Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inej

The campus cafe Inej was having lunch in was quiet when Kaz walked in, limping deeply with a black leather messenger bag slung across his body. He looked like he’d been in a hurry, with his usual black tie loosened and askew and his white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. His small, controlled steps were a sure sign he’d spent too much time on his feet. Admittedly, Inej hadn’t known him long, but that much was obvious. 

Anticipating his need to sit, Inej began clearing her things off the only other chair at the table. Picking a spot with limited seating and then obstructing that limited seating was her go-to strategy to prevent anyone from approaching her, sitting with her. These days, she found herself making more and more exceptions for Kaz.

Despite all this, he said, “I’m not staying,” as soon as he was within earshot.

Inej looked up at him from her sandwich, blinking. “Oh.”

“I have a—” Kaz’s hesitation was notable for its rarity. “A question for you.”

“Okay,” she said, slowly.

“The psychology department is conducting a new study, and they’re paying participants $200. Jes and I need a new microwave because he left a fork in our old one and it exploded and the landlord would rather die than do his job so—”

This all came out in a big rush. Inej wasn’t even sure she caught all the details. Something about a study and a fork and an explosion. 

“I think I missed the question?” she probed. Kaz swallowed. This was odd. Was he nervous? Now Inej was nervous.

“The study requires sets of two people,” Kaz explained, still not looking her in the eye, “and Jes doesn’t have the time—he’s been spending all his free time tutoring that Hendriks kid. I guess it pays well.”

“Just not well enough to afford a new microwave?” Inej slitted her eyes, suspicious. Kaz just shrugged, which did nothing to quell her misgivings. Kaz Brekker was not the “shrug it off” kind of guy, especially when it came to how well jobs paid. 

“What’s the catch?” she asked. “What’s in it for me?” 

Kaz let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand along the back of his neck. He was nervous—and it was freaking her out. 

“Would you please sit down?” she huffed. “You’re looming, and it’s weird.” 

Kaz mumbled something that sounded a lot like “Am not looming,” but obliged her anyway and sank into the chair opposite of her, shifting his messenger bag off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.

“The study is,” he spoke delicately once he was settled, with a gloved hand resting on the table’s shiny surface. The other twisted tighter around the top of his cane. “...a romantic couples’ study.”

It was her stomach’s turn to do something weird. For a moment, Inej didn’t know what to say.

“And it pays $200.” Kaz seemed to notice her discomfort immediately and reminded her of the money. Inej wasn’t sure it was actually helpful. “We can split it. And what better way to get that CompSci major off your back.” 

“I don’t follow,” Inej said.

Was he blushing? No, that must have been her imagination because Kaz Brekker didn’t blush. And besides, his expression hadn’t changed. His coffee-black eyes were cold and focused as ever.

“If we can fool these busy-body postdocs in the psych department,” he said, “I’ll give you a cut of the $200 and what’s-his-face will hear that you’re taken and leave you alone. Win-win.” 

At that, Inej rocked back in her seat a little, hands spread on the table. She’d confided in him about Sawyer the CompSci Major only recently, because they were friends now, she guessed. These last two months, she spent most evenings with Kaz, crafting a catfishing scheme to fool a senior over in the business school into thinking he was dating a swimsuit model who needed money for new headshots. They’d taken his money and broken his heart in less than eight weeks—though she’d felt like he’d deserved a lot worse. He’d been the one to hold the camera while those frat boys had—had—

But Sawyer was a different story. He hadn’t been there the night of The Incident. He’d only heard about what had happened to Inej at that frat party through the news stories, the Twitter arguments. And he seemed to have taken that as an invitation. And then when Inej had asked for space, Sawyer the CompSci Major could only offer the opposite. Lately, he’d taken to flooding her inboxes with reasons why she should date him, why he was the one who could save her. And when she hadn’t responded to him, well. Then he’d gotten rude. 

Inej hadn’t said it outloud yet, but lately she thought a lot about how she could make Sawyer the CompSci Major cry. None of those plans had looked like this, though. This was…elaborate. And, Inej couldn’t help but emphasize, it required her to date Kaz Brekker.

“Are you…” she hesitated, but then tried again because she had a right to know, “are you asking me out?” 

Now, Kaz did blush and adjusted his grip on his cane.

“Saints, no—” That came out with more vehemence than Inej thought strictly necessary “—I’m saying we should pretend to date. For money. And to bother What’s-His-Face.” 

“Sawyer,” Inej reminded him, which—weird—Kaz usually remembered everything. Kaz just made a face like even the sound of the name left a gross taste in his mouth. It made Inej chuckle a little, despite the flips her gut was doing.

“If I do this,” she said, and Kaz lifted his dark brows, “if. What does it entail?” 

Kaz gestured to her to wait a moment as he bent to pull something out of the messenger bag on the floor. Then he slid a piece of paper across the table toward her. It was a flier with the words Paid Research Opportunity emblazoned across the top. 

“Kaz,” Inej said, skimming its contents, “this says they’re looking for couples that have been together for at least six months and are living together.” 

“And how are they going to prove that?” Kaz shrugged. “It’s not like someone from the psych department is going to follow us home or bug our phones. We just have to be convincing enough in their interviews and questionnaires. Have to get our stories straight.” 

“How are we going to do that?” Inej fretted, looking over the bulleted list before her that detailed what the study involved. “I don’t know anything about this. I’ve never been in a committed relationship for more than six months, let alone lived with someone.” And a thought dawned on her as she slid a glance toward Kaz over the flier. “Have you?” 

Frankly, she knew next to nothing about his past, exes or anything else. And the idea that he might have intimate knowledge of how to appear in love made her feel…weird. Again. She didn’t like it. And she didn’t like that she didn’t like it. This was complicated.

But Kaz’s frown only deepened, defensively, as he held out a hand to take the flier back. 

“If you don’t want to do it, I can ask someone else,” he said, roughly. “You were just my first stop.” 

Inej didn’t hand the flier back. 

“Like who?” As far as she knew from these last two months, Kaz spent all his time with Jesper and with her, and occasionally her roommate, Nina, if properly coerced. 

“I’m sure Anika from chem lab would take me up on it,” Kaz said, still holding out a hand for the flier. And Inej liked that even less. Because while she wasn’t entirely sure that Anika was straight, she was sure that, with her side-shaved hair and her flawless cat-eyeliner, Anika was much, much cooler than she was. Kaz Brekker-levels of cool.

“No.” She held the flier tighter and shot him a stubborn glare. “I’ll do it.” 

“Are you sure? If it makes you uncomfortable—”

“No, I need the money,” she snapped. She was vaguely aware that $100 did not warrant this level of defensiveness, but here they were. 

Kaz nodded and pushed a lock of crow-black hair out of his eyes. 

“Cool,” he said, casually. His shoulders seemed less tense. “Are you free tonight? We can fill out the paperwork and make a plan.” 

“Sounds good.” Inej was determined to match his casual attitude. This didn’t have to be weird as long as she didn’t make it weird. 

Kaz

Fuck, he’d made that so weird. 

It required all of Kaz’s self-control to stifle the full-body cringing his limbs wanted to do as he limped away from Inej’s little table and out of the campus cafe. 

No doubt she was watching him leave, willing him far, far away from her. No doubt she was cringing, too, as soon as he was out of her sight. 

Fuuuuuck. Why had that felt so weird? 

Well, if he was being honest with himself, probably because it was a little weird. He hadn’t meant anything by it, Kaz kept telling himself. (Hadn’t he?)

The microwave really had blown up, and they really did need a replacement. As soon as possible. Neither he nor Jesper were at all equipped to actually cook. A diet consisting entirely of reheated takeaways and microwave meals needed a microwave. Kaz wasn’t sure how much longer they could subsist off of beef jerky and cereal.

It was also true that Kaz wouldn’t have looked twice at the flier before Inej. (More and more, he found himself thinking of his life in these terms: before and after Inej). Not that he couldn’t have run the scam with Jesper—the absolute madlad would probably have jumped at the chance—but—Kaz hadn’t thought to. It hadn’t even crossed his mind until he was explaining the study to Inej and suddenly, it’d seemed bizarre to ask her. Of all people. They barely knew each other. He already lived with Jesper.

Fuck.

Guaranteed this was all he’d be able to think about for the rest of the day. 

She’d thought he was asking her out… As if she didn’t know his reputation, as if she thought he would ask her out knowing what he knew of what she’d been through. Which, granted, wasn’t a lot—he hadn’t probed for details. It wasn’t his place. Did she really think he’d put her in that kind of position? That he’d violate her trust like that? 

He was realizing now he hadn’t fully thought through the implications of asking her or how it would sound. This was why he kept to himself, why he had one—Jesper. Kaz was made for hurting people, not whatever this was. (What had he been thinking?!) 

The awkwardness was almost enough to make him want to call her and cancel, but…the microwave. And the thought of choking down endless beef jerky suppers…

And he thought of her face as he’d walked over. The way she’d cleared the chair next to her.

This two pm economics class was promising to be unbearably long if he was going to spend the whole time thinking about the little furrow between her brows.

There was a whole host of things he should have been thinking about. That mid-term paper Caitlyn Evers, a sophomore failing out of her history class, had paid him to write that would cover his gas money for the next two weeks; the Intro to Macroeconomics quiz for his own class in three days; the job Jesper was trying to tell him about on Monday; the background check he needed to run on Wylan Hendriks—which Kaz had discovered after a cursory search was not his real name. 

Instead, all Kaz could think of was this job with Inej. This was going to be a problem.

When he got home, Jesper was already there, pacing a hole into the living room rug with one pencil in his mouth and another sticking out of the tight coils of his hair. What looked to be the notes from their sociology class were scattered all over the coffee table, bright coloured post-its marking dates and key words. 

Add that to the list: sociology midterm. He was starting to wonder why he’d suggested this plan to Inej in the first place. Of all the ways to make $200—

“You look like shit,” was Jesper’s greeting.

He’d stopped pacing and now stood in the middle of the room, watching Kaz put his bag down by the coat rack. Shrugging out of his jacket and propping his cane up too, Kaz elected to ignore his roommate’s discerning gaze. 

Unrelenting, Jesper followed him into the kitchen.

“I spoke to Clayton again, and he’s willing to up the price to $150 dollars for that lab report. Guess he must’ve gotten a bump from his daddy.”

Reaching into the fridge for a beer, Kaz deadpanned, “I believe his father died in a car accident several years ago.”

“His mommy, then.”

“Cold, Jesper. That’s cold.”

Jesper snorted and shrugged. They’d always been flippant about parental death, both of them reinforcing each other’s bad habits. Although Kaz had never told Jesper what happened to his own family, they shared an implicit understanding. They didn’t need to speak the words. 

That was probably the kind of thing couples talked about. Family history, traumatic childhood memories, formative years.

Kaz cracked open the beer and leaned back against the counter, trying his best to appear nonchalant. 

“Inej’ll be here in like an hour,” he said, before swallowing a few gulps and avoiding Jesper’s quirked eyebrow. 

“Do you want me to clear out or…?” Jesper loved filling in the blanks even when there were none to fill. Kaz glared at his insinuating smirk.

“No—we’re prepping for a new job, that’s all,” he said. “I figured out a solution to this situation,” he gestured to the singed remains of the old microwave on their cluttered countertop. “And Inej agreed to help in exchange for a cut of the earnings.” 

“Dude, I said I’d pay for that,” Jesper asserted. Kaz only sighed and shot him a look that made Jesper bunch up his lean shoulders. “Eventually,” he added, sheepishly. Jesper did not have the best track record for saving money.

“This will speed things along,” Kaz maintained. 

“What’s the job?” Jesper asked. “Maybe I can help?” 

Suddenly, the words were stuck in the back of Kaz’s throat. He took a few more gulps of beer, like that would help them along.

“There’s a paid research opportunity through the psych department,” he managed to croak after he finished swallowing. “Some surveys or something. Two hundred dollars.” 

Jesper narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. Why was everyone doing that?

“What kind of research?” he wanted to know. 

“It’s a study of ah—” Kaz coughed into a gloved hand—he suddenly felt like the beer had tried to go down the wrong pipe, “—romantic couples,” he finished, once he could breathe again.

Now Jesper’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 

“You asked her out?!” 

“No.” Jesus. Why was this happening again? “It’s a con, Jes. It’s eight weeks, an hour once a week, and then we get $200 at the end of it. And then you and I both get to enjoy hot food again. Stop making that face. Jesus Christ.” 

“I’ll stop making this face when you stop making that face.” 

“What face? This is just my face, Jes—this is what my face does.”

“You look like I just caught you with your mitts in a cookie jar.” 

Kaz needed to nip this in the bud. Right fucking now. He set his beer can down on the counter, rather emphatically.

“This ends now. I mean it,” he said. Jesper immediately put his hands up in surrender, but Kaz went on—just for good measure. “She has been through enough. She just needs the money and a decent cover story to get some gross senior to leave her alone. You will fuck this up for all of us if you make her uncomfortable. This is no different than if I’d asked you to run this con with me, so stop. Now.” 

“Ok. Chill, man,” Jesper grumbled. “You should have asked me, you know—I feel a little jilted.” 

“You and I have enough to worry about with the history mid-term job.” Kaz scrubbed a hand over his face. “And I’m counting on you to make rent this month from the Hendriks tutoring gig.” 

“Right.” It was Jesper’s turn to not meet Kaz’s eyes. “Tutoring. Yeah. Definitely doing lots of that.” 

That was not at all convincing. Interesting. But as long as the checks kept clearing, Kaz wasn’t going to push the issue on whatever it was Jesper was doing with Wylan Van Eck when they were alone.

Alone. He was going to be spending a lot more time with Inej Ghafa alone—without all the distractions of revenge this time. Kaz picked up the half-empty beer can from the counter and slammed back the rest. 

“I should shower before she gets here,” he mumbled, crushing up the can for the recycling. “Don’t say it.” He could practically feel Jesper’s weighted glance at the words. 

“I said nothing!” Jesper argued. “Go shower for your super platonic friend. I’ll just be over here being very normal.” 

“Oh, my God.” Maybe it was a good time to reconsider this whole human companionship schtick. It was starting to feel like more hassle than it was worth.

Not that Kaz could afford to live alone, even if the thought of it didn’t make him feel brittle inside. Jesper was often too keen to stick his nose where it didn’t belong, but Kaz honestly would miss that walking-talking ADHD case study if he was gone. 

He was just going to have to power through this mess he’d created and keep his eyes on the prize. The prize here, of course, being a new microwave. Not spending more time with Inej. Microwave. For leftovers. And ramen. And popcorn, which Inej also liked—she could do that cute thing where she’d toss one in the air and catch it on her tongue. She’d get this huge grin when she did it and—

Fuuuuuuck. He really needed his brain to stop doing that.

The shower would clear his head and hopefully rinse off the day’s cringe worthiness along with it. 

One of the few redeemable aspects of the apartment was the water pressure. Water blasted from the shower head at pulverizing speeds, and if Kaz cranked the heat to near-scalding temperatures, it was almost as good as a massage chair. Especially at the end of a day that had required a lot of walking, he could easily lose thirty minutes or more to just standing beneath the searing hot waterfall.

Here again, he switched on the shocking blast of hot water and let the bathroom steam up. Once he’d pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his pants, he steadied himself and his bad leg with a towel rack he knew he was putting too much trust in and stepped inside the shower stall.

Eyes on the prize. Microwave. For instant oatmeal. And baked potatoes. And those chocolate mug cakes Inej showed them how to make.

Goddamnit.

Look, Kaz wasn’t blind—or at least he wasn’t when he wasn’t accidentally getting soap in his eyes. Inej was gorgeous. And funny. And damn clever. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed her long before that day he finally first spoke to her. If Kaz was the sort to have dating standards (or standards, period), Inej Ghafa ticked all the right boxes. But there were a thousand reasons why it should never be more than admiration from afar.

For one, Kaz could count on one hand the number of people he had ever trusted. Not one of them was alive today. But that’s what relationships were usually built on—right? Trust. From what he could remember, his parents trusted each other, confided in one another. 

The thing was, whatever it was in other humans that fueled their trust engines, created that basis for loving, fulfilling relationships with each other—Kaz was all out of it. The events of the last decade had beat it right out of him, trained him to function without it. And from what he could tell, that kind of damage wasn’t reversible nor was it fixable. No matter how gorgeous and funny and damn clever she was, Kaz would never be able to trust Inej—not really, not fully. And she deserved more than that. 

She deserved to be with the kind of person who had something real to offer her—someone with a family and friends to introduce her to, that she could share that sunshine smile with. Someone who had real prospects, not a random conglomeration of gigs and jobs of questionable legality. Someone who didn’t need to lie just to buy a new microwave. 

At the very least, Inej deserved someone who could hold her hand without suffering an onslaught of waking nightmares at something as simple as a brush of skin. She deserved someone who could hold her when she was sad and kiss away her tears until she smiled again. Kaz couldn’t even if he wanted to. Maybe the boy he’d once been could have—but not who he was now. Not the broken creature he’d become.

This was quickly becoming one of his more self-loathing hot showers. Maybe he needed to quit while he was ahead.

He swiped the water from his eyes with his thumbs, dark lashes sticking together. Despite his best efforts, his head did not feel any clearer. He’d come here to stop thinking about Inej, and it was backfiring horribly. 

A blur of images he’d spent the better part of two months deliberately pushing into the far recesses of his mind rose stubbornly to the surface: her long braid and the way little wisps curled around the edges of her forehead; the way she’d softly bite her lower lip when she was thinking; that tantalizing strip of brown skin just below the hem of her shirt that would peak out when she lifted her arms to reach something high…

This was a new and unique kind of agony, being unable to think of anything but her and knowing that, if she knew the truth of him, she would be justifiably horrified. She’d inevitably see reason and get as far away from him as possible. Well, no, first she’d try to fix him—they all did. And when she couldn’t, because no one ever could, she’d be frustrated. And she’d have every right to be–Kaz was nothing if not disappointing. And then, once they’d both suffered enough failure and disappointment and subsequent rage, then she’d get as far away from him as possible–leaving him feeling like a piece of shit, thoroughly and utterly devastated. Again.

And yet, here he was—his thoughts of her self-flagellation of the cruelest kind. With water beading on his skin and running in rivulets down his back, head bowed under the spray, Kaz couldn’t stop thinking of her. That bright, devilish light she’d get in her eyes when she had a new idea, and that laugh of hers. Oh God, her laugh. The real one, not that courtesy chuckle she reserved for keeping people happy. Her real laugh—head thrown back, eyes squished tight—was pure magic. That laugh made him want to…

No. It didn’t matter what he wanted. He couldn’t be what she deserved. He wasn’t fixable. Someday, she would see that. Someday, the right guy would come along, and she’d realize just how much time she was wasting on him, and everything would change. But…

But today was not that day. That wasn’t happening yet. Today, they had this job, and while he would never have her in the true romantic sense, at least for now, they had this. Kaz could make the most of these crumbs—he’d been doing that for as long as he could remember. This could be enough.

The shower faucet gave a sharp squeak when he switched it off. Again, he carefully held the towel rack for balance, stepped onto the bathmat, and reached for a towel. Toweled off his hair, then the rest of him, then wrapped the towel around his waist before switching off the light. 

Head still full of her, Kaz padded out into the hall— 

And into Inej.

Inej

Whatever Inej had imagined Kaz was hiding beneath all those layers, his usual shirt and jacket and loosened black tie—like a punk rock farce of a businessman—it wasn’t this. Not that she imagined anything, ever.

She was vaguely aware of all her breath leaving her in a rush and Kaz freezing, one hand halfway through his hair. It was damp and freshly mussed and hanging in his eyes. Damp as if he—because he’d just been—Inej took in the scene, eyes flicking from the swell of his bicep to his shoulders to the jet black of his lashes to his bare feet on the linoleum.

Kaz Brekker was standing before her in a towel. In nothing but a towel. A towel slung treacherously low on his narrow hips. By the looks of it, only wishful thinking and some strategic tucking was keeping the thing in place. Above that—above the crisp line of this white towel, Inej’s eyes traced the toned plane of his stomach with its narrow trail of dark hair to his navel, the smattering of hair on his chest and the freckles on his shoulders and the tattoos on his arms (goddamn, he was cool in ways she’d never be cool) and—Sankta Lizabeta, Inej was staring. How long had she been staring?!

Shaking her head, she coughed and looked away, cheeks and ears aflame.

“I’m sorry—I—class got out early and Jesper let me in. I thought—” Her voice sounded suddenly high and breathy. Smooth, Inej. Real smooth. So much for not making this weird. “I’ll wait in the—I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Beating a hasty retreat, Inej heard what might’ve been an okay or an I’ll be—saw what might have been a flush creeping up his neck. It didn’t matter. She was going to wait in the kitchen like a normal person, like a normal person at someone else's house. Rather than skulking around the corridors, bumping into half-naked acquaintances—friends—revenge scheme partners.

Back in the kitchen, Jesper was wearing a shit-eating grin that told her he’d heard everything.

“You!” Inej circled the kitchen counter and swatted his arm. “You knew he was in the shower?”

Unrepentant, he shrugged. “I thought he’d be finished by now.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

That earned her a grin and a wink. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. But, I should have known, Kaz always has taken the most luxurious showers. Maybe this’ll incentivise him to leave some hot water for me in future.”

Inej rolled her eyes, though it was only a token act of annoyance. Jesper was, in the end, one of the best things to come out of this thing—whatever it was—she had with Kaz. A too-sweet tonic, the perfect counterbalance to Kaz’s acerbic wit and candor. 

Perhaps as intended, the light in his eyes brought her heart rate back to normal. This didn’t have to get any weirder. Maybe it’d be good to have Jesper there, as a buffer. To keep her from saying or doing anything strange. They were all just friends, hanging out, planning a job. That’s all it was, all it needed to be. Ignoring for the moment the flutter in her belly caused by Kaz in nothing but his towel.

 “Can I get you a drink?”

Looking up from the edge of her sleeve, unraveling beneath her nervous fingers, Inej realized Jesper had been trying to get her attention for a while. He was ducked down and watching her, eyes creased with laughter.

“Oh—No, no, I’m okay. Really.”

“There’s no need for all that, Inej. We’ve got tea, coffee, beer, and—in the event you’re feeling really boring—water.”

She huffed a self-deprecating laugh and smiled. “Alright, I’ll take black tea if you’ve got any.”

“Coming right up!”

While Jesper filled the stove-top kettle, Inej hopped up on one of the bar stools across from him. She was a little surprised to see him pull out a container of aromatic, loose leaf tea before spooning some into two mugs. Even across the space, she could smell it: rich spices mingled with an earthiness that was unfamiliar, but comforting nonetheless.

“What kind of tea is that?”

“It’s one we drink at home. Da sends me a box every few months, ‘so I don’t forget where I come from’. As if I could.”

There was something both bitter and wistful about his tone but before Inej could probe any further, Kaz walked in.

Gone were any traces of the dishevelment she’d caught him in mere minutes ago. His hair was still wet but slicked back from his forehead and he was dressed comfortably, effortlessly. In dark chinos and a long-sleeve thermal, he looked as if he was actually quite used to people walking in on him half-naked. Maybe he was, she didn’t know his life. He’d even put on shoes and his customary black gloves, which he was adjusting as he walked. Cool, calm, and collected. All business. 

This was actually something she’d appreciated about Kaz from the very beginning. He’d gone to extreme lengths to prove to her, without ever saying it, that they were just friends. That she could trust his intentions, even if those intentions were kind of cold and unfeeling. 

Crucially, she believed him. Many men talked a good game, playing the long game to lower her guard, but it felt different with him. Maybe because Inej was kind of cold and unfeeling these days, too. Since The Incident. There was something comforting, safe even, about how standoffish Kaz was. 

He’d never touched her—never even tried to. He truly seemed only interested in settling scores. And that was fine, so was she. Really. Truly. It was fine.

To that end, she wasn’t going to think about the tattoo on his bicep as he sat across from her at his kitchen table, nor was she going to think about the way it had moved and flexed with his taut muscles. It had looked like a stylized capital R—why R? What did that stand for? It had to mean a lot to him, to have had it poked into his flesh. A special someone’s initials, perhaps? 

Her stomach had no business dropping the way it did at the thought. That was really uncalled for.

It wasn’t like she could ask, either. From the look on Kaz’s face, Inej could already tell they were going to pretend like the run-in outside the bathroom had never happened. Or maybe he really wasn’t bothered at all. Maybe she was the only one still fighting the blush. Which also made little sense—she’d been the fully clothed one. What did she have to feel embarrassed about?

Next to her, someone cleared their throat, and Inej nearly flinched. She felt like she was emerging from a trance as she slid her gaze away from where Kaz had been adjusting his gloves and pushing up his sleeves (she’d never noticed the shape of his forearms before and now was not the time). 

Between her and Kaz, Jesper was tableside and holding out a mug of tea to her, pressing back the slyest of smirks, his gray eyes sparkling. 

“Thanks,” she managed to say, accepting the tea.

“My pleasure,” Jesper grinned, as he pulled up a chair between them. 

When Inej shot a glance in Kaz’s direction, the glare he was leveling at Jesper could have sliced the man in two. She liked that look. No one would dare mess with that look. With that look on her side, she almost felt safe. 

Inej, you idiot, nothing about this is safe.

Pretending to be Kaz Brekker’s girlfriend for money was bad enough. Pretending to be Kaz Brekker’s girlfriend for money while harboring genuine feelings for him—danger. Idiot. Stupidest move imaginable. 

She couldn’t help recalling the way he’d shut down any suggestion that he was asking her out just that afternoon. Kaz clearly had no interest in her like that. She needed to put the kibosh on these unwelcome feelings, like, yesterday, and do what she needed to do to kick Sawyer the CompSci Major out of her life for good.

She straightened her spine, sitting tall in her chair, and wrapped both hands around the mug in front of her. She was also capable of giving looks no one would mess with. 

“Right,” she said, trying to channel Brekker’s businessman’s demeanor. “Let’s get our stories straight.”

Chapter Text

Kaz

“So, are you going to tell her?” Jesper hollered from the bathroom through a mouthful of toothpaste. 

“Tell who what?” Kaz shouted back as he dropped into his beat-up recliner in the living room. His muscles were throbbing from a day on his feet. 

He knew damn well who Jesper meant—Inej had left not fifteen minutes ago, after one of the best evenings Kaz could recall having while attending this stupid school. They’d ordered Tex-Mex and spent hours crafting an elaborate backstory for Committed-Monogamous-Kaz-and-Inej. Inej had laughed a lot, and now Kaz’s cheeks ached from smiling. Making her laugh evoked what he could only imagine Roman conquerors once felt like. It was almost enough to make him forget about running into her while wearing only a towel. Almost. 

“You know who.” Jesper was rolling his eyes when he popped his head around the corner, toothbrush in one cheek. His next words were a jumble of nonsense garbled by dental hygiene: “Ar yew gon tel her you ha’ a fing fer her?” 

“Yeah, I got none of that,” Kaz groaned, wincing as he threw the recliner back to elevate his feet. 

Jesper’s paused his toothbrushing, giving Kaz a quick once over, like he was sizing him up. Kaz scowled back at him. Sometimes having a perceptive roommate was more than a little unnerving.

“Ibuprofen?” Jesper offered. Kaz understood that at least.

“I’m fine,” Kaz insisted, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes. He’d have to sleep in the recliner tonight, but he’d be fine by the morning, maybe. 

From the sound of the running water in the bathroom, Kaz assumed Jesper had dropped it and was finishing getting ready for bed. He was prepared to reach for one of their university throw blankets and stare at his phone for the next hour while he thought about how to apologize to Inej for the whole towel thing before eventually falling asleep. 

He was stretching to reach the blanket on the old carpeted floor when a bottle of ibuprofen smacked him in the side of the head. Turning his deepening scowl back to the hallway revealed Jesper, beaming back at him with a minty fresh grin.

“You can take up to four if it’s real bad,” Jesper told him. “My mom was a nurse. I know things.” 

“She taught you about ibuprofen but not about not throwing things at people’s faces?” Kaz was already begrudgingly opening up the bottle. 

“Psh —she’s the reason I have such good aim,” Jesper said with a wink, and then folded his arms in front of himself. “So, are you going to tell Inej you have a thing for her?” 

“I do not have a thing for Inej.” Kaz was suddenly very focused on counting ibuprofen. 

“Yeah, sure, ok.” Jesper was unconvinced—and frankly, a little smug about it. It was annoying. He popped a couple ibuprofen in his mouth, and when he looked back, Jesper was still looking at him expectantly. 

“What? ” Kaz sighed, the pills still on his tongue. 

“I’m just saying, you have good game for someone who’s not interested in the girl he’s fake dating,” Jesper shrugged. “I might take notes—could be useful. Don’t you want water for that?” 

Glaring, Kaz swallowed two ibuprofen dry like a snake. 

“Ick,” Jesper shivered and turned back to the hallway. “Good night, weirdo. Hope you feel better in the morning.”

“Thanks for the drugs,” Kaz called after him, because, really, what would he do without Jesper? His back turned, Jesper gave a cordial little wave on his way to bed and disappeared for the night. 

Leaving Kaz alone with his thoughts and his phone.

I do not have a thing for Inej.

He was just going to have to keep saying it until it became true. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and sighed. In the otherwise unlit room, his phone illuminated his face starkly. He really wanted to say something—apologize or something, anything . Or would that make it weirder? She’d literally just left. Maybe it would be better to wait until he saw her tomorrow. He could say something on the way to their Econometrics class. 

But the next thing he knew, he’d brought up her text messages and found himself scrolling through their history. He wasn’t sure why, exactly—texting her now would definitely be against his better judgment. It was just that sometimes reading back through their past banter was a hit of serotonin he couldn’t get anywhere else.

I do not have a thing for Inej.

His phone vibrated. The text history jumped. 

Oh, fuck. Inej was texting him. 

Inej: Hey, I’m really sorry I just barged in earlier. I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable. Are we good? 

She was sorry? Fuck, okay. This was unexpected.

Kaz: You have nothing to be sorry for.

They needed to get that straight, for a start.

Kaz had been so busy getting his thoughts in order, trying to pull himself together for the night ahead that he hadn’t heard her coming. Besides, he shouldn’t have been in the shower that long. Shouldn’t have showered at all. It’d been an unnecessary concession to vanity, to his fear of her scrutiny. Not that she’d ever be so judgmental.

Stupid, was what it was. 

Kaz: What was weird was me showering when I knew you were coming over. We’re good. As long as you’re okay.

And was she okay? He hadn’t considered how everything that’d happened to her might affect her reaction to seeing him in that state, but now that he was, dread was twisting in the pit of his stomach.

Kaz: You are okay, right?

He pressed send before he could think better of that second message. Rereading it, suddenly it sounded unbearably needy. Like he needed her to hold his hand, reassure him after every awkward encounter.

Shit. Shit shit shit

Inej: Yeah, I’m okay. :)

Relief felt like a wave breaking, sudden and complete, all thanks to that blessed little emoji. Now, if only it wouldn’t drag the tide back out with it. Inevitably, the tension built up again. What next?

Kaz was suddenly wide awake and buzzing. His fingers hovered, waiting for the words to come. His or hers. Anyone’s. Anything. 

Three little dots appeared. She was going to keep talking. Kaz had to remind himself to exhale. 

Inej: Nice tits by the way

Say what now. Whatever Kaz thought she might have had to say, that was not even within the realm of possibilities. Not that he minded—

Inej: OMG NO

Her texts were coming in at break-neck speed now.

Inej: TATS 

Inej: I MEANT TATS

Inej: AS IN TATTOOS

Inej: YOUR TATTOOS ARE COOL

Inej: Omg fucking autocorrect

Inej: I’m going to go die now

At this point, Kaz was almost bent double in his recliner. Hand over his belly and tears in his eyes, he could hardly focus on the messages anymore he was laughing so hard. Briefly, he felt bad for laughing, but oh my God, this was unbearably hilarious. 

He pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose like that would stifle his wheezing laugh as he tried to keep it together enough to diffuse the situation. He did not need Jesper finding out they were already texting again. 

Kaz: Thank you. I’ve worked hard on both.

Inej: I hate this phone

Kaz: That’s too bad - your phone is making me feel very good about myself

Inej: I hate you, too

Kaz could practically see her smirking as she typed it. They were good. Things felt even now. Everything was going to be fine.

Kaz: I’ll let you know when I hear back from the psych department about our intro interview. I think this is going to work. 

Inej: Perfect :) See you tomorrow

Kaz thought too long about how to sign off. Eventually, he was sure too much time had passed, so he stuffed the phone into the recliner cushions and tried to sleep.

Inej

Looking around herself, Inej thought she might even be able to tolerate the hours she’d be spending in Dr. Zoya Nazyalensky’s study. It was lavishly appointed.

A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf took up the entire back wall, framing Dr. Nazyalensky in hundreds of hardbacks with pithy, alliterative titles splashed on their spines. Reclined back in her wingback chair, the psychologist leading the study was wearing a wrap dress the exact color of sweet pea blossoms—though nothing else about her seemed as delicate or as sweet as those. She was young and alarmingly beautiful–not the sort at all that Inej would have expected to find teaching psych master’s courses and running graduate studies. But her myriad of accolades and degrees on the wall said otherwise.

Various trinkets were scattered between the books, here and there, all around the room. Inej scanned them nervously while Dr. Nazyalensky organised their paperwork. Tiny potted succulents. Wobbly looking ceramics. An elegant hourglass in the far right corner. 

The highlight of the room, however, was the plantlife. Besides the four succulents Inej could see, there were seven other potted plants dotted about: a large fern drooping over her side of the sofa, a cheese plant climbing up the professor’s window and along the curtain rail, no less than three peace lilies, a red-blooming anthurium beside the desk, and a sweet-smelling hyacinth bulb on the table between Nazyalensky and the “couple”. 

It all made Inej feel precisely how it was supposed to make her feel: comfortable. This awareness, in turn, made Inej prickly. Dr. Nazyalensky wanted their guard down–and it was working.

She and Kaz met in the psychology department a few minutes before the introductory interview was set to begin and now they were sitting side by side, on a plush leather sofa, across from the principal investigator.

Inej couldn’t help but be aware of Kaz’s proximity—or rather, the lack thereof. The couch was clearly chosen for its size. Easily wide enough to seat four people, they had the option of sitting on opposite hemispheres to each other should the need arise. But they were pretending to be together . They were pretending to be in love. 

Suddenly, all Inej could think about was those inches of leather between them. Were they sitting too far apart? Should she be touching Kaz in some way? 

“Thank you for coming in today,” Dr. Nazyalensky spoke before Inej’s thoughts could spiral completely out of control. “We’re very grateful to you for volunteering for this study.”

“As I understand it, we’ll be compensated for our time.”

Inej tried not to swallow her tongue while Dr. Nazyalensky gave him a long look, drumming perfectly manicured nails on her knee.

“Of course. Well, let me rephrase, I am grateful you both agreed to work with us.” When Kaz didn’t raise any further objections—to Inej’s immense relief—Dr. Nazyalensky continued, “as you already know, the three of us will meet here for one hour a week, trialing a new approach to couples therapy that I and my colleagues have been developing. The trial will take eight weeks, at the end of which you will be compensated for your time.

“Sessions will consist of a guided conversation between the two of you and myself on a variety of aspects of your relationship. What you wish to discuss and in how much detail is up to you, you are the people who matter most in this room. After each session, I will ask you to fill out a basic questionnaire on your experience and progress so far. These are meant to be filled out independently of each other and will be supplemented with one-on-one interviews later in the process.”

At this stage, Dr. Nazyalensky paused to reach for a sheaf of paper on the desk behind her.

“This is an information sheet containing all the pertinent details, time commitment, data privacy, right to withdraw and so on, and a consent form. By signing the consent form, you are agreeing to participate and also acknowledging your right to rescind your consent at any time. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Inej nodded, taking the papers as Kaz did the same.

“Do you have any questions for me before we begin?”

Looking over at Kaz, Inej was sure he would. Mr. Attention-to-detail must have questions, if only to add a layer of realism to this ruse. But aside from flexing his hand open and closed over the head of his cane, Kaz didn’t react at all. In fact, if Inej hadn’t known better she would’ve said he looked nervous.

“Perfect.” Nazyalensky clapped her hands and nodded. “Then, let’s get started.” 

And with that, Dr. Nazyalensky turned over the hourglass and, as the sands began to sift, opened up a notepad on her lap. As anticipated, her opening questions were softballs–and they’d come prepared.

“Kaz, why don’t you start by telling me how you two met?”

Still, Inej was relieved she wasn’t being questioned first. Kaz didn’t so much as hesitate. He recalled their ruse with all the ease of taking an afternoon stroll.

“We met while we were both still in high school—sophomore year. It was the playoffs, and her whole school had come into town to support their team. Anyway, we ended up sitting near each other so when I dropped my phone between the slats of the bleachers, this one—” He cut a glance at Inej, expression relaxed “—dove down there and retrieved it for me. My knight in shining armor.”

It sounded so genuine, Inej almost believed him. And truthfully, that steadied her nerves more than the plantlife or the wobbly trinkets. 

“Well, I felt like I had to,” she added. “Kaz gets this expression—like he’s swallowed something nasty—when things don’t go his way, and he seemed to be having such a good time until then.” 

Kaz rolled his eyes. “I was having a tolerable time.”

Inej found herself chuckling as she looked over at him and the hard lines of his unsmiling face. True or not, the image of him having a good time at a game, without some larger scheme at work, was kind of lovely. Relaxed and unburdened. Neither of them were very good at that.

“I was waiting to hear back about an interview at the time,” Kaz added into the pause. 

“But you went to the game anyway?” Dr Nazyalensky probed. “Were you there with friends?”

Across from them, the doctor had a wry twist to her mouth as she spoke. Inej wondered what she was seeing, how she was interpreting their body language and tone. Compulsively crossing and uncrossing her legs, Inej was now overthinking everything.

“Everyone in my class was attending,” Kaz shrugged. “It’s the kind of thing you have to do in high school.”

“How about you, Inej? Did you feel you had to attend this game?”

“Well, a few of my friends were going and I knew some of the people playing too so no, but Kaz is just trying to be stoic. I definitely remember him having a good time.”

It took all of her willpower not to nudge his foot with hers where they were next to each other on the carpeted floor, to get some kind of reaction out of him. Actually, now that she was paying attention to his legs and the sofa between them, he seemed closer than before. His knees were slightly tilted toward her and one of his hands rested on the sofa cushion next to his thigh. 

What would a girlfriend do? Put her hand on his? Let their fingers entwine as a show of solidarity and support for each other? Maybe she should–

“Surely, you were having a good time after Inej rescued your phone?” One of Nazyalensky’s perfectly shaped brows was nearing her hairline as she watched Kaz, head cocked to the side. “What happened then?”

Inej was still looking at his gloved hand, resting there between them.

“One of the people I was with invited her to sit with us.”

“You didn’t invite her yourself?”

At that, Inej looked up—a laugh on her lips. 

“Kaz? Invite me to sit with him? Absolutely not.” Remembering how he used to sit alone in class, sequestered at the back of lecture theaters wrapped up in suits and silence, Inej huffed a laugh thinking about him befriending anyone. “His friend, Jesper, noticed that my friends had gone to get food and asked if I wanted to wait with him and Kaz until they came back.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Nazyalensky murmured down at her notepad. “Is it typical for you, Kaz, to wait for other people to initiate friendship like this?”

In actual fact, Inej thought, Kaz had approached both her and Jesper. Though, he hadn’t been looking for friendship. There had always been some underlying motivation, some scheme to run. Kaz had plans, higher goals. He was above all the dramatics and politics of high school and college socializing, which was an attitude Inej hoped she could acquire by mere proximity to him.

“That’s not a question I’ve ever had to ask myself,” Kaz said, coldly.

This only seemed to pique Nazyalensky’s interest more. “Ask yourself now. That’s why we’re here.”

Inej could almost see him grinding his teeth, biting back the retort undoubtedly sitting on his tongue. Several seconds passed without him saying anything, just glaring. Then, like ice melting, his face opened up. This was a Kaz Inej didn’t get to see often but one he had often used to powerful effect. Polite, accommodating and relentlessly obliging.

“I usually find people come to me,” he said, with a fixed half-smirk. If Inej didn’t know any better, she’d have said he looked friendly. 

But nothing was going to slip past Dr. Nazyalensky, it seemed. She crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward with an elbow on one knee. She wore a giant crystal ring on her middle finger that Inej couldn’t help staring at. 

“What happened just there, Kaz?” she asked, her head slightly cocked. Intrigued.

“What do you mean?” Kaz’s expression didn’t waver. 

“You shifted—something shifted.” Dr. Nazyalensky narrowed her brilliant blue eyes at them.  “What was on your mind just then?” 

Kaz huffed a ghost of a laugh, his gaze drifting off into the middle distance. Inej could tell he was aggravated, but she had no idea what to do about it. Her palms were starting to sweat. This was all beginning to feel terribly ill-advised. They’d barely been here more than five minutes, and they seemed seconds away from being found out. 

“If we’re going to work together, Mr. Brekker,” said Dr. Nazyalensky, in a tone Inej had not heard from her before, “then you will have to allow yourself to be vulnerable. That’s why you sign the paperwork, why I offer complete confidentiality. My students will not know your names—only your stories and your responses to the questionnaires. Do you still wish to participate?” 

Dr. Nazyalensky’s needle-like gaze just now could have pinned a hornet to a card. Inej was about ready to confess the entire scheme to her in that moment when Kaz finally spoke again. 

“I just fail to see how any of this pertains to the current state of my relationship with Inej,” he said to Dr. Nazyalensky. “It feels irrelevant. It feels like you’re being nosy.” 

Oh, my God. He really said that right to the doctor’s face. Way too vulnerable, dude, Inej wanted to shout. It took every ounce of self control to not ram her elbow into his pancreas. There goes the microwave.

But Dr. Nazyalensky sat back in her chair with a syrupy-slow smile that gleamed. She reminded Inej of a dragon, lulling them both into a warm stupor before setting them ablaze. This was such a bad idea. Would they be kicked out of school once the doctor found out they were lying to her? Or just be put on academic probation? Could she lose her scholarship? Why hadn’t she thought of all this before? Saints, her parents were going to kill her–

“I commend your honesty, Kaz,” she said. “It’s refreshing. And while I cannot give you too much information about our methods and our theories, as that could affect your responses and undermine our work here, I can assure you that how individuals meet and establish communication is absolutely relevant to how their relationships grow. How you met Inej still influences how you connect with her to this very day. And knowing how you form relationships gives us insights into the way you communicate now. Does that make sense?” 

Inej noticed a muscle in Kaz’s jaw tick—the only indicator that he was stressed beneath the veneer of his genteel smile. It was a little comforting knowing she wasn’t the only one hiding a growing sense of panic.

“It does,” Kaz conceded, with no small amount of chagrin. 

“Good,” said the doctor. Inej couldn’t help feeling like Dr. Nazyalensky maybe looked a little smug, a little victorious. “Now, before we circle back to why you, Kaz, don’t seek out connection but rather let it find you, I do want to address something else you said that I find a little more interesting at this juncture. You said you feel like I am ‘being nosy’—do you often feel like you have to hide parts of yourself from authority figures?” 

Shiiiit. Was this woman a wizard? All Kaz ever did was hide parts of himself—from everyone.

Kaz gave a relaxed, easy laugh that sounded entirely fake to Inej. 

“I’m an open book, doc,” he said with a smile, and then slung an arm across the back of the sofa behind Inej’s head. She could feel the warmth of his body so close to hers when he did—very nearly touching. “Isn’t that right, love?” he asked her, with a tense smile. Even his cologne had a bite to it.

An open book, he’d said. Inej could have laughed. Their entire real relationship was entirely predicated on schemes. Kaz had more hidden layers than baklava. And she was sure Dr. Nazyalensky could detect when she was outright lying. 

She was going to have to find a middle ground—all of her instincts were screaming for it. 

She gave a soft, coy smile back up at him, just as saccharine sweet as his.

“You can be a little secretive. Babe.” The odd pet name to match his stuck on her tongue like it didn’t want to leave, but she forced it out anyway. And then hoped the half-truth was enough to bring some balance back to the room. Hoped Kaz wouldn’t think she was throwing him under a bus. She scanned his coffee-black eyes for any sign of betrayal, but found herself shut out. Kaz’s expression was unreadable. 

“Is this going to be a problem?” Dr. Nazyalensky broke in, one eyebrow arched. 

“No,” Kaz and Inej said in unison, snapping to attention. 

“Because I have other candidates for this study–”

“It’s not going to be a problem,” Kaz asserted, and Inej almost believed him.

“Excellent.” Dr. Nazyalensky sat back in her chair and turned her crystal blue gaze away from Kaz. “Now, Inej, could you tell me how you feel about Kaz’s reclusive tendencies?” 

And though they weren’t even touching, Inej could feel Kaz’s whole body tense up. 

This was such a bad idea.

Kaz

“Are we good?” Inej whispered to Kaz beneath the echoes of their footsteps away from Dr. Nazyalensky’s office. It was a question Kaz wasn’t quite prepared to answer yet. His mind was still swimming from the doctor’s interrogations. 

“We’re good,” he mumbled back though it felt like a lie.

One thing was for sure: he had seriously underestimated what couples’ therapy was going to entail. 

He’d expected a barrage of questions about their respective childhoods, their mothers, and other inane psychobabble like what their favorite breakfast foods said about their sexuality and shit. What he had not been prepared for was being perceived.  

Inej, how do you feel about Kaz’s reclusiveness? 

Kaz, how do you usually respond when Inej expresses a need for quality time? 

Talk to me about your conflict resolution. Who usually apologizes first?

Would you say you’re satisfied with your physical intimacy?

Inej, how do you feel about that? And Kaz, how do you feel about that? 

How do you feel? How do you feel? How do you feel?

Kaz felt like lighting himself on fire, that’s how he felt about it.

“I, uh, have to get to class,” Inej was saying. When he looked at her, she was fidgeting with the straps of her usual black backpack and avoiding eye contact, looking just as uncomfortable as he felt. It was wretched. He was wretched. 

“I’m meeting up with Jesper,” Kaz said back, suddenly intensely focused on the door handles to the psych building’s vestibule. Get me out of here had become his singular goal in life.

“Okay, then.” Inej’s shoulders were bunched up by her ears when he glanced at her, her arms folded in front of her. She shot him a tight-lipped smile as she quickened her pace. “I’ll, uh, talk to you later? I guess?” 

“Yeah. Later.” 

The cool breeze lifted her inky hair as they passed out of the building and into the sunlight on the commons. As she left his side, the air wafted the unmistakable scent of coconut oil towards him, and with it the memory of her curled next to him on that sofa. Jesus, he shouldn’t have put his arm around her, shouldn’t have called her love, shouldn’t have turned this whole thing into a ridiculous farce—it had been overkill and now he would lose even her friendship…

Eyes on the prize, Brekker.  

He needed a new microwave. And this was still the quickest way to get it, given his and Jesper’s current financial straits. 

This was all Dr. Nazyalensky’s fault—those questions she’d ask. The way she’d looked at him as if she could see through every layer of misappropriated arrogance that he’d so carefully crafted. She’d caught him off guard, that was all. It hadn’t helped matters that Inej had taken her side—

Kaz shook his head to put a stop to that thought train as quick as he could. Because that wasn’t real. There were no sides, because they weren’t really a couple. This was a con, nothing more. This was a con that had made his co-conspirator uncomfortable, and Kaz had a duty to keep their lines of communication open so they could see the job done.

There was a bench beneath a towering oak tree not two yards ahead of him, about a stone’s throw away from where some dude bros were throwing around a Frisbee on the commons. And though he knew he was toeing the line of being clingy and weird, Kaz took a seat on it, stretched out his bad knee, and, after tugging off his gloves, pulled his phone from his pocket. 

He stared at Inej’s text thread for a good five minutes before ripping off the bandaid and sending a message rapid-fire before he lost his nerve. 

Kaz: I know you probably won’t see this until after class, but I’m sorry that was so weird. Let’s talk about it later tonight? 

There. That wasn’t terrible. The pressure in the center of his chest released just a little. He tilted his head back in the sunlight for a moment and took in a breath, trying to get a grip.

Then, his phone vibrated.

His heart was pounding when he lifted it to read: 

Inej: Please—we told the dr I’m the one who apologizes first 😅 You’re making a liar out of me

Kaz snorted. And tried not to smirk. There were people nearby, after all. 

Kaz: I don’t have a problem with you being a liar as long as all of that didn’t upset you

There was a long enough pause that Kaz began to suspect that Inej was too busy in class to respond (understandable). He was a little surprised when his phone vibrated again.

Inej: It didn’t upset me. We knew this wasn’t going to be easy. 

Kaz was working on a reply when another text from Inej came through. 

Inej: It did seem like Nazyalensky got under your skin, though, and I wanted to talk about that

Kaz: Ok

Inej: Didn’t it seem to you like she could tell that we were lying? Like she knew how to peel things back? Or was that just me? 

It definitely wasn’t just her. Kaz had noticed it too. Dr. Nazyalensky had slitted her eyes and cocked her head when they’d both tried, rather disjointedly, to cobble together some kind of calm, rational response to, “and how often would you say you are sexually intimate?”

“We’re saving ourselves for marriage,” Kaz had heard himself lie, completely deadpan, in a desperate attempt to get the doctor to not ask any more awkward sex questions. Inej had smiled and nodded along robotically, her hands calmly folded in her lap. Kaz suspected she had been praying for a sinkhole to open up under the sofa.

Kaz: No, she’s definitely good at her job

Inej: Right, so I’ve been sitting here wondering if maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. Maybe we’re overthinking and trying too hard, you know? I think if we give her *just enough* of the truth, she’ll see what she wants to see and stop fishing for the gory details.

She had a point.

Kaz: And how do you picture us being just truthful enough? 

Three little dots bobbed and disappeared and reappeared several times over before Inej finally sent the text.

Inej: Neither of us is very good at acting like we’re in love, I think it comes across really unnatural. I think that’s what made her suspicious.

Kaz felt his stomach drop, unbidden, unwelcome. The arm thing, the pet name–that’s what this was about. He repulsed her so much, even the merest suggestion of affection made her uncomfortable. Kaz swallowed hard. God, this sucked. 

Inej: Do you not agree? 

Be professional. Be normal. Don’t make it weird.

Kaz: It’s a romantic couples’ study. I guess I’m trying to wrap my head around how we should be acting instead, if this was suspicious.

Inej: Do we have to act different at all? Is what I think I’m saying. Realistically, couples don’t spend this much time and energy focusing on how to act. 

Inej: I mean, I know plenty of couples that don’t even appear to like each other very much. It might be more believable if we pretended to hate each other. 

Kaz frowned. He liked this even less. 

Because there was no hating Inej Ghafa, not even for a con. Not even for $200 and a new microwave. It just wasn’t possible. He could lie about a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them. He’d never, not even for a moment, known what it would feel like to dislike her. 

The pressure in his chest he’d enjoyed a brief reprieve from was back. Maybe he needed to see an actual doctor about this, though he knew deep-down there was no cure. Not when Inej thought loving him was unnatural. 

He scraped his fingers through his hair roughly as he pondered, then leaned over with his elbows propped on his spread knees as he typed out a carefully worded response. 

Inej

The man standing behind the lectern looked about eighty years old. For all Inej knew, he was eighty years old. Sadly, neither his age nor his lecturing style nor the content of the lecture were engaging enough to stop her from glancing surreptitiously at her phone.

She’d sent her last message four—no, five minutes ago. What could possibly be taking so long? Nothing she’d said was so controversial, was it? 

In Inej’s somewhat limited experience, genuine relationships did not require love or happiness. The ball-and-chain joke was so common as to be cliched, as were jokes about men being “whipped” or emasculated by their girlfriends. The men she knew acted as if a relationship were just a negative side effect of having someone to sleep with, like commitment was some kind of punishment. None of these people seemed happy to her and yet she never doubted they were in long term, committed relationships. No one ever questioned their validity.

That seemed easier to fake than… whatever had happened in that interview. If being open and honest with Dr Nazyalensky was going to make Kaz curl up like a particularly nervous woodlouse then wouldn’t it be easier to just—

Her phone, which she was clutching almost painfully in her lap beneath the desk, vibrated with an incoming message. It seemed unreasonably loud, shaking her out of that train of thought.

It was Kaz. Obviously.

Looking at the message felt like looking at an eclipse, dangerous and yet oddly alluring. It was accompanied by that light-headedness she was coming to associate with Kaz, the way her heart beat faster and her palms turned clammy.

What if she’d said totally the wrong thing?

Kaz: If “believable” means pretending to hate each other, I don’t think I can do this. 

Shit. Inej’s heart dropped but another message followed shortly afterwards.

Kaz: It may be true that a lot of couples these days seem to push through despite weapons-grade resentment and maybe the doc would find that convincing. Hell, maybe she’d even prefer that. Some poor schmucks to sink her teeth into. But if we need to be more truthful with her, then you need to know that if I were to do this, to be in a relationship with someone, I’d do it right. I’d work to be worthy of her, to become at least some semblance of a decent man. Take her to dinner and buy her favorite flowers and crawl through hell and back to give her the world if I had to. *That’s* how it should be. That’s how I do this.

For several seconds, Inej blinked at her screen. She was struck by the sudden conviction that she must be hallucinating. 

Looking up from her phone—no, there was the professor, still giving his boring-as-sin lecture. There were still three empty seats beside her and a reedy boy by the name of Malcolm in the seat after that, with his headphones in and a stylus in his mouth. Her notes were still dated to today’s date, with the title of the lecture and a half-page worth of notes scrawled underneath. 

All this meant that she was not in fact hallucinating and that Kaz Brekker had indeed written those words.

She read them again.

If I were to do this, I’d do it right.

That’s how it should be. That’s how I do this.

Damnably, Inej really wanted to believe him. She could almost hear him saying it, the rough burr of his voice and the steel of his character. Kaz never did anything without a reason, without the full weight of his convictions.

Still, a small voice in her head insisted that this was an awful lot of effort to go to for a game, a ruse. $200. And it was all well and good Kaz saying all this but would he be able to fulfill such lofty promises. He’d never struck Inej as a very flowers and dinner kind of man, even fake-flowers and fake-dinner.

The more immediate problem, responding, proved nigh impossible.

All she could think was—

Inej: Oh

Kaz: So you can see how it would be even more disingenuous to pretend to hate the person I’m meant to be dating

Inej: Right

God, Inej, don’t lose the plot. Only an idiot would think he’d been suggesting that he would do all that for her.

Kaz: Nazyalensky would know we’re lying

Still, against all of her better judgment, she couldn’t help conjuring up images of him and his suit and a bouquet of vibrant geraniums waiting outside her dormitory for her. Maybe his eyes would go soft and dreamy when he saw her coming down the steps toward him. Maybe his breath would catch a little. 

The more troublesome matter at hand was that that’s all it was—a nice, completely unrealistic thought. The Kaz Brekker she’d known since the day he’d first walked up to her after their history class let out had been gruff and sharp and conniving, their every interaction centered around some greater scheme. That person didn’t do flower bouquets or big romantic gestures, and that was the person she’d shared the psychologist’s sofa with that afternoon. 

If he was really showing her a different side of himself now, one that would make their ploy to scam the psychology department less suspicious, then she needed to believe him first. 

She needed proof. This was the only reasonable response. It had nothing to do with how her heart fluttered and her palms sweated as she typed a shaky reply. That was just anxiety—nerves. A very human reaction to a stressful situation.

Inej: If that’s what will make the back story more believable, then I think you need to show me so I can lie to Nazyalensky a little less, too.

Kaz’s response was almost immediate. 

Kaz: Makes sense.

The droning of the lecture was sounding very distant now. What class was this, even? Didn’t matter. She’d ask to look over Malcolm’s notes later.

Inej: To be clear, we’re talking about a staged date for the sake of the study

Kaz: Yes

Inej: Like character research

Kaz: We’re on the same page, Ghafa, don’t worry

Too late—Inej was made of worry. And butterflies. Which was only cause for more worry. 

Her phone vibrated again in her tightly clenched fist.

Kaz: It would be helpful for getting What’s-His-Face off your back anyway

Inej: Sawyer

Kaz: Yeah, that guy

Inej: Saying his name isn’t going to summon him, you know

Inej: He’s not Voldemort

Kaz: It’s not my fault he’s particularly forgettable 

Inej pressed back a snicker. Malcolm shot her a dirty look. She was probably going to have to get copies of the class notes from someone else.

Inej: I should get back to class

Kaz: You’re doing a terrible job of paying attention

Inej sent him a gif of a bunch of middle fingers. 

Kaz: :) 

Her attention span did not improve throughout the rest of the class.

Chapter Text

Kaz 

“Explain this to me one more time,” Jesper said from the bathroom doorway. He wore sweats and was spooning Honey Nut Cheerios into his mouth at 6:30 p.m.—a daily reminder of why Kaz had to see this job through. They deserved hot food again, damnit. 

“Nazyalensky’s onto us,” Kaz replied, craning his neck while he scraped his razor over his jaw. “We struggled to maintain a convincing cover story in our first session. So, we’re practicing to make this more believable.”

“And this was your idea or hers?” Jesper asked. You know, Kaz wasn’t sure. 

“It was like a mutual agreement.” He gave a convincing casual shrug while he rinsed off his razor blade.

“Was it also a mutual agreement that you needed to shave for your non-date?” Jesper prodded. His eyes twinkled as he wiggled an eyebrow, helping himself to another overflowing spoonful of cereal. 

Kaz picked up his cane that leaned against the sink and extended it to shove the bathroom door closed on Jesper’s face. 

“Hey!” Jesper pushed back and, for a moment, the door wobbled back and forth between their opposing weights. 

“You can be jealous of my facial hair from out there,” Kaz argued, giving his cane an extra good shove so that the door clicked shut. 

“Wait, I can be helpful!” came Jesper’s muffled plea from the other side. “Wooing under duress is a Jesper Fahey specialty!” 

“And when there is wooing to be done, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“Oh my God, really? That’s really nice, actually.” 

“Jesus Christ, go away. If I nick my jugular right now, it’ll be all your fault.” 

“Fine. Have her home before midnight, Casanova,” Jesper shouted, his voice beginning to grow distant as he wandered back down the hall. “And use a condom!” 

Kaz quickly tightened, focused his grip on the razor and –

“Shit.” A quick sting, and a little bead of blood appeared just beneath his jawbone. Goddamnit. Kaz pressed a tissue to it and waited for the bleeding to stop.

That man was going to be the death of him. Use a condom. As if that was even within the realm of possibility. There would be nothing even approaching—intimate contact of any kind. It’s not as if they were actually dating. Kaz was certain Inej didn’t have even the slightest interest in him that way.

Though she had made that comment about his tattoos. Still, after everything that’d happened, why would she be interested in any man like that?

Kaz glanced up at his own reflection, took in his dark hair and dark eyes, his ever-so-slightly crooked nose—the result of an ill-advised brawl before college—and thin mouth. No, there was nothing so appealing about him that she’d ever think of him like that. Especially not while Inej was going around being, well, Inej. 

Usually, Kaz didn’t make a point of noticing beauty in others except when it served him to, but he’d be hard-pressed to deny he didn’t find her attractive.

The first time he’d made her laugh, Kaz had thought his heart might stop she was so beautiful. He could recall with wicked clarity the way her eyes had crinkled at the corners, how she’d tipped her head back, and the sound. There was nothing sweeter.

But no, this evening was just practice. For the microwave. To make this whole charade more convincing and to prove a point. If pushed, Kaz might admit he’d outdone himself with his plans for their ”date”. He was nowhere near as bad as Jesper when it came to resisting a taunt or obvious setup but when Inej had asked him for proof—it became a matter of pride. 

A cursory internet search had provided confirmation of some key elements: good (read: expensive) food, a romantic setting, boat ride along the canal, flowers, and walking her home. All of that would surely give them much more to talk about with Nazyalensky.

Affording both the food and the boat ride was a matter of knowing the right people—which, as a professional swindler, Kaz made a point of knowing the right people just about everywhere. It was a matter of survival. As it turns out, all it took was a little digging: an old client informed him that a certain maitre d' was skimming wine from his employer’s cooler, and then he found a junior-year dropout who still owed him a favor pushing boats with some company called Scudamores. Easy. Like taking candy from a baby.

Everything was in place and if this nick would just stop bleeding, he could finish getting ready. A glance at his watch told him he had thirty minutes. Just enough time.

He stopped outside Jesper’s open bedroom door on his way out. For his part, Jesper was halfway inside the old wooden trunk at the end of his bed. Just a lanky brown torso and sweats-clad legs. Presumably hearing Kaz, he popped up like he was coming up for air—a faded t-shirt clutched in one hand and a cassette tape in the other.

Blinking at Kaz, he made a questioning face. “You’re off?”

“Is my tie straight?”

It was an old joke. 

Jesper’d been the one to teach him how to tie a tie after watching him struggle in the mirror, copying shitty YouTube videos. That’s how it’d come out about Kaz’s family—that his dad had never had the chance to teach him.

“Straight as I am,” Jesper said with a wink.

Smoothing a hand down his front, Kaz decided to ignore that comment. This was as good as it was going to get. He grabbed his keys and cane and headed out the door without glancing back.

Despite the fact Kaz had timed everything perfectly—stepping off the curb on the opposite side of the street to the restaurant at precisely 7:29—Inej was already there. 

It was cool for early Fall, the air fresh and light. The few trees lining the canal still held onto their summer verdure and offered the sense of affluence they were going to be “paying” for tonight. Around them, the cobbled streets were moderately busy. Kerch’s wealthier subset and tourists alike, scouting for the best spots, looking for ways to waste their hard earned cash. Idly, Kaz wondered how many of their offspring he was in the process of defrauding.

Kaz could almost imagine enjoying himself tonight. More so as he approached Inej where she stood under the shop’s awning, repeatedly running a slender finger over the delicate gold necklace at her throat. If Kaz hadn’t known any better, he’d have said it was a nervous gesture but then she looked up. Their eyes caught, and he felt his heart jackrabbit in his chest.

Were her eyes always so warm? Had she always looked at him like that? Better yet, did she always look like that in general?

There she was, wearing what he could only assume was an outfit designed to render him completely useless. A soft cotton blouse, unbuttoned at the cuffs and throat to reveal slender wrists and sweeping collarbones, tucked into a mid-length skirt in a yellow-almost-ochre color that contrasted beautifully with her dark complexion. It occurred to him that he’d never seen her in a skirt, or in anything so—

“Lovely.”

“What?”

Mortified, Kaz realized he’d said that aloud just as he came within hearing distance. Inej narrowed those perfect brows at him, head cocked in puzzlement. 

“I said—it’s a lovely evening, tonight.”

Well, that was the first time he’d said anything like that—ever. 

Kaz liked to think of himself as quick on his feet, a competent and convincing liar. Inej was determined to prove him wrong. Mercifully, she seemed similarly inclined to move on and only gave him a jerky nod before sucking in a breath.

“So,” she said, glancing at the restaurant’s sliding door. “Shall we—”

“Right—yeah, let’s do this.”

Gesturing for her to lead the way, Kaz tried to think about calming things. His tax returns, playing COD with Jesper, the silver of his cane, wind through cherry trees in full bloom—anything to bring his heart rate back down. So far, nothing was working.

Kaz was just in the middle of trying to tear his gaze away from the little hairs at the nape of Inej’s neck, where her braid was pulled over one shoulder, when the maitre d’ said something.

“Kaz Brekker,” Inej answered for him. 

It’s a good thing he did manage to look up then because otherwise he would have missed the shade of off-white the man turned at the mention of Kaz’s name. If Inej noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“Right this way.”

The interior was nice but restrained: dark walls hung with mirrors to give the illusion of greater depth, round tables each with a candle in the center and relatively simple place settings—relative here including a fish knife.

On the way to their table, which was in the far corner with a view of the entrance and the kitchens at Kaz’s request, they encountered a familiar face. Sawyer the CompSci Major, dressed up for the occasion in a button down and poorly fitted sports coat with his sandy blonde hair parted and gelled to one side, was sitting across from an older-looking woman at a table in the middle of the restaurant. 

Seeing him there, Kaz was struck by a series of conflicting feelings. 

Theoretically, this was a good thing. They needed Sawyer to see them together for the ruse to convince him to leave Inej alone. Kaz had spent a not inconsiderable amount of time trying to come up with ways to get Sawyer here so that he could witness the date. In the end, all he’d needed to do was get access to the man’s google calendar (with shockingly little effort) to discover he was going to be at the very same restaurant that week anyway. Kaz booked their table accordingly.

On the other hand, now there was a witness, and Kaz did not like the idea of doing this observed.

As they passed, Kaz caught Sawyer’s roving eye. He’d turned to grin at Inej, eyes creased and tongue in his cheek like he had something to say, before Kaz finally walked into frame. The almost comical double-take coupled with his general look of confusion, although satisfying, was not enough to draw Kaz in.

They followed the maitre d’ to their table without addressing the CompSci Major in the room.

Having propped his cane against his chair, Kaz busied himself with needlessly adjusting the knife beside his plate. Opposite, Inej was fluffing her skirt, he thought. That’s what it looked like in his periphery. All this was better than thinking too hard about where they were, about the atmosphere, about the way the collar of her shirt rested against her neck. 

There was a candle on the table. And a menu. Kaz picked up and focused on the menu as if he hadn’t already decided what he was going to order.

Inej kept looking up at him, shifting in her seat, looking over her shoulder. Something was upsetting her. Maybe—probably Sawyer. They hadn’t really discussed it beforehand, it just seemed like the best, most efficient way of getting him off her back. Maybe Kaz had miscalculated.

“Are you—”

“Wow, the food here—”

They both cut themselves off and looked up. 

The candlelight limned her face, caught in the dark pools of her eyes. It was hard to look away again, but then she ducked her head and pushed a stray lock behind her ear. Kaz took a ragged breath.

“This place came highly recommended.”

She stopped playing with the napkin in her lap and smiled a half-smile at that. “It looks highly recommended, by which I mean expensive. I’m not sure I can—”

“Don’t worry. It’s on me.”

That seemed to spook her. Inej’s eyes went very wide, and she blinked rapidly for several seconds. It was only when she furrowed her brow and pursed her lips that he realized the expression was, in fact, confusion.

“How?” Kaz tried not to be offended before she continued, “I mean… you can’t afford to replace your microwave right now.”

Ah, that.

“Sorry, I misspoke. The meal will be on the house.”

She only seemed more confused. Then, she glanced back in the direction of the maitre d’ who watched them nervously from his station, and Kaz watched the realization dawn. Not for the first time, he thought she really was too smart for her own good.

“I’m not even going to ask,” she said eventually, putting her hands up, resigned.

A small part of him wanted her to, wanted to tell her how he’d gotten the information on Jack. Partly, to see how she’d react and partly, to brag about it. It was a horrible impulse, one he squashed remorselessly. 

Stay on task, Kaz.

Inej

Saints, were things always this awkward between them?

They’d barely exchanged two words since ordering. Maybe it was something in the air. Although, if she was being honest, it was probably just her awkwardness. The atmosphere made her uncomfortable. Everything was so expensive. The food, the wine, the people. She didn’t know how to be in this place.

“So—” Just ask anything about his life, anything at all “—do you have any siblings?”

In the middle of taking a sip of water, Kaz’s face froze. It was as if she’d asked him if he’d ever killed someone and the answer was yes. He looked caught, guilty. That expression morphed into a glacial kind of calm. Inej wasn’t fooled by it for one second. Nazyalensky wouldn’t have been, either.

“No.”

Even for someone prone to sentences of one syllable that was curt. Clearly, she’d struck a nerve. If she couldn’t strike on some topic he was willing to talk about, this “date” was going to be like pulling teeth.

“Me neither.” Inej shook her head and shrugged. “I always wanted a little brother. Someone to teach, to get in trouble with—you know?”

Every word out of her mouth seemed to push him further into himself. This was bad. She got the sudden urge to reach out and touch his hand, to try and pull him back. But when she spread her palm over the table cloth between them, he withdrew his ungloved hand like it’d been burned. A signal clear as day: no touching. 

The urge to touch him didn’t go away and now, she had even more questions.

Inej cast about for something else to say.

“I never asked, how did you and Jesper meet?”

“We were randomly assigned roommates in freshman year and took the same Intro to Ravkan class.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you spoke Ravkan?”

“I don’t.” His pressed his lips together, like he was holding something back. Then, “I took it to meet my language requirement.”

Inej nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Do you?” Kaz coughed this out after chewing on it for an apparent age. “Speak Ravkan, that is.”

“Yeah. I mean, my family still lives there most of the time.”

That seemed to pique his interest. “Most of the time?”

“My whole family takes part in the traditional Suli performing arts, so half the time, we’re traveling to venues and festivals and pretty much all over, wherever we’ve been booked.”

She smiled to herself as she recalled it, the days spent crammed into campers with her cousins and the endless hours of road games and laughter and her mother cooking enormous meals for everyone over a tiny camp stove. Somedays, she missed it so much, she thought she’d crumble to pieces. Somedays, she wondered why she was still bothering with college at all, after what had happened only a few months prior.

“You liked it?” Kaz was asking. When she looked up, he was watching her intently. “Growing up that way?” 

Inej knew what it was like to have her family’s lifestyle met with skepticism. She’d been teased before by kids who didn’t understand what it was like to grow up with an ancient culture thrumming through their very veins, who couldn’t fathom the importance of carrying on a dying tradition. She didn’t see any of that judgment in Kaz’s eyes now. If anything, what she was seeing felt a lot like reverence. 

“I loved it,” she said, with a growing confidence.

Kaz had leaned forward to rest his forearms against the edge of the table. The candlelight caught his face at such an angle as to accentuate his already pronounced bone structure, that jawline sharp enough to cut glass. And his eyes—the light wasn’t enough to bring out the warm tones she knew were buried in there, instead making them appear blacker, deeper than usual. She thought she might get lost in them.

“Did they come to Ketterdam after—”

Inej watched as regret snatched the end of that sentence out of his mouth. She knew he was referring to The Incident–that’s what “After dot dot dot” always meant, no matter who was asking it. But Kaz was right to ask it, of course, for the sake of the con. That was the kind of thing they would know about each other, that they’d ask and care about.

Steeling herself, she nodded. “They—they didn’t find out right away but with the videos… It’s not like I could hide it from them even if I wanted to. It was kind of them to fly out so quickly.”

It struck her then, that this was the first time she’d even come close to talking about The Incident with anyone other than the college counselor her RA had pressured her to go see. Whether or not those four and a half sessions even counted, Inej wasn’t sure.

Kaz was listening, that much was clear. His expression was artfully arranged to appear engaged yet neutral. Despite his best efforts, Inej could sense the anger roiling beneath the surface. She’d come to recognise—expect, even—this particular reaction, the way he got angry and vengeful on her behalf. It was almost sweet. If such a word could ever be used to describe Kaz Brekker.

“Are they still in the city?”

“No, they have other obligations and responsibilities back home. I couldn’t ask them to stay after things calmed down. Though, they’re continuing legal proceedings through our lawyers—” Inej waved a hand. She didn’t really want to get into it. “I’ve been talking non-stop. What about you? What’re your plans after all this?”

Kaz cocked his head and for a beat, Inej thought he might push for more details, more information. She was nervously bunching the napkin against her sweaty palms when the waiter returned with their food, effectively distracting both of them.

Her relief lasted only long enough to look down at her plate. 

There, framed by two spears of asparagus, was the smallest salmon filet Inej had ever seen. It was accompanied by three apparently malnourished potatoes. 

They hadn’t ordered starters. This was her main course. This—

Disbelief quickly morphed into laughter. Inej clapped a hand over her mouth and looked around the room. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed her unflattering snort. 

Across the table, Kaz wasn’t faring much better. He’d ordered the steak and was now looking at a cut of meat the size and shape of a diminutive hockey puck, surrounded by creamy potatoes apparently squeezed out of a piping bag for maximum aesthetic advantage—if nothing else. Inej recalled the prices, half delirious with the strain of holding back tears.

When their eyes met, Inej saw her mirth mirrored back. 

Clearly trying not to laugh, Kaz screwed his mouth shut. Finally, after a few attempts, he said, “welcome to the upper echelons, Inej. Tonight we dine like kings and queens.”

That was the final straw, Inej let laughter bubble up and overtake her. The ridiculousness of this whole situation rose to the surface along with it. They didn’t belong here, didn’t want to belong here. That much, at least, they could agree on. As with every time she found their values aligned, Inej couldn’t help the wave of affection she felt for Kaz. That will help the con, too, at least, she reminded herself, with an unwelcome sinking feeling in her gut. 

“I should send my compliments to the chef,” she managed, wiping a stray tear from under her lashes. “I’m sure it tastes exquisite.”

“It better.”

She could barely hold back another wave of giggles as they both struggled to choose which fork to use from the array provided. (It hadn’t helped that Kaz had pointed out that her salmon was barely the size of a Cheeto and could probably just be swallowed whole to save the dishwasher some trouble.) 

When they’d finally composed themselves, eyes watering and cheeks aching, she’d glanced around, self-conscious of her outburst. Across the room, she caught Sawyer’s glare and her insides iced over. 

“Good.” When she looked back at Kaz, his expression had twisted into something resembling dark satisfaction at the sight of Sawyer’s brooding. “Everything’s going to plan.” 

“He looks pissed.” Inej turned her attention back to the dainty sliver of salmon before her. She wanted to revel in their triumph, too, but instead she just felt cornered. 

Beside her, her phone buzzed in her purse. Probably Nina checking in on her. Rightly or wrongly, her roommate had been skeptical about this whole charade. 

“He just looks like an incel to me,” Kaz was saying, picking at his potato mush. “Pissed is probably his default setting. He’s showing us his true colors.” 

Her phone buzzed again. And again. And though she knew it was bad form to check her phone on a date (This isn’t a real date, you loon), Inej set her fork down to at least reassure Nina and set it to silent for the evening. 

At first when she looked at her phone, she was confused. There weren’t any new texts. But her Instagram notifications were climbing with each passing second. Dread replaced confusion as she opened her dms. 

bettercallsawyer: you know what the problem is with girls like you

bettercallsawyer: you’re all the same

bettercallsawyer: if you would have just been honest with me from the start, we could have avoided this

bettercallsawyer: but no. you had to lead me on. for what? to make yourself feel better? do you feel better now? 

bettercallsawyer: who is he? whatever. you’re probably just using him, too

bettercallsawyer: you’ve fucked up, inej. big time. i’m a catch. my dad owns the biggest law firm in town

bettercallsawyer: he would have taken your case for free and saved your family a lot of 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” 

Kaz was watching her scroll through the barrage of dms like this wasn’t far off what he’d expected to happen. Sadly, Inej couldn’t boast the same foresight. 

Her fingers were shaking, and the messages just kept coming. 

“I–” Inej didn’t know what to say. This was beyond unreasonable—it was unhinged. An uncomfortable laugh burst out of her in place of words, and Kaz’s brows furrowed together. 

“Do you want him thrown out of here?” he asked, serious as the grave. “I can make that happen.” 

Inej believed him—she wasn’t sure how, but, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she knew he could and would. Still, she shook her head.

“I just want him to stop,” she said. Exasperated, she threw her phone on the table, still buzzing. “He was supposed to just take the hint and stop. This wasn’t supposed to become a bigger problem.” 

“Would you rather he was shown out of here discreetly? Jack can do that, too.” Kaz was already raising a hand to wave the maitre d’ over. 

But Inej didn’t want that, either. No. Frankly, she’d had just about enough of men shoving their way into her life and trying to solve her problems. Fearing men was exhausting. She was exhausted. Why did she always have to be the one who was afraid? 

Every last one of these men who now ruled over her nightmares had wormed their way into her brain because they hadn’t been afraid of consequences. They’d felt so confident that Inej was defenseless that they’d helped themselves to her body, her image, her peace of mind, even her social spaces. The threat of Kaz’s presence, of Jack throwing him out, was probably why he was now blowing up only Inej’s phone from the safety of his little candlelit table. He wasn’t afraid of her.

But he should be. Inej wanted him to be. She thought of Kaz’s dark expression the day they first began their revenge. I’d like to help you ruin them, he’d said. She wanted to channel that darkness now. She didn’t just want to be associated with fearsome people—she wanted to be something to fear. 

Absently, gathering every ounce of her courage, her fingers curled around the handle of her steak knife. Then she craned her head around to stare directly at Sawyer across the room, where he looked up from his phone at her, contempt smeared all across his boring face. So, Inej let a confident smile play on her lips as she flicked her gaze back and forth between him and the older woman who sat with him.

“Is that your mom?” she called, loud and incredulous. 

Judging by the sickly pallor of Sawyer’s face, she knew she’d guessed right. All around, expensively dressed people turned to watch them, but Inej had him in her sights and she was only getting started. 

Holding up her phone, Inej smiled. She was going to ruin him.

Kaz

Briefly, Kaz wondered what Nazyalensky would have to say about the change he’d just witnessed come over Inej. Probably nothing good. He, on the other hand, could think of only good things to say.

“Does your mom want to see the things you’re sending to girls in public while you’re sitting right there with her?” Inej was holding up her phone with all the confidence of a prosecutor displaying damning evidence for a jury of his peers. He could see her fingers still shaking as she clutched the steak knife in front of her with her other hand, but she expertly hid all traces of fear from her face. Her eyes seemed to blaze in the candlelight.

It was, by far, the most attractive thing Kaz had ever seen.

“Sawyer, what’s going on?” The older woman, bleach-blonde hair curled just below her ears, had a hand to the chunky gold necklace at her throat. 

“I was just texting her because she told me she wasn’t in a good place to date right now, and she’s here on a date.” 

Inexplicably, Sawyer’s self-righteousness was only growing, even as his face crimsoned. It wasn’t a good look. All around him, people were murmuring behind their hands or becoming deeply invested in the look and quality of their crockery. Sawyer’s mother was slack-jawed, aghast. 

“Yeah, so, it turns out, how I spend my time is actually none of your business—” Inej exclaimed. Kaz was aware that his own jaw wasn’t exactly snapped shut either.

“What is wrong with you?” Sawyer’s voice was growing louder. The wait staff had begun to cluster together by the kitchen, obviously trying to come up with a plan to salvage the restaurant’s decorum, but the dumbass remained oblivious. “Honestly, I’m starting to think I dodged a bullet. Every time I see you, you’re over emotional about something—”

With an aggravated huff, Inej began reading aloud from her phone.

“‘You’ve fucked up, Inej,’” she said, loudly. “‘I’m a catch. My dad owns the biggest law firm in town’—”

“Sawyer!” Mrs. CompSci major was justifiably horrified. 

“She’s lying—she’s crazy—” Sawyer insisted. 

For his part, Kaz was already planning a myriad of ways to make this creep’s life even more miserable, provided Inej let him leave the restaurant in one piece. The way she was holding that steak knife was a little alarming (but mostly electrifying, which was also alarming). (As if Kaz needed more evidence of how deeply disturbed he really was.) 

“I’m deeply sorry to ask this, Mr. Brekker,” Jack the maitre d’ was crouching next to their table, nervously adjusting his black tie as he pleaded in hushed tones, “but the owner insists that both parties be shown out at once.” 

Fair enough, but—

“You’re making him leave first.” It wasn’t a request. He let Jack know with one steely glance, one quirk of an eyebrow exactly what would happen to his job if he didn’t see to this exactly right. 

Jack gulped. Nodded. And waved the staff over to the CompSci table. 

Inej’s hands were shaking as she put her phone away and gathered up her purse, which gave Kaz pause. He’d been thrown out of plenty of restaurants back in high school. After a while, it loses its shock value. As with many unpleasant experiences, though, he knew the first time’s always the worst. He thought, not for the first time that night, how badly he wished he could hold her hand as they walked out. 

It’d cooled down considerably since earlier in the evening, and Inej wrapped her arms around herself protectively. Even from a couple of feet away, Kaz could see the goosebumps on her arms and neck. He thought some of that might be the adrenaline fading too. 

The only way to stop himself from reaching out to her involved holding his cane tighter and gritting his teeth. Should he offer his jacket? That seemed like something a boyfriend would do, but he wasn’t her boyfriend, was he. Not really. Inej probably didn’t feel any more confident in their partnership now than before. Maybe offering his jacket would be a small way to salvage this?

Only a few paces away from the door to the restaurant, Sawyer and his mother were arguing loudly. Mrs. CompSci Major’s voice was taking on a high-pitched, tinny quality as she ranted about how they were ever going to show their faces in public again. 

Kaz wasn’t particularly interested in how smug and disgusted the CompSci major looked as he avoided his mother’s eyes, sipping carelessly from the can of Stella Artois he’d pulled seemingly out of nowhere, probably from the deep pockets of his poorly tailored coat. He was more concerned with how Inej cupped her hand to the side of her face, trying to hide from any prying eyes—as if she had anything to be ashamed about.

“Hey.” Kaz stepped into her line of sight, ducking a little. “Forget about him.” That was when he noticed she was still shaking. He really needed to get her somewhere safe and away from that asshole as soon as possible. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

She only looked up at him, eyes wide and breath coming faster than before. From experience, Kaz knew what the beginnings of a panic attack looked like. Hand hovering in the air over her elbow, he tried to usher her away. Just away, for now.

That’s when he heard CompSci speak up again. “She’s a fucking tease, as this cripple will find out soon enough.”

Inej went rigid, and Kaz finally understood the phrase seeing red. 

All his good intentions out the window, Kaz rounded on this walking-talking illustration of white male mediocrity. Then, wearing a smile he knew to be terrifying, he asked Sawyer to repeat himself.

“Seems like you heard me the first time.”

God, Kaz imagined wiping that smug expression off of his face.

“I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to say it to my face but, clearly, I’ve overestimated you,” Kaz said, waving a hand dismissively. Turning to Mrs. CompSci Major, he continued, “a real gem you’ve got yourself here. Congratulations.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“Why? She’s a party to this—this spectacular performance of both insecurity and ego. You know, I would be impressed if you weren’t such a raging misogynist.”

“Well—” The mother in question gasped, mortified. “I don’t think—”

“You don’t think what? That the way he spoke about my—about Inej was demeaning? Sexist?”

“I just think we should keep this civil,” she bleated.

That made Kaz laugh. Of course. The apple and the tree and all that.

“I don’t even know why I’m trying. Something’s really explain themselves.”

With one meaningful look at the two of them, he turned back to Inej who was still curled into herself. Shit, right, getting her out of here.

Realistically, the beer was lukewarm when it hit. Against his skin, though, it felt shockingly cool, sliding down the back of his neck and under his shirt colder still. Kaz stopped dead, disbelief slowing his reactions. He blinked several times to decide whether Sawyer had in fact thrown his beer on him or whether he was just having some kind of seizure.

No, it was definitely soaking through his shirt.

Inej had clapped a hand over her mouth and stood staring at Kaz. 

That was it. Kaz hefted his cane until he had it by the middle of the shaft, weighted head leaning down toward the floor. Turning back in one fluid motion, he swung it just fast enough the sound of it cutting through the air was audible but not so fast he couldn’t pull back and stop it from caving the idiot’s skull in. He let it rest against Sawyer’s throat, relished the way the boy’s eyes had gone wide and round, the way his throat bobbed under the cool metal.

“I will only say this once. The least I could do to you is call the police, or let them do it for me.” He gestured to a small crowd peeking out of the restaurant behind them. “If you have any sense of self-preservation or if you don’t want to end up a ‘cripple’ like me, I suggest you take your lovely mother here and walk away.”

Sawyer swallowed once more, opened his mouth as if to say something and then thought better of it. The two of them turned and left without further prompting.

Inej

“We should leave this part out the next time we meet with Nazyalensky,” Inej said quietly, keeping her attention fixed on her shoes and the pavement. 

They were the first words either of them had managed in the fifteen minute, directionless walk away from the restaurant. There didn’t seem to be a plan anymore—only a getaway. 

Next to her, Kaz huffed a laugh. His shoulders seemed to loosen. 

“You read my mind, Ghafa,” he said, grimly. Then he paused to slough off the jacket that now reeked of cheap beer and draped it over the crook of his elbow.

When she looked up at him, his coffee-black eyes held her in his gaze. Concerned and unmarred by the beer dripping off the locks of hair now hanging into his eyes.

“You ok?” he asked, those knowing eyes searching her over. She wrapped her arms around herself, shrugging. 

“I will be,” she said, as cavalier as she could manage. “You?” 

“Me?” Kaz rasped another laugh, like he was surprised. The pace as they began to walk again was less frantic. “I think it’s a little anticlimactic that he got to leave with all his digits.” 

Inej smirked. 

“Be serious,” she said. 

“On my mother’s grave, I was hoping you’d stab him.” 

Now Inej did laugh in spite of herself. What a bizarre night this had been. 

“The thought did cross my mind!”

“I could tell! I was rooting for you. He is particularly stabbable.” 

Kaz was grinning when she glanced his way. A breeze from the harbor lifted her hair until she had to tuck a stand behind her ear. The humor in Kaz’s face seemed to dissipate with it as he looked away, swallowing.

“If this ruse of ours is only going to make his behavior worse,” he said, “I would completely understand if you were looking to get out of the bargain. We can stop this now if you want—no hard feelings.” 

Inej looked away, too. She’d nearly forgotten, and that in itself was more than a little embarrassing. She had absolutely no business being taken in by his eyes or his laugh or the way he’d settled her nerves so easily. This had never been a real date in the first place.

“But your microwave…” was the only stupid protest she could think to offer. Kaz just shrugged and pushed his damp hair off his forehead.

“Give me 48 hours. I’m sure I can find a way to make Sawyer pay for it—” 

“No.” Inej stopped. Cheeks burning, she forced Kaz to pause and face her. Hopefully, she wouldn’t regret her next words, but they were already on their way out with a fervor that surprised even her. “If we stop this now, after all that, then he and his disgusting misogynistic, ableist bullshit wins. We are not stopping. In fact—”

She rummaged in her purse for her phone. When she found it, she opened up Instagram. “Come here.” 

She waved Kaz a little closer and—shockingly—he complied without protest. She was too outraged, Sawyer’s words still ringing in her ears, to think much beyond holding the phone out, plastering on a smile and snapping the picture. The flash, brief as it was, lit up the shadows of the side street they were on.

 “There.” Sawyer could stick that in his tea and choke on it.

Kaz was blinking the flash spots from his vision while Inej looked over the picture before posting. Anyone who really knew her would recognise her expression as rehearsed, like she’d just landed a particularly challenging series of flips on a tightrope. Years had gone into crafting that confident smile. But Kaz was…Kaz was on a whole other level of convincing. This is what he’s good at—the con, she had to remind herself, swallowing down the strange, warm feeling triggered by the image of the two of them, so close together. 

The thing was, he wasn’t looking up at the camera at all, like she was. No, instead, his attention was fixed on her and something about his expression suggested a smile. It was in his eyes, that almost smile. Even with his hair mussed and his shirt wet and clinging to his shoulders, absolutely no one would look at this picture and think they weren’t on a very enjoyable date. 

“Nice.” Inej was determined to keep this all-business just like he was. He’s running a con—and you are performing, she reminded herself, aggressively jabbing at icons on her screen. They were both doing what they did best. “Sawyer can suck on that.”

“Good thinking.” 

Whatever fondness Brekker had magically produced for the photo was already gone, too. Just as she’d expected. And that was fine. Hopefully, her unwelcome disappointment would soon follow. 

She returned her phone to her purse. Although she didn’t have a huge following on Instagram that kind of picture—with a boy—was likely to get a bit of attention, and fast. Inej tried not to think about it, blocked out the possibility of her parents seeing it. What would they think? It didn’t matter. This was only for a few weeks, a couple months at most. Besides, she decided, that picture made her point. She wouldn’t post any others.

While she was lost in thought, they’d drifted in the direction of Kaz’s apartment. Which—looking at the state of his shirt, made sense.

As they got closer, Kaz turned and said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m still starving. My apartment’s not exactly a Michelin star restaurant, but it does have dry clothes and—” he hesitated unexpectedly, eyes flicking between her and the building. “Maybe, if you want, we could just order something in? I’ll buy. Just let me try to make this up to you at least.” 

It had been a travesty, and she was still hungry. Probably, would still have been hungry even if she had eaten her dinner.

“Only if you can promise something more substantial than a salmon filet the size of my index finger,” she laughed.

Kaz gave her a crooked smile, and Inej thought she’d do the whole evening over just to earn that smile again.

The tension of the restaurant and its pompous atmosphere, the memory of Sawyer’s sneering face were fading just as they reached the top of the stairs on Kaz’s floor. Spurred on by the thought of pizza and cheap beer, Inej turned down the hall toward his apartment.

On the landing, she stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh.”

“What?” A step behind, Kaz eyed her questioningly. 

There was a tie around the door handle of Kaz’s apartment. Inej pointed. A tie on the door handle that he shared with Jesper. She knew that could only mean one thing.

“Didn’t you say Jes was tutoring that guy? Wylan something?”

“I did. He was—is.”

An eyebrow in her hairline, Inej amended, “I don’t think what they’re doing in there can reasonably be called ‘tutoring’.”

“I—” Kaz looked down at his shirt and back up at the door as a seething sigh slowly leaked out of him. “Why does he never use the calendar app like we agreed–” he grumbled to himself.

“Maybe it wasn’t planned.” Looking at Kaz and his defeated expression, Inej couldn’t help but press back a laugh. Screw it, she thought. She wasn’t about to let the night end like this. “We could go to mine instead.”

For a second, he only blinked at her. She’d never invited him over before. But, then again, why shouldn’t she? They were friends, after all. She’d begun to consider him a friend anyway. And regardless of their deal, he seemed to feel that much at least.

He must’ve come to the same conclusion, because after a moment, he gave a nonchalant shrug and said, “Ok. Sure.” And then went back to grumbling about Jesper’s haphazard organizational skills all the way back down the stairs, and Inej quickly put a lid on the flutter of excitement that threatened her insides.

The walk to her dorm took them down avenues lined with well-groomed trees and lampposts, as well as a convenient detour past her favorite Suli restaurant. When the owners asked her what happened to Kaz, she thought he probably regretted not taking his Ravkan classes all that seriously. His ears pricked up at the mention of his name but all he got in response to, why did you say my name just now? was two large paper bags full of takeaway containers while Inej turned to pay. She then had to more or less wrestle them back out of his hands as they continued on at a leisurely pace. 

The elevator ride up to the third floor was a quiet one, an unspoken anticipation hanging in the air. Which was beyond ridiculous. Surely Kaz Brekker had seen a girl’s dorm before. There was nothing special about this at all. 

“I don’t think Nina will be in tonight,” she said, breaking the silence as they walked down the hall. “She met some meathead at the gym that she likes to harass by eating ice cream cones on the hood of his truck. I think that’s how she flirts.” 

“And how’s that working out for her?” Kaz looked skeptical as she searched for her keys.

“Well,” Inej unlocked the door, turned the knob, “she got him to follow her back in Instagram, so you tell me.” 

She gave the door a shove and then showed Kaz inside.

Kaz

The first thing Kaz noticed was that everything smelled like her. That coconut oil and warm vanilla scent he’d caught whiffs of when the breeze ruffled her hair seemed to envelope him as he stepped inside, like he was entering some sacred temple, the air filled with offerings to her. Did she have any idea just how good she smelled? 

There was a fluffy sheepskin rug plopped in the middle of the room where he stood a moment, paper bags in his arms, while Inej rummaged through her closet and drawers. She was talking to him still, but he’d stopped registering words. 

Stepping into this room was like being offered a codex to Inej’s inner world, and he couldn’t stop himself from taking it all in. Each picture, poster, book like a clue to what made her her—what made her so intriguing to him. 

The outer wall was exposed brick framing a large window, with two beds opposite each other in front of it. Zenik’s half was kind of a mess. Several outfit pieces were strewn about her mattress and papers were stacked haphazardly on the desk at the foot of the bed—none of which was all that surprising. Inej kept her side a little tidier, it seemed. She was clearly fond of colorful, decorative pillows, which she’d arranged around her extra soft comforter. A small bookcase stood next to her bed with her school books neatly arranged, as well as some others that may have been photo albums. 

Curiosity itched in Kaz’s fingers, but he kept a firm hold on himself and their takeaway bags. Besides, there was plenty to see without touching anything. 

His eyes wandered over the photos, some framed, some pinned to her bulletin board: Inej in her high school cap and gown, Inej laughing and squished in the embrace of people he didn’t know, Inej posed between her parents and their proud smiles. Inej beaming at the camera with a fluffy little dog in her arms. 

There was a whole life here he knew nothing about, people and places and family. Is this what normal college students' rooms looked like? He supposed Jesper also had photos of his Ma, of the farm back home and of he and his Da. But then again, Jesper also had posters of random jewelry models and Josephine Baker on his ceiling so he didn’t seem like a fair comparison. Inej didn’t have any random, attractive people plastered all over the walls. That he could see.

Suddenly, she was standing much closer and he was standing in a different part of the room. Kaz had to lean away from the bookshelf with her pictures on it to look at her properly and he could feel heat racing to his face.

“Sorry, what did you say?” He coughed out, mortified.

There was something almost teasing about her expression, a small smile playing around her mouth and humor in her eyes. She’d caught him out and she knew it.

“Just that this might fit you—” She was holding an old sweatshirt out to him. “It was my cousin’s. I stole it from him when he was at Belendt U a few years back.”

Kaz was under no illusions about his size. He wasn’t a big guy. Slightly taller than average, broader in the shoulder but only because using a cane meant he was constantly overcompensating for his weak leg. Otherwise, totally bog standard. But looking at this sweatshirt—

The back of his shirt was still wet, and he hadn’t been able to put his jacket back on and it would be more comfortable. If it fit. Inej seemed hopeful, presenting it to him like that.

It was only as he exchanged the takeaway bags for the sweatshirt that Kaz realized he was going to have to take off his current shirt, that he was going to have to be half-naked in front of her again. This time, in her bedroom. He considered excusing himself to the bathroom to preserve both of their dignity and then decided against that.

They were both adults. There didn’t have to be anything weird about this. She offered him the sweatshirt, and she’d seen him half-naked before anyway. It was fine.

Turning slightly away, Kaz put the sweater down on the bed, tugged off his tie and released the buttons of his shirt with swift, nimble fingers. Distantly, he thought about the scars on his back and what Inej might be seeing—assuming she was looking at all—as he peeled off the half-damp-half-crusty button-up.

Into the silence, Inej hummed and said, “so…” 

She trailed off almost immediately and released a puff of air instead of finishing whatever her thought had been. Was she nervous? That seemed exceedingly unlikely. They were on her turf, in the safety of her home, and he was the one half-naked. And yet—

Curiosity, and maybe a slightly devilish instinct, got the better of him. “So?” he probed.

When no answer was forthcoming, Kaz glanced up. At this angle, he was half facing the window, half facing a wall. Whatever he’d been expecting to see, it wasn’t a reflection of her eyes darting between the contours of his back and the ceiling, but there she was. Hands clasped in front of her, lip between her teeth, eyes darting. 

So maybe he flexed a little as he picked up the sweatshirt and hauled it over his head. Just a little.

“I thought—I was thinking—” Inej stumbled over herself, again uncharacteristically nervous “—maybe we could take the food up to the roof. We’re not technically allowed up there, but you can get the door open if you just jimmy the lock a bit. It should be quiet tonight.”

As she spoke, Kaz tugged the hoodie down at the front, tried to get the sleeves to at least cover his wrists. When he turned to face her again she lifted her hands to her mouth, maybe pretending to be shocked. As if he wouldn’t recognise the smile in her eyes from a mile away. 

She was laughing at him.

“You think this is funny, Ghafa?”

At that, she really did laugh, eyes creasing even more. Then, she quieted, chewed absently at the nail of her right thumb and considered him. Around her fingernail she said, “It’s a bit funny.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I can see your happy trail.” 

The words were barely out before she clapped a hand over her mouth again, cheeks going pink with embarrassment. Kaz only glanced down, pulled the sweater up a little at the front and nodded. His lower abdomen was probably visible to her and knowing that she’d looked—that that is where her eyes had wandered, despite everything–felt like warm honey and spilled sunshine. Maybe he should thank Sawyer for the beer.

“And this is how you want me to traipse around your dorm, huh? Was this your plan all along? To have me in such a state of undress to really get the rumor mill going?” Kaz fiddled with the hem a bit more but it was no use. It wasn’t going to cover his belly entirely no matter how much he pulled on it. “As far as I understand it, it’s usually the girlfriend stealing the boyfriend’s hoodies, but I suppose we never would be a very conventional couple.”

Inej was actually giggling by the time he was finished with that little speech, one arm wrapped around her middle and one at her mouth. 

Still, there was something sheepish about her posture so Kaz clarified, “Thank you. Genuinely. I hate stinking of booze.”

“No worries,” she shrugged and made to scoop up the takeaway bags. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright in that?”

“Of course.”

And that was that. They made their way to the roof. 

Inej

Inej second-guessed herself pretty much immediately. Between the stardusted skies overhead to the twinkling lamp posts along the canals and roadways to the moon pinned high above them, this rooftop view had all the trappings of a romantic outlook, now that she was thinking about it. Surely this was going to make him uncomfortable. Nervously, she clutched the takeaway bags close to her body. 

“Not bad, huh?” she asked him, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Very cool,” Kaz agreed, though he seemed to be looking for a place to sit. That was a good sign. He wasn’t looking to run away, at least. Though that could have been because she was currently holding his dinner hostage.

They situated themselves side-by-side on the shingles, and Inej fished out the styrofoam containers and plasticware. Kaz drew up his long legs and propped his elbows on his knees in an attempt to get comfortable. The position only exposed the ridge of his spine below that Saints-awful sweatshirt. Inej was not going to laugh at him again—she wasn’t. 

“Is my killer fashion sense too distracting for you?” he prodded, obviously noticing her staring. 

When she glanced up at his eyes, there was a mirthful twinkle in them she enjoyed very much. Ok, fine. She did laugh.

“I confess, I never expected to ever see you in a crop top,” she smirked, handing him over a container. 

“I’m a man of many surprises,” he said, which he seemed to mean as a joke. The response, you really are, though, Inej had the good sense to keep to herself.

“Watch for the peppers in that,” she said instead, gesturing to his food. “They can be hot, if you’re not used to spicy food.” 

“Excellent,” he said, giving the sauce a little once-over with his fork. “I love dinner with a side of danger.” 

And Inej laughed again. That was happening kind of a lot tonight.  

They dug into their dishes. 

This had become Inej’s routine since starting at Ketterdam U. whenever she missed home, whenever she needed to feel like herself again. Turmeric, ginger, cumin, allspice, that perfect blend of chilis—it all brought her back to a place she couldn’t get to just from looking at photos. It was comfort on a plate. Breathing it all in and letting it warm her belly, remembering her mother’s voice while she stirred sauces in their kitchen, soon had Sawyer’s vitriol dissolving into nothing more than a bad memory. 

Next to her, Kaz let out a long, low, hissing breath after his first bite. 

“You good?” she checked. 

“‘S a little hot,” he confessed, holding a hand in front of his mouth as he chewed. His cheeks looked a bit pink, even in the moonlight. “Good, though,” he added.

“Theirs is almost as good as my mom’s,” she said, relishing another mouthful. “Almost.” 

“Mmm.” Kaz was fishing out a glass bottle cola from the takeaway bag. 

“What kinds of things did your mom cook?” Inej asked, while Kaz drank down several large gulps of soda. His lips were looking particularly red when he licked them and refused to meet her gaze.

“Ah.” Shoulders bunched up, he took a moment to adjust the hoodie again, for some reason. It did no good. Eventually, he managed, “I had more of the free-school-lunch, rig-the-vending-machine-to-spit-out-free-Doritos kind of childhood.”

“Oh.” Saints. Another painful topic; his life was apparently overcrowded with them. That’s why he looked like his face was about to melt off. She should’ve known better, she should’ve thought. No personal photos in his room. Never any plans on school holidays. Of course he’d had a terrible home life, and of course he wouldn’t want to talk about it with her, his not-girlfriend. Her mind was racing now, between trying to reconfigure what she knew about him, and— “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I made this weird.” 

“No, it’s fine.” He was digging into his chicken again, shoveling another mouthful into his mouth as if completely unbothered. “It was a perfectly reasonable question.” 

“New topic,” Inej insisted, waving a hand like that would rewind things. “Tell me about your tattoos. What’s the story?” 

Kaz drew in a long breath while thoughtfully chewing his food—then let it out again, just as slow.

“Inej,” he said, his voice strained. “Do you like pain?” 

Mortifying. She’d hit a nerve again. This was completely mortifying. She’d never considered herself a nosey busybody, but clearly—

“I’m so sorry, you choose the topic.” Her face felt hot. “We’ve just spent so much time talking about my family, my history, and I—”

“Is yours different than mine?” Kaz was fully sweating when he interrupted to take a better look at the food she was eating. “Or is my palate really just this pathetic?” 

Oh. Oh. 

“Do you not like it? The peppers can be a little intense for me, too, sometimes.” That was a lie. Inej loved the peppers. 

“No, I like it.” Despite his words, Kaz looked at her a little agape, realizing they had, in fact, been eating the same dish the whole time. Inej stifled a giggle. “I really like it.” 

“You do not have to eat it if it’s too hot for you. I won’t think less of you,” she reassured him. “I promise.”

“I’m not wasting good food.” 

“It won’t go to waste—I’ll eat whatever you don’t want.” 

She even held out a hand to take the container from him, almost coaxing him. All that accomplished was making him tighten his grip on it possessively, looking distinctly put out.

“I’m eating every last bite, thank you very much.” 

Inej held up her hand in surrender, laughing. Kaz’s eyes sparkled as he turned back to his food, muttering about people trying to steal his food. 

They ate in relative silence for a good while. Relative because Kaz spent that time stubbornly sniffling and sweating and huffing through each bite like this was a totally normal way to consume food. Inej wondered if she’d ever stop smiling. 

People talked a lot about red flags. This felt very much like the opposite. 

And yet—

“You have to tell me something about yourself,” Inej said, after a while. “You can choose the thing, but I do need to know something. For next time we’re with Nazyalensky.” 

Kaz cleared his throat and avoided her glance, blatantly uncomfortable. 

“It’s easier when we’re talking about you,” he said, quietly. 

“Nazyalenksy’s not going to like that answer.” 

“I know.” Kaz cleared his throat again as he shifted his weight. “And you did buy me dinner. Fair’s fair.” 

Below them, a chilling breeze carried the echoes of ambulance sirens from somewhere in the city’s maze-like streets, but Inej kept her attention fixed on Kaz. Deliberately, he rolled up one sleeve and turned over his forearm. Under the light of the stars, the inky black crow shifting over his muscles almost looked like it was ruffling its feathers.

“I got this when I was eighteen,” he said. “Came up with the design myself. A bunch of us have it.” 

“Who’s us?” Inej asked. 

Kaz hesitated, still refusing to meet her glance. 

“It’s a long story.” He said this slowly, as if giving her time to bail. She didn’t. “I ended up in the foster care system when I was nine.” 

Inej held her breath. Kaz went on. 

“I was never adopted—aged out of the system at eighteen. From the age of nine until I was twelve, I was all over the place. They put me with a new family every few months. One of those, the last, was this guy who was basically…collecting foster kids. As a scam. I think, at one point, there were ten of us. He got a government check in the mail for each of us every month, and he used it to support his shitty drinking habits and pay his shitty friends whenever he lost at their poker tables.” 

“How did he get away with that?” Inej breathed. 

“He had a lot of shitty friends, in a lot of shitty places,” Kaz said, ruefully. “He knew when inspections were coming, knew how to scare us and get us to act the part. As long as we did that, he left us alone.” 

“You had no one to look after you.” Inej’s chest hurt at the thought. 

“We looked after each other. Like crows.” Kaz tapped the tattoo on his forearm. “Crows make do with what they have—scavengers. They remember the faces of those who helped them and those who wronged them. They fight for each other.” At this, he finally looked at her.

It reminded her awfully of the way he’d looked at her that first day. Eyes full of violence and promise, like he’d seen the world burn and was going to help her walk through the ashes. Maybe he saw something in her, recognised the wound she carried not as a sign of weakness but—but as a sign of what she might do, who she might become. 

Although his words horrified her, some small part of her understood. He’d learnt to fend for himself when there was no one else and, looking at him now, Inej wanted a piece of that. 

“It sounds weird, but,” Kaz sighed as he rolled his sleeve back down over his arm, “things…got a little easier once we all stopped hoping for a normal family and kind of accepted our lot. We were crows.” 

“No one should ever have to accept something like that,” Inej said, her voice small in the darkness. Kaz just shrugged. 

“Turns out, world’s a pretty fucked up place. I just learnt that sooner than most,” was all he said before picking up his food again. 

She watched him for a few moments, letting this new information settle in. The breeze ruffled his hair, and he ate like nothing was out of the ordinary. She had so many more questions, so much she wanted to understand about how he’d gotten to where he was now. How had he made it out of there with his kindness still intact? How had he pulled himself out of that trauma stronger, instead of broken? 

“You made it here, though,” she pointed out, nodding her chin toward the university campus below. “That’s not fucked up. That’s pretty amazing.” 

Kaz shot her a crooked smirk, his fork halfway to his mouth. 

“Hell yeah, I did,” he said, with no small amount of pride, and took another bite. 

A second after his mouth closed on the fork, she watched regret wash over him. A cough pushed its way up and out. Then another, and another.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he wheezed, seizing his napkin and pressing it over his mouth. “Pepper. That was a pepper.” 

Inej was already snatching up more napkins and soda.

“I told you to watch for those! They’re like over a million Scoville, Kaz!” 

“Holy shit. Jesus Christ.” 

Kaz had been thwarted. All he could do was breathe out a steady stream of vulgarities as he coughed and panted. He grabbed the cola Inej was shoving in his face and downed it like he’d just spent the day crawling across the Sahara.

Once the heat had receded and Kaz had managed to stop cursing, he flopped onto his back to catch his breath. He was apparently indifferent to how the hoodie now rode up to his ribcage. 

Surrounded in a sea of used napkins, Inej felt a swell of fondness that honestly startled her a little. You are so in over your head, that small voice in her head said. 

For now, that small voice could shove it. 

“Are you going to make it?” she teased.

“Better—I think I’m invincible now,” he rasped, closing his eyes. “That was like firewalking but with my face. From here on out, fear bows to me.” 

Inej snorted.

“Well, in that case, you’re welcome. Are you going to finish that?” She poked at the takeaway container he still held in one hand.

Kaz cracked one eye open in disbelief. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I’m always one hundred percent serious about my favorite foods.” 

Eyebrows still raised, Kaz closed his eyes again as he held out his half-empty container to her.

“Then I bow to you,” he conceded, lips twitching just a little. “You are tonight’s victor. Claim the spoils.” 

Grinning, she leaned over to accept the food. 

As it tended to, her hair—coming loose from the braid she’d put it in for dinner—spilled over her shoulder and into the space between them. Her hands were too full to push it out of the way, so for a brief moment, it brushed against his wrist, his forearm. 

She might have imagined it, Kaz’s animal stillness at that slightest contact. The container of food slid from his hand to hers, the rest of him completely still as she moved into and out of his space. 

Inej felt her face warm. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, retreating to scrape his leftovers into her container. Touch, she knew how skittish he was about that.

“Don’t be,” he said back, quietly. His arm still hadn’t moved. 

She wasn’t sure when he set it down, but by the time she looked at him again, his expression was serene. Fully reclined, gazing up at the moon with a hand under his head. 

A couple of hours later, Kaz was gone and Nina still hadn’t returned. That was the good news. Inej didn’t want to have to explain to her roommate why she was spending an inordinate amount of time lying in bed, staring at a single photo on her Instagram page. 

Kaz

“I was hoping we could spend some of our time today discussing your families,” Dr. Nazyalensky said.

Poised as ever, she had one long leg crossed over the other beneath a royal blue pencil skirt. While her pen scratched the-saints-knew-what into her notepad.

“Oh.” Beside him on the sofa, Inej’s voice was gentle as she shifted her body weight towards him. And the protective hand she placed in the crook of his elbow was disarmingly convincing, calculated and strategic. “That’s kind of a sensitive subject, Dr. Nazyalensky. Kaz grew up in foster care. But I would be happy to discuss my family with you.” 

“I see.” Dr. Nazyalensky’s expression was inscutable as she pulled her glasses from her nose and looked back and forth between the two of them and their pasted-on, confident smiles. 

The fake date might have been a unique kind of disaster, but at least it hadn’t been for nothing. This was way easier—and far more convincing—than trying to maintain a complicated cover story. With any luck, those stilted half-confessions he’d made on the roof would be just enough to get them through this, and Inej would never have to know the rest. For both of their sake’s. 

“Well, of course, we don’t have to discuss anything that would be upsetting to you, Mr. Brekker,” Nazyalensky said at last. “That would be counterproductive.”

“I appreciate that,” Kaz nodded, feeling smug. 

When Nazyalensky turned back to the notes in her lap, he shot Inej a conspiratorial glance. The smile it earned him was everything.

Chapter Text

Inej

Inej anxiously checked her watch again outside Dr. Nazylensky’s office in the bowels of the psychology building. It wasn’t like Kaz to run late for their appointments. But there was absolutely no way she was going in there by herself.

She wouldn’t say that the last four weeks of interviews after their character research date had been easy ones, but they’d fallen into a manageable routine with these appointments. They were learning each other’s tells, and it was becoming easier to hold the frayed edges of their cover story together while under the doctor’s scrutinizing questions. If Dr. Nazyalensky suspected they weren’t being truthful, it wasn’t enough to pause their work. So, they’d pressed on. As long as they faced it together and could riff off each other’s fabrications, Inej could believe they’d pull this off. 

Which was why Kaz running late was so distressing. Inej was not at all prepared to make small talk with the doctor alone. She fidgeted with her watch, fighting the urge to nervously pace.

At the other end of the hall, a door slammed shut. She felt all the anxiety rush out of her in a sigh as she heard the tell-tale sounds of Kaz’s uneven gait against the linoleum, rounding the corner. 

“I was getting worried,” she called to him, as he limped into view. His expression was drawn, pained—he’d clearly been trying to walk quickly. Inej felt a pang of concern return.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized in a rush, pushing his mussed hair off his forehead with a gloved hand. He was close enough now that she could tell—from the upturned collar of his wool coat to his crooked tie to the hems of his black slacks—he was positively drenched. 

“Is it raining?” she asked, instinctively taking a couple steps to close the gap between them.

“Pouring,” Kaz said, a little breathless. He looked chilled. With two fingers, he pinched the center of his button down away from his body, giving it a couple shakes like that would dry him off. The only dry spot on him was where the strap of his messenger bag had crossed his chest. “Just started. Thought about trying to wait it out but—”

Maybe Inej had seen him wet (accident or no) one too many times, or maybe couples’ therapy had made her too familiar—whatever the reason—without thinking, she reached out and began brushing the rain off his broad shoulders. It felt so second-nature that she didn’t even stop to notice that Kaz wasn’t protesting as she dusted off his lapels and turned down the collar of his coat.

“Ah, there you two are.” Behind them, Dr. Nazyalenksy’s door had opened, and the doctor leaned out into the hallway. Something about her smile was insinuating, like she’d just caught them in an indecent act, and Inej snapped her hands back to her body, a shock of embarrassment zinging through her gut.

“Come in, come in,” the doctor was saying, warmly.

Since Kaz seemed no worse for wear, Inej was determined to banish any and all feelings of shame as they settled in next to each other on the psychologist’s sofa once again. 

“Before we begin,” Nazyalensky was saying, still with that know-it-all smirk on her face that Inej did not care for, “I must say, it was very interesting to see you both looking so comfortable with each other just then. Did that feel like progress to either of you as well?” 

“Uhh—” Inej caught Kaz’s glance her way the same moment she slid her eyes toward him, looking for any kind of sign of what to say, what story to agree on. 

Unfortunately, the attempt at telepathy did not work. 

“Sure,” Kaz said, slowly, at the same moment Inej said: “Felt pretty normal to me.” 

Nazyalenksy gave an inscrutable, sage-like hum as she scribbled on her notepad. Well, fuck. Inej narrowed her eyes at Kaz, a promise to give him shit for this later. 

“This just seems to me like an opportunity to begin to approach the subject of your physical expressions of intimacy,” Nazyalensky went on, scribbling away. “Most of my other couples have been able to address this portion of the study weeks ago, but I haven’t wanted to push you two, given your religious convictions—”

“My what now?” Kaz cocked his head, and Nazyalensky looked up at him, all dragon-eyed. Inej nearly pinched him. 

“Your decision to wait until you are married to engage in sexual relations,” Nazyalensky clarified. “Your particular reservations on physical expressions of love. I was assuming this was for religious reasons.”

“Definitely,” Inej said firmly, at the same moment Kaz said: “I’m not religious.” 

All the fucking Saints. She jabbed him so hard in the thigh, he flinched, then cleared his throat.

Nazyalensky’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them, confused. 

Then Kaz said something Inej never expected at all. 

“I have…difficulties with touch,” he said. His Adam’s apple bobbed when she looked at him, trying to keep her mouth from falling open. He gave her an apologetic glance before he went on. “Inej is very understanding of this. So we’ve just taken the whole thing off the table. That’s all.” 

Inej could have kissed him. Truly. In that moment, confessing a real truth for the sake of salvaging the disaster they’d created, he’d never looked so kissable. Instead, she looked back at Nazyalensky, satisfied and confident once again. 

Unfortunately, it was short-lived. Inej’s confidence evaporated completely as Nazyalensky tapped her pen against her lips, leaning back with her eyes narrowed in thought. Every time this woman made that face, things took a disastrous turn. She swallowed hard.

“I think it might be best if we change up our format for the next couple of weeks,” Nazyalensky said. “Typically, I would hold off on individual sessions until later in the study, but I think the uniqueness of your case calls for it—”

“Individual sessions?” Inej echoed, her dread growing. Beside her, Kaz was stiff as a board.

“I think it’s necessary to really get a handle on your individual histories regarding touch,” Nazyalenksy insisted. 

“And if we say no?” Kaz asked, his eyes dark. 

Nazyalensky didn’t seem bothered. 

“You can always say no,” she said, with a shrug. “We can end the study at any time.” 

“We just won’t be compensated,” Kaz filled in the blank, sardonically. He was clearly fed up, and it was making Inej twitchy. 

“It’s interesting to me that this is still such a motivator to you, Mr. Brekker,” said Nazyalensky, her blue eyes flashing. “I’d hoped the promise of enriching your connection with your partner would become the more important driver as we continued through this process, as opposed to the compensation you’ll be receiving at the end.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Kaz didn’t balk. Inej kind of wished he would, though. Dr. Nazylaneksy just sighed, unimpressed. 

“Correct, Mr. Brekker,” she said. “You would only receive partial compensation if you chose to leave the study early.” 

A muscle in Kaz’s jaw ticked as he glanced away, looking just as irked as when Sawyer had thrown that beer at him. 

“Dr. Nazyalensky?” Inej had to do something. The doctor looked her way. “Could Kaz and I have just a moment alone to talk this over?” 

“Of course.” Nazyalensky gave a perfectly pleasant smile, capping her pen with a click. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be in the hall when you’re ready.” 

“Thank you.” Inej returned the smile with one she hoped erred more on the side of gratitude than panic as the doctor rose to her feet and strode from the room.

When they were alone, “This doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she whispered. It felt prudent to keep her voice down, in the extremely unlikely event Nazyalensky had her ear to the door. “I think she just wants to get to know us individually–”

“It’s not what we agreed to.” Kaz’s lowered rasp went straight to her gut as he leaned into the space between them. “The deal was eight weeks together. She’s up to something—I can feel it—”

“Yeah, she’s a therapist. She’s trying to help—” 

“What she wants is to dig into our shit.” 

“That’s her job, Kaz. What were you expecting? That she’d just—” Inej flapped her hands, exasperated “—Absorb everything we told her without comment or question. It is her job to push us. Haven’t you ever been in therapy before?”

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Inej had thought on several occasions that Kaz would benefit from therapy, but knowing what she now knew, after he’d opened up to her like he did, this was entirely the wrong thing to say.

“Why? Does it seem like I should have been?” His voice was ice cold, his expression colder. Inej had never been on the receiving end of this tone, though she’d seen it in action plenty. “The point of this, Inej, wasn’t to actually get therapy.”

“Of course not, that’s not what I’m—”

“Then what?”

Inej didn’t particularly like that he was taking this tone with her, or the way he was shutting himself off. She’d thought they’d turned a corner.

“I just mean, we can’t get upset about a therapist being a therapist is all.”

That seemed to give him pause. Kaz looked away, brows knit, and Inej watched a muscle in his jaw jump. He was grinding his teeth. Why did this have to be so difficult?

“Maybe…” Inej chewed on her next words for a beat, pondering his possible reactions. Then, “you know, when I’m nervous for a meet or feel underprepared, my coach is always the one to pull me out of a slump. We need a coach.”

Kaz’s mouth crimped in an expression of extreme doubt. “A coach?”

“Yes! Someone to watch us in action—or, well, you know what I mean—and tell us what we’re doing wrong.”

“Wrong? I thought there was no wrong way of getting therapy?”

Saints, this man.

“But we’re not getting therapy, remember?” Conscious of the eagle-eyed and in all likelihood bat-eared psychologist on the other side of the door, Inej pushed on. “Just think about it, please.”

In the quiet of the room, Inej could almost hear him listening to her—that mind of his turning over all the implications of this change in format. It struck her that Kaz did not like being caught off guard.  He prided himself in accounting for eventualities, foreseeing the unforeseeable. Perhaps this had not been unforeseeable but he hadn’t predicted it and now—

“Who would even do something like this for us?” Kaz pushed back. Inej blinked, perhaps a little taken aback that he was actually considering it, before offering her response.

“We need the people who know us the best,” she said. “The people who already know what it’s like to live with us. Nina–”

“And Jesper,” Kaz finished for her, looking even more pained. 

“I can’t speak for Jesper, but I know Nina wouldn’t mind,” she offered. 

“Jesper…” Kaz’s words drifted off as he avoided her gaze, heaving a sigh. Inej didn’t understand that look at all. She’d always assumed the two were close. “Jesper won’t object,” was the only response Kaz had to offer. 

“Well. All right, then.” Inej nodded, all business. “Are we doing this?” 

“Seems so.” Kaz was steely, gearing up for a battle.

So Inej rose to let the doctor back in, bracing herself for impact and resolving to invite him over later for microwave chocolate mug cakes to smooth things over. Surely once he remembered his goal, everything would go back to normal.

Kaz

“May I speak with you a moment before you go, Mr. Brekker?” Dr. Nazyalensky was asking, as Kaz and Inej rose from the sofa at the end of their session. 

Fuck. Fuck. Kaz gripped his cane so hard, surely a weaker one would have cracked under the pressure. 

Not unlike how you’re cracking now, he thought to himself. 

He nodded in acquiescence anyway and let Inej slip past as he returned to his seat on the couch. When the door clicked behind her, Kaz wasn’t entirely sure that all of the oxygen in the room hadn’t left with her. He was trying not to sweat.

She’s going to find out. 

Just wait til she finds out. 

They’re all going to find out.

Somewhere along the line, these sessions had become less about being just believable enough to walk away with $200 and more about how to not fucking ruin everything with the god-awful truth, you stupid, blabbering podge. As well as somehow walking away with $200. It didn’t matter anymore how uncomfortable this made him. He was in too deep. There would be too many questions if he ditched now, none of which he wanted to answer, even to himself. Mostly because if he knew those answers, Nazyalensky would find some way to pry them out of him, probably right in front of the girl he was desperately trying not to fall in love with.

And this is why, when Nazyalensky looked at him on that sofa and said: 

“I wanted you to know that I admire the work you’re doing here.” 

She may as well have punched him in the gut. What kind of sick game was this woman playing at now??! 

“I recognize that this hasn’t been easy for you,” Nazyalensky went on, as Kaz stared at the floor below her shoes. “I see this a lot in my practice with couples. Oftentimes, one is much more gung ho about the work than the other. It’s not unusual, and it doesn’t have to be an indicator of a relationship’s success, either.” 

“What’s your point?” Kaz wanted out from under her all-knowing gaze immediately.

Nazyalensky gave a pitying smile that he despised.

“I want this work to benefit you and Inej, and I think that is what you both want as well,” she said. “And I am concerned that perhaps it’s the money factor that is holding you back from really embracing this process.” 

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kaz said, poker-face in place. Not that it was doing any good.

“Of course you don’t.” Nazyalensky simpered, like she had him right where she wanted him. This was the part where he was kicked out of school, wasn’t it? “Well, if money does become a point of stress for you at some point, I wanted to extend an invitation to you that might help alleviate that stress, in the interest of allowing you to be fully present with the work we’re doing here.” 

For a moment, Kaz could only blink. Was he really not about to be annihilated? He looked up from the floor. 

“Interested?” Nazyalensky’s eyes sparkled.

“Maybe,” Kaz frowned back.

“I am part of a group of researchers,” said Nazyalensky anyway, “who are preparing a study on the treatment of haphephobia in PTSD patients, and we received a very generous government grant to fund the clinical trials. It would be quite different work compared to what we’re doing here, and it would be on-going for the next year. But we could offer you $2,000 for your involvement, paid out in monthly installments.” 

Kaz forced himself to scoff to salvage his pride. He told himself that could make that much with just two weeks worth of forged midterms and all-nighters. Beneath all that, an unfamiliar voice was saying something very different. Take the deal. Ease the pressure. You can’t go on like this forever. 

That voice was so loud, he nearly overlooked a key element in Nazyalensky’s proposal.

“Are you diagnosing me?” he asked, his scowl deepening. “Based on couples’ therapy?” 

“Not officially.” Nazyalensky looked unruffled and reached for another clipboard waiting on her desk. “But I have the questionnaire right here, if you’d like something official.” 

“I didn’t come here to be diagnosed.” Kaz briefly—just briefly—imagined cutting her devil tongue from her head. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find it forked like a snake’s.

“You came here for help, based on your own responses to our study’s questionnaires.” Nazyalensky was producing more papers from yet another clipboard. “A diagnosis is the first step to getting help.” 

His responses to the questionnaires?! 

These days, he was barely paying attention to those multiple choice forms she was having them fill out at the end of their sessions. By the time she distributed them each session, he was always coming out of his skin, desperate to just leave and make sure Inej wasn’t too freaked out. What did it matter to his end goal, anyway, what he put on the forms? He was getting the money regardless of what he filled in.

“Do you still want help?” Nazyalensky was asking while Kaz tried to conjure up the memory of even just one of his questionnaire responses that he could blame for this moment. (Fuck, he really hadn’t been paying attention.) “Or do you genuinely prefer to continue avoiding physical intimacy with Inej? It’s an honest question—there’s no wrong answer,” she added when Kaz bristled. 

The response that came naturally, came quickly: read her the riot act, eviscerate her with words for her presumptions and quit the study altogether. The man he’d been six weeks ago would have.

But here he was, six weeks in—and if he wasn’t with Inej, he was thinking about when he was going to see her again. He wasn’t sleeping, was forgetting to eat and running late for just about everything, every day. He was all that and also uncomfortably rain-damp still. 

He knew Nazyalensky had him right where she wanted him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he heard himself say. “There’s no fixing it.” 

“Why do you say that?” Nazyalensky leaned in. A starving child at a bakery window, impossible to deny.

“It’s been this way for so long,” Kaz said. “Too long, probably.” 

“Your whole life?” Nazyalensky prodded. “Or was there something that triggered it?” 

Kaz huffed a bitter laugh and told the truth. Kept it short. Too tired for anything else.

“There was a trigger.”  

“Then you are not beyond hope,” the doctor insisted, almost too forcefully. “If you desire a change, there are many strategies—”

“I’ll think on it.” He absolutely was not going to think on it. What he was going to do was get the hell out before this conversation turned to subjects he couldn’t talk about anyway.

“I truly hope that you do,” Nazyalensky called after him as he made his way to the door. “I can tell Inej is very dear to you. If you can’t imagine doing it for you, at least consider trying for her.” 

That gave Kaz only a moment of pause with his gloved hand at the doorknob. Only a moment where he had to remind himself, once again, pit in his stomach, that she was not his—and there was nothing there to try to get better for. If anything, it was the opposite. To take on this new study, to try to get better, to be able to buy a microwave entirely on his own. There’d be no need for Inej then. 

Kaz turned the door handle and resolved to forget this as best he could.

Inej

“Sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask,” Nina purred, eyes glittering.

They were on their way to Kaz’s apartment, ready to begin Phase 2 of what Jesper was apparently calling Operation Microwave. 

For a flicker, Inej thought she might regret this. Was it really a good idea to get more people involved in this mess? She and Kaz could barely communicate when it was just the two of them, what would adding two other people do to the dynamic?

Of course, it wasn’t just any two people. Inej trusted Nina more than she did anyone, and Jesper—well, Jesper was Jesper.

It had to work. It had to.

Inej repeated this over and over in her mind because if it didn’t, if they were found out or Kaz saw sense and found some other way of achieving his goals then—then all of this would’ve been for nothing. And things would be awkward between them, she’d lose a friend.

So, it had to work.

Steeling herself, Inej gave her roommate her most disapproving look. “Don’t sound so pleased! It’s not funny that my ‘relationship’ is on the rocks.”

“Oh, come on, it’s a little funny.” Nina held her thumb and forefinger a bare millimeter apart and wiggled her eyebrows. “Admit it.”

After several seconds of pressing her lips together and shaking her head in an effort to do anything but laugh, Inej gave in. It was funny. Ridiculous, even. The lengths they were going to, the plans within plans to make this ruse convincing. It felt good to laugh about it.

Cheeks rosy with the autumn chill, Nina grinned and took Inej’s arm. They made their way past the college gym, the library and past the campus housing, until college buildings were replaced with city buildings—until the University disappeared altogether.

“You know…” Nina dragged out the last vowel to an ominous degree before saying, “Matthias might be able to help with this too.”

“Nina,” Inej gasped, half-turning to her friend, “You can’t tell him any of this!”

“He doesn’t even go to KU! He doesn’t know anyone involved—”

“No,” Inej shook her head, “I’m putting my foot down.”

Nina gave her best pout, full bottom lip thrust out comically far, but Inej only shook her head again. There was no way Kaz would allow it and Inej herself wasn’t awfully keen on the idea. For Saints-sake, she’d never even met the man.

“Fine,” the brunette relented. “You’re such a buzzkill. Okay, if you won’t let me tell him, at least let me use his tried and true workout techniques.”

Now, Inej was baffled. Workout techniques? What’d that have to do with anything?

“What’re you talking about?”

“You wanted coaching, you’re getting coaching!” They were now within sight of Kaz’s building but Nina was clearly on a roll. “When Matthias is working on his form, he’ll sometimes record himself so that he can see what he looks like while doing the exercises. Apparently it helps a lot and I’m not going to argue with him. Have you seen him? It’s clearly working.”

Inej snorted, imagining what it’d look like if she suggested this to Kaz. She tried to picture his face while she said it, the shape of his eyebrows and the flare of his nostrils as she suggested they record themselves and watch the videos back. Never in a million years. He’d probably rather they get Matthias the gym bro involved.

“I don’t doubt it’s working—”

“Oh, but it’s really working,” she insisted, nodding vehemently. “You should see his back and his arms and his abs and god, last night, he did this thing—”

“Nina!” Inej buried her face in Nina’s arm. Completely burning up, it felt like her face was on fire. “Please, we’re almost there.”

“Usually, you wanna hear all about my misadventures,” she teased. “Why so shy now?”

The answer to that question should’ve been immediately apparent as they approached Kaz’s building. The risk of him—or anyone who knew them—emerging from around a corner was too great.

Throwing Nina a quelling look, Inej pressed the buzzer.

“How’d you do?” It was Jesper.

“It’s Inej.”

“And Nina!”

“Come on up,” he said, with a smile in his voice.

In the apartment, Inej watched Nina make herself at home the way a cat does. Moving from room to room, she examined all the furniture, the books and knick-knacks, poked her head into Kaz and Jesper’s rooms, identified the bathroom and emergency fire escape. Then, back in the living room, she curled up on the floor by one of the recliners, perfectly content.

“Find everything you need?” Kaz asked, archly.

“Yes, thank you.” Nina batted her lashes sweetly.

A little off-kilter watching this exchange, Inej hovered by the door. Nina had the right idea, she should sit. Before she could make any progress with that, however, Kaz came over.

She’d only seen him yesterday but they hadn’t really spoken since then. That wasn’t an objectively long time but it felt long. Looking at him now, navy jumper snug around his shoulders and pooling loosely at his narrow waist, it felt too long.

“Can I get you something to drink?” 

Suddenly standing much closer, his voice seemed very low and his eyelashes—had they always been so long? Inej had to tilt her chin up slightly to look at him properly, which she wanted—couldn’t help but do.

From somewhere behind him, Nina piped up. “Oh, that’d be wonderful. Tea, if you have any.”

Delighted, Inej watched a muscle in his jaw tick, his nostrils flare a little. Biting her lip in an attempt to keep from smiling, she was overcome by the impulse to touch him, to smooth a hand down the sleeve of his jumper or squeeze his hand. 

Maybe he and Nina were going to be friends after all.

It occurred to her that she was safe here, that these were her friends and she was comfortable and relaxed. There was no need to hide, so though she kept herself from touching him, she let herself smile. When he looked down again, apparently finished praying to Ghezen for patience, his gaze caught on her mouth, the tilt of her smile.

“Tea?” he asked eventually, smiling too. Inej nodded, finding herself suddenly without words. 

“Black?” Kaz checked, stepping back towards the kitchen. “No sugar?” 

It was impossible not to blush—thankfully his back was already turned. He’d remembered.  

“Yes, please,” she called after him, her arms wrapped around herself. When she looked back to Nina, her roommate wore a mischievous grin that said it all. Inej was not going to entertain this. 

“Be normal,” she hissed at her, as she came to sit in one of the recliners. “Please.” 

“Who’s not being normal?” Jesper’s voice startled her as he emerged from the hall behind them, all twinkling eyes and smiles. “Is Kaz not being normal again?” 

“Kaz resents the insinuation,” Kaz’s voice called out from the kitchen. “He is being the most normal.” 

“I’m Nina,” Nina offered a warm greeting and a little wave to Jesper, who offered his own right back. 

And that was all it took. From then on, it was as if they’d all known each other for years. Like they’d done this all before and were picking up right where they’d left off.

The rest of the evening passed almost as smoothly.

“So—” Jesper clapped his hands together, all business “—why don’t you two go sit there, on the couch like you would in the dragon’s lair.”

“Jes,” Inej gasped, half-choking on a sip of lukewarm tea. “Don’t call it that.”

“What?” He protested, completely unrepentant. “It’s a compliment.”

Inej made some vague, unbelieving sound, trying to distract herself from focusing on the fussy way Kaz was arranging the cushions as he moved to sit beside her. One behind him, to support the small of his back, and another under his heel on the floor. Why was watching him make himself comfortable doing this to her? She needed to get a grip.

Then, he held a cushion out to her with one eyebrow raised in question. Saints—

“Oh, sure,” she murmured quietly, taking it from him. “Thanks.”

“Is that how you two really sit when you’re in her office?” Nina asked.

Simultaneously, Kaz and Inej glanced at the space between them. Okay maybe they were sitting a little far apart but surely it wasn’t that noticeable. This was just what felt natural, comfortable for them. Sure, Inej wouldn’t mind sitting a little closer but it didn’t really matter.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What of it?”

Now it was Nina and Jesper’s turn to exchange a look. Understanding passed between them, unspoken and immediate. They both shrugged and turned back to the pair on the couch, apparently willing to set this aside for now.

“Let’s just see how you two answer questions and then maybe we can get into… body language.” Nina lingered on the last with particular emphasis before digging into her large leather bag. From its depths, she retrieved a brightly colored notebook and opened to the middle. 

“So, here’s what I was thinking,” she said, at first just to Jesper before shooting glances at the two on the sofa. “I’ve made a list of questions and answers about Inej that I think anyone living with her should know. Maybe you could do the same for What’s-His-Face—” She gave a vague gesture in Kaz’s direction, which got only a cold glare as she went on “—and we could give them a chance to study it before we quiz them like the therapist would.” 

“That is not—” Kaz objected loudly.

“—how therapy works?” Inej finished for him, before he could discard Nina’s ideas altogether. 

He raised an eyebrow in a look she knew meant, You can’t seriously be entertaining this.

Nina held her hands out in her own defense as Jesper took the notebook from her.

“You guys want to be able to convince a professional people-reader that you two live together and are in love,” she recapped. “And you want to be able to do that individually, all on your own, with no support from the other. Do you have any better ideas on how to, very quickly, get to know each other this well?” 

Kaz and Inej shared a glance. They really didn’t. Inej wished more than ever that they did. She also sort of wished he’d just tell her things, that they could go back to that night on the roof again and just spill their guts. She’d listen to it all, she really would. It was inconceivable that she’d think any less of him over anything he might tell her. But the weeks since that night had turned Kaz into a clam, buttoned up tight with all this unfathomable nervous energy. Maybe she’d pried too hard. 

Which is why, here on the sofa, she gave a little shrug in his direction. 

“It doesn’t bother me,” she said. A challenge of sorts.

Kaz didn’t respond. He’d gone whole clam. All he did was slide his gaze towards Nina. 

“I have an unfair advantage,” he informed her, eventually. “I have a photographic memory.” 

“Ooh.” Nina loved the intrigue. “Well, you don’t get to study the answers, then. I’m making you guess for real. A trial by fire!” 

Jesper enjoyed this idea immensely, cackling as he scribbled down questions in Nina’s notebook. 

“I mean, that’s not fair either—” Kaz started to point out. 

“I’ll guess, too,” Inej intervened. Really, this did not have to be such a big deal. “Can we just get on with it?” 

“Fine. Kaz,” Nina addressed the sulking elephant in the room with a coy smirk on her face.

“So she does know my name,” Kaz said, rolling his eyes. 

This was going to go great, clearly.

“I’m going to go easy on you to start.” Honestly, Kaz’s grumbling only seemed to fuel Nina, whose devilish grin grew wider. “What is Inej’s favorite flavor of ice cream?” 

Inej’s stomach chose now to do a backflip. Why did it feel like Nina was up to something? What exactly, Inej couldn’t say… only that, for reasons she couldn’t explain, it now suddenly mattered very much to her that Kaz not look like an absolute asshole in front of Nina. 

“Why would he need to know—” she started to say, because surely he wouldn’t know and it definitely didn’t matter—

“Pistachio,” Kaz interrupted, to Inej’s great astonishment.

Nina gave an approving hum. 

“It’s a weird choice,” Kaz explained to Inej’s gaping surprise. “I’m not a fan.” 

“It’s creamy and delicious,” Inej defended, folding her arms. 

“No, it’s not,” Kaz and Nina retorted in unison.

“It’s for old people.”

“That’s what I said!” Nina agreed, happily. And now Inej was sure of it. The fleeting grin Nina shot her a moment later confirmed it. 

Nina wasn’t actually coaching them. Nina was vetting Kaz.

Which meant Nina knew. Inej didn’t know how she knew, but she knew. All of those thoughts Inej had tried to keep to herself, all of the smiles she tried to suppress when she woke up to his texts, all of those moments she caught herself staring at that ridiculous Belendt U hoodie he’d borrowed that now smelled like him since he returned it. Nina knew.

Inej wanted to die. 

“Jesper, give me a Kaz question,” she demanded, determined not to get flustered. 

“What—” the impish grin spreading across Jesper’s face could mean nothing good “—is Kaz’s preferred brand of underwear?” 

“Dude.” Kaz looked to be actively plotting his roommate’s imminent murder, and Jesper was enjoying it far too much.

But Inej had cousins and lots of them. She knew this game, the one where the real winners were the ones doing the embarrassing. So, fine. Let Nina vet. Let Jesper pry. She was a consummate professional on an important job. She crossed one leg over the other, tossed her braid over her shoulder, and, thinking of that itty bitty Belendt U hoodie and all it did not cover, answered, “Calvin Klein.”

Without batting an eye. Beside her, Kaz’s grew wide as she kept her attention on Jesper and his smug smirk. “But the real question, Jes, is what are you doing in Kaz’s underwear drawer?” 

“Ooooh.” Nina was no better than a twelve-year-old.

“I don’t only wear—” Kaz started to argue, before apparently thinking better of it. Though not soon enough, apparently, because Jesper sprung to his feet.

“The people need confirmation!” he announced, heading for the hall. Kaz was quick to follow on his heels, shouting, “Stay out of my fucking room!” 

Inej and Nina could only stare at each other while the boys scuffled in the hall.

“We’re going to be here all day, aren’t we?” Nina sighed. And Inej hid a laugh behind her mug. 

You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Kaz

He wasn’t sure how or if Jesper knew these things or if his roommate was just hellbent on chaos for chaos’ sake, but blowing off some nervous energy by way of pummeling each other actually did Kaz’s anxiety a world of good. 

Nina and Inej were waiting with amused smirks when the two reemerged a minute or two later, breathing hard with collars askew. Kaz’s shirt was missing a couple buttons—not the end of the world, he could fix that later. At least now he didn’t feel like his face was going to melt off. 

“You two kiss and make up?” Nina wanted to know, as they took their seats again and Kaz tried to put his hair back the way it belonged, not thinking about if Inej was watching.

“With tongue,” Jesper teased recklessly before Kaz could interject with, “Next question.” 

And it did get a little better from there. 

Surprisingly, Nina’s questions generally had very obvious answers. There were a few head-scratchers—he didn’t know her dog’s name or where she’d actually gone to high school (despite the meet-cute they gave Nazyalensky), he didn’t know that she slept with three pillows and a weighted blanket (although that was information he wasn’t going to be able to forget now). What he did know was her comfort foods and the songs on her go-to playlist for when she needed to rage and that she loved summer best and that her laugh when she was nervous was vastly different from the laugh she made when something funny caught her off guard. 

Kaz was also learning that Inej did not enjoy losing. As the evening wore on, he clearly killing it at this game, Inej grew more and more frustrated. She seemed to be leaning further and further away as she rested her chin on her fist, elbow propped on the arm of the couch.

“It’s not a game, though,” she finally pointed out, rolling her eyes at him. That wiped the smugness right off his face. 

“We win this together or we lose this together,” she went on. “Either we know enough about each other equally to fool Nazyalensky or we don’t. And right now we’re both losing. I mean, Saints—” Her gaze flashed to Nina, like she needed back up. “—I had to practically physically restrain him when we hung out to get him to tell me one single thing about himself.” 

“Sounds like a good date,” Jesper muttered to no one.

“It wasn’t a date.” Kaz found himself responding robotically—Inej chiming in in unison. 

Nina’s green eyes darted between the two of them, suspicious and confused. Then, with all the tact he was quickly learning she lacked, she said, “What will it take for you to unclench, huh?”

The scowl he was wearing was irrepressible.

“Watch it, Zenik?”

“Or what?” She laughed, pushing her hair over one shoulder.

“I can make your life miserable, don’t test me.”

Beside him, Inej gasped and turned to him outraged. Her lips pressed together in distaste while Nina laughed again. When he caught Jesper’s eye, his roommate winced.

“Is that right?” Nina licked her lips and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “That’s some big talk.”

Kaz pictured all the convoluted humiliation and blackmail scams he’d run in his life, the methods of psychological torture a life in the system had taught him. It wasn’t an idle threat, but it also wasn’t one he’d ever see through. Surely, Inej knew that.

Turning to her, Kaz asked, “What more do you need to know?”

There was something like sadness in her eyes, which were wide and dark in the soft lighting. He was out of step, but he didn’t know how. There was a lot she didn’t know about him but she also knew more than most, much more. Perhaps, she didn’t know how much.

“I don’t know you—” She said eventually, clearly exasperated.

“Maybe, it feels that way but—”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” she cut him off. 

Kaz swallowed, took a breath. Shit. “Okay. I’m sorry” —across the room Jesper gasped theatrically— “What I meant was, you know exactly what to say when we’re at a cafe and the server starts making small talk. You know what I mean by justice, what it means to be angry, what it means to fight for something. You always know, sometimes before I do, what I need on a job—the next piece of information, the next lever. You know when I need to get out of a crowd, when there’s too many people and I need to get away, how much it hurts when someone—”

This time he cut himself off. All he could see were her eyes, which were wet, shimmering like she was about to cry. His palms felt clammy and the rest of the words were there, on the tip of his tongue. He bit down and swallowed. Maybe they’d go away.

“Kaz,” she breathed.

“You do know me.”

“Shit, Brekker.” Nina sounded impressed, though what for, Kaz couldn’t say.

“So, sure, I can tell you what my dream car is and what I’d save in a fire but you know what matters, what—what I think Nazyalensky cares about.”

As if his words had tugged at something inside her, Inej reached for his gloved hand. The moment slowed, and Kaz watched in painful anticipation to see if she’d do it, if she’d touch him. Having said what he’d said, it would almost certainly be too much. He felt raw all over, a bridge on the verge of collapse, her touch might send him crumbling but in that moment—he wanted her to. Life was full of risks, this was just one of them.

She didn’t. 

Kaz let go of the breath he was holding and watched her slender hand settle on the sofa between them. It was absurd to be afraid of such beautiful hands and yet—

“Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” Jesper announced, and Kaz knew him well enough to recognise it as an attempt at cutting the tension. 

With one final look, Inej turned to Jesper and let out a little laugh.

“Maybe,” she agreed.

Nina looked to Inej, “Do you want to keep going?”

After chewing on her lip for a few seconds, Inej nodded. “I’m still curious about what else Jesper knows that I don’t.”

The knot of tension in his belly unraveling, Kaz gave his most convincing groan. Jesper grinned.

“Excellent,” the menace clapped his hands. “Onward with Operation Get Kaz a Microwave (and a—”

“Just ask the next question, jackass.”

By the way Jesper’s eyes were twinkling, Kaz knew he’d turned a particularly amusing shade of pink. It didn’t matter because beside him, Inej was smiling again. Her whole manner changed; she curled her legs up on the sofa, soft-socked feet mere inches from his thigh, and laughed into her hand when Jesper asked, What would he spend his lottery winnings on? (And don’t say low interest bonds even though that is actually the answer).

In truth, Kaz would drain every last cent of his lottery winnings in pursuit of Inej’s happiness. Shower her in expensive teas and cashmere and so much pistachio ice cream and weighted blankets and insanely spicy food for every meal, whatever it would take to ensure she never had cause to cry again. Whatever it took to make sure she was always this free. He had never been selfless, but watching Inej laugh made him want to learn. 

That answer sat on his tongue. He could never say as much, would never. If there was one thing Inej did not need, it was him dumping all these needless feelings in her lap.

Inej

“Inej, he’s fully in love with you—you know that, right?” 

Nina’s words stopped Inej dead in her tracks on their walk back to their dorm. It sounded absurd, impossible in her ears—words that belonged in someone else’s story.

“He is not,” she laughed, a breathy, uncomfortable sound. Nina had heard how adamantly Kaz insisted they’d not gone on a date, right? Kaz was many things, but he’d always been honest with her. That much she trusted.

“Babe.” Nina turned and gave her a hard look, hands in the pockets of her denim jacket. “He’s just a guy, and he is not as mysterious as you think he is. Like, I’m not sure he’s, you know, emotionally up to actually doing something about how he feels, but yeah—Inej, come on. He’s got it bad, hon. You know he does.” 

For a moment, Inej forgot about breathing. Those butterflies taking up residence in her stomach exploded into something frightening, enormous and out of control—something she realized she’d been trying to avoid for weeks and weeks now. She’d known, of course she’d known. But acknowledging it at all was like racing straight for the edge of a precipice. There’d be no going back once they took that leap. What if she ruined everything—

“Oh, honey.” Nina clicked her tongue, drawing Inej out of her spiral with a gentle hand to her arm. “You like him, too, huh?” 

“I don’t—” Inej tried to protest and failed. She had to clap her hands over her heated, bright red cheeks. 

“It’s ok if you do!” Nina held both her arms now, like she was going to shake some sense into her. Inej hid her face in her hands, her embarrassment only growing. “I get it. He’s perceptive and he’s certainly clever and he’s not bad-looking—”

“He’s so good-looking, Nina,” Inej wailed in despair from within her hands. Nina just laughed.

“Then tell him,” she pressed. “And then maybe you both can stop this stupid charade.” 

Inej groaned in frustration, lifting her head from her hands. 

“We can’t,” she insisted, and Nina sighed, exasperated. “Seriously, we can’t,” Inej pressed, maybe a little desperate. “Kaz needs the money, and if Nazyalensky finds out we lied, I could lose my scholarship.” 

It was Nina’s turn to groan. 

“You’re both idiots,” she said, shaking her head.

“It’s only a few more weeks,” Inej said. “Just a few more sessions. And then…” she drifted off. Yes, and then what? 

“You’ll tell him?” Nina prompted. 

“I don’t know,” Inej said, honestly. 

His friendship had saved her in ways Nina couldn’t begin to understand. More than anything, Inej feared losing that. And if Kaz really wasn’t emotionally available, if he was only ever going to keep her comfortably at arm’s length, why risk what they did have? 

She felt her shoulders sag in defeat. Nina gave her one last pitying look before enveloping her in a signature Nina Zenik hug. Accepting it gratefully, Inej wrapped her own arms around Nina’s soft body. At which Nina gave a happy hum and planted a kiss on top of her head, like a mother hen. 

“Do you need some pistachio ice cream, love?” she asked gently. And all Inej could do was give a pathetic nod.

“Right then.” Nina slung an arm over Inej’s shoulder as they turned back toward the dorm. “Which way to the nearest nursing home?”

Inej barked a laugh—a real one—before defending herself. “It is not just for old people!” 

“Five bucks says it’s the only ice cream flavor we find there.” 

“I will take that bet,” Inej snorted with a grin. She was feeling a little better already.

Chapter Text

Kaz

Speaking to Nazyalensky without Inej felt like walking without his cane. 

It was hard to admit how much he’d come to rely on her presence, her quick wit when navigating the doctor’s probing questions. But faced with that unnervingly penetrative gaze, it would’ve been harder to deny. Kaz was completely out of his depth.

Between his classes and the half-dozen papers he and Jesper were writing for other people, he was pretty much running on empty. Add to that these one-on-one sessions and Kaz was close to calling it quits.

The only thing keeping him on track was the promise he’d made to Inej, not just for the money but of getting assholes like Sawyer-the-CompSci-Major off her back. Even if Inej had been oddly quiet in the last few days, sending one word replies via text and frequenting none of her usual haunts. They’d made a deal, and Kaz was, if nothing else, a man of his word.

And so, he found himself in his first solo session with Nazyalensky, sweating through his shirt.

She, of course, looked poised as ever. Dark hair cascading around her shoulders in a glossy wave and impeccably dressed.

After getting him to confess to a childhood spent in dubious foster care, she steepled her fingers together and asked, “Who first suggested moving in together?”

To that, Kaz had an answer. “Me.”

“Is that so? What was your rationale for that?”

“My rationale?” He repeated slowly, hoping he somehow wouldn’t have to come up with an answer to that if he only seemed confused enough.

“Yes. What made you want to live with Inej rather than on your own or with a friend?”

“Well…” He waved a hand dismissively, regretting the motion almost immediately. “It was convenient.”

“Could you elaborate on that. What do you mean by convenient?”

Why did she have to be so damn pushy all the time?

“When we found out we were both going to be attending KU, it just seemed obvious that we’d live together to save on rent and to save us the trouble of finding roommates.”

He was quite pleased with that answer, cribbed as it was from his reason for living with Jesper. Realistically, if he were to suggest living with Inej, it’d be because—

“That was the only reason?”

“What?” Kaz blinked at her, trying not to flush. It was like she was reading his mind.

Rather than repeat herself again, she ducked and scribbled something into her notepad before adjusting her sleeves with a cough.

“If you don’t want to discuss the circumstances under which you two came to live together, we can move on.”

A goddamn bloodhound. Kaz bristled and drew himself up. If she wanted details, she’d get details.

“Naturally, I was also drawn to the idea because it meant I could spend more time with Inej. It would be easier, considering our busy schedules, to make plans and see each other if we already saw each other at home.”

Nazyalensky only nodded, tapping her pen against pursed lips.

“Was there an adjustment period?”

Suddenly, Kaz saw the trap.

“Of course. Any change in living situation is bound to have some period of adjustment.”

“How did you manage that? Were there any things that were particularly difficult for you, or Inej?”

The room was suddenly unbearably hot. It took most of his considerable willpower not to remove his jacket, though undoing his top button seemed increasingly reasonable.

What could he possibly say?

Living with Jesper had been easy, they fit each other’s rhythms and balanced each other out. Kaz had never been nervous around him, not really. Neither was he afraid to call Jesper out, to give him shit when he needed it. In the end, if Kaz was being brutally, painfully honest with himself, Jesper reminded him of the boys he lived with as a kid. Too much energy and not enough patience. Either too desperate for affection or too stubborn to admit they needed any affection at all.

Inej, on the other hand—

He wouldn’t know how to be around her, how to spare her his trauma.

Eventually, Kaz had to say something. He coughed and adjusted the position of his cane against the couch.

“I think—I think both of us had a bit of trouble transitioning our relationship into such close quarters. Because our—because we—I mean, up until then, we hadn’t been—we aren’t physically intimate, living together posed new challenges in… uh, in that regard.”

Nazyalensky tilted her head and rather than addressing any of what he’d just said, asked, “Do you find it difficult to talk about the physical intimacy—or lack thereof, in your relationship?”

“It’s not something I discuss often.” Or ever.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I—” Kaz felt cornered in a way he didn’t often anymore. Not since he grew teeth and learnt to bite back. “I suppose what I mean is I don’t have a lot of practice. Talking about it.”

“Would you like to practice?”

“Honestly Doctor, I don’t really see the point.”

As if preparing to change tack, Nazyalensky uncrossed and recrossed her legs. She leaned forward until Kaz felt compelled to lean back, despite the three feet of office carpet between them.

“Let me ask you something else, then. How often, as a child, do you feel you were able to express your needs and have them met? In other words, did you feel listened to?”

For several seconds, Kaz could only blink. 

This was way too far. His breathing felt rapid and shallow and his skin, everywhere on his body, too tight. He gave into the urge to loosen his tie and undo the top button.

None of his needs were ever met unless he met them. That was the unvarnished truth. There hadn’t been anyone since—in longer than he could remember, who cared enough to listen, to pay attention even. Humans were selfish at their core, he’d learned that the hard way.

There was no way he could tell her that. She already thought him broken enough to require extra therapy, no need to make it worse.

If there was some sequence of words he could speak to get her to stop asking these questions (and still fucking get paid), he’d do anything for the secret. He lifted his eyes to the clock on her wall—maybe he’d just wait it out in silence—

“Or is it that you feel you don’t have needs at all?” Nazyalensky pressed. 

“I have—” Kaz started to object, but stopped himself. (Seriously, what witchcraft was this?) It was enough confirmation for Nazyalensky, though, who gave a sage nod.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she insisted when Kaz rolled his eyes. “You’re human. We all have needs, emotional and physical. Yours might look very different from the next person who walks in here, but it doesn’t make them any less worthy of attention. I can imagine that an upbringing as neglectful as yours would leave you feeling quite the opposite.” And because Kaz said nothing, still eyeing the clock, the doctor seemed to take this as an invitation to keep going. “So, consider this, then. If Inej came to you with an intimate need, be it emotional or physical, that she hoped that you, her partner, would meet, how would you respond?” 

Kaz chewed the inside of his cheek, swallowing down the answer. Being as he was, Kaz couldn’t guarantee his response would be useful, appropriate, wanted but—but he would feel compelled to respond. As he did before he ever knew her, when he watched her drown under the weight of what was done to her.

All he had to offer was violence and vengeance. He was inexperienced in the relationship department but even he knew those were not good building blocks. Inej needed kindness, patience, soft and slow and gentle things. If he could have—he would have tried, for her.

The sharp-eyed doctor seemed to understand without him breathing a word. She leaned in.

“So, why wouldn’t you extend to yourself the same courtesy?” she pressed him. “Why wouldn’t you expect those who love you to do for you what you do for those you love? And can you see how not expressing your needs doesn’t just deprive you, but also deprives Inej of the opportunity to love you as you love her?”

“Tell me how to do it, then.” Kaz knew it was snarky, but he couldn’t help himself. Because, really, what did she actually know? Speaking in platitudes was easy when you weren’t the one on the couch. “Since you seem to have all the answers already.” 

“Ah, but I don’t.” Nazyalensky looked terribly pleased to have gotten him to speak, snark and all. “Only you are privy to your feelings, so only you can know what you need. I can help you in the process of understanding yourself better, but only you can do the work of acknowledging your feelings and making your needs heard.”

Ignoring her clearly wasn’t working—the bait was too easy to take. Maybe a joke was the way to go here to diffuse the tension. So Kaz slitted his eyes at the doctor in suspicion. 

“I don’t know,” he remarked, warily, “you seem to be privy to more than most. It’s kind of creepy, actually.” 

And that made Nazyalensky laugh out loud, which made him feel kind of proud of himself. Like he’d gained the upper hand. 

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” the doctor asked next, checking the time, which was winding down. It was Kaz’s turn to rasp a laugh at the question. 

“Why in the world would you want to work with me for an entire year?” he genuinely wanted to know. From the very beginning, he’d done everything in his power to be difficult.

“Well, the truth is, Mr. Brekker,” Nazyalensky said, folding her hands in her lap, “while this isn’t the first time I’ve had students try to use my work to make a quick buck—”

And that is when the smirk on Kaz’s face died a quick and miserable death. 

The doctor went on anyway, like she wasn’t actively pulling the rug out from under him.

“—it is the first time I’ve felt some sympathy for my would-be con artists.” Nazyalensky gave him a soft, sad smile, like she could see right through him. “You are a very unique case, Mr. Brekker. And I think I am uniquely qualified to help you.” 

“Those are some bold claims—accusations, even, you’re making,” Kaz said, lowly, when he found the wherewithal to speak again. 

“And the fact that you aren’t denying them is quite telling,” Nazyalensky said, unruffled. “Look, I don’t claim to understand the true nature of your relationship with Inej or exactly what has been truth and what has been a lie. I will say that the other male-identifying test subjects who attempted to pull one over on me were also clearly trying to use the ruse to seduce their partner-in-crime. But you—” she cocked her head to the side, like he was a particularly peculiar specimen under a microscope, “—are so desperate for some need to be met that you are willing to sit here each week, battling your visibly severe triggers and phobias to try to meet them—just wait, please.”

Kaz had stood, leaning heavily on his cane, ready to march for the door. He was done with this. Absolutely done. Forget the money. Forget the microwave. Forget all of it. This woman was way out of line and he hadn’t let someone talk to him like this in too long to stand for it now. This is not what he’d signed up for. 

But Nazyalensky held out a hand, like she was prepared to keep him from leaving. And he didn’t really know why, but it gave him pause. 

“I find it admirable,” she said, and Kaz scowled. That felt patronizing. Nazyalensky seemed to feel it, too, as she went on, more impassioned than before: “I do, I genuinely do. Through no fault of your own, your formative years have been spent learning that the only way to have your needs met has been to lie and to scheme to get what you needed. So of course you are here doing just that —though, shockingly, in possibly the least damaging way you could have chosen, and with the greatest concern for the wellbeing of your partner. 

“So, despite what you may believe about yourself, I believe this is a sign that you are a decent and empathetic person, well within the bounds of what is treatable, provided that you buy into the process, which it seems that perhaps, on some level, you do. So, I suppose—” her blue eyes searched the air between them, conjuring up her final point, “to answer your question: I want to work with you, Mr. Brekker, because I believe—I hope—that you want to be worked with. Why else would you have put yourself through all of this in the first place?”

Standing there, halfway to the door, his hand white-knuckled around the head of his cane, Kaz screwed his eyes shut and exhaled heavily. She was baiting him, he knew it—it’s what she did best. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to set her straight. 

Except he found he couldn’t.

Instead, he asked, “I’m not getting paid, am I?” 

A laugh escaped Nazyalensky before she managed to straighten her face.

“For this study? No, definitely not,” she said, sobering up. “No, your responses have been pulled from the study entirely. But you could be paid much more for your participation in my haphephobia study.”

“Bribery, Dr. Nazyalensky?” 

“Only if you squint.” 

“I fail to see how any of this is ethical.” 

“Well. Pot, kettle.” She closed her notebook, and with a click of her pen, ended the session. “The offer still stands.”

Kaz couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. With a tight-lipped nod, he rushed from the room, phone already in hand. He had to tell Inej—now, immediately. He had no idea how that witch Nazyalensky was planning on handling this, but there was no way he was going to let Inej walk into her next session in the dark. The news had to come from him. It was time to call it off, find a new scheme, or maybe just change his name again and steal a yacht and sail off into the horizon. Pretend none of this had ever happened. 

For the moment, anyway, he had to at least stem the bleeding. Inej had to know.

His fingers hesitated over the screen a moment, seeing her last texts from the day before, all of them notably short, one-word responses. Something was wrong—he knew it was. A pit sat in his stomach like a rock. Everything was falling apart. 

Why had he put himself through this in the first place? 

That didn’t matter now. What mattered was Inej needed to know. She needed to know all of it.

Kaz: Do not go to your next session

Kaz: Nazyalensky knows everything

Kaz: Too much to text. Call if you can and I can explain

He waited. He walked, trying to pick up the pace. The sky was gray, and an ominous breeze was throwing the treetops about. He waited and waited. But nothing.

When his phone finally did vibrate, his heart gave a great leap, only to plummet again when he looked at the screen. Error messages. All of his texts were undelivered. 

Fuck.

He tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. Double fuck. Maybe she was at the gym, she sometimes got poor reception in there. Or, in her dorm’s basement laundry. Or—or she really was avoiding him, trying harder to avoid him. Honestly, he wouldn’t blame her. It was surprising she’d made it this long.

As Kaz walked home, phone clenched in his free hand, the sky grew heavy and dark. There was an ache in his chest and an ache in his throat. This was bad, really bad. He’d finally fucked this up.

Inej

These days, it seemed every time Inej found herself aimlessly scrolling through Instagram, she always ended up back on that photo. This ritual was bordering on self-flagellation, but she really couldn’t help herself.

Because, since that conversation with Nina, it was impossible to look at the photo of her and Kaz in the same way. She devoured it over and over again, dissecting the soft light in his gaze, the angle of his body, that ghost of a smile on his lips. For weeks, Inej had told herself the way he’d looked at her that night was part of his con, but oh how she wanted it to be real. 

Now, since Nina and her Saints-damned meddling, she couldn’t help reading into every gesture, every look and accidental touch. The way Kaz moved toward her whenever they were in a room together and leaned toward her in crowded spaces. Like—like she was his safe place. 

Saints, had it always been so obvious?

She really wasn’t sure what was worse: wishing it was real when it wasn’t or knowing it was real but entirely out of reach. Because, as much as it pained her to look at this photo and wish it was real, she knew it would be more painful still to give more of herself to someone so guarded, someone who couldn’t give the way she wanted to give to him.

This was a mess. Really, how in the world was she supposed to be normal around Kaz now?

She scrolled through the comments left on the photo for the thousandth time, wondering if he’d done the same. Did he know how she felt? Had he been holding himself back for her? Or was he just as reluctant to complicate things? He must have some reason she didn’t know that kept him from being honest with her—and did she really want to risk knowing it? 

Sighing to herself, she looked at the photo again. It was just that they both looked so happy. And she had been, even with the mess leading up to that moment. She had been happy to go through it with him. 

So tell him, Nina kept saying in her head. 

Saints, she was so scared to; there were so many unknowns. But Nina was right. She needed to text him—they needed to talk. Maybe tonight even. Something more than just the awkward one-word replies she’d struggled to come up with. 

Inej was about to close out Instagram and open her messages when her screen froze up. Then, it went black. She frowned. 

“Shit.” 

She had such a bad habit of running down the battery lately. That figures. And just when she’d worked up the nerve, too.

Irritated, she pocketed her phone and pulled up her hood. The sky was looking awfully threatening. It would be all right, she told herself. She had a charger in her bag, so once she got to Nazyalensky’s office, she’d just plug it in. Then, she’d text Kaz, like she always did anyway. It could wait another hour.

Arriving to find Nazyalensky’s office door shut was her first clue that something was off. Usually, at the time of Inej’s appointments, the doctor left it wide open as she waited in her usual seat, legs primly crossed as she scribbled notes to herself. Today, however, Inej found herself pacing outside the door, waiting to be let in. 

Finally, after ten painstakingly long minutes, she opted to give up the wait. Maybe this was some kind of test—maybe Nazyalensky needed to see how she would assert herself. So, squaring her shoulders, Inej knocked on the door.

A few seconds later, the doctor turned the knob and peered out. Her hair, normally so poised and perfect, was wrapped up in a messy bun with her reading glasses perched atop her head. She’d clearly been absorbed in her work. 

“Oh. Inej?” Nazyalensky blinked and opened the door a little wider. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“Do you mind if I plug my phone in before we get started?” Inej said, in a rush as she hurried in and plopped on the sofa. Frankly, she felt kind of naked with a dead phone. 

“I take it Kaz didn’t speak with you after his session,” Nazyalensky said, slowly sinking into her chair across from Inej with an air of uncertainty.

“No.” Inej gave a shake of her head before changing course and shrugging. Something in the air was making her feel itchy and awkward. “Was he supposed to? Maybe he tried. Dead phone.” She held up her phone as evidence before fishing out her charger from her bag. 

“I see,” Nazyalensky said, carefully. 

Why was she being so weird? Her crystal blue gaze flitted around the room, anywhere but at Inej, like she was chasing down her thoughts as they scattered. 

Inej would let the doctor gather herself while she hunted down an outlet. Maybe by the time the phone was charging and Inej was settled in, the awkwardness would have passed.

It did not. Instead, Nazyalensky gave her a tight-lipped smile that almost looked painful as Inej sat back on the sofa. 

“I’m ready now.” Best to just power-through, smooth things over.

“Inej,” was all the doctor said. It was only her name, but something in the quality of the doctor’s voice filled her with dread. 

“That’s me.”

“Inej.” Nazyalensky said it with a sigh this time, which somehow made it worse. Inej swallowed, but it did nothing to prepare her for what the doctor said next: “I know.” 

For a moment, it seemed Inej’s very survival hinged on maintaining a smile. Maybe she could play dumb. Maybe denial was the way to go. 

“Know what?” she asked. This did not impress Nazyalensky. 

“Inej,” she sighed again, “I know. In fact, I’ve known.” 

Inej’s smile muscles gave out. That the rest of her muscles didn’t follow suit was something of a miracle. She felt light-headed. She wasn’t breathing right. The words Please don’t tell my parents sat on her tongue, ready to jump at the first sign of trouble.

“I had assumed that Mr. Brekker would have told you what happened in our last session—”

Vision blurring, Inej gritted her teeth. Brekker. Goddamn Brekker. If they were about to be kicked out of school over this stupid, stupid idea, she was going to—

“—so you’ll forgive me if I’m a little unprepared for you today,” the doctor was saying, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap like she wasn’t sure which way was going to work better. 

Inej didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to trust. For weeks, she had told herself that this exact scenario would be the end of her Ketterdam U career, that this was what needed to be avoided at all costs. But Nazyalensky looked about as unruffled as a Kerch weather reporter forecasting rain again. Inej had no idea what to expect next.

“What happened in your last session?” she somehow managed to croak. 

Had Kaz told her the truth? Had he sold them out—

“I’m afraid I’m really not at liberty to divulge the details of private sessions.” Nazyalensky went with her hands folded over her knee. Prim and proper as ever. Inej sort of wanted to stab her. “But it goes without saying that our sessions in this setting are at an end now.” 

“Okay…” The word left Inej slowly, like a leak. She felt like she was shrinking by the minute. Her gaze dropped to her phone as she considered plotting her escape from this nightmare. But she couldn’t go anywhere until she knew what was going to happen to her and Kaz next.

“But before I let you go,” Nazyalensky went on, “I’ll tell you the same thing I told your boyfriend—” Inej blinked. Perhaps Nazyalensky didn’t know everything. “—and that is that I sympathize with your current life circumstances.” 

A flush of heat raged through Inej’s cheeks. 

“My current life circumstances?” she echoed. Her heart flung itself against her ribcage like it was ready to pick a fight.

“There are a number of campus resources available to you to help you navigate this difficult season,” Nazyalensky went on, apparently oblivious, with exactly the kind of callousness that had kept Inej from doing this in the first place. “And I have a number of colleagues that I could refer you to, who center their practices around recovery from sexual trauma—”

If the doctor continued talking after this, Inej couldn’t say. She wasn’t processing words. None of this felt right. None of this felt real. These familiar surroundings seemed suddenly strange. The potted plants, the sofa, Zoya’s desk and her notebook, her dark blue fingernails. Inej had been ripped from her reality and plunged into this one, this one in which Dr. Nazyalensky knew about—

Was there no one left who didn’t know what had been done to her?

Finally, she managed to bark out, cutting Nazyalensky off: “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what’s happening here.” 

Nazyalensky blinked, her blue eyes cold as ice.

“We are ending our working relationship, Inej,” she said, bluntly. “But I would like to offer you a referral so you can continue with your individual recovery.” 

Inej balled her sweating hands in her lap, trying to think straight past the words sexual trauma and individual recovery. That had never been a part of this deal. She had never agreed to open these boxes. 

Whatever shade of pity it was that was making Nazyalensky’s eyes so insufferably blue was making Inej sick. She hadn’t come here for pity, to be scrutinized or analyzed like this. This was not part of the deal. It wasn’t. It hadn’t ever been. She did not sign up for this.

“You’re offering me a referral.” Her voice sounded hollow and distant in her own ears. “I wasted weeks of your time, and you’re offering me a referral. What is going on?” 

She should have trusted Kaz when he’d said Nazyalensky was up to something. 

“It wasn’t a waste,” the doctor said, quietly. Maybe this was her being gentle. “It’s never a waste to seek treatment for your pain.” 

Inej’s fingers were shaking as she reached for her backpack. Practically ripped the outlet from the wall as she yanked her phone charger from the socket. 

“I didn’t—I’m not seeking treatment. You had no right,” she told the doctor, as she gathered up her things, “no right to string me along like this. For—for your own academic interest.” 

At that, Nazyalensky laughed. Laughed. 

“‘String you along’?” she said. “Miss Ghafa, I never forced you to come to these sessions. Is it really me you’re angry with in this moment?” 

Yes, it really is, she nearly shouted. The words got stuck halfway out her throat. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched through the door, her shaking hands mashing the power button on her phone. Surely there’d be just enough juice now.

The air outside was wet and cold. The shock of it hit her at the same time as the miraculous light of her phone screen flickering on. Three percent. It would have to be enough. In her palm, the phone vibrated once, twice, three times with Kaz’s incoming messages.

Kaz: Do not go to your next session

Kaz: Nazyalensky knows everything

Kaz: Too much to text. Call if you can and I can explain

Seeing this, Inej started to shiver. The shaking in her hands passing into her arms and shoulders, to her core. Pulling her coat closed around her throat didn’t help; the shaking was coming from inside her.

Zoya’s perfect lips forming the words sexual trauma circled like vultures, picking over her bones. Had she seen the videos? If Dr Nazyalensky had seen them, then who else? All that time—every time Inej sat on her sofa, Nazyalensky had known the ways she’d been violated. Had she pictured it? Had she pushed and probed with the hope of—of revealing something? Triggering something?

When Inej looked up, from her shaking hands and shaking phone, there was no one around. The campus was so dark she thought for a moment the sun had set. That wasn’t it. The sky was purple, bruised and bloated with the promise of rain. Ether coated her tongue.

Despite the shaking, Inej managed to type out one message. Cold and numb, she watched the loading bar move across her screen and her message swished off into nothingness.

The thought of walking home, walking away, walking anywhere was impossible. So, she waited. Hands white-knuckling the straps of her backpack, she waited. Looking up at the dark sky, she waited. Tapping her foot and clenching her teeth, she waited. Swallowing the lump in her throat, the ache in her chest, the knot in her stomach, she waited.

And waited.

It hadn’t been long enough when she heard footsteps on the path leading to the Psych Department. Even though they were all wrong, not the gait she knew like the rhythm of her own heart, Inej peered down the path. She caught a glimpse of ruddy, muddy blonde hair first, khakis and boat shoes last.

Sawyer reached the bottom of the steps and looked up at her, teeth bared in a smile.

“Hello again, Inej.”

Kaz

His texts still hadn’t gone through. 

This was a very special kind of hell, Kaz thought, reserved only for idiots who tried to con therapists. He was going to be left screaming into the technological void for all eternity to pay for his crimes against the communication sciences.

He’d dropped his bag by the front door the moment he was back in the apartment. Stood there a moment, frozen with indecision, while he grappled for some kind of plan. He opted for limping to the kitchen for a cold beer, which he promptly forgot about after the first gulp. He abandoned the can on the counter behind him as he shoved his fingers into his hair and stared at the floor, willing for his phone to vibrate and end his misery.

It didn’t. Maybe it never would again.

Instead it was Nazyalensky’s words that rang in his ears. 

I want to work with you, Mr. Brekker, because I believe, I hope, that, on some level, you want to be worked with… Why else would you have put yourself through all of this in the first place?

The microwave, was what he should’ve told her. It’s what he’d been telling everyone else after all. In the smoldering aftermath of this con, however, even the thought of it sounded beyond stupid.

Shit. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

The scheme was absurd. Even now, he could think of at least six other ways for him to get the money for a microwave. Not only that, he remembered with startling clarity the first thing that had crossed his mind when he’d seen the ad for Nazyalensky’s study. Inej. He remembered thinking it’d be an easy 200 bucks and that’d be even easier if he were to do it with Inej. 

The idea that it’d be weird and awkward to pretend to date her hadn’t even crossed his mind, because it wouldn’t be. Things were easy with her, even when they weren’t. He wanted to hear her laugh and make her laugh; he wanted to be the person she came to when she was in trouble and to go to her when he was. He wanted, but the more he wanted—

It was like walking out on a frozen lake. Every step was a step over oblivion and, worst of all, he didn’t know which would be his last. He was afraid. He should get on his belly and crawl back to shore, it was the only sane decision.

Goddamnit, why were his texts still not going through? Fuck, what if she’d blocked his number? What if Nazyalensky had told her everything he’d ever confessed on that couch and she’d finally seen how truly crooked and wrong he was and that was that, the final straw? 

He thought he was going to be sick.

The lock on the front door clunked, and the knob rattled and turned. It might as well have been white noise. Kaz barely registered it and the muffled laughter that followed as Jesper staggered in backwards, his face buried in the neck of a giggling boy with auburn curls and flushed, freckled cheeks. He wore a dark sweater with an aubergine scarf, his hands in fingerless gloves that clutched at the elbows of Jesper’s olive green jacket in an attempt to keep him upright as he tripped over the doormat. 

Clearly, they’d been kissing all the way up the stairs, judging from the startled, interrupted flash of the boy’s blue eyes upon seeing Kaz’s glare from the kitchen—a realization that, for a brief moment, Kaz truly resented. (Rub his face in it, why don’t they?)

“Oh, hey.” Jesper sounded surprised to see him once the two had righted themselves and broken apart. 

“Hey.” 

Ok, so the resentment wasn’t wearing off as fast as Kaz would have liked. He never claimed to be perfect. The boy—this was Wylan, the “tutee”, he was assuming—looked nervous as he chewed on his bottom lip and folded his arms so that his hands were stuffed under his armpits.

“I thought you had class?” Jesper was a little breathless as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I made sure to make a note in the calendar app this time…” 

Great. Just great. Suddenly, but not surprisingly, no one was making eye contact at all.

“Ah. Ok.” Kaz reached back for the cane he leaned against the counter behind him. “I’ll…go—”

But Wylan was ramming an elbow into Jesper’s ribs, eliciting a soft “oof”.

“What the fuck, Jesper,” he grumbled under his breath, then aggressively stuck out one of his fingerless gloved hands towards Kaz. “Hi. I’m Wylan.” 

Kaz was calculating which would be ruder, to fish out his leather gloves from his jacket pocket so he could accept the gesture or ignore Wylan’s extended hand altogether, when his roommate intervened.

“Shit, sorry.” Jesper’s eyebrows went up as he remembered his manners. “Kaz, Wylan; Wylan, Kaz.” And to Wylan’s outstretched hand, he added, “Kaz doesn’t do handshakes.” 

“Oh.” Wylan took only a beat to glance at his own hand, like he was concerned he had something sticky on it, before shoving his hands into his jean pockets. “Sorry about that.” 

And there went the resentment. Kaz felt like an asshole again, which, while unpleasant, he knew what to do with at least. 

“You didn’t know,” he tried to reassure Wylan, but it came out in a harsh rasp. It was the best he could offer under the circumstances. So, he followed it up with, “I’m headed out.”

“Are you ok?” Jesper’s brow furrowed when Kaz passed between them.

“Never better,” Kaz barked, already in the hall. The door slammed behind him. 

There, on the third floor landing before the stairs, Kaz pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his messages again. It was even worse than he’d expected. 

The texts had been delivered. And they were just sitting there on Read. 

Inej had seen them. And she’d said nothing. Nothing. Kaz’s heart dropped to his shoes. Why was this so, so much worse?

He didn’t know what to do next. Jesper had been right—he was supposed to be in class. Not like he would have been of any use there today. 

It was starting to rain outside again. He didn’t want to go anywhere except maybe to bed, preferably for the rest of the semester. Instead, he opted for sitting on the landing, his feet drawn up to the second stair and his elbows on his knees. With a sigh, he dropped his head into his hands. It wasn’t bed, but it would have to do.

He was there only a moment or two before the apartment door creaked open behind him.

“Hey, this is super weird.” Kaz looked back over his shoulder to see Jesper peering out the doorway at him, his expression more uncomfortable than Kaz ever remembered it being. “Do you want to just come back inside and hang out with us?” 

“Not really.” Kaz was too exhausted to be anything but honest. “I’m good, I swear.”  

“Ok, but like—” Jesper pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut like he couldn’t stand to even look at Kaz at the moment. “—I can’t just leave you sitting out here like this. So now we’re just going to be sitting in there while you’re sitting out here, and it’s so weird, man—”

“Fucking hell, fine! I will go somewhere else!” Left on Read by Inej, then sexiled by Jesper—he’d become the human equivalent of old gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. He reached for his cane again so he could stand, but—

“Don’t—don’t do that.” Jesper interrupted, sounding irritated. “God, you’re so dramatic. Just—wait a sec, ok?” 

There was a moment of muffled words exchanged with Wylan behind the slightly ajar door. And then Jesper stepped out onto the landing, pulling the door closed behind him. Ruthlessly, Kaz squashed the bright, brilliant spark of relief that flashed through him when Jesper sat down next to him on the stairs.

“Can’t you just pretend like I’m not here?” Kaz said instead. Jesper gave an incredulous snort. 

“No,” he said, quite simply. “You’re kinda like my best friend, dude. I don’t like the idea of you being kicked out of your house when you’re down.” 

For a moment, Kaz didn’t know what to say. He felt his cheeks heat, the tips of his ears. His mouth stopped working. When it started again, he said, “You’re the one who kicked me out,” petulantly, with an indignant scowl.

Because Jesper was his best friend.

“And I will be having words with me about that later,” Jesper promised, quirking a grin, “don’t you worry.”

Christ, it was impossible to stay angry when Jesper was grinning like that.

“What is going on, my guy?” He nudged Kaz’s shoulder with his own. “Why are you Eeyoring on our stairs?” 

“Why am I what?”

“Eeyoring, Eeyore—you know, beloved but deeply depressed Winnie the Pooh character, always has a rain cloud over his head. Seriously?” Jesper was growing increasingly distressed over Kaz’s blank stare. “What kind of childhood did you have?” 

Kaz sighed. There were far too many people asking this question of him these days. Jesper would have to get in line.

“How did you even know I was still here?” Kaz sidestepped.

“I didn’t hear you go down the stairs.” And Jesper just shrugged when Kaz raised his eyebrows at that. “Don’t give me that look,” he said. “You’re not always all that steady on your feet, and sometimes you make me nervous on stairs. So I listen. It’s not a crime.” 

Kaz found himself chewing on the inside of his lip, fighting a smile in spite of himself. 

“You know, not many people know this, but,” he shot Jesper a sardonic glance as he deadpanned, “the cane actually doesn’t prevent me from screaming for help when I fall down stairs, so what you’re doing is really not necessary.”

Jesper snorted.

“You’re not going to be screaming for help if your neck’s broken,” he pointed out. 

“Wait. Hold up.” Kaz frowned and slit his eyes in Jesper’s direction. “This sounds more like you’re actually listening to me on the stairs so you can be the first one to find my dead body.” 

“Well, I don’t want anyone else going through your wallet.” Jesper didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll still have to make rent.” 

And something like relief washed over Jesper’s face when Kaz let slip a rasping bark of a laugh. 

“I could do this all day, dude,” he said as Kaz’s gaze returned to his shoes, “or you could just tell me what’s going on so I can go make-out with a hot guy in peace.” 

Every one of Kaz’s instincts were to pull back, hole up, snarl at every intruder who wanted a look at what he’d done. Which was weird, now that he thought about it. What good was that doing him here? What was he even trying to defend?

“Things haven’t gone as planned,” he eventually managed, hunched over his bent legs with his arms folded and propped on his knees. “I have to find a new way to get us a microwave.” 

For a moment, Jesper blinked like he’d been slapped. 

“Oh. Shit,” he murmured. 

“It’ll be ok,” Kaz was quick to add. “I know a guy who could help us up the resale value of used textbooks, so I was thinking—” 

“I don’t give a shit about the microwave, man.” Jesper cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I’ve literally never given a shit about the microwave. Did something happen with Inej?” 

Kaz’s jaw was starting to ache from how tightly he’d been clenching it all day, but the mere idea of confessing the mess he’d made of everything with Inej had him grinding his teeth all over again.

“It’ll be fine—” he started to say, in what he thought was a decent show of dismissiveness. 

But Jesper was having have none of it.

“Would you stop with this already?” Kaz found himself blinking at the ferocity behind Jesper’s words. “Just stop,” Jesper insisted again, rubbing his hands into his eyes. “That’s all you’ve been saying for months now—It’ll be ok. I have it under control. I know what I’m doing. Everything will be fine.”

“I do—” Kaz started to object, but Jesper was on a roll.

“You’re not fine, Kaz!” he exclaimed, surely loud enough that Wylan would hear. “And I’d kind of thought to just let this thing with pretend therapy and Inej play itself out, because at least this way you were talking to someone, but, fuck, dude. I am really fucking worried about you now.” 

Jesper shook his head as he scrubbed a hand over his mouth, at a loss for words in a way Kaz had never seen before. He always had words. Usually far too many of them. The sudden silence that fell over them filled Kaz with worry, too. You don’t have to worry about me, he would have said, if he’d had any conviction left. But maybe Jesper should be.

“Why are you worried about me?” he asked instead. He was surprised to find his voice completely devoid of accusation.

Jesper huffed a bitter laugh behind his knuckles.

“You are the loneliest person I’ve ever met, and you’re so used to it, I don’t think you even realize it’s not normal. But it’s really not—it’s not normal to have no one to call on if something breaks and you don’t know what to do. It’s not normal to spend every waking moment of your life trying to make sure you have enough money to eat and stay warm because there’s never been anyone else to help you with it. It’s not normal to consider yourself so unworthy of someone else’s company that you have to fabricate some ridiculous scheme to get them to spend more time with you—”

“Oh, fuck you.” Kaz did not need this. He would be standing to leave if he had anywhere at all to go. “We needed the money; I did what I had to do.” 

“I broke the microwave, Kaz!” Jesper shouted at him. “I broke it! Why would you assume it’s your problem?” 

It was like Jesper struck a match, or maybe struck gold. Something a bit like anger or like pride but more like fear was welling up in him and whatever it was, it was flammable. Of all of the things Jesper could have said—

“You weren’t doing anything about it,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “It was just sitting there and you. Weren’t. Doing. Anything.” 

“You didn’t even give me a chance to do something! You had this whole scheme not two days later! I could—I can still do something! Can you trust me to do something?” 

The way he said it, with a pointed glance shot across the distance between them, hit Kaz square in the chest, like a bullet to the heart, like this had been Jesper’s point all along. Like he knew the answer before Kaz could even say it. 

Kaz trusted no one. That was one of the cornerstones of his entire existence, actually. There’d never been anyone he trusted. He wouldn’t know how to do it even if his life depended on it.

This was…the crux of the matter. Of all of the matters, really. He couldn’t trust even when he wanted to, even when it was well-deserved. He couldn’t trust Jesper, and he couldn’t trust Inej, and he couldn’t trust Nazyalensky. Every moment that required more trust from him, more of what he didn’t know how to give, was shredding him and every bit of his carefully crafted fortress. And that was terrifying. It felt like there would be nothing left of him when all was said and done.

He’d hesitated too long in the face of Jesper’s question. And now Jesper’s silvery blue eyes fluttered with disappointment as he looked away. Kaz wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Everything felt numb as he looked down at his shoes.

“You know, I’ve trusted you since the very beginning,” Jesper said, quieter now. “Probably stupid of me.”

“It was.”

“Well, I still do.” Jesper shot him another ferocious glance, like he wouldn’t stand for Kaz slander, even coming from Kaz himself. “I know that when you make a promise, you mean it. That when you’re asked to keep something secret, you always do. That you’ll always show up when you’re needed. I thought that maybe you felt the same way about me, maybe even about Inej.” 

He paused, as if waiting for Kaz to fight back. But when nothing came, he sighed and shook his head. “Well, I hope someday you can. You deserve that much.”

And Jesper made to stand, pressing his hands into his bent knees as he leaned forward. Kaz shook his head, pushing out a breath, as if that could clear his head. Then spouted— “Nazyalensky knew we were lying the whole time.” 

Nothing got easier without practice. Perhaps trust was the same. 

Jesper paused, blinking at him. Waiting for the rest. 

“And she’s trying to bribe me into taking part in another study for people whose PTSD presents with haphephobia symptoms.” 

“Hape-what?”

“Touch aversion. From trauma.” Kaz gave a pathetic wave of a hand. “The glove thing,” he offered in explanation. Jesper’s eyebrows went up.

“Oh,” he remarked. “That’s what that’s about?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I just thought your hands got cold easily.” 

Kaz opened his mouth to try to point out the variety of ways this line of reasoning was flawed, but couldn’t summon the energy to follow through with more than just a bitter sigh. Though he did feel a little lighter after that. The truth wasn’t quite so oppressive now that Jesper knew part of it.

“Are you going to do it?” Jesper wanted to know. Kaz just shrugged. Truthfully, uncharacteristically, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. 

“Inej isn’t responding to my texts,” he said, by way of an answer. 

“Ok, but,” Jesper wasn’t following the logic, “you have a doctor trying to bribe you. Like, if you’re not going to do it, I feel like there’s a lawsuit in there at least, maybe—like you’re about to have so much money—”

“But Inej isn’t responding to my texts,” Kaz repeated, with emphasis this time. Nothing else mattered but this.

Still, only confusion remained. Jesper’s mouth was slightly agape and his eyebrows were still raised. Shock and awe were probably the appropriate reactions.

“I can’t put out multiple fires at once, Jesper,” he added, almost savage in his own defense. “If I could just straighten things out with Inej, then I could—”

It was at this exact moment the phone in his pocket buzzed. He stopped short, and frowned as he rifled through his pockets.

“Oh, look at that,” Jesper sing-songed, peering over Kaz’s shoulder. “it’s Inej. Now what was it you were saying about bribery?”

But the screen in his hand read: 

Inej: Can you come get me? I’m at the psych building. Please.

“I have to go,” Kaz said, already half way to his feet.

“You didn’t really think she wasn’t going to text you back, did you?” Jesper wanted to know, watching Kaz stand. “Dude, she’s crazy about you.” 

That sent his heart flailing against his rib cage. 

She’s crazy about you. 

Shit, he liked the sound of that. Liked everything about it, in fact. He liked the version of the world this sentence offered, one where he could remember her coy glances that night on the rooftop and trust that she knew exactly what she was getting into by giving into whatever it was that kept drawing them together. A world where he didn’t have to expend so much energy trying to keep from ruining the thing that they had. With this message from her, can you come get me, it almost felt possible. Almost.

“Is that a bad thing?” Jesper seemed to note the way his words had Kaz frozen solid to the stairs. “I thought you were into her, too.” 

“It’s not—it’s—” Deep breath. Trust would get easier with practice. “You might be right,” he looked down at Jesper, his voice strained, “but there’s still so much she doesn’t know yet. She can’t know enough yet to make a rational decision about me, and if she did—”

At that, Jesper barked a laugh before he clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to sober up. 

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” he drawled, once he managed to pull his hand down, “attraction is not rational. Believe me. I’m the king of irrational crushes. Inej can’t help how she feels about you, and this is after you convinced her to go to fake therapy to try to buy a microwave, so you’ve already gone and put your worst foot forward, and she still feels this way about you. I don’t think you need to worry about her rationalizing you away. She should have done that by now.” 

But you don’t know, either, he wanted to say. Which was the whole point. No one was supposed to know. Ever. 

He could see it now: the blonde woman with the badge, the social worker, the lawyer—all of them staring at him, only nine, in the backseat of an unmarked squad car, just before he was to be handed over to his first foster family. “This is who you are now,” the lawyer had said, tapping a freshly printed birth certificate on the top of a stack of papers in her arms. “You should never, ever, for any reason, talk about who you were before to anyone, not without checking with one of us first. Or bad things could happen, do you understand?”

Bad things could happen. Bad things had already happened. The gun shots, the screams, the begging, the pleading, the blood, so much blood—

Bad things could happen. But they wouldn’t if he didn’t talk. That’s what they promised. That’s what—

“Kaz?” 

Kaz blinked. Swallowed once. Jesper was still sitting on the steps below him, waiting for him to do something. He was supposed to be doing something. 

Until this moment, he had forgotten all about the squad car. He had forgotten about the promise to never speak again. It had lain buried under a mountain of ten thousand other terrible moments that came before and after, but somehow it had ruled supreme, robbing him over and over of his ability to trust. 

The hand that held his phone was starting to shake. He pocketed it before he could drop it. 

“I need to go get Inej,” he suddenly remembered. “She asked me to go get her.” 

Jesper fished into his pocket before tossing something shiny Kaz’s way. Car keys—Kaz’s actually, Kaz noticed when he caught them. Jesper never could find his set when he needed them. 

“I think you can trust her,” Jesper told him, before he turned to limp down the stairs. “I think you should try.” 

Kaz’s ears were still ringing with the newly resurfaced memory, but he looked back at his roommate on the steps and nodded. He was—it would get easier with practice, he was sure of it. 

“And if it goes badly,” Jesper added, “I’ll be here. Deal?” 

Against all the odds, Kaz trusted that.

“Deal,” he said.

Chapter Text

Inej

The first drop of rain landed on Inej’s cheek just as Sawyer mounted the first step toward her. It was cold and jarring, like the expression on his face. She remembered the last time she’d seen him; standing outside that fancy restaurant with Kaz’s cane pressed to his throat. Now she was alone, neither Kaz nor Sawyer’s mother as witness.

Inej took a slow step backwards. “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, just passing by,” he said casually. The shrug of his shoulders was entirely at odds with the sour slant of his mouth. “Thought I saw you up here, all alone.”

“I’m waiting for Kaz.” 

A scowl etched its way across his face. “Kaz,” he sneered. “Is that his name?”

The question didn’t need an answer. Inej recognised the look of him, the way he pulled up his shoulders and tightened his hands and hollowed his chest. He wasn’t expecting an answer. He was expecting a fight.

“He’s not here right now though is he, sweetheart? Just you and me.”

Across the quad, the lights lining the paths criss-crossing the green began to flicker on. One at a time, they illuminated the emptiness.

Where was everyone?

Inej shook her head, less in response to Sawyer than the entire situation, and looked around. Surely, there was someone else. Dr. Nazyalensky even, back in her office. All she needed was one person, someone to make eye contact with, a witness.

Clenching her phone harder, she fought the instinct to check her messages. Kaz would come. He was coming. Until then—

Inej squared her shoulders and rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Sawyer?”

“Not much,” he shrugged again, “Just for you to admit it.”

“Admit what?” She was genuinely baffled.

“That you played me,” Sawyer hissed. “That you strung me along, that you’re an ungrateful bitch who doesn’t know what’s good for her.”

The last came out with venom and spittle. He was now at the top of the steps, looming over her. She couldn’t really focus on his words, not with how close he was standing, not with the way he raised his arm and his voice.

He was pointing. Index finger extended, he was jabbing at her. Maybe he was still speaking but Inej heard nothing, saw only the sweeping motion of that finger. She couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body locked up, prey before predator. Helpless. 

He seemed to sense her terror because she watched, mute and horrified, as his nostrils flared and he leaned forward with a smile.

“I can see you regret that now, though.” 

With horrible gentleness, he brushed a thumb over her cheek, oblivious to her stillness. 

For one infinite moment, the world narrowed to that touch. Her cheek and his thumb. Then, something inside her snapped. Fury overrode reason. In one motion, Inej stepped back and slapped his hand away.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” The words were hardly words at all. “Don’t you ever touch me.”

Sawyer threw his hands up in mock surrender. It was so casual a gesture, Inej thought she might kill him for it.

“Jeez,” was his response. “No need to go full psycho.”

Looking at him now, sneering and sniveling and pathetic, Inej saw every other guy who’d looked at her that way. She saw all his petty greed, his pride and his ego, the tiny shriveled thing that was his masculinity and she laughed.

Pulling her backpack forward, Inej dug around in it until her hand connected with something cold and plastic. Her mace. It was hot pink and dangling from one side was a rape whistle. The sight of it blew his eyes to the size of the college stadium floodlights. 

Who was the prey now?

She leveled the mace at him and smiled. “No, no. Please, go on.”

With no small amount of satisfaction, Inej watched his lip tremble.

Dredging up what was probably the last of his bravado, he said, “You’re not going to use that.”

And that was the final straw because Inej, quite frankly, had had enough of people telling her how she was feeling and telling her what she was going to do. There was only one person who got to decide how she felt, what she did, who she spent her time with and that person was Inej Ghafa.

She took a step toward him, cocking her head. “Are you sure about that?”

The rain was getting heavier, forming droplets on her lashes and trickling down her neck. She was distantly aware of being cold; the shock of Nazyalensky’s revelation and the weather stealing into her bones. But Sawyer had lit a burning fire in her.

That this man—this boy—thought he had any power over her was laughable. She took another step forward, pushing him back.

“Tell me again, what I am. What I’m going to do. Please.”

“You—you wouldn’t. My father—my father’s a lawyer, he’d—”

“He’d what?” Inej frowned, looked down at him despite their height difference. “What would daddy do about his sniveling, blubbering, embarrassment of a son?”

Sawyer gasped, actually gasped. Despite the cold, his face flushed bright red and Inej watched him open and close his mouth several times like an especially stupid fish. 

“You are nothing, Sawyer. You make yourself feel big by making others feel small but really, you are nothing. Not your fathers profession, nor your degree or that expensive watch on your wrist, will ever change that. I’m the hopeful sort so maybe—maybe one day, you’ll figure out why you feel so small and how to fix that but today…” She took one more step and, seeing what he couldn’t, leaned into his face. “Today, you’re worth less than the gum on my shoe.”

He pulled back as if slapped, eyes wide and incredulous. Then, he stepped back and that was his mistake. His arms wheeled fruitlessly once, twice, three times as he staggered down one step, his stupid boat shoes slipping on the wet stairs – til his ankle crumpled in the opposite direction, and then he careened down the entire flight.

The sound he made as he hit the ground was pitiful, a deflated whoosh of air knocked from his lungs that she could barely hear over the rain. As she tucked her mace into a coat pocket, a small part of her lamented not having used it though it did seem like overkill now.

Sawyer raised himself up, his face contorting in pain as he clutched at his ankle. “Oh my god, I think it’s broken,” he wailed. “Help – call someone.” 

She spared him and it a glance, considering. It would be the right thing to do. She’d sprained an ankle in the middle of a gymnastics meet once; the pain was no joke. But she’d also been able to finish her routine. 

And maybe she was tired of doing the right thing for the wrong people.

“You’ll be fine,” she sighed. 

“You bitch,” he spat, face contorted so horribly, Inej nearly recoiled. Like, actual spit left his mouth with the word. Gross. And maybe that’s why Inej felt no remorse when she rolled her eyes and mentally reached for a knife.

“Wow,” she drawled, remembering his words from that night outside the restaurant as she began to casually stroll down the steps, “you know, every time I see you, Sawyer, you’re over emotional about something…” 

“I could sue you for this!” Sawyer screamed, red-faced. All the while, inching away from her and her descent. Inej relished that. 

“You’re gonna sue me for your bad choice of footwear?” she laughed, a dark, careless sound, far more powerful than any she’d given before. “You know what? You should do that, actually. That sounds funny.” 

And with every step she took, Sawyer crawled a little further away, heedless of the rain. Not once did he take his eyes off her. For a fleeting moment, she rather wished she did have a knife, if only so that he could actually see who she was, what he was dealing with. 

Sawyer’s wet khakis made a pathetic scraping sound against the pavement with every inch of his retreat. He blinked furiously against the driving rain. Maybe now he wouldn’t forget – she was the one to fear. 

“You can’t just leave me like this!” he wailed, his voice high and thin. “I can’t walk on it—what am I supposed to do?”

Affecting a bored tone, Inej mused, “I don’t know. Call your daddy?”

“Solid advice,” came a familiar rasp, echoing down the path ahead.

Kaz.

Her heartbeat slowed, then kicked up again.

In her periphery, Inej was aware of Sawyer whipping around and shuffling frantically onto the grass beside the path in order to get away from both her and Kaz, but mostly—mostly she was looking at Kaz. 

He’d shoved his sopping hair back, his coat and the shirt beneath were completely drenched, he was leaning heavily on his cane, and he was here. He’d come. Quickly, by the looks of it. It was cold enough and dark enough now that she could see his breath clouding in the air. He was breathing very heavily, panting almost. Like he’d run here.

Sawyer was still on the grass, fuming. “Won’t either of you help me? How am I supposed to get home?”

With a quiet, deadly air, Kaz craned his neck towards him, one dark eyebrow slightly arched. “Might I suggest a cane?”

The look on Sawyer’s face then was sharp and attentive. He was not going to forget this moment quickly. But when Kaz looked away, it was as if Sawyer wasn’t there anymore; instantly, he became less noteworthy than a blade of grass.

Instead, Kaz took a step closer and looked up at her, still on the third step.

“Are you okay?” Inej pressed her lips together and nodded. He took another step, frowned, and asked again, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

It was almost true. For one glorious moment, she’d felt stronger than she had in a long time, but as the adrenaline drained away, exhaustion snuck in. When her legs began working again, bending to take the final two stairs, her knees went rubbery and her body sagged forward. 

Every fiber of her being was suddenly awash with too many emotions to name. Chief among them was surprise, as she found herself in Kaz’s arms.

He made a small startled sound, as if surprised at himself, but he held on to her all the same. Keeping them both upright, he braced the extra weight onto his cane, while his other arm gathered her close. Her body was now entirely pressed against his warm, solid frame—a dizzying realization that took away what little breath she had. 

Against her palm, she felt Kaz’s heart pounding wildly. At least she wasn’t alone.

For a moment, neither of them moved. To be honest, Inej wasn’t sure if she could. Her knees still felt funny. Her own heart was doing things that would probably make a cardiologist frown. She couldn’t reasonably expect Kaz to carry her if she fainted now. So, for a moment, she avoided his gaze and tried to swallow a few deep breaths, but her throat felt tight. Kaz’s breath hitched when she did, but his arm remained firm around her. 

“I’m sorry,” she managed.

“Don’t apologize,” Kaz objected, his voice low. He was so close, he’d never been anywhere near this close—his breath tickled her ear as he spoke. “I’m parked just around the corner. Can you make it?”

Just around the corner. Though she still didn’t feel like she was getting enough air, Inej felt a little sturdier when she lifted her eyes to the sidewalk, to the rain puddles collecting in the grass. Just around the corner. She nodded. She could manage that. 

“Ok.” Kaz nodded with her, then turned them both, his arm still holding her waist. “Let’s get out of the rain, yeah?”

“You don’t have to—” She tried to motion to where he supported her; she meant to give him an out. He had issues with touch. He’d been so brave that day when he’d told Nazyalensky, she should have told him so…

“I’m fine,” he cut her off, abruptly. “Let’s get you home.” 

As they turned towards the parking lot, Inej vaguely registered that Sawyer had managed to get himself on his feet after all and was now limping dramatically in the direction of the campus nurses’ office. And fine, good riddance. His damage could be someone else’s problem.

The walk to the car in the rain had a grounding effect. Inej felt her feet below her again as they approached the beat up black Chevy waiting for them in the commuter lot, enough that she forced herself to take a step away from Kaz so that he’d release his hold on her as she strode for the passenger side door. There was no need for him to torture himself when she could manage these final steps on her own. 

Kaz

He hadn’t wanted to let go. 

That was the first unnerving revelation that hit him as Kaz dropped into the driver’s seat and pulled the door closed behind him. In the passenger seat, Inej was soaked from head to toe, shivering as she wrapped her arms around herself. From the sideways glance she gave him, he thought she was still anxious—shivering not just from the cold. 

It hit him again, like a kick to the chest, that he wanted to hold her. He’d seen the way she touched Nina, touched Jesper, seeking them out for comfort and stability. He wanted to be that for her, too. To warm her, to stop her shivering, to hunt down that worthless trust fund baby and beat him with his own boat shoes. It wasn’t an impossible thing. 

When she’d needed help, she’d texted him. Fuck, he really wanted that to mean something. 

He opened his mouth, brimming now with so many things to say. 

Before he could, voice trembling, Inej said, “I’m sorry if you had to come out of your way tonight—I don’t even know if you had plans. I—I didn’t know who else to call.” 

That stunned him a little. He blinked. 

“It’s not a problem,” he said, roughly. Like an idiot. Say more things, his brain was shouting at his mouth, but cooperation between the two was scarce these days.

“It was just—it was really, really bad, Kaz.” Inej’s voice was muffled and choked now as she covered her face with her hands. He didn’t know what to do. The way she whispered his name cracked something open in his chest, and still he didn’t know what to do. “It was so bad,” was all she kept saying. 

“Look at me.” But she wouldn’t, and he really wanted to do something, so he gave her the only thing he could. “You can always call me, alright? I don’t care if it’s for a midnight ice cream run or to bury a body. If you had broken that idiot’s leg and wanted me to break the other—I would come for you.”

Now she did look at him, hot tears lining her gorgeous brown eyes. 

“I would come for you,” he repeated, with all the conviction he could muster. “One word, whatever the circumstances.” 

After an infinite pause, Inej nodded once. “Okay.”

The silence that descended was suffocating. He wanted – oh God, he wanted to do so much more than offer pithy words and a drive home. But the reality was he had no idea how to do this. There was so much she needed to know. There was so much he couldn’t fix. The memory of her in his arms felt like a literal third presence in the car, haunting and taunting him, a thing he’d never thought he’d have in the first place and now would never have again.

So, he did the only thing he could do, the only option available to him, really: he put the key in the ignition and started up the engine. 

The car hummed under his feet, he turned up the heat, watched the windshield fog up before clearing again. Inej turned her attention toward the window and the rain streaking down the glass, absentmindedly chewing on a thumbnail.

Every nerve in his body felt like it was standing on end. He wanted—he wanted—

He wanted to get a grip.

For so long, Kaz’s sanity had depended on one key thing and that one thing was distance, by any means and at all costs. But now, to be driven by this longing to be closer? To want to hold, to be needed, to comfort? Was that even something he was capable of sustaining? When giving something as simple and basic as mere trust was crumpling him from the inside? 

The windshield cleared enough for him to see the grid on the tarmac and the lights of cars passing on the road behind them. It was time to go, to get a grip. Without thinking—doing anything but thinking—Kaz slung an arm behind the passenger seat and looked back over his shoulder to pull out of the spot.

Holding onto her headrest, he refused to think about the mole on her neck or the way her hair clung wetly to her cheek or the way she was blinking slowly, tiredly. He was watching the lot and the street and the other cars.

Hand on the gearstick, he wasn’t thinking about how it had felt to hold her, the way she’d fit into his arms, the way she’d looked up at him, the flutter of her heartbeat against his body. He was paying attention to the traffic signals and remembering the directions to her dorm. 

Holding her had made him feel so…so…what was the word? 

Alive.

The revelation hit him like a lead weight, lurching in his stomach in a jumble of dozens of memories he wanted left buried. That he would have left buried. 

Except now he wanted to be closer. 

Exhausted and overwhelmed, Kaz scrubbed a hand over his face as he drove. Therapy, even fake therapy, might have been a bad idea—he wasn’t sure he liked being this self-aware. The only sound in the car now was the rhythmic beating of the wipers on the windshield, the passing of other cars, their breathing. The car was filled with a silence begging to be filled. 

He needed to say everything, he couldn’t say everything—and so he said nothing.

You know what? Maybe he’d take that bribe after all. Let Nazyalensky have a field day with his bullshit. If nothing else, it might just be amusing to have someone else bear witness to the abysmal absurdity of his mind. It would certainly be less lonely.

It wasn’t far to her dorm so Kaz dismissed the idea of turning on the radio. This oppressive, itchy silence seemed more appropriate anyway.

He eased the car into a spot as close to the doors of her dorm as possible, turned off the engine, and waited. There had to be something else he could say. Anything. They were both looking ahead as the windows fogged up again. Gradually, the world outside faded into mist. He was as safe as he would ever be, and yet—

Abruptly, Kaz was afraid again. Of all the promises he’d made, the expectations he’d built, the look in her eye.

In his periphery, he saw her turn to him and open her mouth as if to speak. He gripped the wheel more tightly. Against his better judgment, he was bracing himself.

“Kaz, I—” she cut herself off and he bit the inside of his cheek “—this thing we’ve been doing, with Nazyalensky and the money, I—”

His heart was in his throat. Before she could continue, he said,  “Forget about it.”

This was, he knew immediately, the wrong thing to say. Inej’s brows knit and her mouth crimped.

“What if I don’t want to forget about it?”

“Then don’t—” he tipped his hand against the steering wheel in a kind of shrug as words spilled forth “—I just don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. It’s fine. The deal’s over.”

If you love something, let it go. That’s what they said, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure he loved her, didn’t know precisely what that meant, but he knew he wanted her to be free. Their deal came with too many obligations, too much baggage. It was not what he wanted for them now. Here and now, on the other side of the deal, he wanted her to choose him.

“That’s it?” she asked, incredulous. All the nervous energy from her encounter with Sawyer seemed to have drained away. She was no longer shivering. “That’s all you have to say?”

Kaz felt his mouth open and close uselessly. No, it was not all he had to say but the rest felt impossible. There was no way, no possible way she would choose him if he told her the rest. 

Here he was, watching her dorm resolve out of the rain, Jesper’s advice ringing in his ears and he still didn’t know how to trust her. It was horribly, unavoidably clear that this might be his last chance. If she got out of his car without getting the truth from him, she might never get in again. And oh, the places he wanted to take her.

He formed the words in his head, pictured them, imagined saying them, and closed his mouth.

Hurt cracked her expression open, it approached devastation. He was disappointing her and yet knowing that he was was not enough to stop him from doing it.

Then, as he knew she would, she pushed open the passenger door and climbed out of his car. The door shutting was less sound than feeling; the car shook in the aftermath of her fury. Kaz shook in the aftermath of her fury. As he watched her retreating back, he felt set adrift. She was his anchor, and he’d cut her loose.

The driver side door was open before he could think better of it. He wanted to stop thinking, to simply reach out and catch—

“Inej!” He blinked into the rain, heart aching. “Wait. Please.”

She stopped; the rain stopped. There were five or twenty feet of cold, indifferent air between them. Kaz watched her shoulders rise and fall. Against the odds, she waited.

“I’m broken,” he said. “I’m afraid.”

Relief was an animal inside him, or maybe a rain cloud, or a waterfall. It snarled and wept as she turned around.

“We all are, Kaz.”

“I know,” he whispered, “I know. I’m sorry.”

She crossed her arms, mouth slanted and doubtful. “Is that what you wanted to say?”

He filled his lungs, as if preparing for a dive. 

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.” He had to start somewhere. “It was a stupid idea from the very beginning.” 

For several long moments, the only sound was the cacophony of the rain pelting the pavement, the roofs, the hood of the Chevy. There had to be a way forward. It must have looked like that’s all he had to say, because Inej’s shoulders slumped a little and she took a step back.

“Ok.” Watching her turn back to the dorms, pushed his heart into his throat. “Great. Good talk.” 

“No, wait.” It was becoming clear he was not above begging. “That’s not—what I meant was—”

She stopped and faced him again. He took another breath and dove.

“There are a thousand other ways I should have done this, and pretty much all of them involve being honest with you from the start, and I didn’t do that. You deserved that for me. You deserve that from me.”

Nothing about her expression changed as he’d hoped it would, but at least she wasn’t walking away from him anymore. That could be enough for now.

“So be honest now,” she pushed back, her arms still tight around herself. “I’m here now.” 

He swallowed against the dryness of his mouth. She saw it—the way she always saw everything—and gave a punctuating nod as if she’d anchored herself there in front of him. As if insisting—

Go on. 

Finish the story.

“I don’t know—I don’t even know where to begin, what to say.” He was grasping at words, trying to remember why he’d started this all, why he was still here. “I remember, I saw that flier and thought of you. Because I wanted to—I wanted… this. I wanted—I want you.” 

The relief that fluttered across her face was a welcome surprise. She didn’t let it linger, though. Her brows cinched up as she tightened her grip on herself. They both had walls.

“You want me? Okay, well, how will you have me?” she asked, arms tight and head cocked. “What is your want to me if this is what it takes for you to tell me.” 

“I don’t know. I’m…”

When he trailed off, she said, “I wanted that, too, you know.” 

Wanted. The past tense was a dagger at his throat. He swallowed hard.

“...and now?” he ventured.

Inej looked ready to strangle him as she huffed a sigh, wiping a sleeve across her sopping wet face.

“Why couldn’t you just have told me?” she demanded. “You could have. That night on the roof with you was…” Her voice went quiet as she looked back at her dorm—to the roof, maybe. He almost crossed the distance between them right then. “But instead I had to sit on that couch week after week while that—that woman needled and snooped?”

“I know. I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“She knew the whole time, Kaz. She knew. I’m mortified.” Claw-like, her fingers opened and closed against her bicep. She looked away, mouth pressed shut. “I’m so ashamed.”

Although it was beginning to feel redundant, Kaz apologized again. “I’m so, so sorry.” It would never be enough.

“And now, I don’t know if this is—”

He was losing. He knew he was losing. The language of loss was his native tongue; he’d learned its nuances and dialects right along with basic math. It would be easier to cut and run now.

“You’re right,” he said, roughly. “None of this should have happened. You’re right. And you have every right to walk away from here and never utter a word to me again. I wouldn’t blame you. It’s all right.” 

Wet hair, loose from her customary braid, stuck to her cheeks. Her breath formed clouds in the air between them, mingling with her palpable frustration. If she wasn’t going to leave he should, and spare them both. The Kaz Brekker of six weeks ago would have. It defied all reason that he hadn’t yet.

And then, against the odds, Inej denied him.

“No,” she insisted, her voice growing stronger. “No, I’m not going anywhere, not until I know why. Just tell me why. The ruse, the pretenses—why couldn’t you just say something? I know you, you said so yourself, and you are so much more than a liar and a grifter. You say you want more of this, then help me understand.”

She didn’t know what she was asking of him. What would it take to understand him? Too much. Breathing became difficult and his vision rippled, her words a stone thrown into a pond. There was that woman with the badge again, and the lawyer with the stack of papers, insisting, Never, ever talk about who you were before. 

Or bad things could happen.

That was the past. This was now. They seemed impossible to distinguish. Here and now he was going to lose this, this, whatever this was if he didn’t talk. Bad things were going happen if he didn’t talk.

So, this was it.

He ran a shaking hand through his soaked hair, scrambling for words that wouldn’t scare her. It was impossible because he’d never been so afraid.

“You’re not going to believe it.” His voice was strained as he shook his head, silently begging her to leave. “It’s too horrible. You won’t look at me the same after.” 

Inej leveled a glare at him. “You know that’s not true.”

She was right only because she didn’t know what was good for her. He was fidgeting with his hair again. Why did this have to be so difficult?

“Maybe. I don’t know. Fuck.” His harsh rasp echoed across the parking lot, but Inej didn’t flinch. He wasn’t sure why, but that forced a bitter laugh out of him. “Inej, I dread—you have no idea how much I’ve dreaded this moment—”

“Saints.” Her hold on her arms loosened as her dark eyes flitted over him, suddenly worried. “You’re shaking.” 

He was. And his leg ached something terrible; he was unsteady on his feet. In his rush, he’d left his cane in the car.

“Can we do this inside?” he asked, with a desperate wave toward her dorm.

“Let’s just get back in the car,” Inej offered instead, stepping towards him. It was closer anyway.

Back in the Chevy, they sat only a moment in dripping wet silence before Kaz turned on the car and cranked the heat as high as it would go. While Inej warmed her hands in front of the vents, he reached into the backseat to fish through Jesper’s hoard of forgotten crap until he produced an old beach towel and handed it to her. The rain racing down the window seemed as good a distraction as any while he waited for his racing heart to settle and she toweled herself down.

When he turned back to her, she was wringing out her braid with the towel, watching him expectantly. Waiting for him to speak first. And even though the car was in park, he gripped the steering wheel, like he was preparing to floor it right over a cliff.

“Something… happened,” he began, staring dead ahead, “a long time ago, and I was told then what I could and couldn’t say about it. I was young—very young. It…” He heaved a deep breath “... I think it fucked every relationship I’ve had since. And I really, really didn’t—don’t want it to fuck this up, too.” 

He hazarded a glance towards her. She was still toweling her braid, still waiting.

“What happened?” She asked it with all the naivete of wondering how an exam had gone. She had no idea; she was an innocent. But at this rate not for much longer.

“Inej, I don’t know if you want this,” he fretted. “I don’t even know if you should know this—”

“Kaz, you know all about what happened to me.” Her voice was quiet now as she set down the towel. “Either you trust me the way I trust you, or you don’t.” 

He stared at the steering wheel again. Right over the cliff. 

“Have you ever heard of the Rietveld murders?”

“No,” Inej answered, slowly. How blissful for her, to have grown up in Ravka, far out of reach of the Kerch media. “Should I have?” 

His hands dropped from the wheel. The story jammed up behind his teeth, a pile-up of too-vivid memories behind words he had never uttered. Could never utter. Not even to her. But maybe he didn’t have to. She’d never had to tell him the sordid details of her story either. The media had done it for her.

He pulled off his gloves, one at a time, then fished his phone out of his pocket. He googled “Rietveld murders” and then handed her the results. There’d be thousands for her to scroll through. Articles and pictures and amateur sleuths on YouTube analyzing the crime scene years after the fact. The Dateline special. The trial coverage. The second Dateline special. The Kerch’s Most Wanted episode. The ten-year anniversary Dateline special. She could spend the next month raking through what he’d handed her and still not consume it all. 

“Pick one,” he told her. “Read it.” 

When she took the phone, he turned back to the window. The rain ran down in rivulets as nausea rose in his gut. The knowledge that she was reading about what happened, that the reports and accounts and gossip were scrolling by just out of sight, brought the images back fast and furious.

Most accounts began with Johannus Rietveld, a simple family man, by all appearances. A wife, two sons, a beautiful old farmhouse at the end of a winding dirt road just outside of Lij. As far as the people in town knew, he was an accountant who liked to take his boys fishing on the weekends, spent his Sundays in church and his summer holidays barbecuing in the backyard. His wife was kind and well-liked. She loved to garden. She cooked meals for families with new babies. She brought snacks for her boys’ teammates at every football practice. By all accounts, everyone liked the Rietvelds.

Which is why it made no sense at all when they were found dead in their home. Shot execution-style in their bedrooms, each one with a single bullet to the back of the head. All but one. 

“What’s your connection to this?” Inej asked, quietly. If she was afraid, she hid it well. 

Kaz held out his hand for his phone again, typed in a new search query and brought up the results before handing it back. It was a picture he’d seen enough times now, it left him numb. The lone survivor of that fateful night: Kaspar Rietveld, the caption read, pictured here age eight. 

His last school picture. A glimpse of a happier timeline that would never come to pass. For all intents and purposes, even though Kaz shared his eyes and the same shock of dark hair, this happy boy, with his cheesy, gap-toothed grin and the sprinkling of summer freckles over his nose, was long dead.

“Saints.” Inej breathed, full of horror and dread and something else at the moment of recognition. She lifted the phone closer to her face. “That’s you.” 

Kaz nodded. Looking up, Inej was slack-jawed in horror.

“Why—How…?” She didn’t seem to know what to ask, how to get at the truth. There were tears in her eyes, and he could hardly stand it. He didn’t trust himself not to throw up.

“Just…keep reading.” 

Once she did, once she read about the investigation and indictments, she’d start to understand. 

Johannus Rietveld, it turned out, wasn’t what he seemed. His spending habits were too lavish, and, behind the scenes, the family was buckling under mountains of debt. He’d made some seedy friends trying to make a quick buck. That had led to other nefarious money-making schemes, which had led to money laundering and drug running. By the end, in the year leading up to his murder, Johannus Rietveld owed a significant amount of money to the mob. In short, his luck, which had not been abundant, finally ran out.

“We were all supposed to die that day.” Kaz would never be sure where the wherewithal to speak again came from, but when it did, it was like the first crack across a frozen lake, the breaking of a curse. “Those were the instructions. But I—I…” 

I hid. That’s the truth. That’s the horrendous, cowardly truth. When his older brother Jordie, braver and more wonderful than anyone had any right to be, heard the first shot fired and the screaming and the second shot and that paralyzing silence, his first instinct hadn’t been to piss and cry. It was to seize Kaz from his bed, shaking and clutching his stuffies, and drag them both under Kaz’s bed. 

The memory of his hand mashed over Kaz’s mouth recurred in his dreams even now.

“Don’t move,” Jordie had whispered as Kaz trembled and whimpered. “Don’t make a sound.” 

And Kaz had bit his tongue, swallowed his fear, pulled back and away and inside. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. He’d tried. 

As they’d watched, through that tiny, terrible crack between floor and mattress, watched those huge black boots step across the carpeted floor, he’d tried. Even as Jordie’s sweaty hand squished his lips and nose so hard that he’d struggled to breathe, he’d tried. 

It wasn’t enough. 

He’d screamed when a hand snatched him by the ankle and dragged them both across the floor, clutching each other until the end. And Jordie, Jordie, his brother, his idol, his very best friend, in a moment of self-sacrifice Kaz would never be able to replicate, curled his whole body over Kaz, shouting, Don’t move don’t look don’t move don’t look until—

“Kaz.” As if from a distance, her voice broke through. How long she’d been speaking for, he couldn’t say. 

When he managed to take a breath and look at her, she’d reached out and put a concerned hand on his arm, her body turned in her seat so that she faced him fully. His phone lay abandoned in her lap. Trying to clear his vision was a herculean task.

“When they shoot my brother,” his voice didn’t sound like his own, “he is… well, he was lying on top of—covering me and he’s telling me not to move. So I don’t. I close my eyes, and I don’t move a muscle. And there’s… there was so much blood. And I… tried to be… so quiet and so still. Just like Jordie—like my brother said. It worked, I guess. They thought I was dead, too. And they left without checking.” 

Inej didn’t budge an inch, her hand still against his arm. It was galvanizing, in a way. With her hand there, he could keep talking.

“And the thing is,” he swallowed and kept on, “I’ve always had a really good memory. It’s kind of my thing. So I remember the faces of the men my dad brought around. I remember who pulled us out from under the bed that night, because I’d seen him before. I know his name, I know his address, I know his dog’s name, for Christ’s sake. I don’t want to know these things, but my mind just—it hears things, sees things and catalogs them. So, I lived… knowing exactly who did this. And that’s a problem.”

“I don’t understand.” Inej’s brow furrowed. “It sounds like a good thing, if anything good can come from something like this.” 

Kaz released a bitter, rueful exhale. He considered telling her again to keep reading, but this was getting easier. He wanted it to carry on that way.

“I knew a lot about the mob for a nine-year-old,” he went on. “I’d seen and heard a lot of things because they never expect kids to remember. But I remembered. I remembered a lot. And it didn’t take long for the investigators to get their hands on me. I’d given them what they needed to bring in the man who carried out the hit, and they were pretty keen on seeing who else I could identify. 

“That’s when the tip came in… from an informant… that the boss who’d ordered the hit was going to make sure the job was done right this time.” Inej’s eyes went wide at this, so he added, gesturing to his phone in her lap, “There’s a whole Dateline special on it out there, if you don’t believe me. I know how it sounds.” 

“Insane.”

“I tried to warn you.” 

“Brekker’s never been your real name,” Inej realized, eyes still wide and blinking. Kaz shook his head.

“I was given a new identity when I was nine,” he said. “Because a man named Pekka Rollins wants me dead.” 

Inej

There was nothing but static in her head. Disbelief, the same shade as white noise. She’d always known it was going to be bad, this unspeakable thing that pulled Kaz Brekker out of reach. It turned out, she’d been wholly unprepared for just how bad. 

The hand she’d put on his arm when his eyes had gone terrifyingly distant and vague was still there, undisturbed. It was almost as shocking as the rest. That he’d stilled at her touch, hadn’t drifted further under that wave of trauma. He was here—he was scaring her, but he was still here.

She thought again of that first day he’d approached her. She’d been drowning beneath the punishing onslaught of articles and videos and tweets, parading these horrifying moments for all the world to see. Kaz, with all his shadowy corners and sharp edges, had recognised her. The way he’d looked at her, spoken to her had been full of something, a familiarity she hadn’t been able to place. 

It was suddenly so perfectly clear. He had always known what to do, what to say, how to help her find her power again, because he’d lived it, too.

The reality was horrifying, monstrous. They’d both suffered uniquely horrible fates and yet—Inej couldn’t deny the prickle of goosebumps up her arms, the swelling in her heart. Something about this, about them, had been destined all along. Though they were horribly, crookedly, brokenly matched, they did match. And maybe if their wounds matched, then so, too, could their healing. If he could, then so could she.

There was no letting go. She ket her hand—just the one, just ever so light below the bend in his elbow. As long as he’d let her.

“Are you safe?” It was the first thing she could think to ask, because, presently, it was what terrified her. Kaz gave her a dark look that made her stomach drop, so she amended with growing alarm: “I mean, generally? Are you safe in your apartment? Are you safe right now?” 

“I’ve figured out… ways of keeping tabs on him,” Kaz said, averting his gaze in a way that clearly said he did not intend to elaborate. Inej would see about that. “I’m as safe as I’m going to get around here,” he went on before she could protest. “And I’ve tried—I’ve done everything I can to keep you—my friends—safe from this. I don’t want you to be—”

“—I’m not—”

“—in danger,” Kaz finished.

They locked eyes. Inej hadn’t even considered being afraid for herself. Now that he said it, maybe that was naive. Still, she insisted, “I’m worried about you. Who else knows about this?” 

Is anyone looking out for you at all?

But Kaz was shaking his head.

“This is the first time I’ve told anyone all of it,” he said. “Jesper knows some. He knows my parents were murdered and that I keep a low profile because the guy who did it is still at large. He’s never tried to know more than that. I prefer it that way.”

Well, Inej didn’t. She wanted entire battalions raised to defend the boy beside her.

“I think he’d want to know,” she insisted. 

“He doesn’t.” 

“I think he does.” She wasn’t going to drop this that easily. “I think he’d want to be there for you.” 

“Everyone has limits, Inej. Everyone.” His glare was downright poisonous when his eyes flashed at her. But she recognized this, too—how it felt to think yourself broken beyond repair, better to burn what was left than to keep trying. Not on her watch. “What would you do—I’m talking realistically, not from some moral high ground to prove a point—what would you do if you found out your roommate wasn’t who he said he was. That he had ties to the mob and he’d given up going quietly a long time ago. Don’t start—if you knew the half of it, you wouldn’t be giving me that look.” 

“Then tell me,” Inej dared him. A sickly sheen of panicked sweat glistened on his brow now, so she pulled her hand back from his arm, gave him the space he probably needed. “Tell me half and then we’ll go from there.”  

She dared him with her eyes, too. Held his gaze, jaw stubbornly set. Did he think he was the only one who chose fight over flight when the legal system failed him? Hadn’t she spent months following his schemes, curating online profiles specifically to her perpetrators’ tastes? She’d lied to them, she’d stolen from them, she’d outed them to their employers. And she’d do it all again if she had to. Did he really think he could shock her now?

Kaz turned his head toward his window, wiping the sweat above his brows before he went on. 

“I was fucking terrified,” he said, “not knowing where the fuck Rollins was, where he was doing business, who he could send after me. Witness protection in this country is a fucking joke, Inej. They couldn’t even make sure I was looked after in foster care, how the fuck was I supposed to trust they could keep me safe from Rollins? I didn’t—I couldn’t. The not knowing was killing me. So I found him. It took years, but… I found him.” 

Inej’s sucked in breath was unmistakable. He turned to look her square in the face.

“I found him the same way we find any stupid asshole on the internet. You toss enough chum in the water, you’re going to get sharks. All it takes is a couple dozen fake profiles in the right circles. And once I figured out what kind of meat he likes, I could keep him on some semblance of a leash.” 

“Kaz.” Inej felt a little dizzy, a little sick to her stomach. “Are you trying to tell me you… catfished the man responsible for your family’s murder?” 

“No, I’m trying to tell you that catfishing is how it started.” The look on his face said it all: he was done telling her only half. The armor was off—he was laying it all bare. “Once I found him and had some influence in his life, I… took as much as I could. It started with just cash and gift cards—we were so hungry all the time. But it wasn’t long before I figured out how much of his life I could fuck up for a change. 

“I learned how to code, could remember it all pretty easily—and then shit got interesting. Inej, I have hacked so much of his shit trying to get my hands on something to definitively tie him to the murders. I’ve ruined entire business operations and leaked criminal activity to journalists. I’ve spread rumors to have him investigated for everything from bank fraud to exotic animal trafficking, just to keep him busy in court. I’ve made his business front operations a target for vegan activists, so he’s gotten plastered in red paint at least twice on camera. One time, I found out he was on a flight to Shu Han, and I had him legally declared dead before he landed. I hacked the coroner’s office—forged a death certificate and everything. He was stuck in customs for like 48 hours. It was hilarious.”

He seemed to mistake the hand Inej pressed over her mouth as amusement. A crooked smile crept across his mouth. And Inej wasn’t going to lie, the thing with the coroner’s office was definitely hilarious, but it was one thing to do these things to a bunch of brainless, privileged frat boys who needed the lesson. It was something else entirely to be doing them to a known murderer. 

“Kaz, if he finds out you’ve done all this…” Inej lowered her hand only an inch to speak.

“He’ll what?” Kaz gave a shrug that was much too cavalier. “Kill me? He’s going to do that anyway.” 

Inej wanted to scream.

“You’re provoking him—you’re leaving yourself exposed—”

“He doesn’t get to steal my life, and then rob me of my revenge, too. He might have half this city’s prosecutors in his pocket, but on the internet, he’s just as stupid as every other old fuck. So this is the way it has to be. This is what Kerch justice looks like now. Maybe he does get me in the end, maybe that’s inevitable—but I will ruin his entire life on the way down. ” 

Crows make do with what they have, he’d said that night on the roof.

This was wrong. Inej didn’t know how to process his desperation, the offhand way he spoke about his own life. He shouldn’t have to make do. He shouldn’t be risking his life in the pursuit of a measure of closure. Her eyes swam with tears and the words Kill me? He’s going to do that anyway rang like a gong.

Beside her, Kaz broke the silence with a sniff and swiped a thumb across his nose. It struck her then that his eyes were wet, too. She wondered how long they’d been that way, how she’d missed Kaz Brekker crying.

Slowly, he reached forward and shut off the car’s engine. 

“It’s fine, you know,” he said, sounding distant as he stared at the wheel in front of him. “If this is too much. I never expected you to—”

“Don’t—don’t put words in my mouth.” Inej steeled herself even as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I just—” 

I don’t want to lose you. 

The words were sticky, and sweet as toffees. She had to chew on them, practice them before they’d pass her lips. Inej had never said such a thing to anyone.

“I don’t want to lose you. To this, to Nazyalensky and the infernal microwave, to any of it. I need—” There was an ache in her jaw and in her throat, which she clutched desperately. Tears felt inevitable. If Kaz thought her better equipped for conversations like these he was sorely mistaken. 

Beside her, he pressed his fingers to his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, like he couldn’t stand to look at her. 

“I’m not what you want,” he insisted, his voice rough. “It doesn’t matter how much I talk with Nazyalensky, it’s not going to make me normal. It’s not going to turn the clock back—”

“What makes you think I’d even want that?” Inej cried. “I’m not normal either. I can’t turn the clock back any more than you can. Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I need you exactly as you are?” 

To that, Kaz had no retort. For several seconds he didn’t speak a word. Maybe he couldn’t. He only looked at her, his breathing short and ragged. Slowly, her tears and her words settled in the stagnant air of the car. The windshield had begun to fog again. 

“But I can’t…” Kaz looked away, shame-faced, when he spoke again. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I can’t…” 

“Saints, Kaz, out with it already.” Inej gave a wet, bitter laugh as she wiped her cheeks. “How could it possibly be worse than I am catfishing my parent’s murderer?” 

“Touching people makes me physically ill.” He said it all in a rush, too mortified to even look at her. “Ever since that night. Ever since I waited for help under Jordie’s… under Jordie. Touching people makes me physically sick.” 

“Ok.” Of all the things he’d said so far, this made the most sense. “It’s not like it’s easy for me either now.” 

“But you will get better.” 

“And you can’t?”

“You will get better, and you will want to be with someone who is as well as you are, who will give you what you need, who can make you feel…” His cheeks were flushed and his gaze intense when he looked at her again, driven to a loss of words. Inej swallowed hard. “And as much as I might want that, too, I don’t know if I’ll ever be well again.” 

Inej thought long and hard about her next words before she said them aloud.

“To be quite honest, Kaz,” she said, straight-faced and serious, “this is far less of a problem for me than the whole antagonize the mob boss because he’s going to kill me anyway thing you have going on.”

“Well, it’s a serious problem to me, then.” Kaz’s coffee-black gaze lost none of its intensity. “Because I happen to really like you.” At that, Inej’s cheeks were ablaze, her stomach fluttering in a thousand different directions. “And it’s a very unique kind of torture, liking you and wanting to know what’d it be like to hold your hand or run my fingers through your hair or pull you into my arms when you look at me like that but I can’t—seriously, stop, it’s not helping.” 

The sound the headrest made when he dropped his head back against it made her wince; his tormented huff didn’t help.

But, Saints, how intimately she knew this torture he spoke of. The look on his face now, awash with an emotion she’d felt for weeks, left her unable to speak at first. How many times had she sat on that couch next to him and ached to reach for his hand? How many times had she noticed the warmth of his body near hers and wondered what it would be like to take a step closer. She’d wanted, and she’d thought he hadn’t, but he had. He did. Though maybe the hope that since he did want to be near her, he might at least try was a little like staring into the sun—a brilliant thing to behold from afar, but a deeply inadvisable undertaking in the end. 

But also—maybe it wasn’t like that at all. Because they weren’t actually celestial bodies. They were people—and people were capable of change. 

She looked at his gloves, discarded on the console between them. 

“Would you try?” she asked, softly. Kaz craned his neck to look at her, helpless and bereft. “Could you try to get better? If I tried, too? If we tried together? Because,” she swallowed, “because I happen to really like you, too.” 

“And what if it doesn’t work?” His voice was a strained whisper. 

It was Inej’s turn to give a cavalier shrug this time. 

“And what if Pekka Rollins finds you? And what if Sawyer sues us both and we have to flee the country because we have no money for legal fees? And what if a piano falls out of the sky right now and squashes us both? What ifs aren’t real, Kaz. What ifs are just another way that our fears take us prisoner. And haven’t you been locked away long enough?” 

Kaz looked at her now with an expression she’d never seen before, but already she was plotting ways to earn it again. His eyes, though still sad and tired, had softened with—what was it?—hope? She wanted to bottle it, keep it for a rainy day.

It gave her the courage to do what she did next. 

She plucked up his gloves from the center console. Their leather was feather-soft and well-worn against her fingers as she slid them on. Then, she held out her hands to him, palms up. 

“If I can try, you can try,” she dared him again. “I don’t need you to be perfect. Let me past all that armor, trust me, and stop torturing yourself. Then, maybe… maybe there’s hope.”

A smile quirked at the very corner of Kaz’s mouth and Inej wondered if her heart would ever stop pounding at the sight. Or if she even wanted it to. 

“When you put it like that,” he said, softly.

With that, just as she’d dared to hope, he slid his hand into her gloved ones. The tremor that passed through him was unmistakable, as was his determination. He let his long fingers thread through hers as she folded her hands around his, the bumps of his knuckles mapped out beneath her palm. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she squeezed his hand, hard and full of promise.

With every fiber of her being, she told him, This is enough. 

And she meant it. Every word, every glance, every hard-won touch.

This is enough. Just this. Just us. Just you.

Someday he would believe it. She swore to keep saying it as much as she could til then.

This is enough.

You are enough. 

Chapter Text

Zoya

“Zoya Nazyalensky. Are you dodging my calls again?” 

The beleaguered psychology professor did nothing to hide her wince as that teasing baritone dragged her attention from the research notes bundled in her arms to his eternal effervescence, Nikolai Lantsov. The bane of her existence and interim dean of students. 

Of course she was dodging his calls. What about that charming, lopsided grin and that perfect coif of sandy blonde hair could be good for her pursuit of tenureship? 

“Dr. Lantsov,” she said, by way of a greeting. 

Apparently, she hadn’t planned her lunch hour carefully enough. Now that he’d caught her, continuing on past him without further discussion seemed her only plausible way out. Certainly, she was not going to take notice of how his well-tailored tan overcoat accentuated his broad shoulders or how his turtleneck brought out his hazel eyes. 

Nikolai had other ideas.

“‘Dr. Lantsov’?” he echoed, feigning horror at her detachment. He pivoted and fell in step alongside her, his hands in the pockets of his coat. “I’ve been trying to tell you, Zoya, the promotion’s just temporary. And I still owe you that drink—”

“I’ve been really busy,” Zoya insisted. It did no good to quicken her pace—Nikolai’s legs were too long. She wasn’t going to be able to lose him. He fancied a detour to the psych building, apparently. She did not like what that realization did to her heart. “Full teaching schedule plus these two new studies, and the mentoring program—”

“Gunning for that Professor of the Year Award, are you?” There was a dimple on the side of his perfect mouth that deepened every time Nikolai grinned at her. It was the bane of Zoya’s existence.

“I’m ‘gunning’ for tenure, Dr. Lantsov,” she hissed. “Something that I thought mattered to you once—” 

Before you picked administration over academia, she managed to stop herself from spouting. She wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to her anyway. 

Nikolai finally seemed to register there was something to her barbs and defenses. His dimple disappeared, and then Zoya wasn’t sure which was the bigger problem—the dimple or its absence. 

“How have the research studies been going?” he asked, lightly. Unwilling to leave the exchange on an unpleasant note. Zoya sighed. That was fine. 

“The first has concluded, and we’re reviewing the data now,” she said, all business, which was good. Very normal and appropriate. “So far, it seems to support our hypothesis that undergraduates, overwhelmingly, prefer to take advantage of campus-provided psychological resources only if a clear and tangible incentive is presented.” 

“This is your bribery study, right?” Nikolai’s lopsided grin would haunt her for hours after this. He had no business looking this adorable while mocking her. “The one where you made up a bunch of therapy opportunities, paid and unpaid, to track levels of participation?” 

“It’s not bribery, Nikolai—it’s science,” she chided as his grin widened. She should not have said his name; he got all gooey when she did. That was Mistake Number One. When was she going to learn?

“Ok, well, the student complaints my office has received have called it bribery,” said Nikolai. The wind lifted his sandy blonde hair, and, really? He had to smell good, too? The nerve of this man. “So, if you won’t let me buy you a drink,” Nikolai paused with a hand on the door of the psych building like he was preparing to open it for her, “maybe you buy me one.” 

Zoya snorted.

“Oh, really?” 

“As compensation.” 

“Compensation.” 

“For the emotional damage.” Nikolai put a dramatic hand to his heart, those hazel eyes wide and beseeching. 

It was a good look for him. Goddamnit, she was going to make Mistake Number Two. Again. This is exactly why she was dodging his calls and finding excuses to take her lunch hour later than his. Because she always got stupid whenever Nikolai Lantsov and his dimple showed up.

“I will be at Morozova’s on Main at 7 o’clock,” she said, despite herself. She relished the way Nikolai began to raise an eyebrow. Though he hadn’t opened the door an inch, she took a step into his space like he would anyway. “And if a co-worker happened to show up at Morozova’s after 7 o’clock, there is a decent likelihood that I would buy him or her or them a drink.” 

“And if a coworker happened to show up at Morozova’s after 7 o’clock,” Nikolai turned to lean against the door now, everything about his body an invitation she craved to receive, “would he, she, or they be allowed to consume said drink in your presence and maybe even exchange words or pleasantries while they were there?” 

“I don’t think I can prevent a coworker from sitting at a bar next to me for however long he wishes, no.” Zoya bit the inside of her lip to hold back the smile, but it wasn’t enough. He’d seen it, and now that dimple was back as the side of his mouth quirked up in a boyish smile. Mistake Number Three.

All of it—his smirk, his scent, the soft sway of his blonde hair in the wind—churned something fantastic and primal in Zoya’s stomach and lower, and that was bad news indeed. Zoya had no intention of counting mistakes with Nikolai Lantsov long enough to give that particular beast what it wanted.

But then, just like that, it was gone. Nikolai stepped to the side. Opened the door wide for her.

“Good to know,” he said. 

The only remaining evidence of his flirtation were the traces of sparkle in his hazel eyes as she stepped past him into the building, the glass door closing between them. 

Well. 

Zoya was well-trained in putting distractions into their designated boxes, and she was determined to treat Nikolai Lantsov no different from any other distraction—something she would see to once she was done grading papers. 

Or never. Never was also an enticing option.

Her heels clipped the tiled floor as she walked briskly to her office. There were dozens of things that required her attention right now anyway. Her haphephobia study, for instance, was grossly underpopulated. She needed more participants, or she’d have to bid farewell to her much-needed grant money. She thought of the complaints Nikolai said he’d received and found herself wondering if Brekker had been one of them. That would have been a shame. There was a real chance this study could be groundbreaking, and he’d seemed tailor-made to benefit from it. 

A clear, tangible incentive had been offered. Why hadn’t he taken it? Zoya shook her head as she fretted over her notes. She was going to try not to let it get to her. 

When she reached the door to her office, she rifled her keys from the lanyard around her neck and slotted it into the knob. The tumblers clicked, the door swung open and—

Kaz Brekker, ensconced in her office chair, swiveled to face her.

Zoya cried out in surprise, stumbling back half a step. Her research notes tumbled to the ground, cluttering around her feet. 

Kaz fucking Brekker, still dressed as if he were on his way to a funeral. Saints above, this kid was creepy and in a way she was never going to get used to. His black gloved fingers were steepled in front of him as he propped his elbows on the arms of the chair. His grin at her distress was positively feline. 

“So, this haphephobia study,” he was saying, as Zoya pressed a hand to her racing heart and tried to catch her breath, “and the two grand. Is this taxable income or are you paying me under the table?” 

This incorrigible little shit. If she wasn’t currently experiencing three out of the five symptoms of a heart attack, Zoya would have punched him in the throat.

“You will have to report it as income on your taxes,” she found the wherewithal to say as she stooped to gather her notes. Brekker just clicked his tongue. 

“We’ll see,” he said, vaguely. 

Zoya waved a quelling hand at him. If he really was joining her study, she definitely didn’t want to hear this. Plausible deniability and all that. Straightening her pencil skirt, she told him as much. “That’s between you and the Kerch government.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Brekker said with a shrug. “So, do you have paperwork for me? When do we start?” 

You need more participants.You need more participants.You need more participants and Kaz is perfect for the study. Maybe if she said it enough times she’d stop regretting all her life choices. 

She set down her notes before fishing out the appropriate forms from a manila folder in her filing cabinet. Smug as you like, Brekker was still sitting in her chair like a king holding court when she smacked it down on the desk in front of him. Her manicured nails pressed into the paperwork like claws as she leaned forward toward him. 

“You will never break into my office again,” she informed him, before shoving a ballpoint pen in his direction. 

Brekker’s crooked smile only curled upward. He held the pen and gave it a few test clicks with a gloved thumb. 

“Don’t lie to me again,” he told her, “and you have yourself a deal.”

The only reason Zoya was able to keep herself from throttling him and pointing out that the hypocrisy was that she really, truly believed this little shithead needed this. (And so did she. Those participant numbers—they were not great. But that was beside the point.)

As Brekker scribbled his signature on page after page, Zoya stood back with folded arms and considered what the next year might bring now that they would be working together. Frankly, it was giving her a headache already.

Maybe she’d let Nikolai Lantsov buy her that drink after all. 

Jesper

The day had come. Finally. Jesper was positively beside himself with glee. 

They were going to get a new microwave. No more stone-cold leftovers. No more overpriced sandwiches from the cafe down the block. No more trying to figure out how not to burn things on the stove or in the oven.

Although Wylan had attempted on countless occasions to teach him how to cook, had insisted that, really, a microwave was a luxury Jesper and Kaz could live without, he had yet to replicate the convenience, the sheer ease-of-use of one. It simply was not the same and Jesper’s midnight cram and scam sessions with Kaz relied on a functioning microwave. They’d been significantly off their game for months now. He was sure of it.

In the end, it was his da who put an end to the great microwave debacle of sophomore year. 

The night Kaz came home, still damp from standing in the rain for what must have been hours, he and Jesper had stayed up long past midnight—Kaz had the most insane story he was ready to get off his chest, and Jesper was here for it. He could hardly let Kaz go two sentences without grabbing for any additional detail and clarification his roommate was willing to offer. 

When it seemed Kaz had finally told him everything he wanted to say and they’d wandered off to their own rooms, Jesper found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his da’s number in his phone. Kaz’s horrifying stories replayed themselves in his head, again and again on a loop. 

I should really call him, Jesper kept thinking. Calling Da was a complicated thing. Jesper had set out to call regularly, once a week or at the very least once a month, but it never quite worked out like that. He hadn’t wanted to become the son that only called when he needed things—the fact that, more often than not, that’s who he’d become left him riddled and frozen with guilt. 

But…he had a dad to call after midnight. That was the part that had eventually overrode the guilt. 

Colm had answered on the second ring, sounding terrified even in his groggy state. Jesper had spent a good five minutes reassuring him everything was fine. That he was just a little homesick, that’s all. After that, they’d chatted for a good 45 minutes—Colm bringing Jesper up to speed on what the neighbors were up to and how the horses were doing, and Jesper regaling Colm with the trials and tribulations of Operation Microwave (And Get Kaz A Girlfriend) until his da had cried with laughter. But eventually Colm was yawning every 30 seconds, and so Jesper told him good night with a promise to call again soon.

The next morning, Jesper awoke to a Venmo notification. $300 from Colm Fahey, with a note that read, “Mistakes happen. Keep the forks out of this one, ok? Love, Da” 

One stern look quelled Kaz’s rising protests about taking money from Colm for something as trivial as a microwave. Well, one stern look and Nina’s suggestion that they could ask Matthias for some of his sponsorship money. That shut Kaz right up.

They were giving trust a go and now they were here: Jesper, Wylan, and Inej piling out of Kaz’s Chevy and Matthias and Nina catching up. The parking lot of their nearest big box was a vast ocean of tarmac between their group and the storefront. 

At which point this became an activity for the whole group—including newbie Helvar—no one could really say but now that they were all here, Jesper was unreasonably glad. He and Kaz should branch out more, it was healthy for them. Probably. Definitely.

Wylan’s hand was a little clammy and a lot eager in his. He was pulling ahead, trying to keep up with Kaz’s stride, which was and had always been, unrelenting. A painful overcompensation for the limp.

Against all better judgment, Wylan was arguing with the bastard. “Refurbished ones are just as good, cheaper and they have a slightly less monumental impact on the environment. It’s a win-win-win.”

Kaz cocked his head in a gesture Jesper recognised as unimpressed. He was probably rolling his eyes.

Walking beside him, her smile making a sunset of her face, Inej jostled Kaz’s shoulder playfully.

“See,” she needled. “It’s your moral obligation, Kaz.”

There was no quicker way to set Kaz Brekker against an idea than to tell him it was his moral obligation. Inej seemed intimately familiar with this quirk as she beamed up at him, daring him to contradict her.

When he refused to answer, Jesper watched in delight as she curled a hand in the crook of his right elbow and tugged lightly. His stride slowed.

Then, Kaz turned to look down at her. He did so slowly, as if against the tide, as if he were fighting a war against his impulses and losing. The light in her eyes brightened.

“Why,” Kaz sighed, “can’t a man just acquire a functional, previously unused microwave without being inundated with moral absolutisms?”

Nothing about his tone suggested he was angry, or frustrated, or impatient. He sounded happy. There was even the beginnings of a smile in his eyes and at the very corners of his mouth. It was sickening.

Still straining ahead, Wylan looked rather stern and said, “we all wish life were that simple, Kaz.”

Jesper barked a laugh at the same time Kaz scoffed.

“You have no idea, rich boy.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Wylan was almost laughing. “What? Because I’ve lived such a charmed life? Because I don’t make my issues everyone else’s problem?”

At this, Kaz stride actually faltered. Jesper saw Inej suck in a breath, her eyes wide as moons.

For one, two, three pent breaths, they waited for the explosion. Then—

“Touché.”

Jesper looked over to Wylan to find him wearing a shit-eating grin to rival even his own. Maybe therapy was paying off.

It wasn’t until the doors to the store hissed open in front of them that Nina and her hunk of a date? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy?—caught up. By the kiss-bitten color of the man’s mouth and neck, Jesper suspected they’d gotten a little distracted on the ride over here.

“What’s the strategy here?” Nina said, pushing a shopping trolley into the middle of the group. “Do we split up? Pick our favorites and reconvene to discuss?”

“How many models can they possibly have?” Wylan mused, thumb pressed to his bottom lip.

They all looked out at the same time, taking in this cathedral to modern consumerism. The overhead lights flooded the space with inescapable, white light—the kind that left no room for shadows. From invisible speakers came muzak so generic as to be completely worthless over the sound of a hundred shoppers with their squeaky wheeled carts.

“You’re right,” Nina said with a nod. “We should probably stick together. Besides, Inej is so little I don’t want to risk losing her in all this.”

“I don’t get lost unless I want to.”

“You can never be too safe,” Nina insisted, looping her arm through Inej’s when Matthias took the cart from her. “Now—”

Slightly off to the side, Kaz was doing a half-assed impression of a tired dad shepherding his unruly children, but Jesper wasn’t fooled. He could see the joy. It was small, fragile and tucked away, but it was there. He walked up to his best friend and nudged him with an elbow.

“You good?”

Kaz blinked at him twice before waving a dismissive hand. “I’m just calculating how much earlier I’ll have to get up tomorrow morning to account for the work I’m definitely not getting done today.”

He’d managed to keep a fairly straight face throughout all of that until the very end, at which point Inej had looked back over her shoulder and smiled at him. Such a simple gesture smashed his stoicism to bits. He amended, almost smiling, “Yeah. I’m good.”

By now, they were walking just behind the others, watching Nina and Wylan pull things off the shelves, inspect them and throw them into the cart. An oversized tub of peanut butter, a two-for-one package of brownie mix, a family-sized box of rice pilaf—none of it apparently met Matthias Helvar’s lofty standards of what was appropriate for human consumption. By the time they reached the cereal aisle, they’d gotten into a lengthy discussion about the merits of various kinds of breakfast cereal. Matthias was making a detailed and overly emphatic pitch for All-Bran, which, according to him, was the only acceptable boxed breakfast if avocado on fiber toast couldn’t be procured.

“As if he needs any help taking a shit,” Jesper whispered to Kaz, who snickered behind his fist. “Guy’s built like a tank, ain’t no way he needs high-fiber cereal as well as those protein shakes.”

“He’s never getting anywhere near the bathroom at home. Deal?”

“Deal.” They exchanged a solemn fist bump.

“What are you two boys giggling about?” This from Nina, who wore an accusatory eyebrow combined with a hand-on-hip posture for maximum suspicion.

“The laxative effects of protein shakes,” Jesper answered coolly.

Still holding the box of All-Bran, Matthias went beet red. Nina, on the other hand, choked on a laugh she had obviously not meant to voice. In her defense, it was pretty funny. She spent the rest of the trip cooing at him and stroking his massive biceps to make him feel better, which seemed to work like a charm.

Eventually, they made it to the electronics aisle. 

“Have you considered—” Jesper was only half paying attention to Matthias’ latest concerns, distracted as he was by the many buttons to push in this aisle— “forgoing a microwave altogether? I’ve heard some reports that they can strip your food of its nutrients.” 

“Who is this guy again?” Kaz grumbled to Inej, who snickered.

“Matthias, that’s literally not true,” Nina intervened, narrowing her eyes up at the Fjerdan giant pushing their cart through the row of stainless steel fridges.

“Not to mention, they will literally starve without one,” Wylan added, shooting Jesper an affectionate look with those baby blue heartbreakers of his as he slipped an arm through Jesper’s elbow. “This one can’t boil water.” 

There was really no point in protesting the truth. Not when it got Wylan to look up at him like that.

“Why does it have to take so long?” he complained, and allowed Wylan to pull him away from the touchpad on a refrigerator with enough buttons to launch a rocket.

“A raw food diet takes little to no preparation time at all,” Matthias pointed out helpfully, “and is generally considered one of the healthiest—”

“Oh, my God—” Kaz was rolling his eyes back in his head like he was going to pass out.

“Hey, look!” Inej interrupted, her smile as bright as a sunbeam. “Electric kettles!” 

Then, with unfathomable confidence, she reached for Kaz’s bare hand. The discrepancy in their skin tones was stark, their threaded fingers a lovely, impossible sight. 

Jesper watched her tug his roommate towards the end of the aisle, tense and waiting. He watched Kaz’s face for any negative reaction, for any flicker of discomfort. Already, he had several totally workable outs ready if needed. Excuses and distractions of every shape and color. Tripping over a shoelace, pulling the fire alarm, informing Matthias of the candy bar in his coat pocket—

But instead…

“And who’s paying for all this?” Kaz grumbled, as Inej urged him on ahead of the rest. 

“You are, cheapskate,” Nina quipped after him. 

“With what money?” 

“Already?” Nina gave a dramatic sigh. “D’you need someone to fake date again? Because Matthias is available if he’s going to keep talking about raw diets.” 

“Hey!” Matthias looked put out as Nina coyly batted her lashes up at him. From the end cap, Kaz wheezed, which, Jesper had to admit, was maybe about as visibly delighted as he thought he’d ever seen the bastard.

Abruptly, Jesper’s anxious surveillance of Inej and Kaz—the former pointing out the different features of new electric kettles to the latter—was interrupted by a hand slipping into the crook of his arm. Wylan, lifting onto his toes, tugged at his jacket and pressed a kiss to his cheek, fast but heartfelt. 

Looking down at his handsome heart-shaped face, Jesper couldn’t hide his grin.

“What was that for?” he wanted to know, lacing his fingers through Wylan’s. Musician’s fingers. Long, slender, dextrous. Talented.

Wylan leaned his head against Jesper’s shoulder and murmured, “You’re very cute when you worry, but I think you can do less of it now.” 

“Is that so?” Jesper could stand here in this aisle being nuzzled by Wylan for the next three hours, security cameras be damned. “Because I have to say, this feels like positive reinforcement to me.” 

Wylan shot him an impish glance that made his heart thud. 

“Worry less,” he said, “and I’ll show you what positive reinforcement really is.” 

“Hello.” Jesper loved the sound of that.

“It’s just,” Wylan stopped him with a hand to his lips before Jesper could lean in for another kiss, “I know how much you’ve worried about certain people being alone,” and he shot a meaningful glance further on up the aisle, to where Kaz and Inej were bickering about the merits of upgrading the kettle to a more eco-friendly model, “and I know how much you’ve taken it on yourself to look out for certain people. It’s admirable. But, well, look—” 

Under the obscene overhead lighting, framed by gleaming chrome kitchenware and new friends, Kaz’s hand still firmly held Inej’s. She was pointing to a rather elegant-looking kettle with a slender gooseneck spout. Not a drop of sweat or a tremor of anxiety in sight. 

“I will buy it for you,” Inej was insisting. 

“And I will fake date her so she can buy it for you,” Nina interrupted, as she and Matthias strolled to the end of the aisle. 

“You’re never going to let this go, are you?” Kaz groaned. 

“I don’t know.” Nina grinned devilishly. “Maybe once I’ve told the story at your wedding and to your children and to your children’s children—”

“Hey, look—microwaves,” said Kaz, pivoting away, Inej’s hand still in his.

“—and to your children’s children’s children—” 

“A raw diet’s your best bet for that kind of longevity.” 

“Matthias really wants to fake date Kaz, is what I’m hearing.” 

“So, a few words of warning about that, Matthias,” Inej’s voice blended in and faded with Nina’s peals of laughter as the four of them rounded the corner to the next aisle.

“Things are changing.” Wylan bumped Jesper’s shoulder with his own, capturing his attention once more. “He isn’t alone. None of us are.” 

There were moments in life, Jesper knew, where, if you were very lucky, you could see the bullet find its mark. A randomly assigned roommate turns into a best friend. A last-minute scramble to make rent yields five more jobs just like it. A late-night phone call home becomes a much-needed reminder you are still loved, even though everything is different now.

Now this: Kaz’s hand in Inej’s. Nina’s laughter following Matthias’ snark. Wylan’s big blue eyes, shining up at his. Something had found its mark the day they’d all found each other. And with that knowledge, Jesper realized, he could lower his defenses and rest a little while. 

He released a breath and, with that, slung an arm over Wylan’s thin shoulders, tucking him close to his side. 

“You think I’m admirable.” He beamed and puffed out his chest. “You admire me.” 

“Oh, God.” Wylan rolled his eyes as they followed the sounds of their friends’ voices. “Of course that’s the thing you’d pick up on.” 

“Hey, you started this—you know what praise does to me.” 

“Jesper, Jesus, not in front of the microwaves.” 

“One of these is coming home with us, Wylan! It’s gonna have to get used to homosexual activities sooner or later!” 

“Good point—you can’t be taking home a homophobic microwave.” 

“Exactly.” And Jesper nuzzled Wylan’s ear, pulling a giggle out of him as he nipped his earlobe. “This is an essential part of the microwave purchasing process.” 

“Get a room,” Kaz said from three microwaves over. 

“Did Kaz just offer us his room?” Jesper teased, as Wylan huffed a laugh against his shoulder. 

As for Kaz, he dropped Inej’s hand just long enough to flip Jesper the bird. Then, he slid his fingers back through hers, a crooked grin on his face as Inej laughed at them all, free and hearty with her head tossed back.

They were going to be alright.

Chapter Text

Sawyer

Sawyer couldn’t sleep. Again. His ankle was practically screaming at him and had been ever since—

It was criminal, actually, he kept thinking, the way doctors in this city hoarded painkillers. So what if his ankle wasn’t actually broken? It sure felt like it was. Probably. Not that Sawyer had any frame of reference for that kind of pain. But that was beside the point! 

The point was that it was midnight and he was awake and in pain still, because his family doctor had refused to refill the codeine prescription he’d been given when they’d X-rayed his ankle and found the bone intact. Wallowing was the only thing left to him, his only recourse. 

For one, his bed in the pool house—a one-room deal at the back of his father’s estate—was an insurmountable distance from his current location. And two, the weight of his down comforters on his injured foot would definitely keep him up all night. When he’d told his mother this, she’d had the gall to suggest he just sleep with his foot outside the comforter instead. Would she be able to sleep with a cold foot? Surely not. 

Really, it was fine—he would just have to look out for himself again. He’d arranged the couch pillows beneath his ankle so he could comfortably recline on the sofa while elevating his injured foot. And the sofa was top-of-the-line. His mother had picked the rest of the furnishings in the pool house, but he chose this particular sofa when he’d moved out of the main house. (Or rather, when his father had told him he had to move out of the main house, but the specifics didn’t matter—Sawyer had been wanting to move out anyway.) 

This—the sofa, the pillows, one hand behind his head while he scrolled through his socials—was a good spot for contemplating how he was going to handle the Inej Ghafa situation. 

He couldn’t just let her get away with this. Anyone with half a brain would agree that he wouldn’t have fallen down those stairs if it weren’t for her. She’d practically pushed him! If he could just get his hands on the security camera footage from the psych building, that would prove it. 

On top of that, she’d blocked him on IG. She’d blocked him. In one afternoon, she’d pushed him down the stairs, threatened him with a mace, belittled and humiliated him and then blocked him—as if he were the villain here. It was unbelievable. The entitlement. Somehow he was nostalgic for a time he’d never seen, the days his father and grandfather talked about, when women knew their place.

Well, being blocked wasn’t going to stop him from trying to find this Kaz person she was running with now. Kaz was the other half of the problem. The Inej Sawyer had known before all of this would never have treated him like this, would never have injured and humiliated him. 

Was it too much to ask for that sweet girl back?

But she’d definitely been texting someone before Sawyer approached her outside the Psych building. It had to have been Kaz. He must have turned her against him, just like he surely had that night they’d all been thrown out of Morozova’s. Sawyer had to know this guy’s deal.

Problem was, for reasons that Sawyer absolutely needed to know now, Kaz had hardly any presence on any social platform. The man was practically a ghost, which sent all sorts of alarm bells ringing. What kind of creep didn’t have any online presence these days? It was just yet another red flag.

All Sawyer had to go on were a few brief appearances Kaz had evidently accidentally made in Matthias Helvar’s reels, which was frankly even more infuriating. Sawyer had been waitlisted to train with Helvar for nearly six months now but there Kaz was, in the background of a video Helvar had shot with his friends on a late-night pub crawl through Ketterdam’s streets. With his distinctive cane and his limp he was impossible to miss. In this video he seemed to be laughing at some inside joke with a tall, brightly-dressed Black man. 

And there he was again, in the background of a selfie Helvar snapped with his voluptuous new girlfriend, crammed between grinning friends in a red vinyl corner booth with the dregs of a beer in front of him. In that one, he had his fucking arm slung across the back of the booth, behind a girl that Sawyer knew had to be Inej—her face was turned towards Kaz and away from the camera, but her braided, raven-black hair was unmistakable. 

Christ, Sawyer hated them all. He was definitely taking himself off Matthias Helvar’s waitlist now. Maybe he’d find some way to tank his Yelp ratings while he was at it—

His phone vibrated in his hand with an incoming text. Just his mother—Sawyer almost ignored it. Except the banner showed a link with the message: “Sawyer, what is this?”

Curiosity got the better of him—he opened it. 

The video it brought up made his blood freeze. 

The security footage. 

It was low-res and every shot was from an awkward, overhead angle but—why had someone posted this? Where had they gotten it? 

Sawyer watched himself stalk the campus grounds—scowling, veins bulging. Footage from the gym and the library and the quad passed in poorly lit flashes. It occurred to him that someone must have edited these together. Who the fuck—? 

As he reached the Psych building, his posture had changed, his expression relaxed. Sawyer remembered how he’d gathered himself, steeled himself to approach her. Then, he watched himself mount the stairs and crowd Inej back toward the building. The angle made him look more threatening than he remembered being. He saw her flinch when he touched her, despite the grainy quality of the footage, despite the rain and the angle.

Even Sawyer couldn’t deny that it looked…really bad. Her disgust at his touch. The way he’d approached her and she’d held him at bay with that little pink can of mace, defiant even as her hand trembled. Worst of all, she hadn’t touched him. Not once. It would be impossible to convince anyone she’d pushed him.

Now his phone was vibrating again. And again. And again. Notification bubbles, one after another. He didn’t know where to look, what to do. Emails, DMs, text messages—his contacts, his followers, all of them asking some version of the same questions. 

What is this? Why did you send me this? Dude, do you know how bad this looks?

Sawyer couldn’t draw a full breath. This was an attack—he didn’t know who or how or why, but he was under attack. His phone clattered to the wool rug as he lunged for his laptop on the arm of the sofa. He had to do something—change his passwords, something. 

His brow prickled with sweat as he typed in his password—

And then he couldn’t breathe at all. 

The screen went utterly black. A lone green cursor rhymically blinked in the upper lefthand corner. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—” Sawyer froze. 

[dirtyhands]: how’s the leg? 

“Shit shit,” Sawyer whispered to no one. “What do I do what do I do—”

Every last one of his CompSci classes flew out the window. Distantly, Sawyer wondered if this entitled him to some kind of refund.

The cursor blinked and blinked and blinked. Then—

[dirtyhands]: fine, since you don’t seem to be interested in chatting, i’m going to spell this out real slow and simple for you. and then once we’ve reached an agreement, i’ll let you go, free and clear

[dirtyhands]: type yes if you follow—i’m assuming you can handle that much

With shaking fingers, Sawyer typed in the three letters. What choice did he have? 

[dirtyhands]: that’s a good boy 

[dirtyhands]: now that you’ve seen what i can do, my terms are simply this: you will never speak to inej ghafa again. you won’t so much as breathe in her direction.

[dirtyhands]: and if you ever touch her again, i will make you wish you’d never been born.

[dirtyhands]: as long as you abide by these simple rules, i’ll stay out of your shit. your mother need never know your… eclectic porn search terms. i don’t think you want that poor sweet woman looking up the definition of bukkake, do you?

Sawyer was going to vomit.

[dirtyhands]: just agree to the terms, sawyer—a simple yes, and then you can go change your passwords and feel safe in your sad little life again

Three little letters. Sawyer typed them again. And then, swallowing hard, just a little more—

Who is this?

The screen went dark; no answer. 

Sawyer drew in a sharp breath, lifting his hands off the keyboard like it might explode beneath his fingers. Except it didn’t. It simply rebooted, and after a minute, returned to the rave stock photo background on his desktop again. Everything was just as he’d left it. 

This had to have been that bastard. Kaz. His name even sounded like a curse. All of it. It had to have been him. But how the fuck would he prove it? 

Sawyer sat back on his pool house sofa, phone in his now limp hand and breathing like he’d run a mile. There was no way to prove it. Worse, if he didn’t drop it, if he tried to prove it, what would this psycho do next? If he knew the porn Sawyer watched… It could be—probably was just the tip of the iceberg.

Sawyer swallowed, scrubbed his hands over his face. His plans for the summer, that internship and the connections in tech he’d hoped to make, his life beyond college flashed in the dark behind his hands. There was so much he still needed to do, things he had yet to accomplish. He had his whole life ahead of him; everyone always said what a promising young man he was. This wasn’t worth losing all that. 

Nothing was worth this. Tomorrow, he’d destroy it all—his laptop, his socials, his emails, his phone. He’d buy new ones. He’d start new accounts. It was time to lay low and wait for the horror of this night to pass. 

In the end, Sawyer figured Inej would get what was coming to her, even if he did nothing at all. There was something deeply not right about this Kaz person, and someday she would see that. Sawyer had tried to help, and this was the path she had chosen instead. Whatever happened next, now that she was dating this sociopath, was entirely on her. If she came crying back to him, getting to tell her I told you so would be almost too sweet.

Yes, Sawyer was washing his hands of this mess. There was no reason now to make Inej Ghafa pay for his ankle.

Dating Kaz Brekker would be punishment enough.

THE END