Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Midsummer, 10 bells chime, evening

w: Is this working? I hope this is working. I guess I’ll find out later. This is just a trial run after all; Jesper’s expecting me in bed soon. I guess this is my way of writing a diary, since I can’t really write. My name is Wylan Van Eck, and these are stories about my life.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 10 bells and half chime, evening

w: Okay, I finally got the time to go back and make sure the recording worked. It did. So, I’m making another one. I don’t think it’ll be very long, just a quick update. Jesper doesn’t know I’m making these; he only thinks I invented the recording device for Merchant Council meetings. I haven’t quite gotten that to work yet; it’s still too big. Though I really hope Jesper doesn’t tell Kaz about my machines ‘cause I know he’ll come asking around for them. I mean, Kaz is nice and all—well, he’s not nice, he’s… he’s Kaz Brekker, but I mean as the leader of our crew, and if I do say so myself, our friend, I’m glad to have his company—just not when he starts asking us to commit more crimes. It’s hard enough to keep Jesper away from the Barrel as it is. Speaking of Jesper, we’re going on a trip to Novyi Zem to visit his father. To be honest, I miss Colm sometimes, though I do force Jesper to write to him and include messages from me. We’re bringing my mother as well. I think the fresh farm air, away from the stink of Ketterdam, could do her some good. And above all, I want to see the places where Jes grew up. I want to see him free from the weight of the tables, free to feel everything he needs to. I’ll update after we get home from the trip. Goodbye for now, I guess.

Chapter Text

A few weeks later, late summer, 9 bells chime, evening

w: Jesper has freckles. I discovered them under the Novyi Zem sun, faint, but brighter under continual golden light. I teased him about them, but still kissed every one. He got me back by counting mine like stars, giving names to the constellations they formed. My freckles appeared more abundantly in the farm’s sunshine. Now that we’ve come back to Ketterdam, they’ve already started to fade. Jesper’s are harder to find, but I find them anyways.

[…]

I saw the place where Jesper’s mother is buried. Aditi Hilli. I like the way her name sits lightweight on my tongue, with just enough pressure for importance, but not enough to forget the way Jesper talks about her happiness. They had remembered her under a beautiful cherry tree, and suddenly I understood the words Jes had never been able to get out, why he became sad when a distant neighbor’s cherry blossoms were carried past our windows and pushed into the canal by the wind.

Colm and my mother got along well. I haven’t seen her talk so animated, so like her old self as she did around him. They promised to keep up correspondence, and I hope it goes well. Maybe she can be herself again someday.

[…]

Coming!

I guess I’ve got to go join Jes in bed. We’re both tired. I’ll be back again.

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Beginning of autumn, 9 bells and half chime, morning

w: The first time Jesper said ‘I love you’ was in Zemeni. When I asked him what it meant, he replied more gentle than I’ve ever heard him, so shy you’d hardly believe it was Jesper Fahey talking. I heard him say it to Colm in Novyi Zem, and Colm replied in Kerch, choked with tears, ‘Even after all this time, you still carry your mother’s accent.’ I think that’s why Jesper only speaks Zemeni when his emotions threaten to overtake him. The language tastes too close to home, and it's only worth speaking when he means every word he says. I’ve started to pick up on some, but it's difficult when I can’t go read a book to learn. I can say ‘I love you’ though. That’s enough for now. 

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One week later, 3 bells and half chime, afternoon

w: Ugh. I’m so sick of stupid merchant business. It’s annoying and tedious and a bother. I hate meetings. I wish I could just curl up in Jesper’s arms and take a nap. Or maybe eat a plateful of waffles. I miss Nina. And Inej. And Matthias. Even though we were all scared to death, I look back at those days at the Geldrenner fondly. Well, it depends on the moment I’m thinking of. I can remember some not-so-pleasant experiences at that place. Specifically featuring Jesper and a specific Shu boy I had been tailored to look like. Yeah, I didn’t enjoy that.

Life these days is… I don’t know, I guess it’s just smooth. At least, compared to back then. I’m not worried about trying to stay alive anymore; my biggest problems right now are complaints about the Merchant Council and running a business. I have rooms dedicated to inventing, to playing music. I have everything I ever wanted. Everything I ever could want. But sometimes I still feel the ghosts haunting me, the pain it took for me to get here. If someone asked me if I would do it again, I’m not sure I could give them a real answer. I don’t know if I ever could.

Things are different now, they’re better. But I still miss some moments from the past. I think I’m allowed to.

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Mid-autumn, midnight

w: I almost didn’t come here. I almost fled to a closet, or the fourth floor, like I used to do as a kid. I don’t think it was Jesper’s fault, really. Most likely, it was mine. If I wasn’t so fucking useless, we wouldn’t be in this situation. 

What I’m trying to say is: we fought. It’s been a long day, and we were both on the edge, and I couldn’t understand what he was trying to read to me, and he snapped. “What’s the point of me reading to you if you aren’t going to understand what I’m saying?” he yelled. Ghezen , I’m so stupid. 

[sniffs]

I love him, I really do, but is he just here for me because he feels like he needs to be? What is the point of him reading to me if I’m not going to understand it? Things would just be so much easier if I could’ve been the son my father hoped for.

[knock on door]

j: (muffled) Wylan? Are you in there? Can I come in?

[…]

(muffled) Right. Well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I never should have said that. I was such an idiot, using these things against you, just like he did, and I understand if you never want to talk to me again, because I hurt you. I can’t bear the thought that I did, but I know I did. And you didn’t deserve it. You deserve the world, and I love you with the whole of my worthless heart and I just — I’m sorry.

[…]

w: Jesper. Please come in. 

[door opens]

j: (whispered) I’m sorry.

w: I’m sorry, too.

j: You have nothing to be sorry for.

w: I do, though.

j: No, you don’t. I don’t want to hear you say that again, okay? I hurt you, and I want to make it better. Because I love you. I want to stay.

w: Okay. I love you. 

j: Come on, let’s go to bed. You can tell me how I can make this better. So I won’t do it again.

[door closes]

[…]

Chapter Text

One week later, 9 bells and quarter chime, evening

w: Saying ‘I love you’ always felt foreign on my tongue. It felt like a forbidden kiss, one I wasn’t sure I wanted. The words screamed behind my tongue, and even if I wanted to say them, I couldn’t. I had just stopped, at one point, and never really started again. My lips resisted the change, wouldn’t let me say them. On the rare occasions that I did, it felt like a lie. ‘I love you’. What did that mean? What does it mean? I’ve thought a lot about whether I actually love anything. I think I do, but sometimes I’m not sure. I love Jesper, but occasionally the words still feel false. Did a part of me get locked away when I stopped saying those three words, or was it never there to begin with?

I never said ‘I love you’ to my father. Not after he found out I couldn’t read. He clearly didn’t love me, so I stopped telling him that I did. To me, he was still the man who had read me stories and sat with me while I was sick. I remember the sound of his laugh—his real one, not the one he used at dinner parties. It was like that part of him just disappeared, and to him, I became a mistake. I was an object of hatred and a place to inflict violence, and I was just a kid that loved him.

I may never be sure if his violence stole the words from me or if I hid them away to protect them from him.

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A few days later, 8 bells and three-quarters chime, evening

w: Sometimes I worry for Jesper. It just seems like he’s always running away from something. Not literally, of course. Well, sometimes literally. But we both have our problems, and I feel like he knows more about mine than I do about his. 

I’m trying to think of ways I can help him feel safe to share with me. Or at least to let him know it’s okay. But maybe the harsh truth of the matter is that I can’t make him do anything. That he has to be the one to choose to share his pain, to keep it from eating him inside out. And it might just kill me, but this is reality.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 3 bells chime, afternoon

j: Hello? Is this working? I’m pretty sure it is. Assuming that this is Wylan’s recording device, and I’m not just talking to a random invention. That would be kind of awkward.

He’s out with Marya for a bit, and I got bored so I figured I’d come down here and see if there was anything for me to practice fabrikating on. I found this instead. I don’t know if he’s got anything recorded on here, and I don’t know how to check. If I’m being honest, I don’t want to check. If this is a safe space for him, I don’t want to break his trust on that, invade his privacy.

Truth is that sometimes I wonder why he loves me. If he loves me. I mean, why would he? He’s perfect and beautiful, and I’m just—me. I’m not a hero or a good person. I’m horribly broken and flawed, I can’t stay away from the gambling tables for too long. I can never stop moving, even when it matters most. How could Wylan love my mess? 

I suppose Da loves me, even though I’m a mess. I think Ma would too if she were here. I want to know if someone could love me because of my flaws, not just in spite of them. I think Wylan does, but a part of my brain tells me that’s a lie. It might just be the part of me that’s still a scared little kid, feeling alone and unloved in my entirety. Or maybe it’s just true.

Sometimes I don’t think anything about me is worth loving. I look back on what I’ve done and it feels nearly irredeemable. Despite that, I try. I try to be better, if not for myself then for Wylan and Inej and Da, because they deserve a version of me that’s worth loving.

Now that I think about it, Inej loves me, flaws and all. But really, she’s too kind for her own good. Maybe Wylan is too. The least I can do to deserve their love is try. 

Chapter Text

A few days later, 1 bell and half chime, nighttime

j: I’m back. I didn’t think I would be, at first, but I couldn’t get this recording machine out of my head. It kept nagging in the back of my mind. There was something freeing about telling my stories and feelings to no one at all. 

I’ve never really been a great reader. Reading requires me to sit quietly, for a long period of time. I like stories, but I’m not one for sitting quietly. But if Wylan asks me to read something, I do it. I can’t begin to imagine how many worlds and stories he was kept out of because he couldn’t read. What’s more is that I can’t begin to imagine being the one to keep him from them now. He deserves to have those stories, he deserves the importance of words. And if I’m able to give them to him, you better damn well believe I’m going to.

Loving him comes as easy as breathing, and yet sometimes I love him so much I can’t breathe.

Fuck, someone’s coming down the stairs. I bet it’s Wylan. Gotta go.

Chapter Text

Late autumn, 10 bells and quarter chime, morning

w: I’ve been thinking about Jesper’s middle name lately. I kind of tease him about it, and he groans, but I think it’s cute. Sometimes I’ll just say it and quickly pop up to kiss his cheek. As much as he grumbles about it, he can’t hide his crooked smile.

Oh, and an update about my mother’s letters with Colm. She really seems like she’s becoming herself again. She almost always recognizes Kaz and Inej when they’re at the house, and her paintings not only keep her grounded but bring up memories as well. I play music with her and she remembers being at the piano bench with me when I was a kid. She’s becoming my mother again. There’s a piece of me, that abandoned little kid, that shows up when she does. He’s healing too. 

I’ve succeeded in making a smaller version of this device for merchant council meetings, one that can be stored in a pocket, but I’m still going to keep this one. For me. Plus, then work and business don’t get intermixed with the personal. Though I’m going to have to be very careful with the work recordings, otherwise Kaz might just steal them. 

Chapter Text

One day later, 1 bell chime, nighttime

k: Dear Wylan, if you haven’t received any other subtle, or not-so-subtle hints from me, then this message serves to tell you that I want your recordings of the merchant council meetings. I know you have them, and I’m going to get them whether you want me to have them or not. For many reasons, of course, one of which is that they can be used to help Inej. This is a situation in which we all win. Nobody will find out that you were the one that gave me the information. We all know I can keep a secret. Sincerely, Kaz.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, beginning of winter, 4 bells chime, afternoon

j: Wylan’s sick. Not like, in a bad way, I should add, like he’s not going to die anytime soon. At least I don’t think so. He’s told me this is a normal kind of sickness, but I don’t know anything. I’ve never gotten sick a day in my life. The best part about this though, is that we still get to cuddle, even while he feels like shit, cause we know I won’t catch it. And truth be told, he’s kind of adorable while he’s sick. Hopefully he never hears that. I’m attempting to take care of him, and hopefully I’m doing a good job. Mostly I just do what he tells me to. 

He asked me to sing him a song, said he desperately missed music. Never mind that he could still go play the piano if he wanted. But I did it anyway, pulling out the first melody that came to my head. It was an old song Ma and Da used to sing to me when I was a little kid, a Zemeni melody that goes, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear; how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” I almost cried singing it, if I’m honest. It feels like forever since I’ve heard those words, and now they’re coming out of my mouth, not Da’s. I can understand why Wylan loves music so much. It holds so many things in it. The song I sang to him holds my childhood and my parents’ love for me, and mine for them, and now it holds my love for Wylan, too. 

These past few days have been a sort of exhale for us. I feel like we were holding our breath, or at least I was, for something, and now that we have a moment to rest, I can let it out. For so much of my life, I’ve felt like I’ve been running. Away from myself, away from my responsibilities, away from my mistakes. Wylan asked me, before we kissed for the first time, what I was afraid was going to happen if I stopped. I’m still not sure of the answer. But I’m here now, and maybe that’s what matters. I’ve always thought that stopping would be a big, scary thing, a terrifying horizon I never wanted to reach. But now that I’m here, it just feels simple. It’s just one moment at a time, and it’s easier with Wylan at my side. Maybe I’ll feel differently another day. Today, though, I think I can manage. 

I should probably go check on Wylan again. He was asleep when I came down here, but it’s been a while, and he hasn’t been sleeping well. Goodbye for now, little recording machine.

Chapter Text

A week later, 6 bells and half chime, evening

w: Jesper always tells me I can’t blame myself for what my father did to me. I hate my father. I love him. Aren’t those two things just one and the same? Who am I kidding, they’ll never be the same. 

Jesper always tells me I should blame my father instead. He’s the one who made the choice, he’s the one who hated me first. As if I didn’t do anything, have never done anything wrong. I can’t be blamed. Can you blame me? I can’t even blame myself, but I do. Blamelessness is carved into my throat, and when Jesper kisses me there, I bleed.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 8 bells and three-quarters chime, evening

w: I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. I can’t remember where I was before. I think I was with Jesper. He might still be in bed. I think he passed out. 

[giggles]

That’s a little bit funny. I might be drunk. Okay, I might be more than drunk. I don’t think that’s possible. I really shouldn’t be here. There’s chemicals and shit. They can… they can blow up. That’s not good. Maybe if I just don’t touch anything, it’ll be okay. Oh, but I’m touching the floor. I don’t know how to float. I wonder if Inej does. I should ask her next time she’s here. Now, that would be cool. Yeah. Inej is cool.

Fuck, Jesper’s pretty. I wanna go back upstairs and look at him. He’s so… warm. I should paint him. But like, not normal painting. Paint him like how I see him in the mornings. Beautiful. He’s warm because the sun is warm and in the mornings I see him in the sun. And he’s super pretty. I won at life, I think. I have a fucking house. I’m only nineteen. I build bombs. That… that last one doesn’t really fit, does it? But I wouldn’t have Jesper if I didn’t build bombs, so it does fit. I make the rules now. I make all the rules. It rules!

[laughs]

I don’t want to move cause I’m afraid I’m going to knock something over and blow it up. But I also want to go upstairs and see Jes. Cause he’s fucking pretty. Now this is a dilemma. I mean, I wouldn’t have Jesper if I didn’t blow shit up, so maybe it’s worth the risk to have him now. Yeah, that makes sense. Ghezen , I love having my own house. I could blow shit up and it doesn’t matter! It’s a big fuck you to my father. Unless my house burns down. Then I think he’d be laughing from jail. Hmm. Maybe I should stay here. Oh, but Jesper. He’ll be all alone. I don’t know what to do.

Okay, I think I’m going to go—just very, very slowly. I’ll take one step every second. No, every two seconds! Very, very slowly. To Jesper. Okay, bye.

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, beginning of winter, 7 bells chime, morning

j: I wish my Ma could meet Wylan. She’d adore him, I think. I do, that’s for sure. I think she’d like the way he sees the world. Sometimes his past gets him down, just like mine does, but then there’s the times where to him, everything is a painting or a poem. Where life is art. I think Ma would like that.

I think Wylan would like her bubbly personality, and how she always had time for kindness. I think he’d teach her how to paint or play music, and she’d laugh along at her every mistake. I could sit in an armchair to the side, looking at the smiles of some of the people I love most in the world. Wylan would sit at the piano bench and play an upbeat tune, and she’d pull me out of my chair to make me dance. I’d give anything to be in her arms again.

Truth is, I see her the most in Inej, I think. Inej would be the one to pull me out of my chair to dance, the one who would laugh at her every simple mistake. Inej was the one to help me see my pain. She’s always forgiven me, no matter how badly I messed up. Inej is family to me, my sister. I think Ma would love her, too.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, 8 bells chime and half chime, morning

w: I have the callouses on Jesper’s hands memorized. Years of holding and shooting his revolvers are held there, in every ridge and crack. I hold his hand when we walk together, and sometimes we’ll just lay in bed with our hands clasped between us. Jesper likes to fidget with my hands, and sometimes he’ll put his rough fingers on my cheek, then tangle them in my hair. I watch him play with his guns, and when he puts them away his hands are mine again.

My left hand is more scarred than my right. I’m not really sure why, it just is. I wonder if Jesper knows the ways my hands feel different from each other. I wonder if he has a favorite scar. To be honest, I have one. My favorite of mine is on the inside of my wrist, just below the lines my thumb carves into my hand. I accidentally cut myself with a knife trying to get a stopper off one of my chemical bottles. My favorite of Jesper’s scars is the one on the curve of his waist, where he got grazed with a bullet a few years ago, before I ever knew him.

I love the intimacy that comes with knowing each other’s bodies so well. Normally when people say that they mean something else, but I’m talking about how I know the feel of Jesper’s hand on my cheek better than I know myself. How my fingers could always find that scar on his waist. That he’ll kiss my burn scars that I got from playing with chemicals. That I can find his freckles, even in Ketterdam winter. That’s what I mean.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 8 bells chime, morning

w: Last night Jesper and I were laying in bed, and he was rubbing circles on the palm of my hand, as he does. And casually, as if he were commenting on something trivial, he says, “You know, the first time I saw you, I thought you were a prince fallen into the wrong story.” And I’m supposed to act normal about that?! As if that isn’t the most romantic thing he could’ve said?! Actually, it wasn’t. He said more. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead and said, “Sometimes I call you ‘my prince’ in my head.” And then he smiled! And just fell asleep! Genuinely, what the hell! Sorry, I’m still not over this. 

[knock on door]

[door opens]

j: Hey Wy, I just remembered something.

w: Yeah?

j: When Ma died, I asked Da if she was a witch. He told me no, said that she was a queen. Our queen. Which technically would make me a prince as well.

w: Yeah, I suppose it would. You can be my prince and I can be yours.

j: I’d like that.

[kisses]

j: Anyway, I’m going to get some breakfast. Do you want to come?

w: I’ll be out in a second.

j: Okay.

[door closes]

w: Ghezen, I love him.

[chuckles]

My prince.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 5 bells chime, evening

w: Hello! I’m just sitting in here drawing today, so I figured I might as well talk while I do it. I’m working on a drawing for Inej, for her to hang up in her cabin. It’s of me, Jesper, her, Kaz, Nina, Matthias, and Kuwei. I’m using an old wanted poster of Matthias as a reference. It’s a little painful, but ultimately healing to remember him. I’m excited for when I finish, which will hopefully be soon, but based on the progress I’m making, I’m not sure. I want to be able to give it to her next time she comes home, especially since I don’t know when the next time after that will be. 

It's been a couple of months since she’s been back, so I hope it’s not too long until she comes. I worry for her, while she’s out at sea. I know I don’t need to. She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself and she’s very dangerous. She’s doing good work out there. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying about what she’s doing. Even though she’s dangerous, her work is, too.

I know Kaz worries about her, yet he would never admit it out loud. At least not to me and Jesper. We play a game sometimes, when Inej is here, of how much Kaz will give away about his feelings for her. Which he would also deny exist, but we all know are there. It’s fun to watch his cheeks fill with color sometimes, or to watch his hand drift closer to Inej’s. He smiles when she laughs, you know. I don’t think he knows, really, which makes it all the more fun for us.

I know Jesper misses Inej too when she’s gone. He worries about her more than most, though I’m sure he and Kaz could have a competition. She’s like a sister to him, and he’s a brother to her. They’re the siblings they never had. Inej confessed to me once that Jesper was the first man in Ketterdam to make her feel safe. She said that even though Kaz rescued her, he had never offered the illusion that he would provide her safety. But Jesper didn’t even have to offer. He was safe for her anyway. She told me that’s why she loves him. Because Jesper gives so much of himself away without thinking. He’ll spend his time thinking that he’s selfish, that he’s a horrible person. But the truth is that he does so much good. He does so many kind things and he doesn’t realize it. He offered to read to me with no hesitation in front of my father. He helps my mother when I can’t, he’s a safe person for Inej. Jesper contains so much goodness, and he doesn’t seem to know it. I suppose that’s why I love him, too.

I wonder what Matthias would be doing if he were still alive. I like to think that he and Nina would be living in Ravka somewhere, hopelessly in love. Or maybe they’d stay here, in Kerch sometimes. At the very least, they’d come visit. We’d drag Kaz over here, or just make Inej force him to come, and we’d all have dinner, and we could be safe, with nothing hanging over our heads. Not like the last time we were all together. The last time we’ll ever be all together. I miss him. I miss his glower. I miss the way he looked at Nina. I miss the way he called Kaz ‘demjin’. We keep the tulips in the back garden, and every year on the day of the auction we place them in the canal, one to match each one we laid on his chest. And we painted them over the front door so he’s part of this place, a part of making it safe the way it never was for most of my childhood. I don’t know what kind of afterlife Matthias believed in. But I hope if there is one, he’s doing okay.

I think I’m going to stop talking now, and just work on drawing. But it did feel good to put some things into words. If I remember, I’ll make an update about giving the drawing to Inej. Maybe I’ll even let her listen to some of the merchant council recordings. I know there’s some stuff on there that can help her make a difference. I hope I see her soon.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, mid-winter, 5 bells chime, evening

w: I love storms. For some people they’re stressful, but to me there’s something relaxing about it. I love watching the lightning out the window, hearing thunder roar across the sky. I love the deluge of rain that drenches the city, pounding against the windows. I love the coziness of being indoors with a blanket while Jesper reads me a book, or behind a canvas with my mother. I love the percussion of raindrops while I play my flute. 

[thunderclap]

Ooh, there goes another one. I don’t want it to be this rainy all the time, but there’s something special about the rare occasions that it is.

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A week later, 2 bells chime, nighttime

j: I was getting the itch again when I remembered this existed. If I’m being honest, I was on my way to the gambling halls. I’m dressed and strapped with my guns right now. It’s such a stupid thing. Really, I’m glad I didn’t go. Maybe I can do this instead, come here instead of going there. Talking about it is good, right? This is a good alternative. I’ve been doing really good and I want to keep that going. I’m going to try and come and talk here every time I get the itch again. Hopefully that’ll change things.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 6 bells and three-quarters chime, morning

w: Jesper’s relapsed. It’s the only explanation I can think of. This has happened before, where I woke up and he was nowhere to be seen, guns gone with him. Nobody in the household knows where he is. Last time we found him in a dingy bar on East Stave, not too far from the Slat. I’m not mad at him. I just hope he’s safe. The only reason I’m in here right now making this is because I’m grabbing my extra flash bombs and filling my satchel. Can’t go to the Barrel unarmed, even early in the morning. I’ve already got the knife Inej gave me. She named it Sankta Margaretha, after the saint of thieves and lost children. She thought it was fitting, considering who we were when we all met. 

[crash]

Fuck. Just shattered a beaker. I’ll clean it up later; I have to go anyway. I’m going to find Kaz first and see if he knows anything. I hope that Jesper knows I love him.

Chapter Text

The same day, 9 bells and quarter chime, evening

w: We’re back. Jesper’s upstairs in bed, though I’m pretty sure he’s not asleep yet. I told him to come get me if he needs anything. I need to put away my satchel, but I also wanted to come down and update. 

The first place I went was the Crow Club. I used Kaz’s secret tunnel that leads from the Geldstraat to the Club, the one Jesper doesn’t know exists. I knew it would be safe because nobody’s in a private card game at that hour. By the time I got out, Kaz had already left. I’m sure Rotty wasn’t expecting to see me of all people pop out of the door, but still directed me to the Slat when I asked for Kaz. Luckily the two places aren’t far from each other.

Anika caught me first when I got to the Slat. I think she only knows me as a merch, Kaz’s acquaintance, and the kid she beat up at Kuwei’s auction. Either way, she knew exactly what was going on when I asked if she had seen Jesper. Unfortunately, she hadn’t, so I asked after Kaz instead. I’ve never gone up the Slat’s four flights of stairs faster than I have when Jesper’s missing.

Kaz’s door, like always, was locked, and I wasn’t about to try and pick it, so I just banged on the door and yelled at him. All I said was, “Kaz, let me in or I’ll bomb the door down! It’s about Jesper!” and that seemed to do the trick. The door unlocked but didn’t open, and I took that as an invitation. When I walked in, Kaz was pulling a shirt on. I could see a second tattoo, on his bicep, above where the crow and cup is on his arm. I’m pretty sure it was a letter, but I wouldn’t know which one. Maybe when Jesper’s feeling better I’ll draw it for him and make him tell me. I don’t know why I’m talking about this—it isn’t relevant to the story. Anyway, like I said, Kaz let me in, and he didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow to tell me to talk. So, I told him. “I think Jesper’s relapsed again. He disappeared from the house before I woke up, and hasn’t come back since.” Kaz quickly finished getting dressed and simply said, “Follow me, merchling.” For once, I didn’t grumble at the nickname.

“Anika,” he called as we walked out the door. “If you find Jesper, bring him back here.” She gave a curt nod, and we left. We spent the whole day searching the Staves, every back-alley gambling den Kaz knew of. I was glad he came with me. He knows the secrets of the Barrel far better than I ever will. Plus, it made it easier to navigate the dangerous streets with Dirtyhands at my side. Nobody dared to give us a second look. It took hours before we found Jesper, and by that time it had already gotten dark, the last rays of sunset fading to deep blue. Once again, we found him in a dingy back-alley bar, this time at the tail end of West Stave, sitting at the card table playing Three Man Bramble. It smelled like smoke and cheap alcohol, and he looked like he hated himself. When he saw me, I smiled and waved gently. He tried to smile back, but it looked more like a grimace. Kaz said quietly, “You know your way home?” I nodded and he left the place, giving Jesper a nod of acknowledgement before leaving, sure to be itching to attend to other business. Still, he had taken the time to help me. That’s how we know he cares, in his own way. I sat at the bar and let Jesper finish his game, waiting patiently. We’ve found that it’s better to just let him decide when he's done. If we force him, then he’ll never actually get better.

Finally, he finished and joined me at the bar. “Hi, love,” I said to him, which is usually his line, but sometimes I use it when I think he needs to hear it. When he needs to hear that I still love him. Jesper looked miserable, but still said, “Hi.”

“Are you ready to go home?” I asked. Giving him the choice. He nodded, so we left together, ready to take the long walk home. I slipped my hand in his and rubbed my thumb gently across his fingers, then pulled his hand up so I could kiss the back of it. He’s a tactile person, so physical presence and affection is important to him. His free hand toyed with one of his guns, and he stayed silent until we left the Barrel. Then he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He kept repeating it until I stopped him.

There’s a phrase that we use, when one of us is feeling unlovable. We tell each other, “There is no part of you that is not worth loving.” It makes it easier, in times where we hate ourselves, to know that someone loves the parts of us we despise. When I can’t love myself, Jesper can love me, and when he can’t love himself, I can love him. One day, I hope we get to a place where we can each love ourselves, but for now, we’ll take the weight of our self-hatred off each other’s shoulders. He loves my inability to read, and my shame, and my trauma, and I love his grief, and his addiction, and his struggle to stay still. So, while we walked, I told him that. I said it over and over, “There is no part of you that is not worth loving.” And I told him, “I’m not mad at you.” Even when he protested that he lost so much money, I wasn’t mad. I’m not mad. Money can be remade, and even if it can’t, it’s still okay. He’s safe, and that’s what matters. 

[knock on door]

[door opens]

j: Wy?

w: Come here. It’s okay.

j: I’m sorry.

w: You don’t have to be sorry.

j: I was doing so good.

w: You were, darling, you were doing great.

j: So why’d it happen?

w: Sometimes, these things just do. It doesn’t mean your progress wasn’t real, alright? One relapse doesn’t discount that.

j: But what if it just gets worse from here? What if I don’t get any better?

w: Then I will be right here by your side, okay? I’m not going anywhere.

j: Okay.

w: [kisses]

[…]

Do you want to go sit on the couch? You can lay your head on my lap.

j: Yeah, that sounds good.

w: Okay, love.

[…]

I’ll never be mad at you for this, do you know that?

j: It feels hard to believe.

w: Maybe. But it doesn’t make it less true.

j: Yeah, I guess so.

w: There is no part of you that is not worth loving. I will love the parts of you that you think are the worst until you can hold them too. You aren’t alone in this.

j: Thank you for staying.

w: Always.

[…]

Would you like some tea? Okay, I’ll go get some. Be right back.

[ruslting]

[door closes]

[…]

j: (whispered) There is no part of me that is not worth loving.

[…]

[door opens]

w: Here you go.

j: Thank you.

w: Of course, darling. 

[sounds of clinked mugs, sighing, sniffling]

j: I just want to be better.

w: You’ll get there, I promise.

[…]

Are you ready to go to bed now?

j: Yeah.

w: Okay, let’s go then. We can leave the mugs here. It’s alright.

j: What did I do to deserve you?

w: You don’t have to do anything. Just be you. Everything is going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 2 bells chime, afternoon

j: I’ve been thinking about home. Not Novyi Zem. Well, yes, Novyi Zem, but I’ve been wondering what home is. Where home is.

I left the farm when I was fifteen. I’ve been here in Ketterdam ever since. Which place is home? Is the farm still home? Was it ever home, after Ma died? Did it cease to be home after I left? Is the farm only home because my parents are there?

Is Ketterdam home? If so, where? Is it the Slat? East Stave? The mansion? Is home wherever Wylan is? Where Inej is? Where Kaz is? 

Is home the sound of a gunshot or the feel of a kiss? Is it an open field or a driven canal? How will I know if I’m home? Will I ever feel like I’m home?

Marya painted a picture of me and Wylan. She gave it to us the other day. It’s gorgeous, it’s… it’s beautiful. She caught us in love. Fuck, I ache so badly. If home is where the heart is, then mine’s broken. My heart belongs to so many people but almost never to myself, and I don’t mind that. But it also means I have no home. And it makes me wonder if any of the people I love have my whole heart. Logically, I know that my love isn’t something to be split and shared, but it feels like shattered glass, and every shard I give to someone else cuts them. I’m afraid I’m going to kiss the palm of Wylan’s hand and find a scar there because he held his shard so tight. 

I don’t know how to give him the whole thing. I don’t know how to give him more parts of me without hurting him. Just because I’m a fabrikator doesn’t mean I know how to put things back together. I’m a shit fabrikator anyway. I don’t want to hurt him because I loved him too much.

[sniffs]

I don’t know how to love.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 3 bells chime, afternoon

w: For a long time, when we were settling in after the Ice Court heist, and the auction, and Matthias’ death, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. With Jesper, even. See, Jesper loves things that are big, and loud, and flashy and quick, and I’m none of those. Maybe my bombs can be, but they’re not me. There was so much life in front of us, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to love like that.

So often I’ve watched people love. I’ve spent my whole life observing others, and they’ve always seemed to understand something that I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what I was missing. It felt so easy for other people to fall in perfect love. I watched Nina and Matthias do it, after they learned to trust each other again. At least, that’s what it looked like. But me and Jesper, we were just broken. We were hesitant, to be real, to be deep, because how could we trust anyone with our deepest shame? Nobody else had dared to love our entireties, to love our messes and mistakes as much as the good parts. It wasn’t until I saw Jesper’s love that I realized.

Jesper may love things that are loud, or flashy, or big, but he doesn’t love like that. His love is quiet, it’s gentle. He loves me by reading, and he loves me by staying. His love is his hand tangled in my hair, and a kiss placed behind my ear. That’s the real Jesper. And when he started to love me like that, I knew it was safe for me to be, for us to be. That we could each see the other’s deepest and worst parts and love them. We love each other not despite our most hated selves, but with them.

Love is little and quiet, and love is life with people to share it with.

Chapter Text

A week later, 7 bells and half chime, morning

w: One of my favorite things to do with Jesper is dance. Especially late at night, or when it’s raining. There’s just something special about it. Generally, we pretend like there’s music playing, and sometimes there is if my mother plays the piano for us. The most important thing is that we’re spending time together. Sometimes it’s just the feeling of being in each other’s arms, the silent closeness that reminds us that we’re there together. I can feel his heartbeat under my hand and his breath on my neck, and I’m sure he can feel the same. And I rest my cheek on his, or my chin on his shoulder, and things are still. I mean, yes, we’re physically moving, but things are still. One of my favorite times was when it was snowing outside, and dark, and we danced in front of the fire. Or the time we went out and danced in the pouring rain. We were freezing afterwards, but it was totally worth it.

“What are you afraid is going to happen if you stop?” I asked Jesper that once. Maybe I was asking myself that, too. Maybe the answer is I was afraid of falling in love, not just with him, but with myself.

Oh, I just had an idea. I could use one of these recordings machines to capture music, then play it back when we want to dance. That’s a good plan, except I don’t want to mix it with these or the council recordings. Maybe I’ll make another one just for music. I mean, I’ve done it twice before, how hard could it be? 

Chapter Text

Two days later, 5 bells and quarter chime, evening

j: Oh! Sorry Wy, are you okay?

w: Yeah, I’m fine. Just bumped into the table.

j: Okay, good. Sorry, I should’ve been watching where I was going. I dropped something and was too focused on trying to pick it up.

w: You’re fine. What are you working on anyway?

j: Well, I’ve got a bunch of different materials and I’m trying to figure out which makes the best gunpowder. I’m trying to separate the raw elements from the rocks and things, but it’s really slow.

w: Huh. Anything interesting so far?

j: Not really. I’ve just been making piles.

w: Well, keep me updated then. 

j: Always.

[…]

j: I forgot to ask, what are you doing?

w: Trying to come up with a paint varnish that will better preserve the color of the painting. 

j: How’s it going?

w: I’m not quite sure yet. I’m still trying to figure out the ideal chemical composition.

j: (playfully) Well, you better keep me updated then.

w: [chuckles]

Always.

[…]

[clinking glass]

[…]

Oh, I don’t know how I forgot, but I need to talk about the Merchant Council meeting.

j: Go for it.

w: Okay, so. Ugh, I don’t even know where to start. These people just frustrate me to no end. 

j: Understandable.

w: [laughs]

Right? They just say stupid stuff all the time, about the Barrel, and the people in it, especially the people who have no choice there. People indentured, like Inej was. It’s horrible. Majority of the Merchant Council acts like anyone who works in the Barrel is less than human. The older ones especially are the worst. I don’t think any of them are directly involved in the slave trade, but they genuinely think that the kids that have been stolen and placed in the Barrel chose it, that they do the work because they want to, not because they’re forced to. And any time I point out that they’re wrong, they just shut me down. Say I’m too young, or that I don’t understand politics or violence. And I can’t tell them that I’ve lived in the Barrel, that I had the privilege to work a job that was considered honest work but was toxic and exploited my body all the same. I couldn’t see that while I was working there, but I see it now. I can’t tell them that I’ve killed people and seen people killed. I can’t tell them the horrors of the Barrel I’ve seen, and the others I’ve only imagined. I would tell Inej’s stories, but they’re not mine to tell, and I only know a fraction. I just—feel so frustrated there because it feels like I can’t speak, and when I do, my words don’t matter.

j: At least you’re saying something. That’s better than silence.

w: Yeah, I guess. I’ve long learned the importance of words. It doesn’t soften the blow that comes when you know nobody’s listening.

j: How do you know nobody’s listening? Maybe you just can’t see it.

w: (bitterly) I wish I could see it. Would make it easier.

j: It really would, wouldn’t it? Still, one day it might surprise you. You might get to a meeting and find someone takes your side.

w: That would be nice. I can’t be the only fucking person actually doing shit.

j: [laughs]

No, you can’t.

[…]

Wait, do they ever talk about Kaz?

w: Oh, yeah. All the time. Pretty much any time the Barrel comes up, it’s ‘Kaz Brekker’ this, and ‘Kaz Brekker’ that. Radmakker calls him a degenerate, which is funny, considering the act Kaz put on at Kuwei’s auction. But then again, it’s been a long time since then. Kaz has done some things that are bound to change their opinions.

j: [snickers]

That’s for sure. What about Inej?

w: They talk about her, too, just not as often. Sometimes I think Karl Dryden is on her side, he’s just too timid to actually speak up about it. I can see it in his eyes, though. Honestly, talks about the slave industry and Inej’s work are the best way to root out councilmen that have potential ties to the slave trade. They bring up the “issue” of her, and whichever ones think that she needs to be stopped are generally the ones profiting.

j: Do they ever talk about the fact that she’s at the house? And wouldn’t that change the way they talk about her while you’re there?

w: Yeah, you’d think so, but no. Sometimes they’ll bring up the fact that she comes over, and I’m honest about our friendship, but then defend myself by saying that I never share the details of these meetings with her. All I have to do is spout some bullshit about separating work from personal, and bring up the fact that I don’t take notes. Meanwhile, I have a recording device in my pocket. They’re old enough to think that people are honest, and even if they think I’m sharing stuff with her, they don’t care. They have their own secrets to tend to anyway. Just like everyone else, they underestimate her. And me, for that matter. What can a couple of nineteen-year-olds do that’ll harm the Council? They make the same mistake my father did by thinking they’re untouchable. Joke’s on them, really.

And I think it’s so funny how every time someone gets exposed by her, they don’t bother to think I had anything to do with it. To them, the Van Eck name stands true, and I get to rat their ugly asses out.

j: [laughs loudly]

You have too much fun with this. 

w: Well, I’ve got to. This is the only thing that makes being on the Council worth it.

j: (mutters) Isn’t that the truth.

w: Anyway, that’s about it for the rant. Thanks for listening.

j: Always. 

[…]

[clinking glass]

[knob squeaking]

[whoosh of flame]

[clinking glass]

[…]

[thud on table]

j: Oops, dropped a rock.

[…]

w: [humming]

[knob squeaking]

[humming]

j: Hey, wait, I know that song. It’s the one I sang to you while you were sick.

w: Is it? I couldn’t remember. 

j: Yeah. Do you want to learn the words?

w: Of course.

j: Okay, first line: (in Zemeni) You are my sunshine.

w: (in Zemeni) You are my sunshine.

j: Good! Next line: (in Zemeni) My only sunshine.

w: (in Zemeni) My only sunshine.

j: Very nice. (in Zemeni) You make me happy…

w: (in Zemeni) You make me happy…

j: (in Zemeni) When skies are gray.

w: (in Zemeni) When skies are gray.

j: (in Zemeni) You’ll never know, dear…

w: (in Zemeni) You’ll never know, dear…

j: (in Zemeni) How much I love you.

w: (in Zemeni) How much I love you.

j: (in Zemeni) Please don’t take my sunshine away.

w: (in Zemeni) Please don’t take my sunshine away.

j: Yeah, just like that. Do you think you can put it together?

w: I think so.

(in Zemeni) (sang) You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.

j: (slightly choked up) Perfect.

w: Great.

[humming]

(in Zemeni) (sang quietly) You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.

[humming]

[clinking glass]

[…]

Mm, not quite.

[clinking glass]

[humming]

[…]

j: I think I’m going to be done. There’s only so much separation of materials one can take in a day.

w: Alright.

j: What about you, are you almost done?

w: For today, yeah. I don’t think I’ve gotten close to figuring out the formula, though.

j: That’s fine. At the very least, you’ve figured out a few ways of how not to make the formula.

w: That’s very true. 

j: I’m going to go wash my hands. I’ll see you in a minute.

w: Okay. You look gorgeous, by the way.

j: [chuckles]

I always look gorgeous. 

w: This isn’t your usual gorgeous. You’re beautiful in the way you get only after you’ve been fabrikating. 

j: Oh. I’m sure that’s not real.

w: I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it. 

j: I guess.

[kisses]

j: Hey, was this always supposed to be on?

w: No. I guess I must’ve hit it when I fell against the table after you bumped me.

j: Huh. This is the button to turn it off, right?

w: Yeah. That was wei—

Chapter Text

A week later, late winter, 9 bells and three-quarters chime, evening

w: I’ve been thinking about how Jesper and I both have our fathers’ eyes. Most of us belongs to our mothers, but we have our fathers’ eyes. I wonder why that is. Is there some sort of reminder to be had there, or a reinvention? Inej remarked to me once about how she could never see my kindness in my father’s eyes. I’m wondering what Jesper’s eyes have that his father’s don’t. Maybe it’s about the way that they love. Colm is steady and certain; his eyes carry the warmth of sunlit stone. Jesper’s are more like a flash of lightning, spontaneous, and brilliantly warm and bright. 

Maybe we love more like our mothers, and that’s what changes our fathers’ eyes. Maybe that’s what makes them our own. I don’t know too much about Jesper’s mother, but from what he’s told me, she was just like him. Endless energy, endless love. He is his mother’s son. I am my mother’s son. Our fathers’ eyes are transformed by the way our mothers loved us. By the way we love each other.

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, 10 bells chime, morning

j: Wylan got us oranges. Fucking oranges. Holy shit, are they good. Citrus doesn’t grow great in Kerch. It’s humid, but the wrong kind of humid. It’s too cold for citrus to grow properly. But all sorts of stuff grows in the Southern Colonies. He also got mangoes and pineapples. Oh, they’re all so delicious. Saints, I love being rich sometimes.

Oh! And I almost forgot, my favorite part of all. The juice. We squeezed the juice out of the oranges and fucking drank it. Oh, in the name of all the Saints, that was the best damn beverage I’ve ever had.

What a morning this has been. I think I probably ate an entire mango by myself. And my tongue stings from eating too much pineapple. It’s kind of rude that it does that, if you ask me. It’s like the fruit is trying to eat you back. It was worth it, though. So good.

See, this is why I’m really with Wylan. Cause he buys me exotic fruit. That’s a joke, obviously. I’d stay with Wylan no matter how much money we had and no matter where we lived. But seriously. Get yourself a man that buys you exotic fruit. And then kiss him when he splits his orange with you.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, 2 bells chime, nighttime

w: Sometimes I feel like my body isn’t entirely my own. The way it feels is so distant from how I think it should. From how I think it feels. There are moments where I’m tethered to my body like a kite—trying to escape with the wind, but unable to be truly blown away. Instead I’m pulled tight, I’m pulled taut, and I’m so intently aware of every shift in motion. The motion sickness makes me want to vomit. I did, once, actually. I was so disgusted with myself that I had a physical reaction.

It can be a mixed bag, when Jesper touches me. Most days, I’m fine with myself. Nothing’s wrong. But there’s other days when his fingertips make me vanish. I hate it. I want nothing more than to stay within myself, to be myself. Yeah, I don’t know who that is.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, beginning of spring, 8 bells chime, evening

w: Inej is back! Finally! I gave her my drawing, which she seemed grateful for. I’ve missed her. She’s a grounding presence. I feel like all of us—me, Jesper, Kaz—feel more solid when she’s here. We’re more intentional in the way we exist. She keeps us together in a way that we can’t maintain on our own.

She asked me how Jes and I are doing, and I said, “Good.” Mostly out of habit, I suppose. It’s not like we haven’t been through a bit of a rough time lately. There have been ups and downs. She asked me if I was sure. And of course, I’m not sure. Ever since Jes relapsed, it feels like he’s been more distant. Just, subtly. There are moments I reach for his hand and he startles, like he was caught up in his own thoughts. I almost think he may be punishing himself for letting his progress take a step back. The fruit seemed to bring him back to normal, a bit. Whatever ‘normal’ is. Maybe I should just talk to him. Maybe I should have done that when I first noticed. If I was to tell him that, would he know I’m not perfect either? That I put off caring for someone I love, someone I know is hurting all for the sake of not having to address our discomfort? I should have talked to him a long time ago.

Chapter Text

The next day, 2 bells chime, afternoon

j: See, look! Anything we’re saying is now on record.

i: How do you know? There’s nothing to look at.

j: That’s a good question. I don’t actually know. I just hope it’s recording and talk to myself.

i: [laughs]

j: I’m glad you’re back, ‘Nej.

i: Me too.

Jes, can I ask you a question?

j: Of course, love.

i: Are you and Wylan doing okay? And are you doing okay?

j: [sighs]

We had a talk last night. I don’t know if Wylan told you, but I relapsed a couple months back. It’s so fucking stupid. I was doing so good. I hadn’t gone to the tables in nearly half a year. Even a few nights before, I had said I was going to come here and talk instead. And then I didn’t. And I guess I’ve been punishing myself ever since. At least, that’s what Wylan said. I guess it’s true.

i: You know it’s okay, right? To not be healed?

[chuckles]

I’m certainly not.

j: Yeah. I think so.

i: Doesn’t sound like you believe it.

j: No, it really doesn’t, does it?

i: Here, give me your hands. Now I want you to say it. “It’s okay.”

j: It’s okay.

i: Believe it, Fahey.

j: It’s okay.

i: It’s okay.

j: It’s okay.

i: Better.

j: I feel bad for distancing myself from Wylan. Though I didn’t mean to, I was punishing him, too. He didn’t deserve that.

i: No, he didn’t. But you didn’t deserve to be punished either.

j: Wylan’s never punished me for my problems.

i: Who has?

j: [snorts]

Kaz.

i: Okay, aside from Kaz.

j: I guess just myself.

i: If it were Wylan struggling, would you punish him or help him?

j: Help him.

i: So why don’t you do the same for yourself?

j: Because I don’t deserve it?

i: Says who?

j: Me.

i: I promise you that you deserve everything you have and more. You don’t have to be perfect to deserve what you have. You’re trying, Jesper. That’s all we could ever ask of you. I’m proud of you, you know.

j: I’m proud of you, too. And I want to figure out how to make amends with Wylan. For pushing him away when he wanted to help. 

i: “Mati en sheva yelu.”

j: “This action will have no echo.”

i: Exactly. While you’re at it, I want you to figure out how to forgive yourself. Make amends with yourself, too. Can you do that for me?

j: I can try.

i: And that’s all I could ever want.

j: Thanks, Inej.

i: I’m always here for you, you know that?

j: I do.

i: Good.

j: Do you and Kaz want to stay here tonight?

i: Are you sure?

j: Of course. Your bedroom is always there for you.

i: I’ll ask him. Even if he doesn’t want to, I’ll stay here tonight.

j: I’m sure he’ll say yes.

i: How do you know?

j: Because he’s slept here before. It’s not often, but sometimes he’ll crash in a spare room. Occasionally we can get him to stay for a meal. Sometimes he’s gone before the sun rises. Sometimes he sleeps in the afternoon and leaves before the sun sets. But he stays. And that’s enough.

i: Huh.

j: Plus you’re here.

i: Plus I’m here.

[…]

i: Oh, we forgot to turn off Wylan’s device. Everything we’ve said has been caught.

j: That’s okay. Leave it there. One day we can listen back and I can hear myself say on record that I love you. I can hear you help me heal, and one day I will listen to this and be able to see the progress I’ve made. This is physical proof of my journey. It’s okay.

i: Alright. I love you too, Jes.

Chapter Text

The same day, 11 bells chime, nighttime

k: [faint snoring]

w+j: [soft giggles]

w: (whispered) I have never heard Kaz snore. Ever.

j: (whispered) Guarantee it’s because Inej is here. He’s actually sleeping deeply for once. All the Saints and their mothers. Kaz feels safe.

w: (whispered) Shit, what if he finds this recording?

j: (whispered) Well, in that case I’d better carry my guns with me everywhere.

w: (whispered) You already do that.

j: (whispered) Well, then what do we have to lose?

k: [faint snoring]

w+j: [giggles]

Chapter Text

A few days later, 5 bells and quarter chime, evening

w: For some reason, Alys thinks it’s a good idea to periodically bring Plumje to our house. And then leave. Without her. I think she thinks we're much older than we actually are, and that we know how to take care of a child. Never mind that I’ve never had a sibling until now, and Jesper’s never had one. We have no idea what we’re doing. It’s a good thing my mother lives here.

The first time it happened though, my mother was out of the house. It was a random afternoon, and she had gone out on one of the canals. We had no idea when she’d be back. I made Jesper go get Kaz. I panicked, okay? Logically, I know that Kaz Brekker is not the person you want around a baby. But he was the only person I could think of that was within reach. And for some reason, Jesper agreed, and left to go get him. Which meant I was left with a baby. Who is technically my half-sister. When Jesper came back with Kaz (I’m still not entirely sure how Jes persuaded him to come), the first thing Kaz said was, “What the fuck do you think I’m going to help in this situation?” And it kind of sunk in how stupid it was to go get him. He kept going, “I’m not holding that fucking baby. I’ll drop it.” So yeah, we’ve never brought Kaz around to babysit again.

Today, Inej got the pleasure of surprise babysitting with us. I’m sure she definitely wasn’t expecting that, nor were we for that matter, but at least we’ve done it before. Inej has never had a sibling either. So, really, we are the most ill-equipped people we know to help take care of a small child. But we do our best, I suppose.

Chapter Text

A week later, 9 bells chime, evening

j: Okay, so. Inej has is showing us how she’s been experimenting with makeup while she’s been out at sea. For fun, and to reclaim something that the Menagerie had used to control her. But anyway, she’s been lining her eyes with dark kohl. And she looks gorgeous, I will not lie. But then she put some on Wylan. And if I may, I don’t think her Saints, or any religious deity for that matter—Djel, Ghezen, you name it—would find the thoughts I was having appropriate. I’m just saying. I’ve never had great luck at the tables, but maybe I was saving all that luck for now, because I don’t see how I’d get to date the most beautiful boy on earth without it. If Inej hadn’t been in the room, I would have kissed him much dirtier than I did. And may or may not have used some language that I don’t think she (or her Saints) would want to hear. And might have done some things that they wouldn’t want to see, either. He's literally the most gorgeous person I have ever seen. 

She also put some on me, with permission, of course, and while I did like it, I don’t think it had enough pop to it. I might just have to steal some and mess around with the color a bit. If there’s something positive I can get out of being a fabrikator, it’s that I can do shit like this. Maybe I’ll try some yellow first. I think Wylan would look good in blue. It’d make his eyes stand out. Oh, Inej is going to regret that she ever did this in the first place.

I’m going to go find Wylan. I need to kiss him again. He’s too beautiful not to.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 4 bells chime, morning

k: Taking Jesper and Inej on a job. Will be back by early afternoon at the latest. Didn’t need demo so I didn’t bother telling you. You’ll get details when we get back.

Chapter Text

The same day, 10 bells chime, morning

w: I woke up alone again this morning. Before I could start panicking that Jes had relapsed again, I saw a big piece of paper directly in front of the bed. On the paper, an arrow had been drawn towards the doorway. So, naturally, I followed it. Outside of the doorway there was another, pointing down the stairs. The trail of arrows led here, to the recording machine, with a rounded arrow pointing backwards to tell me to play back the latest recording. It was a message from Kaz, telling me that he had taken Jesper and Inej on a job. What was the job? Don’t know. All I know is they’ll be back by early afternoon at the latest. Which is more than a little annoying, but this is always how Kaz operates. I genuinely think that he doesn’t tell me before taking Jesper because he knows I won’t let him.

Guess it’s just a waiting game from here on out…

j: (yelling) Wylan! Where’s your bandage kit? Actually, where are you?

w: Shit. Well, nevermind.

(yelling) I’m in the workroom.

[drawers open and shut]

[door opens]

k: [heavy breathing]

w: What the hell happened?

j: Slight knife wound. He’s okay.

w: He doesn’t look okay. Here’s the bandages. Let me go get some water and towels.

[quick footsteps]

j: Well, that could’ve been worse, am I right?

k+i: ( in unison ) Shut up, Jesper.

w: Here. Use these to clean it. And somebody please tell me how Kaz got a knife wound.

i: The job went slightly wrong. Someone got a good knife throw off at his back. Unfortunately for that person, I’m a slight bit better with knives than they’ll ever be. They won’t be bothering us again.

w: And what was the job, might I ask? I think I have a right to know.

k: Some skivs have been trying to make a territory grab from the Dregs. They’re not even an official gang, just some ragtag group making a poor effort to create a name in the Barrel. 

w: So you figured you’d pay them a visit, did you? What the hell did you need Jesper for?

k: In case things got ugly.

w: Right. And you didn’t think you’d need demo for that?

k: Nope.

w: [sighs]

i: Kaz, I think this might need stitches.

k: (quietly) Can you do it?

i: Yes.

w: Jesper, come here.

(softly) You’re okay?

j: Yeah, I’m okay.

w: Alright. Alright.

[…]

w: I just can’t bear the thought of losing you.

j: [sharp inhale]

w: You good?

j: Yes. Yeah. I’m good.

w: Okay.

[kisses]

w: I should clean up.

j: I’ll help.

w: Inej, are you done with the towels?

i: Most of them. Will you leave one and some water?

w: Yeah.

k: Thank you.

Chapter Text

The same day, 6 bells chime, evening

j: Earlier, Wylan said something to me. He said, “I just can’t bear the thought of losing you.” I was hit with a memory so hard it hurt. I remember being a little kid, back when Ma was still alive, hearing Da say the exact same thing. There was so much love in his voice, and care, and even fear. There was a tangible strand in the emotion of that sentence, a threadbare line of steel. And below it lay the anguish that would arise when she was gone.

I don’t… I don’t want to make Wylan feel the way Da did after Ma died. He’s experienced enough grief. I want to be here with him. And don’t get me wrong, I love doing jobs for Kaz still, when I can. But at some point, I’m going to have to choose between my love of risk and my love for Wylan. And I think I know which one I’ll choose.

Chapter Text

A few days later, mid spring, 7 bells and quarter chime, morning

j: I fell asleep with my cheek on the palm of Wylan’s hand. And I woke up not knowing if he was alive. When Ma died, I fell asleep like that. I’ve never really thought anything of it, until now. Until I did the same thing, resting my head on the hand of someone I love, trusting them to hold me while I slept. Until I woke up quietly, then gasping, unsure if Wylan was still breathing for a paralyzing, panicked second. I saw his chest rise and fall, and then he woke up slowly, and even then, I had to convince myself that he was still alive. I kissed his forehead, and his cheek, and his mouth, and his neck, and I could feel his pulse and his breath and finally could relax again. I didn’t realize I still carried the details of Ma’s death with me like that. My body remembered, even if my brain had forgotten. There are things best left behind that haunt me still.

Chapter Text

The next day, 4 bells and half chime, afternoon

w: Painting today! Normally I wouldn’t do it in here, but I wanted to paint the scene of our messy workroom. It’s weird, I know. But there’s something so wonderful to me about our mess. It’s a still-life capture of us. So, here I am, talking and painting. Though if I get too focused, I may just stop talking. 

Kaz and Inej are out doing something on her ship, I guess. I didn’t hear all the details. It’s been nice to have Inej back. I’ve shared the Merchant Council meeting recordings with her and we’re going to spend some time breaking them down, figuring out if there’s any information to be had. I’m sure there is, but it’s been so long that I can’t remember it all. It’ll take awhile to listen to them all, but we’ve got time. Spending time with her feels nice after so much time apart, no matter what we’re doing.

[grumbles]

I just realized I’m going to have to paint a lot of glass. That’s annoying. Oh, well. This’ll probably be a multi-day project.

[…]

[pop]

w: Fuck. The paint tube was blocked up and I squeezed it too hard and it exploded. And now there’s yellow paint all over my hand. But it’s not dripping or anything, so I might just leave it be. I don’t really want to go wash and have my paint dry. Okay, it’s decided. I’m just going to leave it.

[…]

[humming]

[door opens]

j: Hello, gorgeous.

w: Hi, Jes.

j: There’s paint all over your hand.

w: Yeah, I squeezed the tube a little too hard… Why are you holding my hand? Now you have paint all over your hand.

j: Only a little.

w: Wait, no, Jesper, don’t—

[sighs]

(fondly) Idiot.

j: What?

w: Now my fingerprints are on your lips. 

j: Okay, and? What if I want them there?

w: You don’t.

j: How do you know?

w: I don’t, I just know you’re going to forget you did that and then end up licking the paint off your lips. Please don’t do that.

j: You know you have paint on your lips too, right?

w: No.

j: It’s true. And since we both have paint on our lips, it doesn’t matter if we kiss. 

w: I’m not kissing you until neither of us have paint on our lips.

j: Okay, well at least give me your other hand.

w: Why?

j: So I can kiss the back of it.

w: Fine.

j: [kisses]

There you go.

w: You know, if you wanted to kiss my hands, you could’ve done it when I wasn’t covered in paint.

j: Oh, I still will. Just wait and see.

w: Go wash your lips first. And your hand.

j: Aye-aye, captain.

[door closes]

w: Dammit. I might have to go wash my hand so he doesn’t immediately come back and do it again. And I really want to know if I actually have paint on my lips. Guess I might be done for today. At the very least, I’m going to be done recording. And then Jesper can have my fingerprints on his lips without getting paint on them as well.

Chapter Text

A week later, 1 bell and three-quarters chime, afternoon

w: We always make fun of Kaz for his scheming face, but I don’t think Jesper realizes he has one too. He gets the faraway look in his eyes when he thinks of a particularly funny prank or when he’s trying to think of something to say. Sometimes when he’s drunk he sits there thinking really hard about something super simple, and then imitates Kaz. He’ll do the whole thing, from the distant look to the head tilt, even the slight smile when things start to click into place. And then he wonders why I burst out laughing.

Unfortunately, I have a scheming face too. I’ll admit it, at least. Jesper and Inej have accused me of it too many times not to. Though I hate to allow the idea that I’m like Kaz, I guess there’s worse aspects of Kaz’s personality to mirror. Like being a murderer.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 7 bells chime, evening

w: Over the past couple of years, Inej has helped me to be more… visible, if that makes sense. It’s just that she knows what it’s like to vanish within a memory, to vanish from perception, to vanish from herself. She knows what it means to take a stand in your humanity, to not allow the world to shame you into disappearance. I remember Kaz telling me, “It’s shame that eats men whole.” And it’s true. That shame isn’t an inherent part of us. It’s taught, it’s learned. And Inej has taught me that my presence isn’t something to be ashamed of. I am nothing to be ashamed of. Just thought I should say that out loud.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 4 bells and three-quarters chime, afternoon

j: Okay, fabrikating time.

(sarcastically) Yay.

[…]

I don’t really know what I’m doing. I mean, I do, but I don’t. That doesn’t make any sense. What I’m saying is that I don’t have a specific goal in mind. I’m just trying to practice. There’s a lot of various objects in front of me, and I’m going to do stuff with them. What is stuff? Couldn’t tell you.

I guess I’ll start with the piece of glass? Yeah, why not?

I’m not sure why I’m recording this either. Maybe it’s just a way to hold myself accountable? To make myself actually practice?

Okay, well. Scientific findings. The glass is made of glass. Wow. I can make the edges smoother. That’s something, I suppose.

[…]

Well, the sharp glass is now smooth. And I’m sweaty. I guess I can try to bleed the color out of fabric next. Or should I try to bleed some color into it? Wait, Wylan left some white paint in here. I could try and get the color from the cloth to the paint. That’s a good goal. If I get good enough at this, I could make Wylan custom-colored paints. That would be nice. I can practice this for him, then. That’s more motivation than practice for myself will ever be.

[…]

(muttered) Green… from here… into here…

Okay, that’s not too bad. Could be worse. Not the most vivid shade of green ever, nor is it the most even, but that was good for a first try. I wonder if I could do more?

[…]

[door opens]

w: Jesper.

j: [jostles]

[smash]

w: [sharp inhale]

j: Shit, there goes my tea. I broke another mug, I’m sorry, I— Wylan? Wy? Hey, come here, it’s okay.

Here, let me hold your hands. It’s okay, you’re safe. It’s just me. Can you breathe with me?

w+j: [deep inhale]

j: There we go. Now out.

w+j: [deep exhale]

j: You’re okay. You’re safe.

w: (mumbled) Sorry. I froze again.

j: It’s alright, Wy.

w: Yeah. It’s just that he used to smash things if he got mad.

j: I know, love, you’ve told me. But he’s not here to get mad at you anymore.

w: Okay. I’m sorry.

j: Remember, no apologizing for the things he did to you.

w: Right. Sorry.

j: [chuckles]

Now you’re apologizing for apologizing. I suppose that’s some sort of improvement. I’ll go fix the mug.

w: Jesper, you don’t have to.

j: I know. I want to.

w: Okay. Do you want more tea?

j: Only if you want some, too.

w: I always want tea.

j: Not true. Sometimes you want coffee.

w: [scoffs playfully]

Whatever. I’ll go get the tea.

j: Wylan?

w: Yeah?

j: I love you.

w: I love you too.

[door closes]

j: Well, at least I’m getting more fabrikating practice. Is there something to learn from here, repairing the broken mug, the sound that hurt Wylan? Some sort of healing lesson? Or am I just speculating? Either way, I’m going to do my best to make sure this never happens again. How, I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 5 bells chime, afternoon

j: There’s a little window nook on the third floor, in one of the spare rooms. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite places to sit with Wylan. It overlooks the street below, and we have a clear view of the sunset from the window. We sit there when we read for fun, bringing a blanket with us. Wylan will lay against my chest while I lean against the wall, or sometimes we’ll lay down, me on my back and him on top of me. I love that something that used to cause Wylan so much shame is now a place of comfort and joy and love. It’s no longer uncomfortable for him to ask me to read him a story, nor is it uncomfortable for me to do it. I love doing it. It draws us together in a way we wouldn’t be otherwise. I don’t know how to explain it entirely. But at some point, reading was no longer a burden on either of us, and it became an act we love.

Chapter Text

Two and a half weeks later, 3 bells chime, nighttime

w: Sometimes when I’m feeling particularly bad, I scratch my hands. Or my forearms. I don’t like doing it. But in these instances, a physical need arises, a need for a pain that isn’t just inside my head. When I was younger, I thought about using a knife. I had already known what it was to be hurt—my father taught me that. But I was never strong enough to do it. Or maybe it was strength that kept me from doing it in the first place. I’ll never know which. I don’t like to scratch, though. Sometimes Jesper catches me doing it and holds my hands so I can’t. Or he’ll gently rub him palms up and down my arms. When he’s not there I either keep going or I grab some paint or a pen. If I manage to get art supplies, I draw on my arms instead. Though I wonder how much difference the scratch of a pen makes versus the scrape of my fingernails. The paint is better, until it dries and flakes and then I scratch again. One time Jesper let me paint colors in his tattoo. And then when I started to flake my own paint off, he took me gently by the hand and helped me wash off. And then he held me until I was better. Well, until I fell asleep at least.

What I’m saying is that I’m just as broken as Jes thinks he is. Years have passed and my bad habits still follow me. I desperately wish I didn’t do this. I don’t want to start scratching myself when I get stressed or frustrated. Or sad. I don’t want to say it, but I miss my father. From before. The kind father, the loving one. But then I remember he was the one that taught me how to feel pain and I get distressed all over again. I just wish I could stop.

Chapter Text

A week later, late spring, 2 bells chime, nighttime

j: I’m twenty-one. Isn’t that odd?

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, 3 bells and half chime, afternoon

j: Inej is going to take us to Novyi Zem to see Da. I still don’t know if Kaz is coming with us. I need to—

[sighs]

I owe Da an apology. I owe him a lot of them. For everything, I think. I’ve never… I’ve never been good at apologizing. Not because I don’t want to apologize but because whenever I tried the words got stuck in my throat. They slid back down, sticky and thick, and I resented myself for never being able to make amends the way I meant to. I’m the common denominator in all my relationships that fail, me and my lack of apologies. The apologies that clog up my mouth and travel to my brain where they rattle around, a backlog so deep they could never begin to unravel in my lifetime. I wish I could just cut them in half, cut them away. Prune my apologies like a tree. I just wish I had the courage to say them in the first place.

Chapter Text

A week later, beginning of summer, 10 bells chime, morning

j: Going to Novyi Zem again today. It aches this time, more than usual. And I’m thinking, though I’m not at the age yet, what emotion will I drown in when I go back home one day and am older than my mother?

Chapter Text

Two months later, late summer, 9 bells chime, evening

w: We’re back from Novyi Zem. I think next time we should go in the wintertime, to escape the Ketterdam cold. Then maybe it wouldn’t be so damn hot, either. Jesper was fine with it. I suppose he had no choice but to get used to it as a kid. Novyi Zem was home for him far before Ketterdam ever was. Inej fared alright. Her days out at sea and in different climates have made her adaptable to the weather. I never seem to get used to the heat, no matter how many times we visit. I burn in the sun. So does my mother, though she handles it better than I do. I think the funniest thing was that we brought Kaz with us this time. Or maybe he just went because Inej was going, but still. The Bastard of the Barrel, in his black suits, thrust into Novyi Zem summer? Amusing, to say the least. It was weird to see him away from Ketterdam for a reason that wasn’t a job. He was away from everything he knows. A couple of times I found him in the barn, gloves off, stroking a horse’s muzzle. There was a comfortable familiarity to his actions, as if he’d done it before. It makes me think Kaz knew farms before he knew the Barrel, knew the velvet of a horse’s coat before he knew the sharp edge of a knife. I wish we knew more about him. But it’ll take years before we get to that point, if we ever do. He is still Kaz, after all.

Jesper seemed sad again this year. He always does, when we talk about or visit where he grew up. What is a home for if not to bear your grief? Home is a living graveyard.

He called me home, once. Said my eyes were the same color as the Novyi Zem sky, the same color as home. Then he kissed my cheek gently, almost as if were he to do it any harder, he would have shattered.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 10 bells chime, evening

w: I’ve been thinking about my own guilt lately. I feel guilty about the horrible things my father did. To me, to my mother. A part of me still thinks I’m the one who created his monster. I know my inability to read is out of my control. At least, I know that now. Even still, I feel guilty for being the reason for so many people’s sufferings. Mine. My mother’s. Kuwei’s. Inej’s. Matthias’s. Nina’s. If it weren’t for my father, Matthias might still be here. And yet, if it weren’t for my father, I might not have ever met him. Or Kaz, or Inej, or Jesper, or Nina. I definitely wouldn’t have met Kuwei. Or maybe I would have, who knows? The things I’ve lived through, the people I’ve found—they’re because of the actions my father took, the actions I feel guilty for. I don’t think I’d trade my life for the ability to be a perfect son. For the ability to read. I’d like for my guilt to go away, though. I’m going to work on it. My life is not my fault. One day, I’ll be able to condemn my father fully. Hopefully.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 8 bells and half chime, evening

j: I’ve figured out how to make sure I never smash a mug again. And here begins day one of fabrikator training: catch edition.

I’m going to learn how to stop different materials in midair, so things never hit the ground and smash. This project is sure to take a long time, and I hope to document everything here. First thing I’m going to do is start working with materials I’m familiar with—metal, wax, fine powders. I’ll start with small pieces, working my way up to more difficult materials and larger sizes. Then I’ll be able to catch the mug before it hits the ground next time. That’s the goal, at least.

Today I have some wax and gunpowder. I’ve levitated powders before—I did it on Black Veil with Kuwei and Matthias—but it’s not something I’ve done much since then. And I’m going to try and levitate a very, very small piece of wax, just to see if it’s something I can do. If it is, I’ll try bigger pieces. 

So here goes.

[light whoosh]

Gunpowder is in the air. Oh, and some of it is falling down. Okay, so talking makes me lose my concentration. Good to know. And that made me more tired than I thought it would. Wow. I think I’ll use it as a warmup from now on. Okay, wax time. 

[…]

Well, the wax is slightly deformed. It looks like a mushroom. Apparently, my attempts to push it up just pushed it from the bottom and inverted it. This is going to be more difficult than I thought if I have to take hold of nearly every individual particle and hold it up equally. Damn. Not giving up though. This is for Wylan, not for me. He deserves a home safe from his father, from memories of his father. For once, my fabrikator skills are a gift, not a curse.

Chapter Text

A week later, 10 bells and half chime, evening

w: I turned twenty today. Isn’t it weird?

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, beginning of autumn, 11 bells chime, nighttime

w: Tonight is the last night before Inej leaves again. I’m going to miss her. Again. She and Kaz are upstairs in her bedroom. It’s never really been a ‘spare’ bedroom. It’s been hers ever since we moved in.

We all sat around a sitting room with drinks, trying to pretend we weren’t saying goodbye. Inej sat on the floor in front of Kaz’s chair and he took his gloves off and braided her hair. When Kaz’s hands aren’t hidden by gloves, they operate as if what they’re doing is the only thing they were made for. And tonight, his hands were made for Inej. 

She’s been back for a while, and I understand why she has to go, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 11 bells chime, nighttime

j: I wish Inej were here. I need her to put some knives in the Merchant Council. They don’t like me, and I don’t like them either. I know what they say about me when I vanish around a corner. I know what they think when their eyes rove over my clothes, over the full length of my tall body. I know the disgust in their eyes intimately. They leave our house, our home , and I swear I can hear the whispers of my degeneracy follow them out the door. They hate me, despise me, and they don’t hide it. I disgust them. An immigrant boy, a boy from the Barrel, a boy from a gang, a foreigner, a criminal.

The color of my skin is a flag planted in my home. My clothes are a banner of war. My tattoo means I survived. These men, who have never worked for something a day in their lives, are disgusted by my humanity. 

It’s so exhausting, to pretend like they don’t stare at me with contempt in their eyes, for the Zemeni boy who fell in love with Wylan Van Eck. It makes me want to scream until my throat is raw. It makes me want to kiss Wylan harder. It makes me want to shoot somebody. It makes me want to shoot myself.

They are not the ones to dictate how I live my life. But even if I obeyed their every wish and whim and expectation, they would still hate me for who I am. I refuse to compromise myself to make who they think I am more palatable. It would never work, and I would always be the one to suffer.

I hope that one day they receive the stares they give me. I hope they know, in every part of their body, disgust from a stranger who thinks they’re superior. I hope they hear the whispers follow them out the door, down the street, and into bed. I hope that they feel shame about who they are. I hope that shame cuts them like a knife.

I need to tell Wylan all of this. He needs to know, if he doesn’t already, the purest form of hate the Merchant Council holds for me. He needs to know that they think I corrupted him, that they think I’m only in it for the money. He needs to know the things they whisper about me. About us. He needs to know.

They despise me.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 1 bell chime, afternoon

w: I wish Inej hadn’t left here so early. I need her to put holes in some of the Merchant Council members. They’ve been trying, lately, to reform existing immigrant policies. For worse, not better. As if things aren’t already bad enough in this fucking city. As if they aren’t just trying to further restrict immigrant opportunities to indentures they will never be able to escape. If I didn’t have to remain ‘calm and civil’ at these meetings, I would be screaming. I can’t let them do this. I’m fighting back with every breath that I have. I’m going to get Kaz involved. I’m going to let him break into all the merchers’ houses. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll let him do a little bit more. Since Inej isn’t here to fight with us, we’ll get creative. Maybe plant a bomb or two. Who knows? Might let Jesper shoot them.

Jesper told me a couple of weeks ago about the things the Merchant Council feel and do about him. I’ve been kicking myself for not noticing. I mean, I’ve always known there was some feelings derision towards Jesper among the Council members, but I never knew the extent. I’ve heard them talk about us before, when they don’t think I’m in hearing range. They call Jes ‘the Zemeni boy’ and me ‘the Van Eck boy’. They refuse to use our actual names. Always, we’re boys, because if we’re allowed to be men, it means we know things. It means we have some experience, some merit, some power. I’m only allowed to exist in relation to my father. Jesper’s only allowed to exist as a foreigner. I hate myself for not seeing beforehand the extent of their hate for him. I want them to know the same hate.

I told Jesper to tell me everything from now on. I know I’m not going to see it all, even if I’m more aware now. I want him to tell me every word he hears, every feeling that runs through him, every glance he receives, every rumor that spreads. I can’t leave him to bear this hate alone. If I did, then that would mean I don’t love him at all.

Chapter Text

A week later, 2 bells and quarter chime, nighttime

w: Lately, I’ve been wondering about God. Religion. Whether or not there is a God. Who that God is. If there’s multiple Gods. I was raised to believe in Ghezen, but now I’m mostly sure that Ghezen is a scapegoat to bear the sins of greed. If there is a God, what is he, or she, like? Does this God like themself? Who are they when nobody’s praying to them? Maybe they don’t ever need to know because there’s no shortage of futile prayer. They are who we say they are.

I wonder if Inej’s Saints are real. Maybe they are, or were, I suppose, people blessed with divine favor, unlike God. Or maybe they’re just people, just monsters like we all are.

Humans have something God doesn’t, I think. Desperation. How could God ever be desperate? God doesn’t want for prayers, for food, for life, for love. God doesn’t want for anything. Or maybe the God I’ve been taught about is just as greedy as humans. But I don’t think there’s a such thing as hell. Because no immortal being, celestial or otherwise, could come up with a violence that a desperate human wouldn’t.

It’s nice, knowing I have something that God doesn’t. Why would I be God when I can be human?

Chapter Text

Two days later, 3 bells chime, afternoon

j: We've had an idea. Within the midst of all the shitty stuff going on with the Merchant Council, we decided: Why not take matters into our own hands? So we’re starting a little fund, of sorts. What I mean is that we’re going to start paying off indentures. Secretly, of course. We’re making Kaz help. But one by one, indentures will just suddenly find their contracts paid off, free to go elsewhere. We’ll put a little extra money in their accounts as well so they have enough to sustain themselves, find fair work, or leave Kerch. Kaz wants to recruit them to work at his gambling halls, and we’re not endorsing that. It’s entirely up to them if they want to find work at the Crow Club or the Silver Six. But we make change where we can. Especially when the assholes known as the Kerch Merchant Council are out and about wreaking havoc on the world. Fuck them.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, mid-autumn, 8 bells chime, morning

j: Wylan and I both get nightmares, sometimes. It’s not an often thing, but it happens. When Wylan’s are really bad, he’ll wake silently and slip from the covers, sliding under the bed into a ball. Safe from reach. The first time it happened, I wasn’t sure how to bring him back to himself. I was just so desperate that I started talking in Zemeni, and I told him “I love you”. I can still remember how soft and small and hopeful his voice was when he replied, “You love me?” “Always,” I told him. Now when it happens, I sing him the song I sang when he was sick. It always brings him back to me.

[…]

When I wake from a nightmare, it’s a little different. Generally I rise in a cold sweat, gasping and itching to escape. But before I can leave, before I can even reach for my guns, Wylan’s there. He’s calm, and gentle. He puts his hand on my chest so he can feel my racing heartbeat and tells me to breathe. Then we breathe together, until I’ve calmed, and then he kisses me and says he loves me, in Zemeni. He holds me quietly like I’m the only thing that matters and I feel like things are going to be okay.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 5 bells chime, evening

w: I kind of love the concept of thread art. Tapestries. It’s like painting, in a way. Just a different medium. I think it’d be fun to explore. I don’t know if I’d be any good at it. But I could get Jesper to make me custom colored thread, the way he tries to make me custom colored paint sometimes. I suppose the key word there is ‘tries’, but I appreciate his effort. It means he loves me. 

Maybe I could get my mother to try it with me. I know there’s the whole thing about Kerch women only doing tasks that serve the household, but we don’t care about that here. I certainly don’t care about it. It’s bullshit, anyway. Our house is for art.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 3 bells chime, afternoon

j: I adore the phrase “falling in love”. It makes it sound like I tripped into a fountain and pulled Wylan with me, and we got soaked. It makes it sound like there was no place we’d rather be than drenched in a shallow pool sharing kisses. It’s like I fell into a dark pit, terrifying in its depths, only to land within his arms. There’s probably a lot more metaphors I could come up with. But instead of drowning in a fountain, I get to drown in his eyes, and though others can do that too, I’m the one who knows how he tastes when we kiss.

Chapter Text

A week later, 1 bell chime, afternoon

w: Lately, I’ve been trying to make a commitment to being honest. Not that that’s any different to how I’ve lived my life before. I mean, I’ve never liked lying. And I don’t think I’ve ever picked up the habit seriously. And of course, there are some instances where I have to lie, like to the Merchant Council, for Inej’s safety. But for my mother and Jesper, and Kaz and Inej, I suppose, I want to try and be as honest as possible. Because lies of omission are lies too. I don’t want to push Jesper away because I wasn’t willing to be honest with him. Communication is a big part of our relationship. It’s becom—

j: (yelling) Wylan! Leoni and Adrik are here!

w: Oh.

Chapter Text

The next day, 7 bells chime, morning

j: Leoni and Adrik came to visit. Leoni was— is— the girl my mother died saving. We met her in Ravka a couple of years back. I guess we’ve been sort of friends ever since. She and Adrik are here on some sort of business for the Ravkan government. But for some reason, their first stop was here. And Leoni, she—

[sharp inhale]

She brought me a kefta .

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a gorgeous thing. Deep purple embroidered in gray. Wylan said the gray matches my eyes. But all I could think of was Da’s fear when I asked why he didn’t just send me to Ravka, and my own fear in the Ice Court staring at their Grisha banner of war. Still, I couldn’t refuse it. It’s hiding under our bed.

I don’t know what to do with it. I’m not the fabrikator she thinks I am. Nobody in Ketterdam knows I even am one, except for Kaz, Inej, and Wylan. I can’t show it to Da. Ever. His fear would melt him into bare bones of the farmhouse. I’m not proud of my skills the way Leoni is. The way my mother was. I’m not ashamed of them, but I don’t feel like I can be proud. The only time I feel like I can be is when I help Wylan with them. Like when I tried to work on catching the mug.

[sighs]

I should probably work on that again.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 10 bells chime, evening

w: Hope is a funny thing. Is it faith? Fear? Is it just the imagination we’ve wrought from grief? I hope that Jesper loves me. I hope that he knows I love him. I have hope that the world can get better, but maybe that’s misplaced. I don’t think it is.

Maybe hope is a single candle flame burning in a dark room, valiantly fighting to keep the shadows at bay. Maybe it takes place in the kisses I give Jesper, in holding hands with Inej, in sharing ideas with Kaz. It’s a ray of sunshine sneaking through the corner of a window. Hope is an impractical belief that we aren’t alone, the constant reach to brush fingers with another person and know their callouses like you know yourself.

Chapter Text

A week later, late autumn, 2 bells chime, afternoon

j: Here we go again, I suppose. Fabrikator training, trying to learn to catch a mug. I did a little bit without the recording last week. I just didn’t feel like talking. But I figured out how to not make a ball of wax turn into a mushroom. So, that’s progress, I suppose. Today I think I’m going to try to shape some gunpowder like a mug, and then hold a bullet in the air. You know, simple stuff.

[light whoosh]

This is both harder and easier than I thought. I have a sort of shifting powder mug, but as soon as I let go of it, it’ll just fall into a pile. Oh well. It has to happen sometime.

[sigh]

There it goes. At least I know I can do it, now. Okay, bullet time.

[…]

[clunk]

That was… surprisingly easy. I wonder if I can do two at a time. 

[…]

[simultaneous thuds]

Wow. Three?

[…]

[simultaneous thuds]

I think three is the limit, for now. But that was definitely easier than I thought it was going to be. Though now that I think about it, it might just be because I know bullets so well. Ceramics might be a little bit different. I could start working on that next time. I still haven’t completely finished putting together the shattered mug that started this project in the first place. It wouldn’t hurt to use a couple shards to help my progress.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 6 bells chime, evening

j: I’ve been thinking about going back to school. I haven’t told Wylan this yet. I don’t even know if the university would take me back. But we have the money, and I have the time, and I… I could do it. It’d make Da proud, but I don’t want to do it for him. I want to do it for myself. Huh. I didn’t ever think I’d miss learning for the sake of learning, but I do. Is it too much that I just want to learn something new, and possibly useless? Something that isn’t knowledge for survival? I want to take a class and come home and tell Wylan all about it. I want to read my textbooks to him. I want him to kiss the words out of my mouth, to love me because I’m doing something for myself.

I wonder if he’d want to go to school with me. Would that be something he would want? There’s no way for me to know unless I ask, and I don’t know when that’ll happen. If that’ll happen. 

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, 4 bells chime, afternoon

w: What if I bought a violin? I mean, I wouldn’t know how to play it, but I could learn. That would be the point. There’s just a sound you get from string instruments that you can’t get anywhere else. I imagine the feel of the strings beneath my fingers, the feel of the vibrations. I think it’d feel nice. Don’t get me wrong, I love my flute, but sometimes I want to learn how to play as many instruments as I can, just so I can know every type of music through my fingers. Violin seems like a nice place to start, if I ever do. I love the richness, the contrast of smooth and low to clear and high. I love it when a sound settles under your skin, unshakeable in its beauty. Music is a big part of my life. What sorts of new stories could I paint with the bow of a violin?

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, beginning of winter, 8 bells chime, morning

w: Last night, Jesper told me he’s been thinking about going back to school. I think it’d probably be good for him, if he genuinely wants to go. But he also asked if I’d want to go with him. I’m not so sure about that. I don’t want to make him have to read his books and mine. I don’t want to have to go to class and pretend to be able to read. I don’t want to be on edge all the time. But I understand why he wants to go learn because I feel it too. The tug towards knowledge for the sake of knowledge, learning something you want to learn, not because you need to know it to survive. I don’t even know what I’d study, though Jes doesn’t know what he’d study either. Or if the university would let him back in. I guess I’ll think about it. It just never seemed like a viable option for me. My father certainly made me think so. But that was when I was alone, with only his hatred for company. I didn’t have anyone who would help me. It could be possible now, if I wanted to go. But do I want to? I don’t have the answer to that question yet.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, 11 bells and half chime, nighttime

w: I'll say it, because Jesper will never see it. His father hurt him. Still does. Jes is preoccupied with obtaining his father's love, so much so that he doesn't realize he should have to seek it out in the first place.

I love Colm, too. I know he loves me. His love aches, it harms, it saves. Jesper will always love him back. He will never be able to fault him for anything, not even for his fear. Not even for the distrust of the part of his son that belonged to Aditi, for the part of his son with the power to save lives.

I’m not saying Colm doesn’t love Jesper. In fact, he loves him desperately, and you can see it in his every action. I just think there’s no version of their relationship where they don’t hurt each other with their love.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 9 bells and half chime, evening

j: Change is difficult. Changes in pace, changes in motion. Not the way you’d usually think, but in the fact that I never stop moving. I don’t necessarily think that my movement itself is the problem. It’s that I don’t know how to rest. I— I don’t know how to put it into words.

[grumbles]

I just move too fast to change. Like a bullet. No, that’s not a good metaphor, because I can change bullets, so why can’t I change myself?

“What are you afraid is going to happen if you stop?” Wylan’s words. I think I’ve said them here before. What am I afraid of? Facing myself? Who will I find when the motion blur is gone?

I feel like I’m still a child. Like I never won’t be. I feel like I’m still seven, missing Ma. I feel like I’m still ten, being offered the choice to go to Ravka. I feel like I’m still fifteen, taking my first step in the Barrel. I feel like I’m still seventeen, in the Ice Court staring at their wall of keftas. All these versions of myself, and really, they’re all the same. It’s not that I don’t want to change, it’s just that I find change to be a battlefield.

[sighs]

Haven’t Kaz and Inej always said I’m at my best in a fight?

Chapter Text

A week later, mid-winter, 11 bells and three quarters chime, nighttime

w: [hard exhale]

w: Jesper and I have been fighting. There has been a lot of yelling in this house today. I told him that I don’t want to go to school. Should’ve been fine, right? Just leave it at that. Nope. He starts going on about how he wants me there. He wants me to go, he wants. Well, didn’t I just say that I didn’t want that? 

I don’t want to go to university. I don’t have the capacity to deal with old shames, to be rich and somewhat famous on top of it. There’s too much scrutiny there. Fuck, it’s like Jesper doesn’t even listen to me sometimes.

[door opens]

j: Wylan.

w: No, Jes.

j: No. I want you to listen.

w: [scoffs]

j: Just hear me out. All I wanted was to share my joy with you. Okay? Just come to my classes with me, or something. I’ll take classes under subjects you want to learn about. You don’t have to be the one enrolled.

w: And what should I say? Yes? Should I jump on board because it’s what you want? I’m glad you’re happy about it, Jes, but I don’t want to go. When are you going to listen to me, too?

[…]

j: Just think about it. I’m going out.

w: Out where?

j: The Crow Club.

w: Going to see Kaz? Complain to him about my stubbornness, my shame?

j: No.

w: What are you going to do if he’s not there? Take a stroll down the Barrel until you find him?

j: You know what, Wy? Fuck it, I’m going gambling. I don’t plan on talking to Kaz at all.

w: (suddenly scared) Jesper, no. You can’t do that.

j: You can’t stop me.

w: Jes. You—you don’t want to do this.

j: [scoffs]

How would you know?

w: Do you really want to? All the progress you’ve made, how proud you’ve been of it—do you really want to take a step back?

j: Yes, Wylan, I do. Hard to believe, isn’t it? I’m exhausted with being on top of things. For once, I want to ruin myself again, to have one night where it doesn’t matter. Is that so bad?

w: I…

j: Yeah. That’s what I thought. Don’t bother trying to stop me; I’ll be home by morning.

w: Jesper, I—

[door shuts]

w: I love you.

[sighs]

I don’t have anything else to say.

Chapter Text

The next day, 8 bells and quarter chime, morning

w: Last night, I… I woke up to the sound of crying. It was—it was Jesper. He’d come in, middle of the night, three or four bells maybe. He was drunk—I could smell it on him—and he was sobbing. He laid down quietly in bed, but I hadn’t really fallen asleep in the first place and had already opened my eyes. He kept whispering, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Was I supposed to stay mad? Shun him until he sobered up, make him think about what he’d done? I couldn’t. I didn’t. I whispered right back, “Shh, it’s okay.” I spoke in Zemeni because it calms him down. At this point, he’s taught me more than enough to be able to do it. I helped him get out of his dirty clothes, gently put his guns away. I remember saying, “Jesper, darling, it’s okay. You’re okay; you’re safe.” All the same stuff he repeats to me. I laid across from him in bed and stroked the hair from his forehead until his tears dried up and he fell asleep. Right before he lost consciousness, he said a phrase in Suli. I can’t remember it exactly. Inej must have taught it to him.

I think he’s asleep upstairs. He woke up this morning and immediately ran to throw up. I’ve been taking care of him. After this, I’m going to go get some tea and toast, and then we’ll… talk. I feel bad for how harsh I was last night. It seems so silly, so ridiculous now, looking back on the argument. I’m sorry it led to this. I hope it doesn’t happen again, but I can never promise that.

[sighs]

Chapter Text

The same day, 5 bells chime, evening

j: I wish I hadn’t yelled. I wish I hadn’t pushed. I wish I hadn’t gone on a gambling spree or gotten drunk. I wish I hadn’t come home crying. I wish I hadn’t thought of going back to school at all.

“Mati en sheva yelu.” I remember saying that before I fell asleep. I was sober enough to retain that, at least. And I remember Wylan’s concern, his kind words. He spoke Zemeni. I didn’t even realize he’d gotten that good. When did I stop paying attention? And why does he still love me?

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 4 bells chime, afternoon

j: I didn’t get accepted back to the university. I guess it didn’t even matter in the first place.

Chapter Text

Three days later, 2 bells chime, afternoon

w: We’re snowed in. This is probably the most snow I’ve seen in my life. It just came upon us suddenly, blustering in the middle of the night. Then when we woke up, it was just powdery white, everywhere. I hope Kaz is doing okay. The Slat is insulated decently enough, but I’d imagine it can get a bit drafty in the attic. If it wasn’t so snowy outside, I’d suggest we bring him here, but I don’t know if that’s possible. I wonder where Inej is. She might not even know about the snowstorm at all. It would be nice, I think. But there’s also something nice here, with the fire we have going. Blankets and hot drinks. Jesper reads me a book, or two. I can work on my music composition. I don’t know. I guess there’s worse things.

Chapter Text

The next day, 3 bells and three-quarters chime, afternoon

j: I’m back working on the problem of this stupid fucking mug. Wylan’s in the music room lost in a composition.

[sighs]

I don’t even know why I’m still upset. Why would the university bother to take me back after I dropped out the first time? And Wylan’s been nothing but kind and apologetic and caring, and I just feel frayed on the inside. I feel like I’m splitting. That night we fought… why did I go out? What did that accomplish for me? Actually, I have the answer to that question. It accomplished nothing but making me more miserable. Right now, I’m not entirely sure that things will ever be better.

Well, except my progress with this mug. I can lift a ceramic shard in the air, now.

(deadpan) Yay.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 9 bells chime, morning

j: Sometimes I feel like my problems aren’t big enough to be problems at all. What a ridiculous thing that is, isn’t it? Compared to other people, my ‘problems’ don’t hold weight at all. Inej was literally kidnapped and sold into slavery at age fourteen, and what bad things happened to me? My Ma died. That’s it.

It feels like I shouldn’t force myself into the conversation because nothing truly bad happened to me, even though it still hurts. I want to talk about it, I do, but how am I supposed to talk about my loss when Wylan was abused in the literal fucking house we live in? And I don’t even know about Kaz, but I’m sure anything he’s carrying is way worse than whatever I hold.

I want to talk about my pain, but I don’t think I can. I might just hold it in me until I explode. I’ll walk myself off the edge of the world. Off the edge of a knife.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, late winter, 4 bells and half chime, afternoon

w: I’ve been spending the last couple of weeks working on a new composition. And what I really want to do is write a symphony. Sometimes I can already hear it in my head, and it’s just a rush to write it down on paper before it disappears again.

Music is storytelling, right? And I have stories I want to tell, but I don’t know which ones. Do I tell fantasy stories, escapades and adventures? Do I tell my own story?

[snorts]

Imagine a symphony based off the Ice Court heist. Now that would be something. 

I don’t know, I just want to write. Maybe I’ll write down the different music that plays in my head when I kiss Jes. Put it all together, and you have a map of my love. Eh. It’s an idea.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 9 bells chime, morning

j: Living is… it just is. Cause I’ll get up in the middle of the night to fill my cup of water, every other step tilting because I’m walking on a foot that fell asleep. When I get into the bathroom I run a hand through my hair, and suddenly I’m drowning in grief for my mother. But you know, it’s four bells in the morning and what can I do but take a sip of water and fall back into bed?

Chapter Text

A week later, 3 bells chime, afternoon

w: Inej is back again. It’s sooner than I thought, since she spent so much time with us last time around. But I’m glad for it. She and Jesper are outside talking right now. I think he really needs it, with everything that’s happened since she left. We’ve been rocky, and I can’t help but think that I had—or have—a part in that. He doesn’t want to talk to me about the rejection from the university, even though I can see it’s been hurting him. I didn’t want to listen to him, and now he doesn’t want to talk. And he has every right to feel the way he does. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me, too.

I can’t remember if I’ve truly apologized for the fight. Even though it was weeks ago, it’s still draining us. I can’t keep pretending like it’ll just go away with time.

[thud]

What the…

[thud]

[muffled voices, laughter]

Okay, I’ll be right back.

[door opens]

[…]

[thud]

[thud]

[…]

[muffled voices]

[…]

[thud]

[…]

[door closes]

Jesper and Inej are throwing knives at the house. I guess our home has scars now, just like us. Not that it didn’t have any before.

If I could tell something to my younger self it’d be this: don’t believe the stories. Fairytales are propaganda because they’ll have you believing love is easy. It’s not. Love takes work. Love takes. But I’d also say this—the things that love takes are nothing that you aren’t willing to give. And the things you receive in return help you fill your holes, even if you have to love yourself to truly do that, too.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 11 bells chime, morning

j: I’m so excited. It’s been fucking forever since Wy and I have gone shooting, and we’re finally going today. I’m just waiting for him to get home from his Merchant Council meeting. I know it’s not his favorite thing in the world, but I’m glad he comes. Somehow, today feels like an apology on his part, for the fight and everything that’s come after. But even though he doesn’t think it, for me he apologized as soon as he helped me the night I came back after relapsing. I just haven’t done a good job convincing him otherwise. Maybe I’ll tell him today, let him know that I know he loves me. That I love him, too. 

I’m not mad at him. How could I stay mad at him, when he truly sees me and still stays, when he calls me “darling” and shapes the word into a caress? We had a fight and I left to do something stupid, and mere hours later, he was taking care of me in the middle of the night. Is that not love? To have somebody who will let you make your mistakes, but will never shame you for them? Someone who will let you learn, will help you heal, will see you in the early morning and call you beautiful, even after you’ve just thrown up. Yeah, I think that’s love to me.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 4 bells and half chime, afternoon

j: I’m back working on the mug problem again. Though I figured out I can levitate a shard of mug in the air, I’m not quite sure how to get the whole mug. I sealed the shard back onto the mug I got it from, the mug that started this whole thing in the first place, and I guess I’m just going to play around with the thing, now. Hopefully soon I’ll be able to catch the mug and show Wylan, but I’m not sure when that’ll happen. But if I want it to happen, I should probably work on it a bit.

Hmm, okay. It’s tilting… just a bit.

[soft clink]

I can pull it towards me, across the table. Not that that’s helpful, but worth noting, I think. Oh, I have an idea! What if I just throw it in the air, and try to catch it with my powers, but if I don’t then I can catch it with my hands? Damn, I’m smart.

[…]

Okay, so first throw—only slowed down a bit.

[…]

Second time: a little bit slower, maybe hesitation in the fall towards the end?

[…]

Try three; more hesitation towards the end with a sort of lurch before I caught it with my hands.

[…]

Four, a vague stop before falling.

[…]

Alright, fifth try. I got it to halt for about two seconds before it fell. I’m so close I can taste it, but I’m also kind of exhausted. This’ll happen soon, and I’ll be able to show Wy. I’m excited. And in a way, I feel close to Ma, too. I think she’d be proud of what I’m doing.

Chapter Text

A week later, beginning of spring, 9 bells chime, evening

w: Earlier today, Jesper and Inej went somewhere, and I was left with Kaz. Which isn’t a bad thing; he’s just grouchy. But he got excited when I had him read some Merchant Council business for me. And he certainly would never say that he got excited, but I could see it in his eyes. Though he promptly informed me that he’s already listened to all of my Merchant Council recordings. I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

He also was strangely… heartfelt. There’s not really another word for it, even thought that word and Kaz don’t go together. When I asked him to read something for me, he looked almost satisfied, but not in a smug way. Like he was genuinely glad I was asking for help. He said, “I see the shame’s no longer eating you whole,” which sounds dramatic, but is really his way of checking in on me, of saying he sees my progress. Jesper knows what it is to face social stigmas, but not like this, not the way Kaz does. I’m glad for him, even if he wouldn’t want me to say that out loud.

Chapter Text

The same day, 11 bells chime, nighttime

j: (half-yelling) Kaz and Inej held hands! In our house! In front of us!

Okay, so. Kaz and Inej held hands. They held hands. Kaz wasn’t even wearing his gloves. Isn’t it wild?

Wylan and I looked at each other in disbelief, but they just pretended like nothing was going on that was out of the ordinary. But it most certainly was out of the ordinary. I mean, I’m sure they’ve been holding hands and stuff for awhile now. They sleep in the same bed while they’re here. They’ve just never done it in front of us. I’m happy for them.

Chapter Text

A week later, noon

w: Around once a year, I have to have a… meeting… with my father. Smeet claims it’s for legal stuff, but really it just feels like a battle. Not even that, it’s just—

Every time it happens, it goes like this: I get to Hellgate, we meet surrounded by guards, my father tries to convince everyone, including me, that I’m defective. They don’t believe him, especially because I have Smeet send over all paperwork and files before the meeting so Jesper can read them to me. And then, in the few moments where they leave us to talk alone, he tells me how Jesper has corrupted me. How Jesper doesn’t really love me, how Jesper just uses me for money, how I’ll never be worth something, how I’m worth even less because I let Jesper help me run the business, how I deserve to suffer because I brought my mother home. Any shame he can come up with, he hurls at me with barbed words. Somehow, even after all this time, it still drains me, even if I know it’s not entirely true. Unfortunately, some small parts of me still believe his words. I remember when I was younger, and he’d state that he was the only one who loved me enough to tell me the truth. And I know it’s not the truth, I know it. But why does part of it ring like it is?

Even though a piece of me still hangs onto shame like a lifeline, I know I’m more than what his words make me. He thinks that he can still feed me on hate, even though I know what love is supposed to feel like, now. My father is a fool to think he can convince me that Jesper doesn’t love me.

I’m just sitting waiting for Jesper and my mother to get home. Every year on the day of the meeting, I have Jes take her out someplace, whether for breakfast or shopping or something. Just so they don’t have to deal with him and his residue. I’ve got a mug of tea and a blanket, and I’m trying to sort through my feelings so he doesn’t haunt this house any further. It’s gotten easier, over the years. The first time it happened, I came home shaking, promptly crawled upstairs and vomited, then spent the rest of the day in bed. Jes spent hours calming me down, murmuring to me gently in Zemeni, even though I didn’t understand most of his words at the time. Now, I can come home and we can keep going about our day, as if it was just an unpleasant Merchant Council meeting. How far I’ve come.

[door opens quickly]

j: Wylan.

w: [jostles, hits table]

j: Damn it, your tea got knocked off.

w: Ah, shit, it’s all over the ground now. Wait. Jes, are you holding the mug in the air?

j: Am I? Oh, fuck. I am.

w: You’re holding the mug in the air.

j: I’m holding the mug in the air!

w: With your fabrikator powers, Jes!

j: Finally!

[soft clatter]

w: (cheerfully) What do you mean, ‘finally’?

j: Oh, remember awhile back when you startled me, like I did to you just now? And I accidentally knocked a mug off the table and smashed it, and you froze? I didn’t want that to happen again, because you deserve to have a safe home where things don’t shatter. I’ve been practicing, so I can catch the mugs before they hit the ground.

w: You practiced fabrikating so I could feel safe? For how long?

j: The better part of a year.

w: Jesper, you’ve been working on this for nearly a year ?

j: Yeah. I did it because I love you. Sorry it took so long. 

w: And you managed to do it on the day I had to see my father. Jesper, I am so thoroughly in love with you it hurts.

j: I take it that was a success, then?

w: Absolutely.

[kisses]

w: (in Zemeni) I love you so much.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 3 bells chime, afternoon

i: Hello? 

(muttered) I don't know why I'm saying hello.

I don't even know if this is working. It's been a bit since Jesper showed me how it works. He just mentioned it the other day while we were talking and I, uh. Wanted to give it a try.

He's been through a lot in his life. I know he doesn't think he can compare it with anything the rest of us have gone through, but our suffering doesn't make his less. He deserves space to talk about his problems, to work through his grief. He apologizes like it's his fault for having feelings.

I'm glad he has Wylan. Because even though Wylan has problems too—who doesn’t? — he helps Jesper get through them instead of avoiding them. And even though he might not be able to see it, Jes's state of mind improves the more time he spends listening to us.

I miss them, while I'm out at sea. I miss them desperately. The boys here at home? They have my heart. Not just Kaz, though he has it, too. No, Jesper and Wylan are family.

I hope they get married one day. Is that silly? Maybe it is, a childish remark as if we were twelve or thirteen, making plans and fantasies for a faraway future. But even if it is childish, I won't abandon hope. I haven't gotten where I am by abandoning my girlhood, and I'm not going to start now. So yeah, I hope they get married. They deserve to be happy, to have unconditional love. Not that they can’t have that if they don’t get married, but you know. Childish fantasies, and all that.

Marriage. I don’t know what to think of it anymore. At least, in relation to myself. Kaz and I have too much to work through before we can even start to think about that. I mean, I love him. I do. I’m not going to dispute that point. I’ve told him that, and he knows it, and he’s told me he loves me too. But if marriage were to happen, it would happen years in the future. We’ve both gone through so much, and our armor doesn’t come undone in a day. It’s already taken a long time to get to where we are now.

Sometimes I envy Wylan and Jesper. Just… their openness with each other, the easy way they show affection. I ache for what was stolen from me. I know they’ve had their own problems to sort through. But they can touch each other. Sometimes, Kaz and I can’t even do that. And it might always be that way, because of what was taken from us. What would we be in another world, one where he and his brother saw me perform on the high wire? Where we were unburdened, and he saw me walk on air, not for a job or for survival, but for fun? I’d like to think we’d brush past each other outside of the tent, and maybe he’d blush and say sorry, running to catch up to his family. Then he’d come back the next night just to see me again, and we might end up with a stolen kiss. Imagine a world where the only things Kaz Brekker stole were kisses. What a world that would be.

[sighs]

But this is not that world. This is a world where we steal courage from each other, hoping that we can have the confidence to hold hands. A world where some nights, he is unable to do anything but curl my braid around his hand. A twist, a turn, and so far, only two stolen kisses.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 6 bells and half chime, evening

j: Do you know how long it’s taken me to get over my habit of lying? Sometimes, I’m not even sure I’m over it. It’s been a habit as long as I can remember.

Actually, no. It’s been a habit since Ma died. Since Da made me hide my powers away. I still don’t know how I feel about him doing that. It was for my safety. It put me in so much more danger.

Parents teach you all sorts of stuff. My Ma taught me how to love, and my Da taught me how to lie.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, mid-spring, 10 bells chime, nighttime

w: I always hear people say, “I love you more than life itself” to those they love. And I suppose it’s a good phrase, adequately romantic or whatever. To say “I love you more than life” implies that you love them so much you would die for them. But I’m fonder of “I love you more than death”, to say that I love someone so much I would live for them. It’s too easy to say you would die for someone if you never truly lived in the first place.

So fuck it, I’m going to savor every second of life like the flavor of dark chocolate. Understand the delicacy and let it run me through, and though it’s sometimes bitter, the memory is always sweet.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 11 bells chime, morning

j: What a problem I’ve had, with staying. Staying still, staying for someone, staying away from the gambling tables, staying home. It’s not really my strong suit, by any means. But Wylan… I would stay for Wylan. I do stay for him. When I realized that, I don’t know. Perhaps I knew it from the moment he kissed me. Maybe it was when I told his father I could read to him. I mean, he told me to stay, to stop. So, I did.

What a lovely thing it is to stay for someone. To see them whole and refuse to abandon them. I know I’m glad that Wylan stays. I just never realized how good it would feel to stay for him, too.

Chapter Text

A week later, 5 bells chime, evening

w: I told Jesper we should get a cat, and he just looked at me and said, “What do you mean? We already have Kaz.”

So… no cat then, I guess.

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, late spring, 10 bells and three-quarters chime, nighttime

j: Helloooo! It is… my birthday today. And I am…

(enunciated) Twenty-two.

Isn’t that wonderful? Two twos. Two twos. Two twos.

You know, Kaz is out in the living room somewhere, and he’s drunk. Like, super drunk. Wow. He keeps trying to kiss Inej but she won’t let him kiss anywhere but her hands. And somehow, he’s really good at braiding her hair, too. He doesn’t even have the coor— coordin— coordination… to stand up. Why the fuck can he suddenly see straight when it comes to her hair? He’s cute though. I mean, Wylan’s cuter, obviously. But sometimes you just want to pinch Kaz’s cheeks like a grandma. I don’t do it though because I value my hands. If I lost them, I wouldn’t be able to shoot my guns and I’d be sad.

[door opens]

i: Jesper? Can you come outside to join us?

j: I’m talking here, ‘Nej.

i: I can see that. But wouldn’t you like to talk with Wylan? He’s out here.

j: I do… I do like talking to him. Do you think he’d let me kiss him?

i: I think you should probably wait until you’re both not drunk.

j: Right.

[…]

You’re smart, ‘Nej.

i: Alright, Jes. Come on, let’s go join everyone else.

j: Kaz is going to fall over, you know.

i: [snickers]

I know.

Chapter Text

The same day, 11 bells chime, nighttime

k: Jesper is... Jesper. Jesper. Jes. I... like Jes. He's my brother. Oh, and Inej. She’s lovely. Too good for me, but she lets me play with her hair, so that’s kind of her. And Wylan, Wylan is my friend. Who cares that he can't read; he's too smart to read.

My head feels fuzzy, and I think when Jesper gets close to touching me, I’m safe.

[grumbles]

That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I feel safe with someone touching me?

I just… I want to give him a hug though. Jesper.

Inej lets me hug her sometimes. She’s very kind. I don’t want her to disappear on me.

(whispered) Stay with me, Captain, stay with me. Guide me home.

[…]

Chapter Text

The next day, midnight

w: Fuck, I’m so tired. I think there’s a timpani in my fucking head. Damn it. What was I here for? Oh, right, I wanted to say this: The only religion to be found exists when he says my name.

I’m not quite sure what that means, but it sounds good. It just popped into my head, pop! Like a… shit, I don’t know. Like something. But I love when Jesper says my name. When he holds it on his tongue like something sacred. Oh, maybe that’s what that’s supposed to mean. I don’t know. I’m too tired for this shit. I need to go to bed.

Oh, and also—Kaz fell over and it was kind of funny. Okay, not kind of. It was funny.

Chapter Text

The same day, 12 bells and half chime, nighttime

i: Inej here. The boys are all incredibly drunk and in bed. I just wanted to come down and say I love them all so much. They’re goofy and silly and they’re just… they’re my family. Who’d have ever thought home was three drunk boys in a Geldstraat mansion? Not me, that’s for sure.

[sighs contentedly]

Yeah, I love them.

Chapter Text

A few days later, three bells chime, morning

j: Even though my birthday was a week ago, Wylan had a surprise for me tonight. He took me out to the Barrel—which surprised me because that’s not his usual date night plan—and we found an empty rooftop. I should’ve known as soon as I saw the satchel, but he almost always brings his satchel when we go to the Barrel. Claims he doesn’t like to go there unarmed. Which, if you ask me, is a smart policy. But instead of his usual explosives, he pulled out fireworks. There were a lot of red ones. Strontium chloride, you know. Burns red in the dark.

Saints, I love him. And maybe I’m pretending the cheers on the ground were for us as we kissed.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, 3 bells chime, afternoon

w: I don’t— I don’t know what it is to have a childhood. Not really. I feel like I can’t say that because I did have one, I did. It’s just that all the joys and things you associate with childhood, playing, learning, making mistakes… I wasn’t given those luxuries. Funny, isn’t it? Richer than I could’ve ever desired, and yet I was denied luxury. What child spends their time hiding in their own home? What child spends their time becoming a ghost?

My father’s violence took a lot of things from me. It still does, I think. What adult hides under their bed after a nightmare? What adult sobs quietly so as to not wake anyone, including their partner in bed next to them? Sometimes I feel like I can never disentangle myself from him, like a puppet attached to his cruel strings. Wylan Van fucking Eck. That’s me.

Chapter Text

A week later, 11 bells and half chime, nighttime

i: Hi there. Inej again. But you probably already knew that if you’re listening to this because you probably know my voice. I should stop saying hi, it’s silly.

I got excited because I finished a gift for Kaz, but Wylan and Jesper had already gone to bed so I didn’t have anyone to talk to and I ended up here. I made Kaz a book on how to speak Suli. He’s mentioned a few times he wants to learn, but I went in the bookshop and there were no books on how to speak it. So I decided to make my own. I’ve taught him a few words, of course. Sometimes when we’re alone, he’ll murmur gently and ask me how to say a particular word. I’ll tell him, and he’ll stumble over the syllables and the shape a few times before getting it perfect. I like hearing the way he shapes Suli words. It’s a gentle language on his rough voice.

Anyway, the book has all sorts of Suli words, translated into Kerch with pronunciation guides. There’s a section on all the grammar and sentence structure rules, which took me forever to write. When your language is more verbal than anything, it’s hard to figure out the unspoken rules. But I got it eventually. There’s also a section composed entirely of swear words, which I’m sure will become quick favorites of his. I don’t swear often, but he absolutely does.

At the end of the book, I wrote the translations for one phrase and one word: I love you and always .

Chapter Text

A week later, beginning of summer, 3 bells and half chime, afternoon

w: This’ll probably be the last entry I do before we go to Novyi Zem again for the summer. My Zemeni has really improved. Sometimes Jes and I have days where it’s practically all we speak. Days like those have really helped me get better at it. Jesper says I’m a natural, but he doesn’t know the number of hours I’ve spent muttering the words to myself around the house or on the way to meetings. Although, now that I think about it, I haven’t ever forgotten most of the words, so maybe that’s what he means. But sometimes he forgets a word for something, and it makes him sad the way forgetting a Kerch word doesn’t. I know it’s because he feels like he’s losing a piece of his home, a piece of his heritage, a piece of his mother. Jesper carries her with him every day. As I learn the language, I hope to carry her with me, too. So he doesn’t have to bear his grief alone anymore.

Chapter Text

Two months later, late summer, 5 bells chime, evening

j: Got back from Novyi Zem today. I hate going home, sometimes. There’s too much there, and yet nothing at all.

Isn’t it funny? I refer to Novyi Zem as home when we’re going there, and Ketterdam as home when we’re leaving there. Which is true?

There is one thing about being there, I suppose, and it’s that I’m not stared at the way I am here. I don’t stand out like I do among the Ketterdam elite. For once, when Wylan’s at my side, I’m not the one given funny looks.

I miss the Barrel for that very reason, sometimes. In the Barrel, there’s such a mix of people coming and going, tourists and workers and gang members, that one more Zemeni kid isn’t an unusual sight, a cause for talking. I can simply exist, in colorful clothes with guns on my hips. I can even walk holding Wylan’s hand, and barely anyone gives us a second look. That’s almost the part of the Barrel that I miss the most, more than the risk and the gambling and the fighting. Not being an other or outsider any more than the next person. It feels like I can actually breathe.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 9 bells and three-quarters chime, evening

w: I turned twenty-one today. It feels weird, just like twenty did. Like I’m becoming a true adult, but also like I’ll never not be a child. I wonder if every birthday is going to feel like this. Maybe I’ll be seventy and thinking the same thing. Who knows?

Chapter Text

A few days later, 2 bells chime, afternoon

w: Jesper’s letting me take his guns apart this afternoon. I’ve been asking him for forever, and finally, he gave in. He’s going to monitor me while I do it, of course, but I just want to see how they work. They’ve got an unusual firing mechanism, different from most guns. They’re fascinating weapons. Jes has let me watch and play around with other guns he modifies, like the rifles he keeps, but he holds his precious revolvers close to him. So I’m really excited to get to study them.

Chapter Text

A week later, 2 bells and quarter chime, nighttime

k: The worst thing about losing people is that you never get them back. Jesper will never have his mother again; I’ll never have Jordie. We’ll never have Matthias. Grief eats people from the inside out. Sometimes I wish I had drowned in the harbor. It would’ve hurt less.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, beginning of autumn, 6 bells chime, evening

j: Sometimes I wish I had engaged with Zemeni culture more when I was a kid. After Ma died, it didn’t feel like mine anymore. It was hers, and Da made that clear, even if he never said it explicitly. So when she was gone, so was her culture. And maybe I pushed it away while I pushed away my grief. Avoided it because I was avoiding thinking about Ma.

Now that I’m older, I regret this. I even grieve for that young version of me, because he didn’t deserve cultural isolation. Even still, I wonder if I’ve become more of a Kerch kid than a Zemeni kid. If Zemeni culture is even mine to claim. I think it is, but it’ll take a lot of work for me to think of it as mine and not just Ma’s.

[laughs bitterly]

Most likely, I’ll just keep putting off that work. Years will probably pass before I do anything about it, and then I’ll have more work to do, more regret, more grief. There’s a term I learned from a physics book I was reading to Wylan. Inertia: resistance to a change in momentum. Yeah, I think that’s all I need to say.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 9 bells and quarter chime, evening

w: As Jesper’s gotten older, and as he’s slowed down, I guess, he’s also processed his grief more. He’s been living with this since he was seven years old. There’s an infinite well of sadness in him.

Some days, it hits him kind of hard. I call these his ‘distant days’, where he pulls away from everything for a bit. He draws into himself, eyes flicking away more often, fingers twitching and twisting in his clothes. On these days, he tends to sit more still. He wraps his hand around my wrist and leaves his thumb on my pulse point, and he never really wants to let go.

On the worst days…

(shaky) On the worst days, he asks me if I’m still alive. He doesn’t sleep. If his eyes close, and he begins to drift off, he gasps himself awake and whispers, “Are you alive?” and I pull his hand to my chest so he can feel my heartbeat, and only then can he breathe.

The worst days paralyze him, sometimes to the point where he can’t do anything. These are rarer days, of course, but they still happen. I stay with him. Hold him. Help him eat and drink. Because in the end, I can’t take his grief away, no matter how desperately I might want to. The only thing I can do is be there.

And I don’t love Jesper despite his grief. I love him with it. It’s part of him, and I love him with it.

Chapter Text

A week later, 4 bells chime, afternoon

w: Inej left again, off to make some history. It makes me wonder what the history books will say about her. About all of us.

Historians are impersonal. So obsessed with providing concrete facts, mixed with a little speculation. They’ll say things like “Wylan Van Eck took over his father’s company at age sixteen,” and not “Wylan Van Eck fell deeply in love with a gorgeous Zemeni sharpshooter, a boy with the most perfect lips and filled with love.” I mean, both things are true, but the history books won’t know about Jesper’s addiction or his grief. The history books might not even know I can’t read. Who will tell our story when we’re gone? How will it be told, if it is told at all? I think if they wanted to be truthful, they should write, “Wylan Van Eck tried to live a life of love, not a life of fear.” That’s true, too.

I’m just saying that real history is sacred. Real history is danger, passion. Historical events are shaped like kisses and paint splatters, not words on a page.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 3 bells and quarter chime, nighttime

[…]

k: I shouldn’t— I shouldn’t have come here.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, 2 bells and three-quarters chime, nighttime

k: I keep a stack of letters locked in a safe. Each one is sealed with wax and addressed to Inej. I never send them. Why I write them, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s my version of this recording device. Maybe one day they’ll get opened. But right now, there’s a stack of letters locked away. I lock away a lot of things. Too many, not enough.

Chapter Text

Three days later, mid-autumn, 5 bells and half chime, evening

w: I’ve been thinking about making a leg brace for Kaz. I’ve noticed as the weather gets worse, so does his pain, and now that the winter months are coming up, it could be helpful to have something to lessen it. The leg brace itself would be discreet, something Kaz could wear under his pants. He’d still have to use his cane, but it’d certainly make it easier to get around. Especially since his pain gets worse as the years go by. He pretends like it doesn’t, but if you look close enough, you can tell. I know Inej has caught it, too. She might worry less about him while she’s gone if she knew he wasn’t hurting so much.

I’ll run the idea past him next time I see him. I don’t know if he’ll quite accept the help wholeheartedly, but I’d like to think he trusts us enough to just accept it. Convincing him is just about finding the right argument, the right leverage. He’ll probably know what we’re doing, but two can play at his game of negotiations. I think I’ll get him ‘round to the idea.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 10 bells chime, evening

I hate that I look like my father. I don’t want his face. I don’t want his eyes. One of my biggest fears is that I’ll become him. And sometimes I think I avoid it so hard that I’ll swing back around and realize one day that I’ve become him anyway.

I’m not sure if I could ever— if I could ever have a kid. Okay, because I think about it, and what if I’m too scared of becoming my father that I focus on my fear more than I focus on loving them? In a way, that’s almost worse than becoming my father. Or maybe it’s not. No matter what, there are too many things that can go wrong.

Chapter Text

A week later, 11 bells and half chime, nighttime

j: I hate Merchant Council dinner parties. Hate them. Sometimes I just want to take the people there and shake them by the shoulders and scream, “Talk about something real for once in your life!” I swear to all the Saints, merchants talk about the most asinine shit. Do they even live? For all I know, they could very well be machines. Sweet Ghezen.

And then they have the audacity to stare at me when I dare to bring some life to the party. Like, oh, I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill by being alive. Guess I’ll go home and take my boyfriend with me so you can’t turn him into a machine, too. Have fun at your stupid people parties! I’ll be having a much better time cuddling and reading to him. Go fuck yourselves.

Sorry, I just get really worked up sometimes. Just got home from a party, if you couldn’t tell. But seriously, how do they take the fun out of parties ? It shouldn’t be possible. I mean, I know they think they’re fun, and that’s mostly because they’ve never been to real parties. Though I think parties in the Barrel might be enough to kill some of them. All the more reason to do take them there, really.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 4 bells chime, nighttime

w: It’s 4 bells in the morning, and once again I’m sitting here thinking that everything that’s gone wrong in my life is my fault. All the pain I suffered at my father’s hands, the attempt he ordered on my life… even the arguments I have with Jesper. They all feel like my fault. By not being able to read, I’ve committed a sin I will never be able to repent from. An avalanche. I pulled a foundational rock away and it all came tumbling, an overwhelming crushing roar. I want to believe it’s not my fault. Maybe I didn’t pull that rock.

I’ve told Jesper before that just because something’s hard to believe, it doesn’t make it less true. I guess it might be time to take my own advice. And probably, it’s time to go to bed. I’ve been spiraling long enough.

Chapter Text

The same day, 7 bells chime, morning

j: I really love Wylan. Really, really love him. And I love Inej, too. And Kaz. They’re all different types of love, but no one type is more important than another. The way I love Wylan is no more important than the way I love Inej, and the way I love Inej is no more important than the way I love Kaz, and the way I love Kaz is no more important than the way I love Wylan. And the way I love my father is different to all, but no more or less important than any of them. I just hope the people in my life love me too, that’s all.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 9 bells and half chime, evening

w: Do you ever spend the whole day stressed about something and then once that stressful event is over, you don’t know what to do with yourself? That’s how I’m feeling right now. Like I’ve spent so long being stressed, even if it was only for a day or two, and now I don’t know what it is to not be stressed anymore. It’s a strange feeling, this mythical relaxation. It almost had me wondering when it was going to end, and when I was going to be stressed again. I don’t even know anymore; I’m just really tired. I think I’ve been running on that stress and now that it’s gone, I’m exhausted. Drained, really. I had to drink so much water because I forgot to do it while I was stressed. This stuff will really fuck you up. Anyway, I’m going to go cuddle with Jesper, because I can and I want to. Bye.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, late autumn, 1 bell chime, afternoon

w: Mm, Jesper, there’s—

[kisses]

w: There’s fragile stuff on this table.

[kisses]

j: You’re no fun.

w: No, I just don’t want glass in my ass. We have a couch in here.

j: Ha. ‘Glass in my ass’. That rhymed.

[kisses]

w: You’re insufferable.

j: (murmured) You know it.

[kisses]

j: Hey, did you mean to turn on the recording device?

w: No. Bet it happened when you pushed me against the table.

j: That’s not my fault. If anything, it’s yours for leaving it there.

w: That’s where it goes!

j: Right.

w: I am going to kiss that smirk off your face. 

j: Okay, then. Do it.

w: Only after you correct your mistake.

j: What mistake?

w: Turn the device off, and then you get all the kisses you want. Simple.

j: Fine. Who’s insufferable now?

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 4 bells and quarter chime, afternoon

w: Lately I’ve been thinking about physical spaces of happiness. Like when I was younger, that space was the music room. Tangible, physical space. Now that I’m older, and safer, I suppose, there are new spaces of happiness. Well, additional spaces. The music room will never not be a happy place for me. But now there are others, like this workroom. My and Jesper’s bedroom.  Our window nook on the third floor. Inej’s ship. Kaz’s office, sometimes.

[chuckles]

Not my office, though. I still feel like the floor is going to fall out from under me in there.

I know it’s not important to have these spaces. Happiness can be found without them. But I like having them anyway. They feel like home because the memories I’ve made in them feel like home. Life didn’t end when I was sixteen. And life is worth living, if you let it be. I’ve got so much more to go, to do and see, and I’m excited.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, beginning of winter, 11 bells and half chime, nighttime

w: Kaz was over tonight—he kind of just popped up out of nowhere and demanded food—and somehow before he left, we got talking about religion? I’m not really sure how it happened. Luckily Inej is gone, or I think we’d probably still be talking. But anyway, during the conversation, Kaz called Ghezen a “rich man’s god”. And I’m not going to argue with him; I mean, I’d be one of the first in line to critique Kerch’s dominant religion. I’ve just never thought about it that way before. Sure, Ghezen is the god of industry and commerce, but for people who don’t participate in trade, people who farm just to live, that religion holds no value. They’d be more likely to believe in the Saints than anything else, because that’s more true faith. Like I’ve said before, Ghezen is a scapegoat. He just exists to justify greed and exploitation. I’m curious whether anyone in Kerch is truly as pious as they say.

I also felt that we got a bit of a glimpse into Kaz’s past tonight. The way he talked made it sound like he had personal experience with all of this. This is just speculation, but I wonder if Kaz grew up on a farm? And if he was religious in some way, possibly towards the Saints? I wonder what Inej would think about that.

Now that I think about it, Kaz really is like a cat. I mean, he just shows up when he wants something and then disappears again. The real question is just if he’d consider a pet cat to be competition or if he’d be best friends with it. My personal opinion? The latter.

Chapter Text

The next day, 1 bell chime, nighttime

j: I think that… grief is a religion of its own. It’ll strike you dumb, leave you paralyzed. It’ll teach you about living. Grief is the religion you find when you’re sprawled on the floor wishing for your mother to come back from the dead. We take red tulips to its altar every year.

[scoffs]

Sometimes I think grief’s tongue is in my mouth. Isn’t that a metaphor for you? I’ll let you decide if grief is kissing me or controlling the way I speak.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 6 bells chime, evening

j: In the stories I read Wylan, I’ve found what the definition of a hero seems to be. You see, a hero would sacrifice themself or a loved one to save the world. Meanwhile, a villain would sacrifice the world to save themself or their loved one. I don’t think the world is made of heroes and villains. Kaz would burn down Ketterdam before he let anyone kill Inej, and yet he was willing to sacrifice himself for us when we were cornered in the Geldrenner before he came up with the plan for Kuwei’s auction.

I don’t know what I’d do, if things came down to it. I’d like to think I’m cut from the same cloth as my mother, who sacrificed herself just so one person could live. But she sacrificed the world, too. My world, at least. I don’t know. I think I’m just more like my father. Afraid of loss.

Chapter Text

Three days later, 9 bells and three-quarters chime, evening

j: In another universe, I’d still love Wylan. Not because we’re soulmates, or whatever. That’s a stupid notion. No, I’d find him because I love him. It’s as simple as that.

Chapter Text

A week later, 2 bells chime, afternoon

w: Occasionally, I start thinking about where I would be if my father had stayed kind. And I know that’s a useless pattern of thought. But I still indulge it, sometimes. Fantasies of my father including me in business, letting me make suggestions and taking my words with value. If I try hard enough, I can hear him reading to me. You know, his logic haunted me, but I think his kindness haunts me more. I can imagine a world where my mother painted, and he would kiss her and get paint on his suit but wouldn’t care. And I’d have been free to pursue music on the side, and maybe I’d have a symphony written by now. Or some sonatas, or something. They’d watch me perform my compositions and clap for me endlessly. We would come home and be whole. Yeah. We’d be whole.

I shouldn’t keep thinking about this. I’ve found a new wholeness, with my mother. With Jesper. With Inej and Kaz. They deserve a version of me that’s not stuck in the past. Or at least trying not to be. I can’t change the past, but I still wonder, “What if?”

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, 11 bells chime, nighttime

j: I’m getting a new gun! I’m really excited. Listen, it’s not like I go shooting all that often, but I had new ideas on how to modify a rifle, and I need a new one to do it. So, new gun. It’s bound to keep me busy for at least a few days. Hopefully a few weeks. But only time will tell. I’m worried my excitement will take over and I’ll focus on nothing else, and then it’ll be over too quickly. I need to enjoy it, still. Yeah, so, I was just happy and needed to share this somewhere. Why I came here instead of going to Kaz or something, I don’t know. Easier, I guess.

Chapter Text

A few days later, mid-winter, 7 bells and quarter chime, morning

j: I had a really weird dream last night. It had something with spiders, and I’m pretty sure the Queen of Ravka was there at one point? The details are kind of hazy. Except for one part. It was horribly, awfully fucked up, and I remember it too clearly. I was in a fight. Shooting my guns left and right. We might’ve been at one of the harbors, or maybe in the warehouse district. Crates made a maze, and I was hiding, running, and shooting. Almost like we did when we were leaving for the Ice Court heist. And suddenly, Wylan’s father—the son of a bitch—appeared out of nowhere and rounded a corner. So, I followed. I followed and followed, until we were backed in a corner, and he just laughed, cold and hateful. I shot him. The body that hit the ground was Wylan’s. Before I could reach him, I woke up. The relief I felt at seeing the real Wylan next to me is beyond description. I hope I never have a dream like that again in my life. Why was that the part I have to remember? I don’t even want to think about it. Not at all, not anymore. Dreams are just dreams. I’m not a prophet, not a Saint. I’m just a kid in love. That’s all.

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, 10 bells chime, evening

w: Recently, I’ve been thinking about my younger self. And I’ve realized that I need to hold him close. Not push him away, not ignore him. I mean, that kid is still a part of me. He was a version of me that still lives on, through me now. Just like how in the future, who I am now will be a different version of who I will be then. And I want to hold him close to me, gently, and let him know that it wasn’t his fault. I think that’s something he needed to hear. It’s a part of healing for me, to do this, to hold every version of myself within me with care. Kindness is a virtue we don’t often extend to ourselves, even to our younger selves who were taught to be ashamed. It wasn’t his fault, nor was it mine. Maybe this sounds weird. Sometimes, I’m not entirely sure of what I’m saying. But I know that if I want to heal, I have to be forgiving to the versions of me that endured the wounds.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 8 bells chime, morning

w: Last night, Jesper and I were joking about the moon. We laid in bed, tangled together, and Jesper, being who he is, started staring out the window at the moon. He’s sort of like the dark side of the moon. The side nobody ever sees. And, mostly as a joke, I called him that. “My darling, the dark side of the moon.” So, he replied, “If I’m the dark side of the moon, you’re the sun and the stars.” When I asked why, he just said, “They’re the only ones who get to see every side of the moon.” Leave it to Jesper to turn the cosmos into romance. Though I will say I didn’t mind it. Quite the opposite, actually. Maybe, just maybe, the words slipped between our lips and tongues, and became something intimately shared.

He's kind of really adorable. 

[knock on door]

j: Wylan, my beloved, the sun and the stars. Do you want breakfast?

w: See what I mean?

Chapter Text

A week later, late winter, 11 bells and quarter chime, nighttime

j: I’m really happy right now. I— Kaz— Saints, I can’t even say it without almost crying. In a good way, I should clarify. But… Kaz slept with his head on my shoulder. I can’t quite put into words how monumental this is. Okay, let me set the scene first. He, Wylan, and I were sitting on the couch—the big one—with me in the middle. Wylan was curled up with his head in my lap, and we were just talking, and before I knew it, Kaz was asleep on my other side. He does that, sometimes, when he gets really tired. He just kind of shuts down, crashes suddenly. We’re used to it. This time, though, after awhile passed, he started drooping, tilting towards my shoulder. And yet, when he landed there, he didn’t wake up. Instead, he nuzzled his head a little and kept sleeping. I wanted to shout with joy, or maybe cry. Or both. But for fear of waking him up, I only rested my head on his and fell asleep, too.

What I’m trying to say is that the amount of trust it takes for Kaz to fall asleep around someone is immense. For him to be touching someone while he’s unconscious? Unheard of. I’m just really happy I can be that person for him. A person he trusts. Even if when I woke up he had disappeared to his room, I’m still glad it happened.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 7 bells and half chime, evening

w: Somebody’s got to figure out the mystery as to why I keep making bombs for Kaz. He has other demo people. He does not need me to keep making bombs. Yet, for some stupid reason, I do. He calls, and I answer. Like an idiot. 

(muttered) Sweet Ghezen, I’m making bombs in my house. What am I doing?

I’ve really got to stop doing this.

[…]

(muttered) Stupid… fucking…

[smash]

Damn it.

I swear I break more beakers than anyone should be capable of. Why is it that nearly every time I’m in here talking, or even just doing something, I manage to break a beaker? Ugh, now I have to clean it up.

[…]

[tinkling glass]

[knock on door]

j: Wylan?

[door opens]

w: Hey, Jes.

j: Can I talk to you about something?

w: Yeah, sure. Of course. Just let me finish cleaning this up first, okay?

j: Here, let me. I’ll just…

[tinkling glass]

j: …fabrikate it.

w: Thanks.

So what did you want to talk about? It must be serious if you were willing to fabrikate like that.

j: (whispered) Sometimes I hate that you know me so well.

w: I’m sorry.

j: Don’t be.

I just need some reassurance. It’s stupid, I know, but… I don’t know, maybe there’s a part of me that wonders if you really love me. Not as a flaw on your part, but because I’m so flawed. I’m a mess, in case you hadn’t noticed. Plagued by a gambling addiction and surrounded by an inane number of guns. I would understand if you couldn’t love me. I mean, what a piece of me questions is whether you’d keep me around if I didn’t have to read to you. And I really hate that I’m thinking about this, for the record.

w: Jesper. You may be a mess, but you’re my mess. You’re flawed. That’s what makes you worth loving. Even if I could read, I’d still want you. What you don’t realize is that you technically don’t have to read to me. You read to me because you’re kind, and you want to, and that’s how I know you love me. After all, look at my father. He’s an asshole who didn’t love me—or even like me—for who I am, who didn’t read to me. But you do these things for me. I love your struggles, and you love mine. I come find you at the gambling halls because I love you. It’s not something I have to do. Reading is the same way. I love that you do it for me. I love the cadence of your voice in a fairytale, the lilt of your country accent when you read Zemeni folk stories. Your voice smooths over my fears, washes away shame. Somehow, you make earnings reports and expenditures sound like adventures. I love it when you talk while I kiss your neck, so I can feel the vibrations of your vocal cords under my lips. I will love the way you love me for the rest of my life. And I will love you. You, Jesper Llewellyn Fahey, in all your flaws and messes. Okay?

j: Oh. Okay.

w: Do you want a hug?

j: Yeah.

w: Alright, come here.

[…]

w: (whispered) There is no part of you that is not worth loving, remember?

j: I do. I just need to hear it sometimes.

w: And I’ll tell it to you however many times you need.

j: Always?

w: Always.

Chapter Text

A week later, 4 bells chime, afternoon

w: Sometimes when we’re working, Jesper will scribble something on a scrap of paper, then slide it over to me. It’s the same phrase every time. He always whispers to me, “It says, ‘I love you’.” At this point, I’ve seen it so many times that I know what it is, can recognize its shape, even though I can’t actually read the words.

This is going to sound stupid, but sometimes I carry the scraps around with me. I just enjoy having a physical representation of his love nearby. I can pull it out of my pocket and see the shape of his scribble, hear him say clearly in my mind, “It says, ‘I love you’,” and it makes my day better.

It sounds silly, knowing that I can’t read it. But… really it means more that way. Because I know Jesper loves me anyway. No, not ‘anyway’. He loves me with it. He loves me enough to know that I want to keep him close and that he doesn’t care if I can’t read. It’s like… there have been so many times that my inability to read has been used as a weapon. Like when my father sent me those letters while I was living in the Barrel. It was times like those that used it as a slap in the face. But Jesper takes it and uses it to actually show me he loves me. To show me that words are not an agent of harm in his hands. Just like his scraps of paper, his actions say, “I love you”.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 7 bells and three-quarters chime, morning

j: The other day I was reading Wylan a book on sharks, and learned that apparently, if some kinds of sharks stop moving, they die. Which of course raises some questions, I mean, how do you get a shark to stop? Does it stop of its own volition? Would it be possible for me to kill a shark? These are all questions I have, and more. I wonder if Kaz would be willing to kill a shark with me…

Anyway, that’s beside the point. My point is, I’m a little like those sharks. If I stop moving, I tend to just crash, falling asleep right then and there. The hardest part though, isn’t the physical movement. Sometimes my brain will just run and run, and it makes it so I can’t fall asleep. It’s really annoying, actually.

Ooh, maybe I answered one of my questions, though. If I can’t shut off my brain of my own volition, maybe sharks can’t stop of their own volition either. But what if they wanted to? Can they want to? Damn it, this is going to keep me awake tonight.

Chapter Text

A week later, 3 bells and half chime, afternoon

w: Okay, listen. I’ve made peace with the fact that I can’t read. Really, I have. I know that I can’t change it, and I know that I’ve got people to help me with the things I can’t do. And I’m unlearning the shame I was made to feel around it. However, it still frustrates me sometimes that I can’t read. I can’t quite describe why, just that it feels like an inconvenience, I guess. Almost like, I have this thing that affects my life, and I’ve become acquainted with it, and it’s part of me, and it’s still a pain in my ass. I don’t know. It’s not like I feel this way all the time, just that sometimes I hate the extra steps I have to take to accommodate myself. Which is ironic, considering I’m using an accommodation to record this right now. I just have to remind myself that it’s better to be angry at the extra steps I have to take than at myself or my loved ones. It’d be better to not be angry at all, but if I’m going to be angry, the least I can do is not be angry at myself.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, noon

w: Do you ever have people that you feel like are on your side, but then they’re really not? Like, they do or say things that make you believe that they’d help you, or fight for something with you, and then they completely contradict that? I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling kind of backstabbed right now. Not by anyone particularly close to me, like Jesper or Kaz or Inej. But it still fucking sucks. I’m not going to name names, but… yeah.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, beginning of spring, 5 bells chime, evening

w: I swear I came in here for something, I just can’t quite remember what. My head’s been so foggy all day, and I’ve been so out of it. I feel… sluggish. Like I’m moving through gelatin. Everything feels so heavy. Is it supposed to feel like that?

(muttered) What was I looking for?

Oh, Ghezen, I just got super dizzy. Okay, I think I’m going to go lay down on the couch. Yeah, that sounds good.

[hard exhale]

[…]

[faint snoring]

[…]

[knock on door]

[door opens]

j: Wylan? Wylan? Oh, honey.

w: (mumbled) Hi Jes.

j: Are you okay?

w: I’m fine. I’m fine.

j: Love, your forehead’s hot. You might be coming down with a fever.

w: I’m fine.

j: Clearly. Come on, I’m taking you to bed.

w: I don’t want to get up.

j: I’ll carry you.

w: Okay.

I remember what I came here for.

j: Yeah?

w: Yeah, I left a paintbrush I really like.

j: I’ll get it for you once you’re in bed, okay?

w: Okay.

j: Alright, let’s go.

[rustling]

[…]

w: (faintly) You’re really pretty, you know that?

j: (faintly) Thanks, Wy.

[soft footsteps]

[…]

[soft footsteps]

j: (muttered) Paintbrush… paintbrush…

Wylan, I love you, but your organization systems make no sense to me.

[rustling]

[drawer opens and shuts]

[clinking glass]

j: Ah! Paintbrush.

And apparently, he left this on, too. Great.

Chapter Text

The next day, 8 bells chime, morning

j: I’ve decided that feverish Wylan is adorable. Not that he’s not adorable when he doesn’t have a fever, but he’s a special kind of cute when he’s sick. That sounds really bad, actually. I promise I don’t mean it bad. But it seems like we’ve been reading too many poetry books lately, because feverish Wylan is some kind of poet. Last night, he called me an angel—a fallen one—and said that I belong in paintings and in golden morning light. Where he wants to kiss me and call me his. He also said that my lips are the perfect shape for sin. Not sure which religious context we’re taking that in, but it sounds pretty good to me. I told him he could paint me today and I might let him, just to see what happens. And you know, I might very well let him kiss me and call me his. I mean, I am his, so… I wouldn’t complain. I can’t imagine anything better than being his boyfriend, really. Maybe one day—no, that’s something to think about later. That’s a bit too scary for right now. I think I’ll just go check up on him instead. Take him breakfast, kiss him. Take care of him. Like I always do.

Chapter Text

A week later, 5 bells and half chime, evening

j: Wylan’s been feeling better, so we went out to get some books today. Sometimes, if we’re looking for very specific types of books, like the one about sharks we read, we have to go to the University of Ketterdam. You can’t find books like those in everyday shops, but it’s almost a guarantee that there’s some recluse academic that’s done research on the topic at the University. So we gave back the shark book and got one on crows, and I got some about Kaelish culture. Those ones were for me, not for Wylan, though I’ll still read them with him. Recently, I’ve just been wanting to know more about Da’s culture. He never really talked about it much, growing up. I wonder how different I would be if he had.

I flipped through one of the books a bit, and it talked about the religion of fire, the worship of it. It compared it to fire in other cultures and countries, and one that stood out to me was that of the Southern Colonies. There’s this mythology that a god stole fire and gave it to humans. He was punished for it, but he still did it anyway. I can understand why they wanted to keep it from us. From humans. The danger, the beauty… we’d just destroy it. And yet, when kisses burn like a brand, I fear that we might have had the capacity to discover fire on our own anyway.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, 7 bells chime, evening

j: We’ve been reading that book on crows we got from the University, and the whole time, I can’t help but compare them to Kaz, with his crow persona and his crow themed gang. The researchers that wrote the book determined that crows behaved differently when they knew they were being watched. Does that not sound like him? Sometimes I think we’ll never see the real Kaz. Sometimes I think one day we will. In reality, I have no idea who the real Kaz is. Maybe I’ve already met him. Maybe I met him the first time I saw him. Who knows? Maybe the crows that visit his office know him better than I do.

Chapter Text

Two days later, mid spring, 9 bells chime, morning

w: Somehow, I feel like I don’t talk about my mother enough, when I’m talking here. I don’t know how. She’s a constant in my life. Recently, she’s been doing a lot better, especially compared to when we first brought her home. She knows and remembers everyone’s names, including the staff. She stays present a lot more often. Occasionally, we still lose her in a painting. Okay, more than occasionally. She still paints all the time, and that means she slips away into her mind. I don’t think that will ever change, but that’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with the way she is. 

I haven’t talked to her in depth yet about the violence my father dealt me. I’m sure she has some of her own, even further than sending her away to an asylum. That’s a conversation for a later time, I think, to unpack the things he did to us together. I don’t know what sort of words he used with her, or if physical violence was a part of it as well. I don’t know when his violence with her started. As selfish as this is, a part of me almost doesn’t want to find out, because if it lines up with when he found out about me, then I might go back to thinking that it was my fault.

Chapter Text

A week later, 10 bells chime, morning

j: (in Zemeni) Ma used to call me “little rabbit”. Perhaps because I’ve always been twitchy and full of energy. Maybe because I loved to cuddle with her. It might have been because I was small. Though it could have been none of those things. The only thing I really know is that I miss it. I want her to cup my cheek again. I want her to kiss my forehead. I want to hear the words leave her mouth, full of affection I can only dream of now. Fuck, I miss her so much. I loved her so much. No—love her. I love her so much.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 4 bells and quarter chime, afternoon

j: I found a stained-glass window in the upper floors of the house. I thought I had explored every inch of this house, but apparently, I hadn’t. The window looked to be a depiction of the Church of Barter, surrounded by canals and flowers, and bathed in stained sunlight. On touch, it felt old, not just on the surface, but in its very particles. I wonder if Wylan knows about it. He’d appreciate the art more than I ever could.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, late spring, 8 bells and three quarters chime, morning

j: Inej is back! And what makes it even better is that it’s my birthday. It’s like a little gift, just for me. I love having her here. Though she said she’s not going to stay too long—maybe a month or so. Then she’s going to leave to spend the summer with her family in Ravka. But I’ll take her while she’s here. Any time spent with Inej is time well spent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re going out for waffles. Kaz said he was going to make me order twenty-three of them, one for each year I’ve been alive, and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious. I guess I’ll find out.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 11 bells and half chime, morning

w: Jesper seems kind of… weird, these past few days. I can’t quite put my finger on it. And I can’t pinpoint anything that would have caused it, either. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened, as ordinary as Inej returning and Jesper’s birthday can be. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t want to pry, either. If he doesn’t want to tell me, he doesn’t want to tell me. Perhaps if it gets worse, then I’ll ask. For now, I’ll just watch and wait.

Chapter Text

The next day, 3 bells chime, nighttime

j: Okay, listen. Yes, it’s three bells in the morning, but I needed something to do. On my birthday, we went out for waffles, like I said—no, Kaz did not make me order twenty-three of them—and then we did some stuff during the day. At night, Kaz offered for us to go to his office at the Crow Club and have drinks there. Everybody looked at me, and I said I was fine. And I was, really. I mean, it’s been a long time since I’ve been to the tables, and I go to the Crow Club to retrieve Kaz every now and then. I was fine. Until we were actually there. I don’t know what it was. Maybe that I was getting drunk, or that it was peak hours, but fuck , I wanted to gamble so badly. I would have gambled my life away if it meant getting to play just one game. But, you know, I was with everybody, and they very kindly keep me grounded, and so I couldn’t. I didn’t. The urge lingers, though. Right, because you have to scratch an itch to make it go away, most of the time. Or you wait it out painfully until it vanishes, however long it takes. Currently, I’m determined to wait out the itch. It’s excruciating, sure, but I can do it. I can do it. I’m not going to go. I’m going to stay here and wait it out. It’s been too long for me to break my streak, and I try to remember how awful I feel every time I relapse. My guns are upstairs and Wylan’s asleep, and really, I should tell him what’s going on. Okay, fuck, he’s going to hate me, but I’m going to go wake him up and tell him. Yeah. He can help me. He can help me.

Chapter Text

The same day, 1 bell chime, afternoon

w: A potential relapse. That’s what he was hiding from me. I’m not mad at him at all, quite the opposite, in fact. I’m proud of him. He’s determined to not go to the tables and even woke me up at nearly four bells last night.

[chuckles]

He thought I’d be angry. I could never be angry at him for asking for help. I’ll sacrifice my sleep for him in an instant. Last night, we stayed up together in low lamplight. I let him play with my hands and my hair for something to do, and we cuddled together and just talked quietly. I told him how much I love him, how much I’m proud of him. I’m glad he told me. And I’ll stay up for him however much he needs me to, support him however I can. I love him.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 11 bells chime, nighttime

j: I think it’s over. I think I did it. The itch is gone, and I didn’t go to the tables. I have Wylan to thank for that, at least a little bit. He’s already in bed, exhausted by staying up having to help me. But no matter how many times I had told him to go to sleep, he remained awake. For me. Some nights he kissed me, some nights he held me. Some nights I kissed him, and some nights I held him. But we made it through the storm together. I could… I might… yeah. I will.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, 3 bells and half chime, afternoon

w: I might not be able to go to Novyi Zem this year. Some sort of stupid Merchant Council thing, an emergency something or other. I don’t really remember the details. By the time they said, “We need everyone here,” I was only focused on what this would mean for us. I don’t want to be the one that prevents us all from going. Jesper should still go. And my mother, if she wants to. They shouldn’t stay home just because I can’t go. I know what Jesper’s going to say, what he’ll be worried about. I’ll find someone else to read to me when he’s gone. Kaz, or one of the staff, even. I’ll make it work. He can go visit his father. I’ll be okay.

Chapter Text

A week later, beginning of summer, 7 bells chime, evening

j: Wylan wants me to go to Novyi Zem without him. And I don’t know what to do about it. On the one hand, I don’t want to leave him here. On the other, I miss Da, and I… I have some things I want to talk to him about. It’d be easier to talk to Da about my stuff if Wylan’s not there. But I don’t want to abandon him. We run the business together, and more importantly, I read to him. And it would be fine for me to leave if Marya stayed too, because then she could read to him, but she doesn’t want to stay home, and Wylan wants her to do what she wants. I do as well, I just worry about him. He said he’ll get Kaz to read to him, but I’m not sure Kaz will want to take the time out of his day to help him. Will he? And of course, Inej is leaving in a couple of days. Saints, this is a mess. It’d be better if I just stayed home. We’ll just see what happens, I guess. I’ve got to leave soon, if I’m going. We can go talk to Kaz tomorrow. Or tonight, even. We’ll figure something out.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 2 bells chime, afternoon

j: I’m going. To Novyi Zem, that is. Marya is coming with me. Kaz is going to come read to Wylan every day. We’ve worked out a schedule, so he can do his business at the same time as he helps Wylan with ours. We’re leaving in a few days.

For now, I’m just spending as much time as I can in Wylan’s arms. Trying to memorize the feel of him. His scent, his taste, his touch. I’m going to miss him. I hope he’ll be okay.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 2 bells chime, nighttime

j: (in Zemeni) Wylan, if you’re listening to this, know that I love you. Saints, I love you so much. I’ve left a letter with Kaz, for him to read to you, so hopefully you’ve heard that already. It’s probably good that we’re spending time apart, you know, as a test for our relationship, but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you every second that I’m gone. I’ll be thinking about your freckles while I look up at the stars. I’ll think about your warmth while I’m in the sun. Wylan, beloved, the sun and the stars. I hope you think about me when you see the moon.

Chapter Text

The same day, 5 bells chime, evening

w: They’re gone. Jesper and my mother. They left a few hours ago, and I’ve just been trying to distract myself, I guess. Jesper left me a message on this device, and I’ve been replaying it over and over again. Is it weird that I miss his voice already? Miss the way he mutters to himself in Zemeni when he’s working on something? I miss the way he whispers in my ear. The way he says my name. The way he’s always moving. The house feels so still without him. Not empty, but hollow. I miss my mother’s hugs, too. Her contemplative looks when she’s painting. Her kind words to reassure me. Her fingers on the piano next to mine. It’s going to be strange without them. It already is.

I should probably go get my stuff ready. Kaz is coming soon, for dinner and to read to me. I’m kind of surprised that he agreed to do it, but not surprised at the same time. I think Jesper may have threatened him a bit, in whatever way one can threaten Kaz Brekker. Though I also think Kaz cares, in his own way. He’ll deny it at every turn, and it’ll often be the most roundabout way of caring you’ve ever seen, when he displays it. But he does care. Though I will admit, I’m sure he’s also just glad that he doesn’t have to snoop into my business anymore. This way, he has direct access to my documents instead. Oh well. At least he’s helping.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 12 bells and half chime, afternoon

w: Isn’t it funny how you never want to talk to someone more than when they’re gone? I keep finding myself thinking about something, and turning to tell Jesper, or wandering the house trying to find him before I remember. It almost feels like I should be writing letters. But for obvious reasons, I can’t do that. Maybe I should put them here. Like:

Dear Jesper,

Did you know your face keeps making it into my sketchbook? You’ve only been gone two days and I keep trying to recreate your presence. Kaz’s voice isn’t the same as yours. I made him read me a chapter of a novel last night, and though he was reluctant, he did it. It was definitely different because he doesn’t know the cadences you usually use. I wish I had gotten you to record yourself reading my favorite stories before you left, but we had too much work to take care of. I hope you’re safe, on the way to Novyi Zem. I hope you’re taking care of my mother. When you get back, I’m going to kiss you senseless. I’d spend the rest of my life in your arms if I could. But for now, I’m stuck waiting for you. I love you, darling.

Yours forever,

Wylan.

Chapter Text

A week later, 7 bells chime, morning

w: I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. It’s not that Jesper’s not here; I can sleep fine without him next to me. It’s that I don’t know if he or my mother are safe. A stupid worry, I know. Jesper can take care of himself just fine, especially in a fight. And I have no doubt that he’d protect my mother in that instance as well. The scenarios just start to spiral in my mind, one after another. The ship gets attacked, the ship sinks, the ship never makes it to Novyi Zem, the ship never makes it back to Ketterdam. Then I start to worry that if I’m not there, that’s why these things will happen, or that since I’m not there they won’t be able to survive. What I worry about most, though, is that they’ll die, and I won’t know it. Or I won’t find out for months, or something. I just don’t want to lose them.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, midsummer, 4 bells and half chime, afternoon

w: Okay, so this was a long while ago, but I had been thinking about buying a violin. And, you know, life just sort of got in the way, and I forgot about it, until now. Perhaps it was sort of an impulse buy, but I suppose when you’re rich you can get away with that sort of thing. So, yeah, I now own a violin. I don’t really know what I’m doing with it, yet, but I’ll figure it out. I’ve got all summer. The people at the shop gave me a book, which is only helpful because it has pictures in it. If I get desperate enough, I’ll have Kaz read it to me. I wonder how long it’ll be before he regrets this arrangement. He probably already does, to be honest. Oh well.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 8 bells chime, morning

w: I’ve been thinking about how much Jesper and I have been through together. Just reflecting on our time. We’ve had to learn so much about each other. I remember we used to fight a lot more, when we first got together. Yeah, there was the easy phase of the relationship, when we were happy to just kiss each other all the time and coast through on simple feelings, but once that ended, a lot of our old habits came out of the woodwork, and we bickered. Usually about stupid stuff, if my memory serves me correctly. There were, of course, bigger arguments as well. Jesper used to go to the tables a lot more, back then. I spent a lot of time hiding from memories of my father. Not only did we have to learn each other’s strengths, but our weaknesses and shames as well. It’s not enough for a romantic relationship to built on kisses and embraces. Real love comes from knowing the person at your side, from choosing to be there. Real love is an everyday practice, not just an idea. And it took us awhile, but we got there. To real love. Unconditional love. I think I’d like to… if he’s ready, that is. Real love takes communication, too. I’ll see him in a month or so and decide for sure.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 9 bells and three-quarters chime, evening

k: This still works?

w: Yeah. I used it earlier this week.

k: Boredom driving you out of your mind?

w: Something like that.

y: You could always come do demo for me.

w: I’ll pass, thanks.

[…]

w: I have an idea. Wait here.

k: Not like I can go anywhere else.

[door opens]

[footsteps]

[…]

k: Isn’t this fun?

[footsteps]

[door shuts]

w: Okay, I’m back.

k: Drinking?

w: Of sorts. We’re going to make a game out of it. Oh, come on, Kaz, don’t make that face. You love games.

k: Not always. Explain it to me.

w: Well, we each get a glass, and then ask each other questions. If I ask, and you answer, then I drink. If you don’t want to answer, you drink. Same goes for you asking me. I did something similar with Jesper, not too long after we got together.

k: Do I have to?

w: Just for that comment, yes.

k: [sighs]

Pour me a glass.

w: That’s the spirit.

k: If you say so.

[liquid pouring]

w: Alright, ask me something.

k: Why do I have to go first? I already know everything about you.

w: Well, do you want me to go? Just think of something, Kaz.

k: I don’t know. What’s your favorite color?

w: I don’t think I have one, for sure. I like blue. Orange. Green is pretty good, too. Purple. If I keep going, I’ll just be listing all the colors.

k: That’s a non-answer, but whatever.

w: Drink. I answered. Anyway, how old were you when you came to Ketterdam?

k: I was born in the harbor.

w: No you fucking weren’t, Kaz. How old were you when you came to Ketterdam?

k: … Nine.

w: See, was that so hard?

k: Shut up, merchling, and take a drink. Have you ever thought about marrying Jesper?

w: (mumbled) Yes.

k: What was that? Speak up, Wylan.

w: Yes.

k: See, was that so hard?

w: Do you love Inej?

[…]

k: I’m not telling you.

w: Drink, then. I’ve got all the answers I need.

k: Do you ever wish your father was dead?

w: Sometimes. Not always. I still don’t know how I feel about it. Why is your voice so rough?

k: This is how Barrel boys sound. Or maybe a demon possessed me. Who’s to say, really?

w: Again, Kaz, with the theatrics. Give me a real answer.

k: Just did.

w: No, you didn’t.

k: Fine. It came from a ship.

w: That’s not a real answer either.

k: It’s the truth.

w: A ship? Really? There’s no way, unless you swallowed some wood splinters, or something. Or… no. A ship. The Queen’s Lady.

k: Good to see you’re still smart after spending so much time with Jesper.

w: You had the plague?

k: That’s another question. It’s my turn. Do you resent me for how I made you find out about your mother?

w: (hesitantly) I used to.

But that was years ago. Has this been haunting you all this time?

k: Is that your question?

w: No.

k: What is it, then?

w: What do you regret the most?

k: (quietly) Too many things. My regrets are like your colors, Wylan.

Do you regret getting involved with me?

w: No. You’re my friend, Kaz. You might not have been when this first started, but you are now. Nothing you can do will change that.

k: What if I killed Jesper?

w: You would never kill Jesper. You love him like a brother. And you think you hide it well, but I see it. Don’t protest, it’s not going to change my mind.

My next question: Who’s Jordie?

[glass shatters]

[sharp inhale]

k: Wylan? Wylan?

(slightly panicked) Wylan. Wylan. Wylan!

Fuck, you’re flinching. That’s not good. Um…

(in Suli) You’re okay; you’re safe. I’m here. I love you. You’re okay. You’re okay.

[…]

Wylan?

w: Kaz? How did you… how did you know that would work?

k: It’s what Inej does for me.

w: Oh.

k: Yeah.

w: Jesper speaks in Zemeni, for me. What did you say?

k: I don’t know. It’s just whatever she says.

w: Okay.

[…]

w: Thank you.

k: Should we be done? I can clean this up.

w: Might be for the best. I’ll help you. There’s a broom over in the corner; I’ll go get it.

k: Good thing my glass was empty, huh?

w: Yeah, good thing indeed.

Chapter Text

The same day, 11 bells and half chime, nighttime

k: I know exactly what I said to Wylan in Suli. But he doesn’t need to know that.

Chapter Text

Three days later, midnight

w: As another project to keep me busy, I’ve been drawing the phases of the moon, if I can see them. I’ve got pages upon pages of moon drawings, at this point, seeing as it’s been over a month since Jesper and my mother left, and that’s when I started. I’m going to give them all to Jesper when he gets back. My dark side of the moon. I think about him while I’m drawing.

Chapter Text

A week later, 3 bells chime, afternoon

w: An update on violin practice, just for fun. It’s very different to flute, but I like it so far. What’s weird though, is that I have to be careful about where I place my fingers, because even the smallest shift can change the pitch of what I’m playing. Unlike flute, or piano, where I’m simply pressing keys. The strings feel weird under my fingers as well, an unusual force on the pads. Sometimes if I play too long or press too hard, there are lines on my fingertips for a while after. And it’s strange to have to hold the bow as well. Because with flute, both of my hands are on the same side, and neither of them are moving from their places. Meanwhile, with violin, my hands feel like they’re on two different sides of my body, and then I have to move my arm, too. So it’s definitely an adjustment. Not a bad one, though. It’s good to learn something new.

Chapter Text

A few days later, 4 bells chime, afternoon

w: I went back to the University of Ketterdam today to return the books Jesper and I had gotten. It was weird, being in a library without him. I felt really on edge, but also relaxed in a strange way that my younger self would never have been, though I didn’t get any more books. I figured I’d wait until Jesper gets back, so he could have a say. I’m sure Kaz is tired of reading to me by now, though he still shows up every day. But Jes should be back within the next couple of weeks or so, hopefully. I can’t wait. Although it’ll be odd to not have Kaz around so much. I’ll miss him. We’ll have to drag him out here more often. Speaking of, he should be here soon. Well, soon-ish. He’s generally pretty punctual, but sometimes he gets delayed or comes a little early. It's okay with me. I’ve been dating Jesper for too long to not be okay with an inability to be on time. Anyway, I’m going to go get my stuff ready for Kaz to read, so he doesn’t have to stay longer than he wants to, I guess. Though I might try to get him to stay anyway. Sometimes it works.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, late summer, 5 bells chime, evening

w: I’ve been thinking, for a couple of weeks or so, maybe longer—

[chuckles]

I almost don’t want to say it out loud.

But I… I think I want to ask Jesper to marry me. Okay, well, I don’t think I want to, I know I do, I just want to make sure that he’d be on board before I ask. I don’t want to ask him if he’s not ready for it. So when he gets back, I’ll have to gauge it, but yeah. He could be my husband.

Ghezen, wow, that’s something, isn’t it? It’s really something.

Yeah.

[…]

[knock on door]

Come in, Kaz.

[door opens]

j: I’m not Kaz; can I still come in?

[chair scrapes]

w: Jesper!

j: Oh! Hi, love.

w: I missed you so much.

j: (slightly strained) It’s a good thing I don’t need to breathe.

w: Oh, shit. Sorry. Too tight on the hug?

j: Just tight enough.

[kisses]

[gasps quietly]

w: (joyfully) I can see your freckles!

j: Yeah, they still haven’t faded.

w: I’m glad.

j: (in Zemeni) (whispered) I missed you, Wy.

w: (in Zemeni) And I you.

j: So, what did you get up to while I was gone?

w: A lot of things, actually. I bought a violin, for one.

j: Violin, huh?

w: Yeah. It’s been different, but a good different. And I drew you lots of pictures, mostly of the moon. Just for you, darling.

j: I love you.

[kisses]

j: Come on, let’s go see your mother. She’s out there with Kaz.

w: Okay.

Oh, wait!

j: What?

w: Forgot to shut off the recording device.

j: Talking about anything interesting?

w: No, nothing of import—

Chapter Text

Two days later, 11 bells chime, morning

j: Wylan and I took the day off work yesterday, but he had a meeting today, so I can finally talk. I got back from Novyi Zem a couple of days ago, and while I was there, I did a lot of thinking. And some talking, as well, but… I think I’m going to ask Wylan to marry me. Maybe it feels like we’re too young, or maybe it doesn’t. But we’ve been together for a long time, and Saints, I just love him. His joy from when he could see my freckles? I could live with that for the rest of my life. I want to. I wonder if he caught it on recording. I would go back and listen to it, but I don’t know how to do that, and now that I’ve made this one, I’m not going to ask him how for fear that he’ll find this.

So, yeah, I want to marry him. I talked to Da about it, and Marya, while we were away. Both of them were supportive, and on board. And I talked to Ma, as well. I told her first, actually. I know that sounds silly, because she’s gone, but I sat under her cherry tree in the sunset and just talked. I told her about Wylan, about the way he laughs. His desire to see and do good. His freckles, funnily enough. The way he loves me. His eyes, the color of the sky at home. I told her how we met, and the first time we kissed. I told her she would have loved him. But I’ll have to love him enough for both of us. I think I’m up to the task.

Chapter Text

A week later, 7 bells and quarter chime, evening

w: So, today’s my birthday. I’m twenty-two today, and it’s honestly been the best birthday of my life. Jesper took me out to the peach orchards. Apparently, he paid them a lot of money to have them to ourselves for a few hours. Oh, it was so wonderful. We had a little picnic and ate peaches ‘til we could have been sick, and the way he kissed me… I won’t ever be able to eat a peach again without thinking about him. Without thinking about his sticky fingers on my face and in my hair, or around my waist. We both tasted the same thing in those moments, and now peaches are forever sealed with love. Is it bad that I almost didn’t want to wash so that I could keep smelling like them? That I didn’t want the moments to fade to memory, just yet? At least we washed it away together. The next best thing, I suppose.

We brought some peaches home and they’re sitting in a basket in the kitchen. I’m going to paint them and hang up the canvas in our bedroom, so the memory doesn’t diminish. Sweet taste of peach, laid bare beneath his fingertips. Remembrance composed under mine. I’ll love him longer than my body will let me.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, 2 bells chime, afternoon

w: We’ve got people installing a firepit and a swing bench in the back garden. It’s something that Jes and I have been talking about for a long time but have just finally gotten around to doing. There’s no particular reason rather than for our own enjoyment. To have romantic nights under the stars. To lay next to each other. We settled on a swing bench because Jesper likes the movement. I’m excited for it, at the very least. It’ll be good to have a place outside.

Chapter Text

A few days later, beginning of autumn, 7 bells chime, morning

w: Last night I was trying to figure out if Jes would be ready to get married. Who knew it would be so difficult? I had to hint at it without asking directly, so I wouldn’t spoil it. But I think I succeeded. And I think he’s ready. He seemed surprisingly enthusiastic with everything I suggested. Alright, I shouldn’t say ‘surprisingly’, because that implies I thought he wouldn’t be willing at all. That’s not something I want because that means he doesn’t love me anymore. So I’m glad he was eager about forever, even if it was more earnest than I thought it would be. He’s still Jesper, after all.

It's decided then. I’m going to ask him to marry me.

Chapter Text

The same day, 10 bells and quarter chime, morning

j: Alright, so I’ve been trying to gauge if Wylan is ready for marriage. And I believe I’ve got my answer. Last night as we were laying in bed, I kind of… nudged him, a bit, while we were cuddling, and said something along the lines of, “I could stay here forever.” Wylan, being Wylan, asked, “Forever? Really? That’s a long time.” So I told him something like, “I could bear forever with you by my side.” And, you know, he kissed me and said he could do the same. I think falling in love never ends.

Chapter Text

Two days later, 3 bells and half chime, afternoon

j: I’ve decided that I’m going to make the ring myself, not buy it. I’ve already started thinking about designs. I’ll probably use the sun, the moon, and the stars since that seems to have become a theme between the two of us. Maybe I’ll use some red gold, or rose gold, and then perhaps some super tiny sapphires for the stars. It looks good in my head, at least. I’ll keep working on it, and when it’s ready, I’ll enlist Kaz to help me get the supplies, so Wylan doesn’t suspect anything. The hardest part will just be finding time to make it. 

I’m actually really excited. This is definitely one of the better projects I’ve taken on as a fabrikator. It’s the sort of thing that makes it all worth it. To say I made the wedding ring of my beloved, for Wylan to know what went into it. I adore him and I can make the ring reflect that.

Chapter Text

The next day, 12 bells and three-quarters chime, afternoon

w: I’m just waiting for Inej to get back to get started on proposal plans. I think she’ll be more willing to help than Kaz, so I’m going to recruit her to scout out jewelry shops after hours and to help me with ideas. Normally, helping me brainstorm would be a Jesper job, but obviously, he can’t know about this one. Inej should be back any day now, or at least within a week or two, so hopefully I can get started soon. In the meantime, I guess it’s up to me.

Chapter Text

Three days later, 8 bells chime, evening

j: Did you know there are bears in Ravka? I certainly didn’t. But they’re big and they’re brown and they’re fuzzy! Now, you may be wondering: How do I know that they’re big and they’re brown and they’re fuzzy? Well, not only did the researchers that wrote the book describe them in great detail, but they provided pictures as well! That’s right. They took the time to draw the bears, in color, nonetheless. And they look really cuddly. Wylan tells me that it’d be a horrible idea to hug a bear, but what does he know? He’s never met a bear before. They’ve got cute ears. Round and soft. Those are the only two things you need to know about bears, honestly. Round and soft. Frankly, I think it would be worth visiting Ravka just to see one, but I don’t think I’d be able to justify that to Wylan. But maybe…

Chapter Text

A week later, 11 bells and quarter chime, nighttime

w: Okay, so, Inej is finally back, and I’ve got her helping me with plans. She’s going to go scout out some jewelry shops for me tonight, and then hopefully soon, we’ll go ring shopping. Which is wild to say out loud. We also spent some time figuring out when it’s actually going to happen, and Inej suggested date night. Every couple of weeks or so, Jesper and I have date nights where we’ll do something outside of our typical or usual activities. The closest one is later this week, which doesn’t get me enough time to be ready, so I’ll have to plan for the one after, which will probably be just over two weeks from now. Ghezen, that sounds so soon. I’m excited, though.

I talked to my mother about proposing, as well. I mean, I did it before Inej arrived, of course, but… I’m just glad to have her here for this part of my life. Since we brought her home, her recovery has been intertwined with mine and Jesper’s healing, too. And while there are parts of that I wish she didn’t have to see, she’s been here. It’s just as important that she sees our happiness. 

Oh, and Kaz knows about it, too. If he and Inej weren’t so good at keeping secrets, I would be worried about Jesper finding out. But they know what they’re doing.

Chapter Text

The next day, 6 bells and three-quarters chime, morning

j: I’m awake early and Wylan’s still upstairs, so I’m going to talk fast in case he starts to come down. I’ve got Kaz helping me get supplies for the ring I’m going to make. He’s already gotten me the sapphires, and yesterday I talked to him about getting me red gold. Tomorrow, Inej and Wylan are going out to lunch or whatever for a couple of hours, so Kaz is going to come “keep me company”, or in other words, bring me the gold. Then I can work on it while Wylan’s out, and if I don’t finish, that’s okay. It’s not like I’m trying to propose by the end of the day. I’ve still got to figure out an official time to do it, but that’s a problem for later. Anyway, I should go back upstairs. Can’t let Wylan get too suspicious.

Chapter Text

The next day, 2 bells chime, afternoon

k: I have something I want to say.

j: Oh yeah? What’s that?

k: You’re hopelessly pathetic.

j: I’m hopelessly romantic; there’s a difference.

Chapter Text

A week later, 11 bells chime, morning

j: Wylan’s out for a meeting that I don’t have to go to, which means that I’ve got time to work on crafting the ring. I’ve been working on it here and there, whenever I can. I even did it in bed while Wylan slept next to me, as dangerous a game as that is. But even still, I’ve got it mostly finished. Today I’m finishing putting in and adjusting the sapphires. I’m using them as the stars, to keep up with the whole sun, moon, and stars thing, but as a hidden feature, I’m placing them in the patterns of Wylan’s freckles. It’s been incredibly tedious to get them just right, but I think I’m almost there. I hope he loves it as much as I do.

And I’ve figured out when I’m going to propose. Wylan suggested last week that for our upcoming date night, we stay home and put the swing bench and firepit we installed to good use. It’s just the perfect time to do it. There’s not a lot of external factors, and it’ll be just the two of us, so I can do it how I want. A little over a week from now, hopefully I’ll be engaged to the man I love. Isn’t that something?

I feel like I don’t say it enough, but I’m so grateful that Wylan’s in my life. Not that I’m not grateful for everyone else—Da, Kaz, Inej, Marya—but Wylan’s always seemed like he’s had a clear sight of who I am. Inej has, too, of course. I’m not here to discount that, or my relationship with her, because my relationship with Wylan isn’t more important. I’m grateful for them both. But if I’m talking about Wylan only, I’m grateful for every time he’s been there for me. Every time he’s brought me home from a gambling table. Every kiss he’s given me. Every modicum of forgiveness. And I’m grateful that he’s never shamed me, tried to force me to be someone I’m not, or tried to force me to change or heal when I wasn’t quite ready. He’s always let me make my own decisions, and has been there for me through them, for better or for worse. I’m lucky to love someone like him. I don’t say it enough.

I feel bad for the way I treated him when we first met each other. Sure, we were just kids in pain, but I was so harsh sometimes. I hope I’ve made it up to him, over the years, now that I understand him. Now that I love him. If I haven’t, well, the rest of our lives is enough time to keep trying. After all, it’s all he’s ever asked me to do.

Chapter Text

A few days later, mid-autumn, midnight

i: I’m so excited for Wylan and Jesper.

[squeals]

Ooh, they’re going to get married! Alright, well I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but it’s pretty much a guarantee, at this point. They’re both going to propose, and on the same night, I think, too. It’s difficult to not assume they’re going to get married. And they’re both so happy about it. They’re so in love.

[door opens]

k: Inej.

i: Hey, Kaz.

k: You’re talking, too?

i: Maybe a bit. Can you blame me? It’s just right here.

k: You’re right, it is.

What were you saying?

i: How excited I am for Wylan and Jesper to propose.

k: Ah. Should have guessed.

I: I’m happy for them. Aren’t you?

k: [grunts]

i: Come on, Kaz. Shevrati. Look at me. I know you never quite imagined you’d have friends, much less friends that would fall in love and get married. And in another world, it would be Jordie who you watched get engaged, no? But Jordie would want you to be there for your friends, alright?

k: You talk like you knew him.

i: I know him through you, and that’s enough.

[…]

k: I never said I wasn’t happy for them.

i: I never said you did. Do you want a kiss?

k: Not tonight. Thank you for asking.

i: This has been our routine for months, Kaz. You don’t have to say thank you every time I ask.

k: You can’t stop me.

i: You’re right, I can’t. Would you rather go upstairs and braid my hair?

k: Why do you think I came down here?

[laughs]

i: Alright, then. Let’s go.

k: (quietly) I love your lau—

Chapter Text

Two days later, 3 bells chime, afternoon

w: As the proposal gets nearer, I’ve been reflecting on how lucky I am to have someone like Jesper to love me. The way he loves me, the way he’s always been supportive of me through my inability to read… we shouldn’t have to live in a world where me not being able to read is an issue. But we do, and so for Jesper to love me the way he does—unconditionally—and to read to me makes our relationship a gorgeous and unique thing. I’ve been thinking about who I was in those years after my father found out about me. After he sent my mother away. There were so many times that I thought that nobody could love me for who I am—not friends, not romantic partners. But then along came Jesper. And Inej, Kaz, Nina, and Matthias. And it didn’t bother them that I couldn’t read. In fact, they didn’t care. They never shamed me, never belittled me for not being able to do it. Instead, they just read to me when I asked. Sometimes when I didn’t ask, they’d do it anyway. It was such a breath of relief. For the first time, I knew what it was to be loved fully, or at the very least, liked. What a strange feeling. And Jesper just kept it going. Day after day, he's read to me, kissed me, encouraged me, kept me grounded, made me feel safe. He learned how to catch things with his fabrikator powers so they don’t shatter, so the memories of pain don’t drown me. I’ve never asked him to do anything other than try, and he’s done so much more. I’ll be proud to call him my husband.

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Two days later, 6 bells chime, evening

w: I’m proposing to Jesper tomorrow. What the fuck.

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The next day, 7 bells chime, morning

j: Today is the day I ask Wylan to marry me. Holy shit.

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The next day, 10 bells chime, morning

j: (joyful) Not only did he say yes, but he also asked me to marry him too. He even asked me first! I can’t believe he beat me to it. All that time I spent planning, just to find out that he was planning, too. This is why I love him.

And now that it’s actually happened, we have to start thinking about wedding plans. For some reason, I never really let myself think this far, and now I don’t know what to do with myself. Obviously, we’ll invite Kaz and Inej—I think Inej might kill us if we don’t—but I don’t know if I want it to be some big thing. I think I’d like it better at home. In Novyi Zem, I mean. So Ma could be there, in a way. And I think I’d like to invite Leoni. I know I don’t talk about her much, but we’ve become friends, and I’d like for her to be there. I want to see if Nina can come, too. I don’t quite know how to reach her, but it pays to have friends in high places, so I’m sure someone in the Ravkan government knows. I miss her. I wonder what she’d have to say if she could see me now. Probably something silly, to make me laugh, like a joke about me being Wylan’s trophy husband.

Oh Saints, I’m going to be his husband. I hope this joy never fades.

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The same day, 7 bells and half chime, evening

w: So, Jesper said yes. And I said yes to him. And now we’re engaged. He literally made me a ring. It’s the most gorgeous thing, made of red gold and speckled with tiny sapphires. I’ll cherish it forever. I’ll cherish him forever.

I’ve been thinking— I want to have him listen to all these recordings. Well, together, of course, but… I think it would be good to do, sometime before we get married. It’d make things feel complete, in a way. All the cards on the table. No words left unsaid. 

And to say the words I want said:

Jesper, I will love you while hope runs out and when stars die. I will hold you close, collapsed together, as grief takes its familiar hold. I will know you as the sun knows the moon, intimate and trusting of its every form. ‘Happy’ will never be enough of a word to describe my life with you. You are my darling, Jesper. Forever and always.

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A week later, 5 bells chime, evening

Wylan stood in front of the table in the workshop, fingers brushing deftly over his recording device—its rectangular frame, the small buttons he had painted on to differentiate their purposes. How was it that he had nothing more to say? That he had exhausted his words for the time being? All the possible updates had been given, and there was nothing to commiserate, not when everything in his life was so wonderful. He flaked a piece of paint off with his fingernail, peeling red from the metal it covered. Jesper had been wearing red earlier. He had been dressed like a sunset, in reds, oranges, and yellows, and Wylan had been reminded of nights in Novyi Zem, when they stayed out late to marvel at the stars.

A soft melody emerged from the back of his throat—more of a hum than anything else. Maybe he’d go find Jesper, and they could dance, or maybe he’d go practice flute or violin. There was no point to his having come to the workshop other than his own habitual drive to talk to nobody. He could leave the thing alone, for once.

Before he could move, someone knocked on the door. “Wylan?” Jesper said softly from the other side. The door swung open quietly. “Ah, you are in here.”

“Hey, Jes,” he replied, giving his fiancé a small smile. For some reason, he still had his fingers on the recording machine.

“What are you doing in here?” asked Jesper as he moved further into the room, shutting the door behind him. He was still wearing his sunset-colored outfit, his gray eyes moons beginning to rise in his darkening sky.

Wylan scraped another chip of paint away from the device—blue this time. “Just thinking, I guess.”

“About?”

“How I don’t have anything to say,” he said. He looked up from the device, catching Jesper’s gaze. “It seems I’ve run out of words.”

Closer now, Jesper reached out a long finger to run over the device, the same way Wylan was. “You know, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“You use it, too?” murmured Wylan.

He could see Jesper nod from the corner of his eye. “Yeah.”

Gingerly, he added, “I was going to suggest we listen to them all before we get married. But only if you want to.”

With gentle movements, Jesper took his hand, sliding it away from the device. “I think that’s a good idea,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Nodding, Wylan said, “Okay.” He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it, relieved or anticipatory, but at least he had an answer.

“We could start now,” Jesper proposed. “I mean, I know we don’t have time to listen to all of them, but we could skip through and listen to a few before Kaz and Inej get here.”

“Okay,” Wylan repeated, the word falling from his mouth before he could stop it. And really, he didn’t have anything better to do with his time. They might as well get a head start. Jesper moved around him, kissing the top of his head as he passed behind, then pulled out the chair next to Wylan to sit in. Immediately, he grabbed one of the glass stirrers from the chemistry set on the table, flipping it between his fingers. Wylan pulled out a chair of his own, sitting just as Jesper had. “Where should we start?” he asked. His voice sounded more cheerful to his ears than he had expected.

“The beginning,” said Jesper. “I want to hear the very first one you ever made.”

Wylan turned on the device, running it back as far as he could, though it took a minute to get there. Years of recordings had been stored on the device, and more than he had ever guessed as it contained not only his, but Jesper’s as well. When he could go no further, he released it, and his own voice emerged from the machine. “Is this working? I hope this is working.”

Though he hadn’t noticed much of a difference from his voice now, Jesper exclaimed, “Oh! You sound like a baby!” He only scowled in response, and his younger self continued talking.

“This is just a trial run after all; Jesper’s expecting me in bed soon. I guess this is my way of writing a diary, since I can’t really write. My name is Wylan Van Eck, and these are stories about my life.”

A moment of silence followed, seemingly indicating the end of the recording. Wylan paused it, preventing it from moving to the next. “There you go, Jes. The first one I ever made.”

“It was kind of cute,” said Jesper. “You sounded so hopeful.”

He felt his face wrench in confusion. It hadn’t sounded like that to him, but maybe Jesper had just heard something in his words that he hadn’t. But he didn’t comment on it, and simply questioned, “Do you want to listen to the next one, or skip ahead a bit?”

“Um… skip ahead a bit. We can come back to these first few later,” answered Jesper. He tapped the glass stirrer softly on the edge of the table while Wylan adjusted the device accordingly. After a few moments, he said, “Stop here.”

Again, Wylan released the device, and resumed the audio. His voice spoke from the silence once more. “I have the callouses on Jesper’s hands memorized. Years of holding and shooting his revolvers are held there, in every ridge and crack. I hold his hand when we walk together, and sometimes we’ll just lay in bed with our hands clasped between us. Jesper likes to fidget with my hands, and sometimes he’ll put his rough fingers on my cheek, then tangle them in my hair. I watch him play with his guns, and when he puts them away, his hands are mine again.” As the recording kept going, Wylan could feel his face heat, and he knew his cheeks were turning red. Meanwhile, as if he had been prompted to, Jesper quietly slid his hand into Wylan’s, though he didn’t say a word. “My left hand is more scarred than my right,” the younger Wylan continued. “I’m not really sure why, it just is. I wonder if Jesper knows the ways my hands feel different from each other.”

“I do,” Jesper murmured.

“I wonder if he has a favorite scar. To be honest, I have one. My favorite of mine is on the inside of my wrist, just below the lines my thumb carves into my hand. I accidentally cut myself with a knife trying to get a stopper off one of my chemical bottles. My favorite of Jesper’s scars is the one on the curve of his waist, where he got grazed with a bullet a few years ago, before I ever knew him.”

Almost instinctively, Wylan watched as Jesper raised his free hand to his right side, where he knew the scar to be. Then he looked down at his own wrist, to find his scar, barely visible behind where Jesper’s hand was holding his.

The recording endured. “I love the intimacy that comes with knowing each other’s bodies so well. Normally when people say that they mean something else, but I’m talking about how I know the feel of Jesper’s hand on my cheek better than I know myself. How my fingers could always find that scar on his waist. That he’ll kiss my burn scars that I got from playing with chemicals. That I can find his freckles, even in Ketterdam winter. That’s what I mean.” Silence dogged the words, so Wylan halted the audio once more.

Jesper pulled their entwined hands up high, then used one hand to hold Wylan’s in place while he trailed the fingers of his other down Wylan’s palm. “This one,” he said, finding a little divot at the bottom. “This one’s my favorite. It looks like it’s supposed to be there. You wouldn’t be Wylan without it.”

“And you wouldn’t be Jesper without bullets,” Wylan said, throwing him a smirk. “Or your bullet wound.”

He had been joking, but Jesper said, “You know Nina offered to smooth it out for me one time?”

Wylan clasped his hand once more, and said, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jesper confirmed. He looked up at Wylan, an oddly sincere look in his gray eyes. “For whatever reason, she was at the Slat to visit Kaz, and I had happened to get in a fight. Creditors, you know. Very insistent when it comes to money. One of them had managed to slash me with a knife, and since she was there, Kaz had her fix me up. I had to take off my shirt, and she saw the scar. But I didn’t… I didn’t want her to close it. I didn’t want to lose it. Is that stupid?”

“No,” said Wylan, shaking his head. “I don’t think it is.”

“That’s just because it’s your favorite scar,” joked Jesper.

He chuckled, “Maybe. Should we move on?”

Jesper nodded, and Wylan noticed his left hand had once again fallen to his side, where the scar resided. “Skip ahead again.” Doing as told, Wylan jumped for a bit, until Jesper commanded him to stop.

Instead of a younger Wylan, a younger Jesper talked. “Wylan got us oranges. Fucking oranges. Holy shit, are they good.”

The Jesper at Wylan’s side laughed, and his hand fell away from his waist. “I forgot I made this,” he whispered. “To be fair, though, the fruit was really good.”

“…all sorts of stuff grows in the Southern Colonies. He also got mangoes and pineapples. Oh, they’re all so delicious. Saints, I love being rich sometimes.”

“We should definitely buy some more,” said Jesper, in between his younger self’s statements.

“Alright,” Wylan agreed.

“Oh! And I almost forgot, my favorite part of all. The juice. We squeezed the juice out of the oranges and fucking drank it. Oh, in the name of all the Saints, that was the best damn beverage I’ve ever had.” Wylan couldn’t help but laugh with Jesper at the enthusiasm. He made a silent vow to get some more fruit from the Southern Colonies soon. “What a morning this has been. I think I probably ate an entire mango by myself. And my tongue stings from eating too much pineapple.”

“Worth it,” Jesper muttered.

“It’s kind of rude that it does that, if you ask me. It’s like the fruit is trying to eat you back. It was worth it though. So good.” Both of them burst out laughing, sharing grins. It seemed Jesper of the past wasn’t so different to the present, after all. “See, this is why I’m really with Wylan. Cause he buys me exotic fruit. That’s a joke, obviously. I’d stay with Wylan no matter how much money we had and no matter where we lived.” Here, Jesper rubbed his thumb against Wylan’s hand. “But seriously. Get yourself a man that buys you exotic fruit. And then kiss him when he splits his orange with you.” The recording ended there, and Wylan paused it.

Jesper looked at him pleadingly. “We need to get some more fruit as fast as possible, I think.”

“I’ll try and get it tomorrow,” Wylan promised between his giggles. “Only if you promise to kiss me when I split my orange with you.”

His fiancé winked. “I think I can manage that.”

“The deal is the deal,” said Wylan. “Now, where to next?”

“Skip it for about five short seconds,” Jesper said.

He did, counting five beats out in his head. Jesper’s voice arose once more. “See, look! Anything we’re saying is now on record.”

To Wylan’s surprise, Inej spoke next. “How do you know? There’s nothing to look at.”

“That’s a good question. I don’t actually know. I just hope it’s recording and talk to myself,” Jesper replied. She laughed, and he said, “I’m glad you’re back, ‘Nej.”

Inej said, “Me too,” then followed with, “Jes, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, love,” said the younger Jesper. If Wylan wasn’t so curious of what happened next, he would have teased Jesper, saying, I thought you only called me that!

“Are you and Wylan doing okay? And are you doing okay?” she asked.

The recorded Jesper sighed. “We had a talk last night. I don’t know if Wylan told you, but I relapsed a couple months back. It’s so fucking stupid. I was doing so good.” Wylan opened his mouth to ask which relapse this was—since the invention of the machine, Jesper had only had a couple—but then he heard, “I hadn’t gone to the tables in nearly half a year,” and he had his answer. He continued to listen quietly, while Jesper stared at the device just as intently. “Even a few nights before, I had said I was going to come here and talk instead. And then I didn’t. And I guess I’ve been punishing myself ever since. At least, that’s what Wylan said. I guess it’s true.” He didn’t remember saying that, but he must have, at some point.

“You know it’s okay, right?” said Inej. “To not be healed?”

“Yeah. I think so,” Jesper answered.

“It doesn’t sound like you believe it.”

“No, it really doesn’t, does it?”

“Here, give me your hands,” Inej said, and Wylan could hear them moving slightly. “Now I want you to say it. ‘It’s okay’.”

Jesper repeated, “It’s okay.”

Her voice was teasing, but coaxing, kind, as well. “Believe it, Fahey.”

“It’s okay,” Jesper said again.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s okay.”

For now, Inej was satisfied. “Better,” she said.

“I feel bad for distancing myself from Wylan,” said Jesper. “Though I didn’t mean to, I was punishing him, too. He didn’t deserve that.” Wylan snuck a look over at him now. Jesper’s brow was furrowed, and there were traces of his father in his gaze.

“No, he didn’t,” confirmed Inej. “But you didn’t deserve to be punished either.” Slowly, Jesper’s face softened, yet he still didn’t look away from the machine.

On the recording, his past self said, “Wylan’s never punished me for my problems.”

“Who has?” asked Inej.

Jesper snorted a laugh. “Kaz.”

“Okay, aside from Kaz.”

“I guess just myself,” he said softly.

Wylan rubbed Jesper’s hand gently, in what he hoped were comforting patterns. “If it were Wylan struggling, would you punish him or help him?” Inej prompted.

“Help him.”

“So why don’t you do the same for yourself?”

The reply Jesper gave was phrased like a question. “Because I don’t deserve it?”

“Says who?” she said.

“Me.”

The present Jesper flinched, and Wylan wanted to say something, but it seemed Inej had already said everything for him. “I promise you that you deserve everything you have and more. You don’t have to be perfect to deserve what you have. You’re trying, Jesper. That’s all we could ever ask of you. I’m proud of you, you know.”

“I’m proud of you, too,” said Jesper. “And I want to figure out how to make amends with Wylan. For pushing him away when he wanted to help.” Finally, he looked away from the recording device, meeting Wylan’s eyes. He seemed lost, searching for some sort of acceptance, or forgiveness. His mouth hung open slightly, like he was waiting for the words he wanted to say to fly in and land on his tongue. Wylan smiled.

In Suli, Inej said, “Mati en sheva yelu.”

Jesper echoed what Wylan assumed was the translation. “This action will have no echo.”

“Exactly,” she verified. “While you’re at it, I want you to figure out how to forgive yourself. Make amends with yourself, too. Can you do that?”

“I can try.”

“And that’s all I could ever want.”

Quickly, Jesper’s gaze flicked down to where Wylan was still holding his hand, and it stayed there. “Thanks, Inej,” he said on the recording.

She responded, “I’m always here for you, you know that?”

“I do,” he said.

“Good.”

There was the slightest lapse in the conversation, just brief enough to notice, but not long enough for Wylan to call it a silence. Then Jesper said, “Do you and Kaz want to stay here tonight?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Your bedroom is always there for you.”

“I’ll ask him,” said Inej. “Even if he doesn’t want to, I’ll stay here tonight.”

“I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

“How do you know?”

He explained, “Because he’s slept here before. It’s not often, but sometimes he’ll crash in a spare room. Occasionally we can get him to stay for a meal. Sometimes he’s gone before the sun rises. Sometimes he sleeps in the afternoon and leaves before the sun sets. But he stays. And that’s enough.”

All Inej said was, “Huh.”

Jesper added, “Plus you’re here.”

She reiterated, “Plus I’m here.”

Another lull disrupted the conversation, this time long enough that it could properly be called a pause. It lasted a few good seconds, until Inej noticed, “Oh, we forgot to turn off Wylan’s device. Everything we’ve said has been caught.”

“That’s okay,” said Jesper. “Leave it there. One day we can listen back and I can hear myself say on record that I love you. I can hear you help me heal, and one day I will listen to this and be able to see the progress I’ve made. This is physical proof of my journey. It’s okay,” he said, just as she had made him earlier.

“Alright,” she said. “I love you, too, Jes.” And that was the end. Wylan stopped the device from playing a new recording.

At his side, Jesper was staring at the table, having once more picked up the glass stirrer, rolling it between his finger and his thumb. Slowly, he said, “I wish I could write that conversation down. Have it available whenever I want.”

“Well, why don’t you?” suggested Wylan. “When we go through all of them another day, we’ll take this one piece by piece and you can write it down to have whenever you want.”

Eventually, he looked up. “Okay,” he murmured, then repeated, “It’s okay. To not be healed.” Wylan suspected the words were more for himself than anyone else.

They sat in silence for a moment—Wylan holding Jesper’s hand, and Jesper fidgeting with the glass stick. It was possible he was sensing it with his fabrikator gifts, though Wylan had no way of knowing unless he asked, but he didn’t want to interrupt whatever thoughts were running through Jesper’s mind.

“You can choose another,” Jesper said suddenly. “Recording, that is.”

“Alright,” Wylan said quietly. He held onto the button for longer than he should have, perhaps, but he wanted to give Jesper more time, if he could. Neither of them said anything in the silence, only listened to the small whir of the device.

But he could only hold on for so long. “I’ve figured out how to make sure I never smash a mug again,” said Jesper. “And here begins day one of fabrikator training: catch edition.”

Jesper looked up from his hands in surprise, and the beginnings of a smile began to split his face. “For you,” he said.

“I’m going to learn how to stop different materials in midair, so things never hit the ground and smash. This project is sure to take a long time, and I hope to document everything here. First thing I’m going to do is start working with materials I’m familiar with—metal, wax, fine powders. I’ll start with small pieces, working my way up to more difficult materials and larger sizes. Then I’ll be able to catch the mug before it hits the ground next time. That’s the goal, at least,” he said. Wylan found himself smiling, as well, unable to contain himself. He looked to the recordings machine, with its colorful buttons, to the chemistry set on the dark table next to it, to an empty mug next to it, and then to Jesper. Jesper’s gaze was trained on him, eager for a reaction. So Wylan leaned forward and kissed him, and he almost missed as the recording kept going. He didn’t really care. “Today I have some wax and gunpowder,” said Jesper through the audio, while Jesper slid his hand to the back of Wylan’s neck and tangled it in his hair. “I’ve levitated powders before—I did it on Black Veil with Kuwei and Matthias—but it’s not something I’ve done much since then.” Wylan put his hand on Jesper’s cheek. “And I’m going to try and levitate a very, very small piece of wax, just to see if it’s something I can do. If it is, I’ll try bigger pieces.” Jesper deepened the kisses, and Wylan barely heard, “So here goes.”

They continued kissing, and Wylan wasn’t aware of what was being said on the recording anymore, not when Jesper’s lips were on his and his hands in his hair. In love, in love, like they’d arrived at their destination, like they’d set on an adventure together, never ending.

Slowly, they began to separate, a gradual awareness of their surroundings creeping back in. Though Jesper still had his hands in Wylan’s hair, and Wylan had his on Jesper’s cheeks. Jesper pressed their foreheads together softly as they listened to the recording’s final words. Wylan took them in, eyes closed. “Damn. Not giving up though. This is for Wylan, not for me. He deserves a home safe from his father, from memories of his father. For once, my fabrikator skills are a gift, not a curse.” It ended there.

Abruptly, Jesper pulled away, leaving Wylan feeling empty and bare in those places where their skin had been pressed together. This time, he was the one to pause the audio. “I love you,” he said quietly, then went searching for a new recording on his own. Wylan laid onto the table with his head in his arms, hoping the flush in his face would be hidden as he stared at his fiancé. Jesper’s brown skin was also flushed with warmth and his gray eyes were steady, tongue poking from his mouth in an endearing show of focus. “I can feel you staring, Wy,” he said lightheartedly without looking at Wylan.

“Can you blame me?” asked Wylan. “You’re adorable.”

“Everything I aspire to be in life,” Jesper replied, finally turning to face Wylan. “Good thing I have an even more adorable husband-to-be.”

A giddy surge shot through Wylan, and he couldn’t help but beam. “I’m so excited to be married,” he said.

“Me too,” agreed Jesper. “Sometimes I feel like a lifetime with you isn’t enough.”

Somehow, Wylan’s smile grew, and he joked, “Speaking of enough, when are you going to stop skipping and choose a recording?”

“Oh, right,” Jesper said, and he let go of the little green button.

The first thing they heard was a heavy sigh, followed by Wylan’s voice. “Jesper and I have been fighting.” The two looked at each other with concern but kept their thoughts to themselves. Wylan wasn’t sure he remembered what this was about, not without more context. “There has been a lot of yelling in this house today. I told him that I don’t want to go to school.” So, that’s what it was about. The school fight, as they had called it, had stained their relationship for weeks. “Should’ve been fine, right? Just leave it at that. Nope. He starts going on about how he wants me there. He wants me to go, he wants. Well, didn’t I just say that I didn’t want that?”

Jesper looked guilty, and if Wylan had to guess at his other emotions, a bit ashamed as well. He said, “Do we have to listen to this?”

Wylan shook his head. He didn’t want to listen to it either. “No, we don’t,” he said.

His younger self continued, “I don’t want to go to university. I don’t have the capacity to deal with old shames, to be rich and somewhat famous on top of it. There’s too much scrutiny there. Fuck, it’s like Jesper doesn’t even listen to me sometimes.”

The sound of a door opening could be heard, then Jesper’s voice said, “Wylan.”

At that, Jesper once again pressed the button to search through the recordings. “We can listen to that later,” he explained. “Just not today, okay?”

“Agreed,” admitted Wylan.

With a slightly shaky breath, Jesper said, “You said something at the end of the fight that I didn’t hear because I had already left. Do you remember what it was?”

He did. “I said, ‘I love you’.”

“Oh,” said Jesper, and he let the recordings go once more.

“I’m so excited. It’s been fucking forever since Wy and I have gone shooting, and we’re finally going today. I’m just waiting for him to get home from his Merchant Council meeting. I know it’s not his favorite thing in the world, but I’m glad he comes.” The tension that Jesper had been holding in his shoulders drained, and Wylan could see the visible change in mood, even if Jesper himself hadn’t noticed. This was safe territory. “Somehow, today feels like an apology on his part, for the fight and everything that’s come after. But even though he doesn’t think it, for me he apologized as soon as he helped me the night I came back after relapsing. I just haven’t dones a good job convincing me otherwise. Maybe I’ll tell him today, let him know that I know he loves me. That I love him, too.” Jesper took Wylan’s hand again, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a soft pattern. The beats of the rhythm echoed gently in Wylan’s head. “I’m not mad at him. How could I stay mad at him, when he truly sees me and still stays, when he calls me ‘darling’ and shapes the word into a caress? We had a fight and I left to do something stupid, and mere hours later, he was taking care of me in the middle of the night. Is that not love? To have somebody who will let you make your mistakes, but will never shame you for them? Someone who will let you learn, will help you heal, will see you in the early morning and call you beautiful, even after you’ve just thrown up. Yeah, I think that’s love to me.”

Wylan took the initiative to stop the recordings from moving on this time. He looked at Jesper, smiling.

With a grin, Jesper said, “I think apologies are what you do, not what you say. I never needed to hear ‘I’m sorry’ from you, not when you showed me what forgiveness looks like. And I know this’ll make me sound like a hypocrite, but I’m sorry if I didn’t do the same.” His grin slipped sideways.

“Jesper,” he said softly. “Darling. You always have.” And for another time, they kissed, not with the fervent passion from earlier, but with a steady ache of devotion. Kisses could be apologies, too, he supposed.

The kisses lasted briefly; hunger replaced with reassurance. After, Jesper trailed his fingers down Wylan’s cheek. It sent a tingle down Wylan’s spine that made him want to kiss him again. “Shall we pick another?” said Jesper.

Though he didn’t want to leave the embrace, Wylan nodded. He reached forward, jumping through recordings briefly, so he could return to his fiancé sooner. Once he let the audio run, he scooted his chair closer to Jesper, so he could lean against his shoulder. “Around once a year, I have to have a… meeting… with my father,” his own voice said. “Smeet claims it’s for legal stuff, but really it just feels like a battle. Not even that, it’s just—” he cut off sharply, regaining his thoughts, “Every time it happens, it goes like this: I get to Hellgate, we meet surrounded by guards, my father tries to convince everyone, including me, that I’m defective. They don’t believe him, especially because I have Smeet send over all paperwork and files before the meeting so Jesper can read them to me.” Jesper wrapped his arm around Wylan’s shoulders, tucking him into his side properly. Wylan shut his eyes and let the sound of his exhausted self wash over him. He remembered the details of those meetings far too well. “And then, in the few moments where they leave us to talk alone, he tells me how Jesper has corrupted me.” Softly, Jesper’s fingers tugged at the sleeve of Wylan’s shirt. “How Jesper doesn’t really love me, how Jesper just uses me for money, how I’ll never be worth something, how I’m worth even less because I let Jesper help me run the business, how I deserve to suffer because I brought my mother home. Any shame he can come up with, he hurls at me with barbed words.” And it was true. Nearly every memory Wylan had of his father was tainted by his cruelty, by the words he himself once believed in, before he knew what it really meant to be loved for who he was. “Somehow, even after all this time, it still drains me, even if I know it’s not entirely true. Unfortunately, some small parts of me still believe his words. I remember when I was younger, and he’d state that he was the only one who loved me enough to tell me the truth. And I know it’s not the truth, I know it. But why does part of it ring like it is?”

 Ultimately, he couldn’t keep his eyes closed forever, and he took a peek, only to find Jesper looking down at him. “I know you’ve told me all this before, but sometimes I forget how vicious he was—or, is, I should say,” Jesper murmured.

“Yeah,” was all Wylan could say in response.

“Even though a piece of me still hangs onto shame like a lifeline, I know I’m more than what his words make me. He thinks that he can still feed me on hate, even though I know what love is supposed to feel like, now. My father is a fool to think he can convince me that Jesper doesn’t love me.”

Next to him, Jesper leaned down, kissing the top of his head. “Beloved,” he whispered in Zemeni. Wylan could feel the word reverberate through his curls and closed his eyes once more.

The recording continued, “I’m just sitting waiting for Jesper and my mother to get home. Every year on the day of the meeting, I have Jes take her out someplace, whether for breakfast or shopping or something. Just so they don’t have to deal with him and his residue. I’ve got a mug of tea and a blanket, and I’m trying to sort through my feelings so he doesn’t haunt this house any further. It’s gotten easier, over the years. The first time it happened, I came home shaking, promptly crawled upstairs and vomited, then spent the rest of the day in bed. Jes spent hours calming me down, murmuring to me gently in Zemeni, even though I didn’t understand most of his words at the time. Now, I can come home and we can keep going about our day, as if it was just an unpleasant Merchant Council meeting. How far I’ve come.”

The sound of a door opening could be heard, then Jesper saying, “Wylan.” Immediately after, there was a rustling and a thud as someone hit the table. Jesper continued, “Damn it, your tea got knocked off.”

“Ah, shit, it’s all over the ground now,” said Wylan. Then, “Wait, Jes, are you holding the mug in the air?” Wylan opened his eyes once more, though this time Jesper wasn’t looking at him, but rather the empty mug Wylan had accidentally left on the table next to his chemistry set.

“Am I? Oh, fuck. I am.”

“You’re holding the mug in the air.”

“I’m holding the mug in the air!”

With a slow twitch of Jesper’s brown fingers, the mug on the table began to slide forward, seemingly of its own volition, had Wylan not seen Jesper move it. “With your fabrikator powers, Jes!” exclaimed Wylan on the recording.

“Finally!” Jesper cheered.

There was a soft clatter, and Wylan said cheerfully, “What do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“Oh, remember awhile back when you startled me, like I did to you just now?” The mug had finally made it to Jesper’s hand. “And I accidentally knocked a mug off the table and smashed it, and you froze? I didn’t want that to happen again, because you deserve to have a safe home where things don’t shatter. I’ve been practicing, so I can catch the mugs before they hit the ground,” he explained.

Wylan questioned, “You practiced fabrikating so I could feel safe? For how long?”

“The better part of a year,” Jesper answered sheepishly.

“Jesper, you’ve been working on this for nearly a year?”

“Yeah. I did it because I love you. Sorry it took so long.”

For as much as Jesper talked about verbal apologies being unnecessary, Wylan thought he sure did give them a lot.

“Ang you managed to do it on the day I had to see my father,” said past Wylan. “Jesper, I am so thoroughly in love with you it hurts.”

He could hear the laugh in Jesper’s next words. “I take it that was a success, then?”

“Absolutely.” For a moment, Wylan could hear as they kissed, and he thought it a bit weird to be on the outside looking in. Then his younger self said in Zemeni, “I love you so much.”

Jesper held up the mug he had pulled towards himself, twisting it this way and that, admiring the sheen of glaze on the ceramic, deep blue and speckled with pale yellow. “I’m going to be honest,” he said. “I completely forgot I did that.”

In shock, Wylan pulled away from him slightly, so he could fully look at him. “How do you just forget something like that?”

“I don’t know, Wy, I just did,” he retorted, holding both hands—and the mug—in the air.

Wylan was going to say something in return but stopped short when he realized they had forgot to pause the recordings, and the voice that emerged was neither of theirs. “Hello?” said Inej. She muttered, “I don’t know why I’m saying hello.”

Previous conversation forgotten, Jesper set down the mug and stared attentively at the machine, as if looking at it in such a way would make it reveal its secrets faster. “I don’t even know if this is working,” Inej said. “It’s been a bit since Jesper showed me how it works. He just mentioned it the other day while we were talking and I, uh. Wanted to give it a try.”

“Should we be listening to this?” whispered Wylan.

Jesper shushed him, holding up a hand to signal, wait.

She endured, “He’s been through a lot in his life. I know he doesn’t think he can compare it with anything the rest of us have gone through, but our suffering doesn’t make his less. He deserves space to talk about his problems, to work through his grief. He apologizes like it’s his fault for having feelings.” Jesper’s gaze didn’t fluctuate from the device. “I’m glad he has Wylan. Because even though Wylan has problems too—who doesn’t? —he helps Jesper get through them instead of avoiding them. And even though he might not be able to see it, Jes’s state of mind improves the more time he spends listening to us.” After that, Wylan couldn’t help but grin at Jesper, who simply shot him a one-fingered gesture. He stuck his tongue out in response. “I miss them, while I’m out at sea. I miss them desperately. The boys here at home? They have my heart. Not just Kaz, though he has it, too. No, Jesper and Wylan are family,” said Inej, before she paused for a beat. “I hope they get married one day. Is that silly?” Instantly, the two shared smiles, and as if acting on the same whim, they held up their hands, wiggling their fingers around to show each other their rings, then laughed. “Maybe it is,” Inej said, “a childish remark as if we were twelve or thirteen, making plans and fantasies for a faraway future. But even if it is childish, I won’t abandon hope. I haven’t gotten where I am by abandoning my girlhood, and I’m not going to start now. So yeah, I hope they get married. They deserve to be happy, to have unconditional love. Not that they can’t have that if they don’t get married, but you know. Childish fantasies, and all.”

“I’m glad we’re able to fulfill Inej’s dreams,” said Jesper with a smirk.

“Agreed,” said Wylan.

He had expected her to be finished there, but instead, she kept talking. “Marriage. I don’t know what to think of it anymore. At least, in relation to myself. Kaz and I have too much to work through before we can even start to think about that. I mean, I love him. I do. I’m not going to dispute that point. I’ve told him that, and he knows it, and he’s told me he loves me too.” Jesper turned to Wylan, eyes wide with glee, now that he had the knowledge that Kaz had told Inej he loved her. “But if marriage were to happen, it would happen years in the future. We’ve both gone through so much, and our armor doesn’t come undone in a day. It’s already taken a long time to get where we are now.” Wylan was concerned again that they shouldn’t keep listening. It felt they were infringing upon something unspoken, on Inej’s trust that she was speaking in confidence. He wasn’t sure why his curiosity won out in the end, but felt guilty about it anyway. “Sometimes I envy Wylan and Jesper,” she said. “Just… their openness with each other, the easy way they show affection. I ache for what was stolen from me. I know they’ve had their own problems to sort through. But they can touch each other. Sometimes, Kaz and I can’t even do that. And it might always be that way, because of what was taken from us.” At Wylan’s side, Jesper had set his jaw, brows furrowed in concentration, and perhaps a bit of concern. “What would we be in another world, one where he and his brother saw me perform on the high wire?” His brother? “Where we were unburdened, and he saw me walk on air, not for a job or for survival, but for fun? I’d like to think we’d brush past each other outside of the tent, and maybe he'd blush and say sorry, running to catch up to his family. Then he’d come back the next night just to see me again, and we might end up with a stolen kiss. Imagine a world where the only things Kaz Brekker stole were kisses. What a world that would be.” By now, both Wylan and Jesper were sitting still, mouths open slightly, listening to Inej sigh, “But this is not that world. This is a world where we steal courage from each other, hoping that we can have the confidence to hold hands. A world where some nights, he is unable to do anything but curl my braid around his hand. A twist, a turn, and so far, only two stolen kisses.”

Silence followed, and Wylan reached forward to stop the recording.

“Wow,” said Jesper simply. “There was a lot there.” His brows were still furrowed, but this time, Wylan recognized it not as concern, but as solving a puzzle. Jesper was doing scheming face. “Brother?” he asked eventually.

Wylan thought he knew the answer to the riddle of Kaz’s brother, but he didn’t want to voice it, not until he was more sure of himself. And truth be told, he didn’t want to dump it on Jesper unless he was sure, for fear that Jesper would let the information consume him. “Apparently,” he said calmly.

“Huh.”

They sat quietly, chewing on the implications of everything Inej had said. She had always been the most observant, the most poignant of them. But it was another thing entirely to hear her describe her life, her anguish. Sometimes I envy Wylan and Jesper. Wylan wasn’t sure to feel guilty about listening, or about making her feel that way. He knew it wasn’t his fault—at least, he thought he did—but just because you knew something didn’t mean you couldn’t feel contrary to it.

“Do you want to move on?” Jesper said softly. He turned towards Wylan, looking slightly lost. Perhaps he had been thinking the same things Wylan had.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Jesper bobbed his head in the same motion, then leaned forward to find a new one. He didn’t spend long searching, and when he released it, his very loud voice burst from the machine. “Helloooo!”

In sharp contrast to their solemn reflection, Wylan burst out laughing. “Ghezen, you’re so drunk!” he exclaimed.

His fiancé scowled as they listened. “It is… my birthday today. And I am… twenty-two,” he enunciated. “Isn’t that wonderful? Two twos. Two twos. Two twos.” Wylan continued to giggle. “You know, Kaz is out in the living room somewhere, and he’s drunk. Like, super drunk. Wow. He keeps trying to kiss Inej but she won’t let him kiss anywhere but her hands. And somehow, he’s really good at braiding her hair, too. He doesn’t even have the coor— coordin— coordination… to stand up. Why the fuck can he suddenly see straight when it comes to her hair?” Jesper slurred, “He’s cute, though. I mean, Wylan’s cuter, obviously. But sometimes you just want to pinch Kaz’s cheeks like a grandma. I don’t do it though because I value my hands.” Immediately, Wylan fell into a fresh round of giggles. “I don’t do it though because I value my hands,” said Jesper. “If I lost them, I wouldn’t be able to shoot my guns and I’d be sad.”

The door opened on the recording, and Inej said, “Jesper? Can you come outside to join us?”

“I’m talking here, ‘Nej,” he said.

“I can see that. But wouldn’t you like to talk with Wylan? He’s out here.”

Wylan could hear the hesitant eagerness coloring Jesper’s words. “I do… I do like talking to him. Do you think he’d let me kiss him?”

“I think you should probably wait until you’re both not drunk,” she replied.

“Right.” Then, after a moment, “You’re smart, ‘Nej.”

“Alright, Jes. Come on, let’s go join everyone else.”

There were faint sounds of movement. “Kaz is going to fall over, you know,” said Jesper.

Inej snickered, “I know,” and the recording ended.

Quickly, Wylan went to pause it, and Jesper smacked his hand away gently. “Oh, no. I need to find out if you made one, too,” Jesper said. “You’re not getting away that easily.”

He shot him a dirty look, but allowed it, waiting for the next recording to begin. However, it was not Wylan who had used it after Jesper, but Kaz. “Jesper is… Jesper,” he said. They looked at each other in surprise, curious for several reasons. “Jesper,” Kaz repeated. “Jes. I… like Jes. He’s my brother.” Jesper raised a hand to his mouth, sitting still for once. “Oh, and Inej. She’s lovely. Too good for me, but she lets me play with her hair, so that’s kind of her. And Wylan. Wylan is my friend. Who cares that he can’t read; he’s too smart to read.” Wylan remembered his conversations with Kaz over the summer, the other boy’s expression when Wylan had called him his friend. And yet, this was over a year before that, and Kaz had said it first. “My head feels fuzzy, and I think when Jesper gets close to touching me, I’m safe.” He grumbled, “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I feel safe with someone touching me?” Cautiously, Wylan snuck a glance at Jesper, who was still sitting still, hand over his mouth, and now with teardrops hanging in his eyes. “I just… I want to give him a hug though. Jesper.” A single, solitary tear fell. Kaz continued, “Inej lets me hug her sometimes. She’s very kind. I don’t want her to disappear on me.” His final words were a whisper. “Stay with me, Captain, stay with me. Guide me home.” The recording didn’t finish, not officially, but Wylan could hear the faint knocks of Kaz’s cane on the floor, disappearing to oblivion. He must have left it running.

He dared check on Jesper again, finding his throat working as tears fell from his eyes. “Saints, Wylan,” Jesper breathed. “He called me his brother. He said he wanted to hug me.” Quietly, Wylan took his hand. “He said he felt safe when I was close to touching him. I made him feel safe,” he choked out. Jesper was looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and Wylan couldn’t do much more than be there for him as he processed. “Brother,” he echoed. “Brother.”

“Darling,” Wylan said tenderly. “Kaz loves you as much as you love him.” He wrapped his arms around Jesper’s shoulders, and Jesper fell against him. “And it’s a lot.” For a minute, they simply sat together. Wylan could hear, if he listened hard enough, faint laughter on the recording, the jumble of his own, Inej’s, and Jesper’s. Briefly, he closed his eyes, feeling the juxtaposition between that captured moment and their present embrace. Laughter and tears weren’t as separate as he might have thought.

Eventually, Jesper pulled back, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his red jacket. Yet instead of saying anything, he skipped over the rest of Kaz’s silence. Wylan spoke next from the machine. “Fuck, I’m so tired.” He was drunk as well, for sure, but it made Jesper chuckle, so he couldn’t be mad at it. “I think there’s a timpani in my fucking head.” Definitely drunk. He never swore so much unless he was. “Damn it. What was I here for? Oh, right, I wanted to say this: The only religion to be found exists when he says my name.” He wasn’t quite sure how to react to that. He absolutely didn’t remember saying it. “I’m not quite sure what that means,” past Wylan said, “but it sounds good. It just popped into my head, pop! Like a… shit, I don’t know. Like something.” Jesper chuckled again. “But I love when Jesper says my name. When he holds it on his tongue like something sacred. Oh, maybe that’s what that’s supposed to mean. I don’t know. I’m too tired for this shit. I need to go to bed.” There was a moment’s pause, then he said, “Oh, and also—Kaz fell over and it was kind of funny. Okay, not kind of. It was funny.” And that was the end.

Neither of them moved to stop the device from moving on, however.

“Wylan,” Jesper said gingerly. “You’re really cute when you’re drunk.”

He only had time to react with an eye roll before the machine moved on. “Inej here. The boys are all incredibly drunk and in bed. I just wanted to come down and say I love them all so much. They’re goofy and silly and they’re just… they’re my family. Who’d have ever thought home was three drunk boys in a Geldstraat mansion? Not me, that’s for sure.” She sighed contentedly. “Yeah, I love them.”

This time, Jesper paused it as the silence followed. “I didn’t think my twenty-second was that monumental, really,” he said. “I guess it was more important than I thought.”

“I guess so,” restated Wylan. He only remembered Jesper’s twenty-second birthday through a haze, and he certainly didn’t remember Kaz falling over, though he wished he did. It would have been funny to hold over his head. He looked at Jesper, whose eyes were rimmed in the faintest red. “Ready for another?”

Shakily, Jesper inhaled. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Go for it.”

Wylan didn’t go too far. It might have been a mistake, but then again, they would have heard it eventually anyway.

“The worst thing about losing people is that you never get them back,” said Kaz. “Jesper will never have his mother again; I’ll never have Jordie. We’ll never have Matthias. Grief eats people from the inside out. Sometimes I wish I had drowned in the harbor. It would’ve hurt less.”

In the silence that followed, Wylan gasped, practically slamming the button to stop it. “Jesper,” he said, strangled. He held onto Jesper’s wrist, running through everything Kaz had said. Sometimes I wish I had drowned in the harbor. Suddenly, everything Kaz had ever said about the harbor came rushing back at once. ‘I was born in the harbor.’ ‘My mother is Ketterdam. She birthed me in the harbor.’ It was painting a worrisome picture.

“Jordie,” said Jesper, his voice stretched thin. “‘What do you think my forgiveness looks like, Jordie?’” he quoted. “And remember what Inej said? His brother. Kaz had a brother.”

“Yeah,” Wylan nodded. He recalled a game he had played out with Kaz over the summer—only drinks and questions—but far more telling than he had ever expected. ‘How old were you when you came to Ketterdam?’ he had asked. Eventually, Kaz had relinquished, ‘Nine.’ Then later, ‘Why is your voice so rough?’ He had replied, albeit with lots of coaxing, ‘It came from a ship.’ Wylan had deduced that ‘ship’ was the Queen’s Lady, the ship that carried the plague to Ketterdam. The firepox plague had spread through the city when Wylan was eight. If Kaz was a year older than him, then he would have been nine when it hit.

Jordie. The harbor. Kaz’s knowledge of the bodymen, the Reaper’s barge. The timing was right. The details lined up. He couldn’t be sure of all of the facts yet, Kaz’s touch aversion being a factor, but it fit. Jordie must have died in the plague. Kaz must have survived. And the harbor… Wylan almost dared not think it, that a nine-year-old boy would be thrown on the Reaper’s barge. But he knew the cruelty that Ketterdam had to offer, and it removed the doubt from his mind.

He looked at Jesper with wide eyes; his fiancé was staring at the table unblinking. “He called me his brother,” said Jesper, a new undertone to the sentence. It wasn’t like the first time he said it, not joyful to the point of tears. It was haunted. “Oh, Saints, Wy. Do you know what Kaz said when I asked him who Jordie was?” Finally, he met Wylan’s eyes.

“No,” Wylan murmured cautiously.

“He said he was, and I remember this clearly, ‘Someone I trusted. Someone I didn’t want to lose.’”

Neither could say anything. What was there to say? How were they supposed to react? To find out that their friend, their leader, the ruthless Dirtyhands was just a kid who lost his brother and almost died with him? A kid who probably loved puzzles and magic tricks, who followed his brother through the world, taking his word as gospel with eagerness. For perhaps the first time, Wylan considered just how lonely Kaz had been for so many years. Shoving everyone away behind a wall. Maybe there was a reason he lingered for omelets in the morning, or to teach Jesper how to deal cards better and argue politics with Wylan. Maybe there was a reason he came and read to him every day over the summer, why he stayed later than he needed, why he answered his questions. Kaz didn’t want to be alone any more than the rest of them.

“We can’t treat him any different,” blurted Wylan. “He doesn’t want pity.”

“But—” protested Jesper.

“No,” he insisted. “Don’t.”

Jesper sighed, “Okay.” His legs were bouncing frantically under the table. Wylan put a hand on his thigh to calm him, and he looked at Wylan with the remnants of shock shattered in his gray eyes.

“We’re going to pretend like we don’t know this,” Wylan commanded. “For now, at least. We don’t want to scare him off, have him leave and never return. If he wants to tell us about Jordie, he will. If he wants to tell us about his past, he will. But if we push him before he’s ready, he’ll never share anything ever again. So don’t bring it up. Don’t suggest at it. Not unless it comes up naturally.” He was certain of this, at the very least. “I’m going to start a new recording, and we’re going to move on,” he said.

“Okay,” Jesper repeated.

This time, he jumped ahead for a while, hoping to steer clear of any follow-ups Kaz may have made, if any. It was better than taking the risk, though Kaz could have made them whenever. When he let go and heard himself, he knew it was safe. “Last night, Jesper and I were joking about the moon.” Wylan let out a soft breath of relief, thankful for the gentle topic. “We laid in bed, tangled together, and Jesper, being who he is—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jesper muttered.

“—started staring out the window at the moon. He’s sort of like the dark side of the moon. The side nobody ever sees. And, mostly as a joke, I called him that. ‘My darling, the dark side of the moon.’ So, he replied, ‘If I’m the dark side of the moon, you’re the sun and the stars.’ When I asked why, he just said, ‘They’re the only ones who get to see every side of the moon.’ Leave it to Jesper to turn the cosmos into romance. Though I will say I didn’t mind it. Quite the opposite, actually. Maybe, just maybe, the words slipped between our lips and tongues, and became something intimately shared. He’s kind of really adorable.”

A knock sounded on the door, and then Jesper’s muffled voice said, “Wylan, my beloved, the sun and the stars. Do you want breakfast?”

“See what I mean?” Wylan asked cheerfully, and the recording ended.

Jesper paused it, then put his palms together and held them up to his mouth slowly in solemn contemplation. “So, when you say, ‘the words slipped between our lips and tongues’…”

“Yeah?”

“You really mean, ‘we kissed about it a lot and it was kind of filthy.’”

Wylan shot him a glare Kaz would be proud of. “It sounded better than saying you had your tongue in my mouth, Jes.”

With a flick of his eyes up and down Wylan’s form, Jesper said, “I don’t know; that sounds pretty good to me.”

Cheeks heated, he retorted sweetly, “Not right now, honey.”

“What, am I a bad kisser?” Jesper goaded.

“Let’s get one thing clear: I wouldn’t be marrying you if you were a bad kisser,” said Wylan. He almost regretted it upon seeing Jesper’s smirk. Almost. “But if we start now, we’ll never finish the recordings.” His other reason went unspoken, that Kaz and Inej would likely walk in on something they didn’t want or need to see. Yet Jesper managed to give him a face so sad he nearly relinquished. Instead, he placed a kiss on his cheek. “Later,” he promised.

“Fine,” Jesper said unhappily, already searching for a new recording to listen to.

“Sometimes when we’re working, Jesper will scribble something on a scrap of paper, then slide it over to me. It’s the same phrase every time. He always whispers to me—”

Here, Jesper declared over the recording, “It says, ‘I love you’.”

“At this point, I’ve seen it so many times that I know what it is, can recognize its shape, even though I can’t actually read the words.”

“Can you really?” murmured Jesper, seeking out the answer in Wylan’s gaze.

He nodded in confirmation while his younger self resumed. “This is going to sound stupid, but sometimes I carry the scraps around with me. I just enjoy having a physical representation of his love nearby. I can pull it out of my pocket and see the shape of his scribble, hear him say clearly in my mind, ‘It says, “I love you”,’ and it makes my day better.”

Almost frantically, Jesper swept his head around, staring at the room. When he finally found what he was looking for, he ran from his seat to snag the pen on the small wood table next to the couch. “It sounds silly, knowing that I can’t read it,” Wylan said as he sped back to his seat. “But… really it means more that way. Because I know Jesper loves me anyway. No, not ‘anyway’. He loves me with it.” Jesper tugged gently on Wylan’s left arm, pulling it towards him while he sat backwards in his seat. Wylan simply let it happen, waiting to see what he would do. “He loves me enough to know that I want to keep him close and that he doesn’t care if I can’t read.” Carefully, Jesper began rolling up Wylan’s sleeve, and Wylan shot him a confused look, but he was too focused to say anything. “It’s like… there have been so many times that my inability to read has been used as a weapon. Like when my father sent me those letters while I was living in the Barrel. It was times like those that used it as a slap in the face.” The pen Jesper had retrieved touched the skin on Wylan’s forearm, just below the crook of his elbow. “But Jesper takes it and uses it to actually show me he loves me. To show me that words are not an agent of harm in his hands. Just like his scraps of paper, his actions say, ‘I love you’.” His arm was released.

Wylan looked down, only to find he recognized the shape of the words, just as he had talked about on the recording.

“It says, ‘I love you’,” whispered Jesper.

“I know,” he whispered back. He couldn’t help but smile, looking up to find Jesper doing the same. Though he had forgotten about the recording device, Jesper had not, and he reached a long arm forward to switch to a new audio.

Softly, Wylan rubbed a finger across the words on his arm. “Maybe I’ll get this tattooed one day,” he mused out loud.

“Now that’s an idea,” said Jesper.

“But not until after we’re married,” he said. “And probably not for a while after that, even. Need to be sure about these things.”

“Are you talking about the tattoo or our marriage?”

He only shrugged. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about skipping too far through the recordings?”

Jesper looked down, surprised to find his own finger still on the device’s button. “Ah, right,” he said, and removed it.

“I think it’s over,” said Jesper’s voice. “I think I did it. The itch is gone, and I didn’t go to the tables. I have Wylan to thank for that, at least a little bit. He’s already in bed, exhausted by staying up having to help me.” This must have been relatively recently; the only time Wylan could remember Jesper getting close to relapsing as of late was around his twenty-third birthday. “But no matter how many times I had told him to go to sleep, he remained awake. For me. Some nights he kissed me, some nights he held me. Some nights I kissed him, and some nights I held him. But we made it through the storm together. I could… I might… yeah. I will.”

Immediately, Jesper stopped the recording. “That,” he said excitedly, “is where I decided I was going to ask you to marry me.”

“Right there?” asked Wylan.

“Right there,” he confirmed.

Wylan’s sleeve was still rolled up, and Jesper’s fingers trailed along the letters he had written there, almost as if he had done it a hundred times before. Lazily, Wylan watched, feeling the calloused pad of Jesper’s index finger across the smooth skin of his forearm. It put more of a thrill in him than he’d like to admit. “I love you,” he said quietly in Zemeni.

Though the words caught him off guard, Jesper replied with the same. After, he held Wylan’s hand delicately, and brought it up to his lips to kiss the back of it. He kept their fingers intertwined as he searched for a new recording to listen to, but he didn’t hold on to the button quite as long as he had before.

It was another one of Wylan’s. “Isn’t it funny how you never want to talk to someone more than when they’re gone? I keep finding myself thinking about something, and turning to tell Jesper, or wandering the house trying to find him before I remember.”

“I must have made this when you left for Novyi Zem,” he murmured.

“It almost feels like I should be writing letters. But for obvious reasons, I can’t do that. Maybe I should put them here. Like:

“Dear Jesper, did you know your face keeps making it into my sketchbook? You’ve only been gone two days and I keep trying to recreate your presence. Kaz’s voice isn’t the same as yours. I made him read me a chapter of a novel last night, and though he was reluctant, he did it. It was definitely different because he doesn’t know the cadences you usually use. I wish I had gotten you to record yourself reading my favorite stories before you left, but we had too much work to take care of. I hope you’re safe, on the way to Novyi Zem. I hope you’re taking care of my mother. When you get back, I’m going to kiss you senseless. I’d spend the rest of my life in your arms if I could. But for now, I’m stuck waiting for you. I love you, darling. Yours forever, Wylan.”

With careful motions, Jesper wrapped his arms around Wylan, and Wylan fell back into the embrace, reclining against his chest while his head lay on his shoulder. “Forever, huh?” Jesper said while he held him.

“As long as you’ll have me,” said Wylan. He turned his head to kiss Jesper’s jawline, sharp angles under his lips. Jesper accepted it, then leaned forward to change the recording, pulling Wylan with him. They couldn’t have been too far from the end of their log, if they were in the summertime entries. At a later date, they’d go back and listen to them all, every word spoken. But for now, just a few more.

Jesper must have skipped farther than he thought, because Inej’s voice said, “I’m so excited for Wylan and Jesper.” She squealed. “Ooh, they’re going to get married! Alright, well shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but it’s pretty much a guarantee, at this point. They’re both going to propose, and on the same night, I think, too. It’s difficult to not assume they’re going to get married. And they’re both so happy about it. They’re so in love.” Wylan had assumed she only knew about his plans to propose, but Jesper—or Kaz—must have told her Jesper’s as well. She seemed to have known both equally well.

On the recording, the door opened. “Inej,” said Kaz.

“Hey, Kaz.”

“You’re talking, too?” he rasped.

“Maybe a bit. Can you blame me? It’s just right here.”

He agreed, “You’re right, it is. What were you saying?”

“How excited I am for Wylan and Jesper to propose,” she said happily.

“Ah. Should have guessed.”

“I’m happy for them. Aren’t you?”

Kaz simply grunted.

“Come on, Kaz,” she said. “Shevrati. Look at me. I know you never quite imagined you’d have friends, much less friends that would fall in love and get married. And in another world, it would be Jordie who you watched get engaged, no?” Wylan could feel Jesper shift at the mention of Jordie. He clearly wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the idea of Kaz’s brother, not when he had been compared to him so closely. “But Jordie would want you to be there for your friends, alright?”

“You talk like you knew him,” he said roughly.

She clarified, “I know him through you, and that’s enough.”

There was a moments silence, then Kaz said, “I never said I wasn’t happy for them.”

“I never said you did,” Inej asserted. “Do you want a kiss?”

Again, Jesper adjusted in his chair, likely out of some degree of surprise.

“Not tonight. Thank you for asking.”

“This has been our routine for months, Kaz. You don’t have to say thank you every time I ask.”

He said, “You can’t stop me.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” she confirmed. “Would you rather go upstairs and braid my hair?”

“Why do you think I came down here?”

She laughed, and said, “Alright, let’s go.”

Quietly, though his whole statement was cut off, Kaz murmured, “I love your laugh.” The recording ended halfway through ‘laugh’.

“Oh, he’s so in love,” said Jesper. “He can deny it all he wants, but that boy is in love,” he sang.

“Absolutely he is,” Wylan said. “No doubt about it.”

Jesper reached forward. “How about we see if there’s any more of us being in love?”

“I’m sure there is,” chuckled Wylan, and just after, Jesper released the audio.

“I’m proposing to Jesper tomorrow. What the fuck,” said Wylan.

Both of them giggled, and Jesper said, “Wait for it.”

Mere seconds later, a new recording started, and Jesper’s voice said, “Today is the day I ask Wylan to marry me. Holy shit.”

Wylan sat up, skipping forward just one. He knew it would be the last on file, and he knew exactly what it would say. “So, Jesper said yes. And I said yes to him. And now we’re engaged. He literally made me a ring. It’s the most gorgeous thing, made of red gold and speckled with tiny sapphires. I’ll cherish it forever. I’ll cherish him forever.” He looked over at Jesper with a smile. A beam of evening light struck through the window at just the right angle, illuminating his partner, brown skin warm in the sun. Jesper returned the smile softly as they listened. “I’ve been thinking— I want to have him listen to all these recordings. Well, together, of course, but… I think it would be good to do, sometime before we get married. It’d make things feel complete, in a way. All the cards on the table. No words left unsaid.” He reached for Jesper’s hand. “And to say the words I want said: Jesper, I will love you while hope runs out and when stars die. I will hold you close, collapsed together, as grief takes its familiar hold. I will know you as the sun knows the moon, intimate and trusting of its every form. ‘Happy’ will never be enough of a word to describe my life with you. You are my darling, Jesper. Forever and always.” The device clicked, signaling the end of its contents. No more recordings to be heard from that point, a termination in its own right, but the beginning of something more.

“Thank you,” whispered Jesper. “For everything. For loving me.”

“I could say the same to you,” Wylan replied. He leaned his head on Jesper’s shoulder. “Let’s get married.”

Jesper barked out a laugh. “I could do that.”

For a moment, they sat in silence. Waning sunshine fell into the room, enlightening a halo around the recording machine. It caught on the metal of the buttons, where Wylan had flaked the paint off, spitting spots onto his clothing. He had forgotten to roll his sleeve back down.

“Darling,” Wylan said softly. “What are we going to do about last names?” Jesper's fingers started messing with his plaid pants, folding and smoothing, though Wylan couldn't tell if it was anxiety or another emotion entirely that drove them.

Finally, Jesper let out a sigh. “Have I ever told you about Zemeni last names?”

“No,” Wylan replied quietly, waiting for the story to begin.

“Well, I don't remember the origin—I'm pretty sure it comes from one of the Saints—but in Novyi Zem there's a tradition of choosing your last name. It doesn't have to be because you get married. But we could do that too, if you wanted. Make a new history.”

Wylan let out a little breath, suddenly filled with overwhelming possibility, smeared with hope. “There are so many options. I don't even know where to begin,” he said.

Jesper only chuckled kindly. “I seem to remember meeting a boy, long ago, who told me his name was Wylan Hendriks.”

Quickly, Wylan sat up. Startled by his abruptness, Jesper turned to face him. Wylan reached out and took Jesper's wandering hand in his own. “That's perfect,” he murmured. Then, unsure of himself, he ventured further. “Would you want to take your mother's name as well?”

Jesper's next breath was nothing short of sharp. “Yes,” he said shakily. He took another breath and seemed to regain his confidence. “We could join the two names together.”

“Hendriks-Hilli?”

Jesper smirked. “Or Hilli-Hendriks.” He paused briefly, then shook his head. “No, you're right. Hendriks-Hilli sounds better.”

“Wylan and Jesper Hendriks-Hilli,” breathed Wylan, testing the syllables on his tongue.

“Got a nice ring to it, don't you think?” Jesper offered.

Wylan leaned forward and kissed him gently. He felt Jesper's hand on his cheek, felt the metal of the ring on his finger. “I love you,” he said when he pulled away. 

Jesper smiled, pulling him back in for another kiss. Against Wylan's lips, he whispered, “And I will love you back, forever and always.”