Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s late when Jesper wanders out onto the deck of the Hummingbird. Deadly quiet except for the wind blowing against the ship’s hull and the birds flying with them. Jesper is restless, and bored, and thinks that he still hates being on a boat, even when it’s a very cool flying boat that travels twice as fast as its water-bound relatives. Except for Zoya steering at the other end of the deck, everyone else is asleep—even Kaz, for once—tired from the day in Shu Han and the fight that carried through the entire night.

Or—maybe not everyone. 

“Hey, hero of the hour,” Jesper calls, coming up to where Wylan is at the side of the ship looking over the railing.

Wylan turns, startled, smiles when he sees it’s Jesper. “Oh, hi.” 

He slips his hand into Wylan’s as soon as he’s close enough, swings it a little bit between them. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Wylan shakes his head. “No, not really. Can you?”

“Not a bit. Too much excitement for sleep.” They’ll reach Ravka sometime in the next twenty-four hours, according to Tolya, and Jesper is antsy. He always is before a fight. 

“I don’t know if I can say I’m excited, exactly, but I know what you mean.”

“Inej tells me we owe you our lives,” Jesper says. “I intend to pay you back in full, I hope you know. With interest.” He winks. 

Wylan lets out a quiet laugh and bites his lip. He’s blushing, and he looks charmingly pleased. Jesper wants to kiss him, so he does. Something quicker than he’d like but no less sweet for it. Wylan smiles a little into it, and that’s even better. 

Jesper turns and leans back against the side of the ship, propping his arms against the railing to face Wylan that way. Wylan sways in a bit towards him, their hands still linked together like a bridge between them.

“That was some quick thinking back there, by the way.” Jesper says. “Can’t say I’m a big fan of the butterfly diet, personally, but I have to say, you saved us big time, truly.”

“Oh, um, I was—I mean, I was just doing what any of you would,” Wylan shrugs.

“Yes, but you’re the only one who knew how to do it.” Jesper bumps their knees together, grinning, and Wylan just shrugs again. Jesper decides to hedge his bets, little good that’s ever done him, and adds, “You should give yourself more credit.”

Wylan smiles back at him, but it’s strained, almost painful looking. Eyes immediately dimming.

Patronising, he’d said, and Jesper hadn’t understood then what he’d meant. He still doesn’t, really, but he wants to. He’s afraid to push though, and he doesn’t think Wylan is likely to bring it up on his own. They haven’t really talked about it; they haven’t had the time. Between boarding the Hummingbird and setting their plans into motion, they haven’t really had a moment alone since that kiss outside of Oval’s house. 

“Sure,” Wylan says delicately, laughs a little bit even though nothing is particularly funny. He fiddles with the straps on his coat and cranes his neck all the way up to look at the sky. 

He still seems a bit—not shy, because Wylan, despite his quiet demeanour and politeness, really isn’t shy. Jesper may have made that mistake back at the beginning of the month, but not now. Wylan is reserved. Skittish, maybe, but not shy. He’s been keeping a bit more to himself though, Jesper thinks, after earlier. The sort of retreat he might expect from Inej, and now can recognise in Wylan. 

Jesper understands the hesitancy, honestly. They fought, sort of, and even though it was short and not really that big in retrospect, they both said things that landed harsher than they’d meant. He thinks maybe they’re both treading lighter because of it. Unwilling to disturb the peace. They made up and kissed and everything really is fine, better than fine, but it was still their first fight. It’s Jesper’s first time having a fight with someone he’s in a relationship with. Or, he thinks they might be in a relationship. That sounds sort of too big to consider now though, so he puts the thought away for the moment. 

He isn’t the best at directly talking about uncomfortable subjects. Better at avoiding them. Better at distracting himself and everyone around him until it’s been forgotten whatever had happened in the first place. That’s always been his strategy, and it’s worked alright up to now. 

But he’d meant what he said earlier. He doesn’t want to do secrets, he doesn’t want to hold back. He wants Wylan to trust him. With his quirks and his thoughts and his smiles, he wants Wylan to trust him with himself. He can tell there’s something there, kept back behind those beautiful brown eyes that are so deep that Jesper feels like he’s been tripping and falling into them ever since they met. He doesn’t care that Wylan can’t read, but it’s obvious that Wylan certainly does. He can tell Wylan is insecure about when or if he’s welcome, unsure of himself in a way that’s frankly baffling, considering how talented he is. Quick to shy away or disappear. And Jesper won’t push, even though he is curious. Not now anyway, not when he’d made such a mess of it earlier. 

It’s not as bad as the trip over, at least. Jesper isn’t sure anything could be worse than the two days he spent being constantly ignored and essentially ran away from every time he tried to talk to Wylan before they arrived in Shu Han. Barring that, Jesper thinks maybe they’ll be able to navigate anything.  

This thing Wylan has about compliments might be harder to broach though. He seems alright about it sometimes, about certain things. He likes the flirty compliments. The lovely-beautiful-pretty compliments. The good, so good, and the do-that-again-with-your-fingers types of compliments, whispered in bed between kisses like secrets shared in tongues and teeth and hands and everything that follows. He seems happy when they’re about other things too, like his bombs working or the fake plague compound he’d come up with to take down Pekka. He demures and hides his smiles and blushes like mad about it, but he definitely likes it. He only seems genuinely upset by compliments about his intelligence, which Jesper thinks is even more confusing. 

He does want to clear up one thing, though. Something that’s been bothering him ever since the market and only grown more evident after their argument outside of Oval’s house. 

“I’m really not being patronising, you know, and I wasn’t earlier either. I just, I was trying too hard, because I thought I’d ruined everything and I know I could have responded better, so I overcompensated. But I really did mean all of it. I think—I think you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and I just don’t understand why you don’t believe me.”

“Oh,” Wylan starts, obviously surprised. “I don’t”—he drops Jesper's hand to worry his own together in front of him—“It’s—it’s not a you thing, I promise. I guess I just—well, maybe I’m just not very used to hearing it, not sincerely anyway.” Wylan takes a deep breath, rushing his words as he says, “And, it wasn’t very fair of me to say what I said either, I know. If it helps, I didn’t think you were doing it on purpose. I just couldn’t help feeling like you were just saying it to be nice.” He looks down as he finishes, looking sheepish.

Oh. It sort of helps, a little bit, if only because it’s now that Jesper realises he actually was sort of worried that Wylan thought that. It also doesn’t help at all, because it means Wylan truly thinks the only reason someone would say he’s smart is as some kind of cruel joke or else out of pity. 

“Wylan,” Jesper says softly, hoping it’ll get his attention back.

“Hm,” Wylan murmurs, still looking at the ground. 

“Wylan.” He catches Wylan’s hand again, squeezing gently. “Could—please look at me.”

Wylan looks up. His eyes are so big, always so big, even more so in the low light of the deck’s lamps and the dark sky full of stars. Jesper looks at them head on, unremitting, trying to let his own seriousness about what he’s about to say show. 

“I wouldn’t lie about that. I would never lie about that.” 

Wylan doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look away either. Just sort of… freezes. Watches Jesper like he isn’t sure what to make of it but he’s really listening. 

Jesper feels a bit like he’s flying blind, but he takes a breath and keeps going anyway. “And I’m not lying when I say that you’re—you’re really amazing. You’re a Crow, and Kaz wouldn’t have brought you if you weren’t up for it. You’re intelligent, and more than that—I think you’re amazing either way, because you’re Wylan. And if you need to hear it more, then I’ll say it all you need, but only if you promise to believe me.”

Wylan nods slowly, processing. His eyes flit all around their surroundings, never resting in one place for long, pursing his lips. Jesper waits, and tries not to be bothered by the silence until Wylan’s eyes land on his again, and stay there. “I’m—I’ll try,” he says quietly.

“Okay, good. Great.”

“You have to try too though,” Wylan adds, after a beat. Something different in his voice, sturdier. 

“I’m plenty confident already, love. I think we’ve already established that well enough.”

“No, I know. You don’t need any help with your ego, I’d never suggest that.” 

“Hey, now.” Jesper says in mock offence.

Wylan’s lip quirks up a bit wryly. “I meant,” he pauses, licks his lips, looks down at their linked hands, ducking his head in closer to Jesper’s. “I meant about your powers. You have a gift, Jesper. I just—I’m just not sure if you see that either. It’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Right,” Jesper says, a lump forming in his throat that’s hard to talk over. He swallows it down. He did basically just tell a living Saint he’d start living up to his abilities as a Durast. He supposes this is how that starts. “I’ll, uh, yeah. I agree, honestly. But thanks, I’ll try too.”

Wylan smiles, bright and proud in a way that’s constantly surprising. “It’s a deal, then.”

Jesper laughs. “Oh, proper Kerch are we? Should we shake on it, do you think? Did you want to draw up contra—”

Wylan kisses him, quick and brilliant and biting. Jesper pushes off of the railing and leans into him, the hand not still holding Wylan’s coming up to steady himself at his side. Too soon, Wylan swings back a little on his heels, still smiling. 

“Deal,” Jesper says, leaning back against the railing. “But, just so you know, I’m a good shot anyway. It really has nothing to do with the other thing. I just practised a lot, and I learned from the best.” 

Wylan tilts his head, not saying anything and yet saying everything with just that one look. Like he can see Jesper, the Jesper inside of Jesper. Like Wylan is looking for something there that nobody else ever seems to think warrants pursuit. It makes him want to adjust his jacket and straighten up to attention, like that might help his chances of being found worthy. It sort of makes him want to run away. It makes him want to come closer. 

“Earlier,” Jesper clarifies, still trying to sound unbothered by it and not sure how effective it is. “All those impossible shots, you said. That has nothing to do with me being—being Grisha.”

“Alright,” Wylan says, but he doesn’t look convinced. He’s clearly prepared to drop it for Jesper’s sake though, which only makes him want to push further.

“What?” Jesper asks. 

Wylan shakes his head, looking caught. He pitches his shoulders up a little like he’s trying to shrink into them. “Nothing.” He turns back to the sky too quickly to be anything but nervous, the sharp cut of his jaw jutting as he works his throat.

And here Jesper sees two choices in front of him, laid out like downfacing playing cards. Unable to see which will get him a win and which one will land him even deeper in debt than before. He can make a joke, he can play it off, move on. Try to get that laugh out of Wylan again, and then maybe more. Go back to Jesper’s small cot on the lower decks and find out if it’s just big enough to cram in the two of them if he tucks Wylan in close enough, maybe get some actual sleep so Wylan isn’t completely dead on his feet before they even reach the warzone. Keep not-talking about any of what happened for as long as possible, play it safe. Or, he can grab onto the threads of where this is going and pull. Longer odds, with a different sort of—potentially greater—reward. 

What does it say?

In retrospect, it had been a branch, hesitantly held forth and then snatched away before Jesper had known what he was being trusted with.

He doesn’t want to make the same mistake again.

Jesper’s never really been very good at being able to tell a bad hand from a good one, or walking away from either. 

“No I—I want to know.” Jesper says. He squeezes Wylan’s hand. “Please.”

Wylan looks at him a moment, eyes narrowed, like he’s trying to weigh the pros and cons of whatever he’s about to say. “I think it’s both.” He pauses, eyes scanning over Jesper’s face to make sure he’s still not touching a nerve, and Jesper nods encouragingly.

When Wylan continues, it’s still soft, still hesitant, but it grows in confidence the longer he explains, eyes brightening like they had earlier when he was telling Jesper about the butterflies and the poisonous flowers. “Your shooting. I think it's a combination of your skill and your powers. I’ve watched the way you curve bullets, and the angles are near impossible. The maths just don’t make sense, I… I think you—I think it’s possible that you’re, at least sometimes, guiding the bullet to the target, telling it where to go. You can sense things, can’t you? Matter and materials and other things?”

It takes Jesper a moment to catch up with what exactly Wylan is talking about, and not just because he’s started speaking very fast. When he does catch on, Jesper is momentarily stymied, years and years of avoiding this topic with everything he has rushing up to meet him. It’s not a gift, it’s a curse, and this time it’s his father’s voice instead of his own. He nods, but isn’t sure he can manage more than that, unsure how to explain. It’s such a strange thing to be talking about this. Stranger to be talking about it with Wylan, even though Jesper thinks he’d sort of like talking about anything with Wylan. 

He wants to tell Wylan about the vision he had of his mother. About how she’d taught him to shoot and make spoons into rings and darn holes in his clothes. That he got his gift from her. That he still misses her every day. He wants to tell him about his father and the farm in Novyi Zem. He thinks he will, soon. He thinks Wylan would listen. That he wouldn’t look at him strangely if Jesper talks too fast or goes on confusing tangents like he always does when he tries to explain things to people. He feels like it’s a side of him he tries to downplay—with people he’s interested in, especially. The too-much-but-not-in-the-good-way part. He thinks he could show that to Wylan. That he already has, a little, and Wylan hasn’t seemed to mind at all.

“I—yes? Sort of,” Jesper says, trying to put into words something that has existed within him as long as he can remember. “I can feel things, if I concentrate. I can feel the things that things are made of.”

Wylan nods. “Okay,” he says, glancing away and back quickly, biting his lip. He fidgets with Jesper’s hand, twisting the rings around Jesper’s fingers the way that Jesper usually does himself. It’s endearing, and even if it’s done out of nervousness, it makes Jesper smile. “Can you feel the bullets? Can you feel the bullets when you’re shooting?

Jesper keeps smiling, even though it’s harder now, tries to get back some of that same easy tone in his voice from before as he says, “I think I’d know if I were fabrikating bullets, love.” Wouldn’t I? 

“Maybe you’re doing it without knowing. Like, intuitively.”

“I—” Jesper stops himself from denying it and tries to give the thought genuine consideration. He closes his eyes and lets himself remember the feeling of the trigger. The cool metal against his thumb, gun pulsing like a heart held in his hand, alive. The way shooting makes him feel alive too, even hours afterwards. He’s always attributed that feeling to adrenaline, the thrill of a good shootout, but maybe there’s something more there. Something itching to get out that’s only ever been soothed by the way his guns fit in his hands, the smooth recoil of his revolvers and the way the bullets always hit their mark exactly like he’d told them. The way that he can almost see his target, even with his eyes closed. The way he’s always been able to trust that he’ll never miss. 

Anyone can shoot, but not everybody can aim. His mother, who’d taught him almost everything he knows about shooting. We’re zowa. You and me. 

Jesper isn’t stupid. He knows the shots he makes are different from what's possible for others. And maybe he does tell the bullet where to go. Maybe he does give it a little extra nudge sometimes, when he needs to, but he’s never thought about it like using his powers. Because shooting comes naturally to him, and using his powers doesn’t. Bullets listen to him, but other things, when he tries, almost never do, and not without struggle.  

He thinks about the Heartrender he’d fought in Ravka. That he’d known what Jesper was by the way he’d shot, and realises the truth of Wylan’s words, that some part of Jesper must have known then too. 

I don’t want to hide who I am anymore. 

Who was he?

I want to find out.

“Maybe,” Jesper says, surprised at how shaky his voice sounds. He opens his eyes, finding Wylan’s again in front of him like an anchor back to the present. “Maybe—maybe I am. But that’s all it is though, yeah? I’m not any good at the rest.” It’s more honest than he thinks he’s ever been with anyone. What does it say? This is his own branch, he supposes. I’m cracked too, see? I’m not any better. Secret for secret. A fair trade.

Wylan shakes his head. “You just need more practice.”

“I’m too far behind. I might never catch up.” 

“You said you practised with your guns. It’ll just take time.”

“But that’s different.” Jesper insists. He isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, maybe no one. Maybe he just doesn’t know how to be any different. 

Maybe he can learn.

“Maybe,” Wylan says, shrugging like he means it to be casual, even though it doesn’t actually look very casual at all. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

Maybe it doesn’t have to be.

He’s not sure if it’s all really that simple, but he thinks it’s worth a try. That even if he never really improves that much as a Durast, it’s still worth a shot. He owes his Ma that much, maybe he owes himself too. 

He wants to try.

Jesper doesn’t say anything in response, but he doesn’t think Wylan expects him too. This feels different from all of their previous silences, somehow. Not uncomfortable or chafing, instead just… quiet. Calm. Like something’s shifted in the air currents around them to buffet this moment in more favourable weather. Wylan’s hand is still holding his, though he isn’t looking at Jesper anymore. He’s looking out at the sky, not out of awkwardness but genuine appreciation for the view. 

But while Wylan looks at the sky, Jesper looks at Wylan. He’s beautiful, even with the beginnings of circles under his eyes from lack of rest. Even with his hair messed by the wind and going in all directions even more than usual. He’s always beautiful, Jesper thinks, maybe even especially like this. He looks more peaceful than Jesper has seen him in days, and he has the vaguely mushy thought of wanting to bottle the sight of it and save it for later.

Wylan is still sort of a mystery to him, but he thinks he might be a little closer to uncovering certain parts of it than before. Getting better at knowing how to proceed. 

“It’s getting late,” Wylan says, some indeterminate time later, “Or—early, I should say.”

It takes effort, but Jesper finally manages to peel his eyes away from Wylan to glance back over his shoulder at the open sky. There’s the smallest sliver of light peeking through the clouds just over the horizon. Definitely early. 

“Yeah,” Jesper says. “Tired?”

Wylan shakes his head, then yawns, then looks embarrassed about it. Looks soft and warm and ruffled and a bit sleepy. He looks slightly confused, and definitely not happy to be betrayed by his own body’s need for sleep. It’s possibly the cutest thing Jesper has seen to date, literally ever. He has to bite his lip to keep from laughing, because he doesn’t think Wylan will appreciate it, but it’s a near thing.

“Come on, we’ve still got a good few hours left until Kaz comes to lecture at all of us about the plan.”

“But, you said you weren’t tired?”

“Well, I am now.” He isn’t, really, though he’s certainly less restless than before. He puts his arm around Wylan and starts leading them across the deck. “Conversation hit just the spot. I barely slept on the way over, anyway, so it’s probably a good idea to at least try.”

Wylan goes willingly, if not a bit sceptically. He leans into Jesper’s side as they go quietly down to the lodgings they’d all taken up in the hull. 

The quarters really aren't big enough, but they manage. Pressed together in the tiny cot Jesper had chosen because it was next to a window. They barely fit, and it’s sort of too cramped for comfort and also it’s perfect and wonderful. 

“You're cold,” Jesper says, feeling the coolness of Wylan’s hands around his back, his icy nose pressing into his collar bone.

“No, you’re just warm,” Wylan argues, eyelashes fluttering.

“Well, I guess combined we're probably close to normal temperature, at least.

“Symbiosis,” Wylan murmurs softly, and Jesper can feel the small smile on his lips as he says it against his chest. “Like the butterflies.”

“Hm?” Jesper asks. 

Wylan’s already asleep.