Starts again.
“…it still affected me.”
Wylan’s voice is steady. “I believe that too.”
Jesper closes his eyes.
For the first time, he lets the thought exist on its own.
Not measured.
Not justified.
Just… there with all its complications.
He exhales, something in his chest loosening slightly.
Wylan steps closer, gentle as ever, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.
Jesper leans into it without thinking.
“You don’t have to shrink it to make it make sense,” Wylan murmurs.
Jesper huffs a quiet laugh, tired but lighter. “You’ve been waiting to say that.”
“Maybe.”
Jesper tilts his head, resting his forehead briefly against Wylan’s.