Archive of Our Own

(day 1)

Being back in the Van Eck mansion was terrifying, but not in the way Wylan had expected it to be. 

Wylan was different now, he knew, from the child he used to be when he lived here. The Wylan Van Eck who his father had known would never have survived the Barrel, helped save Ravka, broken into and out of the Ice Court, and then taken over the Van Eck name. Wylan was different now, he had to be, but being back in the same house reminded him that he actually was the same. And that was far more terrifying than seeing the corners he would hide in or his old bedroom that had become a nursery. Wylan was different, but he was also still the same, and he didn’t know how to reconcile that. 

Wylan distracted himself from this fact by pacing around the bedroom he and Jesper had selected, and discussing everything they needed to do in the upcoming days before Inej came to stay with them to an exasperated Jesper. 

“I think we should try and do all the papers tomorrow—make things official and all,” Wylan says, casting a hesitant look towards Jesper. He needed Jesper’s help with those, but Wylan didn’t want to ask directly. 

“How many are there?” Jesper asks, putting an arm behind his head. 

“Ghezen knows,” Wylan mutters, sighing. He winces, placing a hand on his ribs—broken, still. “Hopefully we’ll get a healer in by the end of the week.”

“Oh, for the down payment, you mean?” Jesper says, smiling wickedly. 

Wylan feels his ears go red, but he rolls his eyes. “If you keep teasing me, I’ll never try to flirt with you again.”

Jesper laughs, swinging his leg off the bed to come stand behind Wylan. “I don’t think you’ll be able to resist. You’re more of a flirt than you let on, you know?” Wylan rolls his eyes again, turning around to face Jesper and angle his head for a kiss. Jesper gives him a remorseful look, and kisses the side of his head gently. 

That was maybe the worst part of this whole thing. More than the broken ribs, the immense general anxiety, and the millions of steps involved to send your father to prison and take over his business—Wylan couldn’t kiss Jesper. One of the punches Wylan had taken from Keeg and Anika had split his lip so thoroughly, every time Wylan tried to kiss him, it left him flinching in pain. Jesper had reluctantly sworn off kissing Wylan until his lips were healed, and Wylan thought this constituted as a form of torture. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jesper says, giving Wylan a forehead kiss. “We’ll wait for the healer. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Wylan says, slightly sulkily. “It’s a lot better now–”

“When you tried to use a straw this morning, your lips started bleeding again, darling,” Jesper says, shaking his head. Jesper leaves a series of kisses across Wylan’s face until Wylan cracks a grin. “I’ll kiss you double in the meantime.” 

“You’re putting me in kiss debt,” Wylan says, smiling. “I’ll owe you millions of kisses after my lips heal.”

“Perfect,” Jesper murmurs, kissing Wylan’s cheek. 

(day 2)

Wylan had expected that it would be the stamping of the Transfer of Authority with the Van Eck seal that would set him off on some mortifying emotional breakdown—he had even thought to preemptively warn Jesper about it, that’s how sure he had been. But by the time they even got to that contract, Wylan was just tired, and they weren’t even half-way through all the ridiculous documents they had to go through. He was tired, and even with Jesper’s multiple reassurances, Wylan felt entirely guilty too for having Jesper spend his entire afternoon reading the papers aloud to him. It shouldn’t have been surprising that sending your father to prison and becoming the head of an estate was a lot of paperwork. Wylan was still taken aback by it. 

So Wylan stamps the Transfer of Authority with no ceremony, no hesitance; Jesper moves on quickly to the next document, sighing before reading another tedious contract about investment securities. Wylan is tempted to stamp it without hearing it, but somehow, his fear outweighs everything else still. He thinks it’ll take exactly one mistake for the Council to realize they need Jan Van Eck back because Wylan is just as incapable as his father always said, and then Wylan will be, frankly, entirely fucked.  

Jesper moves onto the next document and curses. Wylan turns to him with some slight alarm—a movement that causes a ripple of pain to shoot through him—and Jesper shakes his head. 

“This contract is from Kaz, the bastard,” Jesper says, scowling. “We should ignore it just to spite him.”

Wylan smiles faintly. “We’ll make it the last one for the day. This is…”

“Last one!” Jesper says brightly, and he comes over to sit on the desk. Jesper had taken to moving around the room as he read the papers, his voice never coming from the same place in the makeshift office they had put together. Wylan had felt ill at the prospect of going back into his father’s office, which Jesper hadn’t questioned him on—Jesper hadn’t questioned him on anything, which Wylan felt was more than he deserved. 

“‘This document, witnessed in the full sight of Ghezen and in keeping with the honest dealings of men— Kaz is such a dick, since when does he do honest dealings— anyways,” Jesper begins to read, and Wylan smiles a bit wider even though it hurts his bruised face. “—signifies that any remaining wages to be earned by the alias ‘Wylan Hendriks’ are to be assumed by Wylan Van Eck— this did not need to be a contract. I’m going to throw this out, and then murder him.”

“Who’ll keep the wages, then?” Wylan says amusedly, and as if he needs the salary he earned from making explosives for the Dregs. “We can skip it.” 

“Knowing Kaz, this contract will somehow get you to sign away half your bank account too,” Jesper warns, groaning. “Can we take the break now, actually?”

“Please,” Wylan says, standing up. Jesper swings off the desk, coming to Wylan’s side and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. 

“How are you feeling?” Jesper asks, somewhat tentatively. 

Wylan smiles. “Tired. Bored.”

“I thought paperwork and bureaucracy were massive turn-ons for the Kerch?” Jesper offers, grinning. 

Wylan gives him a look. “Even the Kerch have their limits.”

Jesper comes to stand behind him, placing a small kiss at the top of Wylan’s head. Jesper’s hands come around to where Wylan’s are, still holding the Van Eck seal. Wylan watches Jesper’s hands fidget with it, before moving to fidget with Wylan’s fingers instead. It’s a comfortable feeling, and Wylan enjoys it immensely. 

“Random question,” Jesper says suddenly. 

Wylan hums, turning his head to look at Jesper without moving the rest of his body. 

“Do you want—I mean, your name is ‘Wylan Van Eck,’ obviously,” Jesper begins, looking thoughtful. “But did you like being Wylan Hendriks better? As a name?” 

Wylan furrows his brows. “I don’t know. I like… I like having my mother’s name in there. I’d rather be her son than my father’s.”

“Yeah,” Jesper says, his hand gently resting on Wylan’s shoulder. 

“But also…” Wylan says, hesitating. “I didn’t think I’d… I didn’t think I’d get to be a Van Eck, you know? My father had made it pretty clear that I was a disappointment to generations of Van Ecks, so…”

“Your father is in prison now,” Jesper says pointedly. “So if anyone is disappointing Sir Martin Van Eck the First or whoever the fuck, I think he’s probably the better answer.”

“Yeah, probably,” Wylan says softly. He smiles, turning around. “Which do you like better?”

Jesper shakes his head, smiling. “I like them both. But I’m hardly going to be calling you Mr. Van Eck or Mr. Hendriks, now am I, darling?”

“I still like your opinion, darling,” Wylan teases, taking Jesper’s hand in his. Wylan tilts his head, leaning up for a kiss.

Jesper’s hand comes up, gently turning Wylan’s head away. Jesper clicks his tongue, kissing Wylan’s cheek instead. “Not a chance, Mr. Hendriks-Van Eck.” 

(day 3)

Wylan wakes up the next morning just as Jesper walks back into the bedroom. He carries two cups of coffee with him. 

“Morning, love,” Jesper says cheerfully.

“Morning,” Wylan says, his voice still rough from sleep.  

Jesper puts a mug by Wylan’s bedside table. “I think the staff think I’m crazy for making coffee myself in the morning. Everyday someone new tells me they can bring it up for us.”

Wylan makes a muffled noise, burying his face back in the pillows. “They’re saying that because you shouldn’t be awake right now. It’s too early, Jes. Come back here.”

Wylan hears Jesper laugh, and feels the bed dip beneath him. Jesper gently squeezes his shoulder. “As you wish, Mr. Hendriks-Van Eck.” 

Wylan giggles, slowly turning around to face Jesper. “I was thinking about that, actually.”

“Dreaming about it?”

“I kind of like having both the names. Hendriks-Van Eck. What do you think?” Wylan asks, playing with a loose thread on Jesper’s sleep shirt. 

“I love it,” Jesper says, beaming. 

“You don’t think it’d be too long?”

“There’s a tradition among the Zemeni to choose their surname, yeah?” Jesper says, playing with Wylan’s hair. “So trust me when I say, I’ve met people with over 10 names in one. Hendriks-Van Eck is nothing.” 

Wylan smiles again. Jesper’s gentle touch is lulling him back to sleep again. “It wouldn’t be too long to add Fahey to it too, then?” Wylan asks sleepily. 

Jesper’s hand stills for a moment, and Wylan blinks. Wylan sits up, as quick as his ribs allow him, blushing furiously. 

“That wasn’t—I wasn’t—Not like, for now, obviously!” Wylan says, flustered. 

Jesper smiles widely. “You’d take my last name?”

Wylan makes a small noise, covering his face. “Yes? If you wanted—not now, unless… I meant not now. But in the future—not that you even need to be thinking of this, I—I actually don’t know what I’m saying. Where’s the coffee?”

Jesper laughs, and Wylan smiles shyly, grabbing the coffee and willing for Jesper to forget this conversation. After a few moments of careful silence, Jesper speaks again.  

“Wylan Hendriks-Van Eck-Fahey,” Jesper says softly, and Wylan goes bright red again at the sound of the name. “So do you prefer Jesper Fahey-Hendriks-Van Eck, or is Hendriks-Van Eck-Fahey the order of it? Jesper Hendriks-Van Eck-Fahey… Wylan Fahey-Hendriks-Van-Eck… or Wylan Van Eck-Hendriks-Fahey–”

Wylan makes another noise, burrowing his head back under the covers, absolutely delighted. 

(day 4)

“We need your father’s tax documents… 109 and 403 from last year for this form,” Jesper says, rubbing his eyes. He puts the form he’d been reading out to Wylan down on the desk. “Should I write a letter to the bank?”

Wylan feels a round of guilt go through him. “No. No, I think…” Wylan pauses, wondering. “My father should have copies of all those files in his desk drawer. I’ll go get it.” 

“Should I–”

“I’ve got it,” Wylan says quickly. “I can read numbers. 109 and 403, right?” 

“I know you can,” Jesper says. “I meant more if you wanted… Have you been to your father’s office at all since…”

“I went with Kaz that time,” Wylan says breezily. “I’ll be two minutes.” 

Wylan hurries past Jesper. He can get the documents—he’s determined to. And it’s not like Wylan was lying, either. He had been up there with Kaz, when they broke into the safe and left a massive hole in the floor that still hadn’t been fixed from their auric acid escape plan. Wylan had been fine then—although, given everything else going on, Wylan thinks surviving was a better term—and he could do this now, without burdening Jesper again. 

Wylan walks into the office, taking a deep breath. He doesn’t let himself look around at the room, and just beelines to the shelf behind his father’s desk, where a range of documents are filed away by year. Wylan remembers standing on the opposite side of the desk, while his father sat and listened to his tutoring reports dispassionately. Jan Van Eck had always been working—maybe just because he couldn’t stand to be in Wylan’s presence, but also maybe just because he was Kerch. Wylan remembers how his father’s lips would thin, how his eyes would go cold when he looked at Wylan, but he’d keep going through the papers on his desk, occasionally moving back in his chair to carefully sort one document away in the filing cabinet behind him. 

Wylan scans these files now, forcing himself to keep his mind blank. He looks for the numbers 109 and 403, grabbing the papers and rushing back downstairs. 

“Here,” Wylan says, handing Jesper the papers. “Are these good?”

“Yeah, these will work…” Jesper pauses to flex his hand, before picking up his pen again. “Okay… I’ll re-write these numbers in and then read it all together–” 

“If it’s just numbers, I can–”

“Here, I’m leaving all the spots where we have to add the numbers up blank,” Jesper diverts kindly, although Wylan can hear the fatigue in his voice. “I’ll pass it off to you after.”

“Okay,” Wylan says, feeling utterly useless. 

Jesper goes back to the papers, reading through both documents and occasionally dipping his pen in an inkwell to write down a number. 

He’s not annoyed with you yet, a mean, low voice in Wylan’s head says as he watches Jesper work. But he will be if you keep this up. He’s your boyfriend, not a secretary. You’re not even helping him, you’re just watching him work. No wonder your father was irritated by you, he was doing this for hours every day and you just sat there, incapable, and stupid, and–

“I’ll get us some tea,” Wylan says quietly, attempting to interrupt the voice in his head. If he started thinking too hard about his father, he might as well go to bed. He walks past Jesper quickly, careful not to distract or interrupt him—Wylan could see that he was in a flow of work, his eyes sharp as he moved from paper to paper. 

Wylan busies himself by watching the kettle boil, tapping his fingers against his leg anxiously. He knows how Jesper takes his tea, but he still prepares a little tray of extra milk and sugar cubes, just to give his hands something to do. He carries it back into the room, softly setting down the cup next to Jesper.

Jesper lifts his hand then, gently brushing over Wylan’s back. Jesper doesn’t look up from the papers, but uncrosses his legs, gesturing for Wylan to sit. Wylan gives a small smile, a genuine one, sitting on Jesper’s leg and leaning into him while he reads the papers. After some time, Jesper sighs, putting the papers down on the small table in front of him and picking up the tea. 

“Thank you, darling,” Jesper murmurs against Wylan’s hair. 

Wylan snorts. “I feel like your kept boy, Jes,” Wylan says, his tone teasing. “Sitting in your lap while you do work, bringing you tea…”

“Funny, because I thought I was your kept boy,” Jesper says dryly, lightly poking Wylan’s leg when he snickers. “But stay on my lap, if you’d like. You’re prettier than the tax forms.” 

“You’re saying that as a joke, Jes, but I’m Kerch. That’s insanely romantic.”

Jesper laughs loudly and Wylan’s chest feels warm. Jesper kisses Wylan’s cheek, looking at Wylan fondly. “Who says it’s a joke? You are much prettier than tax forms. Far more lovely than a debt consolidation loan, certainly. More beautiful than every discount in every store in all of Kerch–” 

“Nothing is more beautiful than a sale, Jesper,” Wylan says, mockingly-serious. He rests back onto Jesper’s chest. “Do you want to take a break? I don’t want you to–”

“I’ll finish up these forms,” Jesper says, lightly putting his hand on Wylan’s waist, careful not to disturb his ribs. “Will you stay like this?”

“No complaints from me,” Wylan says, smiling. He hesitates then. “But if there’s anything I can do…”

“This is all I need,” Jesper says, and Wylan desperately wants to kiss him. 

Jesper gets back into the papers, and Wylan enjoys the feeling of Jesper’s hand tapping into his skin lightly, of Jesper playing with the cuff of his sleeves. 

It won’t last, the treacherous voice says again to Wylan. He tolerates you now, but he’ll get sick of this. Make yourself useful to him, or he’ll leave. What will you do then? 

Wylan tucks himself more into Jesper’s side. 

(day 5) 

“I won’t be able to fix everything,” the Grisha healer warns preemptively, looking slightly scared. “But I’ll try my best.”

“You know better than I do,” Wylan says, trying to set the healer at ease. 

The healer fidgets nervously. “I’m not sure I do. I didn’t start training until recently—I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, yeah?”

“As long as you don’t make my boyfriend’s ribs worse,” Jesper says lightly, very casually moving aside his jacket so his two revolvers—which he really didn’t need to wear around the house, Wylan always tells him—are visible. 

The healer pales. 

“You’ll be fine,” Wylan says, giving Jesper a quick eye roll and then smiling at the healer. “When did you start training?”

“Um…” he says, sparing a quick glance back at Jesper. “Two years ago. Sorry, sorry—” the healer says, sparing Jesper another look of despair. “But you’ll have to take off your shirt?”

“Of course,” Wylan says, extremely amused. He starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Did you go to Ravka?”

“Yeah, for a bit,” the healer says, slightly defensive. “I’m not—I’m not bad at healing, I promise. I learned a lot while I was in Ravka, and then I was doing it accidentally for my family for a long time. We just all thought I was good with bandages.”

“Were there a lot of people around your age starting out as beginners there?” Wylan asks casually, not looking at Jesper. 

The healer shrugs, moving his hands to Wylan’s ribs. “There were a few. It’s sort of strange; none of us older kids knew any of the basics, so we were stuck doing that for a while, but then we all knew one super specific thing. I’m great at fixing a stomach bug, somehow.”

“We’ll keep that in mind if we need it,” Jesper interrupts, somewhat shortly. “Wylan, is it working?”

“Yeah, it is,” Wylan says, wincing a bit. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not exactly a pleasant feeling to have your bones fixed. “So do you think learning the basics are important, then?”

Jesper sighs loudly. 

“Yeah? It felt sort of pointless in the moment but… It’s cool to understand how and why things work, I guess.”

“That’s really interesting,” Wylan says pointedly. He stands up, slowly twisting his waist. “My ribs feel… not broken, now!”

“But do they feel alright?” Jesper asks, coming forward with Wylan’s shirt. Wylan raises his eyebrows at him. “Not broken is a low bar.”

“I can’t really fix bruising,” the healer says apologetically. “I can direct the blood there so it heals a bit faster but…”

“It’s fine,” Wylan says. He points to his lips. “Can you do that here, though?”

The healer looks confused. “Your mouth? That’ll probably heal itself in a few days. I was told you had other cuts and breaks, though—?”

“No more breaks,” Wylan says quickly. “But I’d really appreciate… whatever you can do here. It’s just so inconvenient, you know? Drinking out of a straw is impossible.”

Jesper snorts and Wylan throws him a glare. 

“Okay,” the healer says warily. “It’ll still be a bit bruised for a few more days, so I wouldn’t… use a straw until you see the bruising go away.”

Wylan nods, letting the healer touch a finger to his lips. Jesper stands, looking off to the side. The healer finishes everything, and Wylan thanks and pays him, all the while Jesper stands looking pensive. 

Wylan approaches him tentatively. Jesper’s fingers are poking a hole through his jacket sleeve, and Wylan gently takes his hand. 

“My lips are better now,” Wylan says. Jesper smiles faintly, and Wylan plants a small kiss on Jesper’s knuckles. He winces—it still hurts, but maybe if Jesper hadn’t noticed—

“Your lips are practically purple, Wy,” Jesper says with affection, shaking his head. Jesper rearranges their hands so he can place a kiss on Wylan’s knuckles instead. “You’re still banned from kisses.”

“Unfair,” Wylan says, leaning into Jesper anyways. Wylan glances at him hesitantly. “Are you upset that I…”

“I’m not upset,” Jesper says simply. “But I don’t get why you bring it up.”

Wylan shrugs, feeling slightly defensive. “I just think you’d… if you wanted training, or tutors, or anything like that–”

“I don’t want those.”

“–I just think you’d be incredible at it—using your powers,” Wylan says sincerely. “And it might be good for you.”

“I don’t want to go off to Ravka to learn what angle to hold my fingers,” Jesper says, his voice slightly tight. 

“But if you wanted lessons, or–”

“I think I’m a bit busy right now,” Jesper says sharply. “Let me at least finish all the forms before you ship me off.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Wylan says, anxiety rising up. Jesper turns around and Wylan bites his bruised lip. “And I—I just meant if you…” Wylan takes a deep breath. “I think it’d be good for you to practice. For your sake. I’m not trying to be…”

“I get that,” Jesper says, sounding slightly tired. “I’ll… And I agree, I guess. I just can’t think about that all right now. Okay?”

“Of course,” Wylan says quickly. “Sorry.”

Jesper taps on his thigh, and Wylan can see his mind still moving. 

“Have you seen the guest room on the third floor?” Wylan offers, an attempt to change the topic. “It’s south-facing and I think it could be a good art room—for my mother, when we get that all cleared.” As Wylan says it, another whirl of guilt and anxiety go through him. More paperwork, more forms, more things that Wylan will have to rely on Jesper to do. Wylan instinctively takes a step back, accidentally walking into the coffee table. 

“Don’t break your ribs again, love,” Jesper says, fondly exasperated. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan says again. He wishes his apology would cover everything else, too. 

(day 6)

Wylan is determined to be helpful. He wakes up before Jesper and makes the coffee, and then scans through all the documents they’re going over today while Jesper showers to see if there’s any forms or papers he can pull from his father’s office. 

There are quite a few—it might be more efficient to actually work in Jan Van Eck’s office, but Wylan figures it’d be easier on both of them if Wylan can just pull the required forms and have them ready for Jesper. 

Wylan ventures up, swallowing down the irrational nervousness that arises from being in his father’s office. He has bigger things to be anxious about—making sure he doesn’t irritate Jesper beyond reconciliation after less than a week of living and working together like this, namely. 

Wylan tries to focus on just the documents on the shelf in filing cabinets in front of him, and not let himself think of anything else. He needs a form labeled 22 from five years ago, 301 from last year, 87 from last year and the year prior, 88 from the same time as well, then 89 for the last three years—

Wylan takes a shaky breath, his head spinning. There’s usually a type of calmness he gets from a more or less mindless task he needs to fulfill, something to do that occupies his body and mind enough to distract him from whatever else spurs his anxiety. It doesn’t seem to be working now, though. He can read the numbers, but he can’t focus on them. All the letters on the papers are a jumble, as they always are, and it feels too similar now to every other time Wylan was forced into his father’s office to try and read in front of him. His breathing is coming out unevenly now, and he attempts to stand up but Wylan doesn’t have the strength in his legs to push himself up. 

That scares him even more, simply because the last thing he ever wants is to be trapped in his father’s office again. There isn’t anywhere safe here, nowhere safe to even look— he can’t focus on the wooden grooves of the desk because he focused on them that time his father hit his hands with a ruler over and over. Wylan can’t look down at the ground because that’s where he’d always look when his father berated him. Every inch of this office is a bad memory, and Wylan thinks he’s going to be sick. 

Wylan searches the room with his eyes in a panic, frozen to the ground. He looks at his father’s desk and he realizes—there is, actually, one spot where he has good memories. It’s a bit pathetic, Wylan thinks rationally, but it’s just a temporary respite until he can pull himself together. 

Wylan crawls under his father’s desk. 

Wylan does have good memories here. They’re hardly memories since he was so little, but Wylan knows he’d play underneath his father’s desk, sitting by his feet while his father worked and did business. He remembers scribbling in the pages of a coloring book, careful not to make a mess; his father had been kinder then, had loved Wylan then, and sometimes he’d give Wylan a task to do to ‘help with work.’ He’d give 4-year-old Wylan a small coin purse and tell him it was absolutely essential that Wylan counted all the coins inside it correctly—Wylan would count the 20 or so coins, and his father would be so proud of him, proud of his clever son—

“Wylan?” Jesper’s voice calls. 

Wylan holds his breath, shutting his eyes. He isn’t sure where ‘finding your adult boyfriend curled up under a desk trying not to cry’ falls on the scale of annoyances, but Wylan doesn’t really want to find out. 

“Darling?” Jesper’s voice calls again. Wylan hears Jesper step into the office. “One of the staff said she saw you in here,” Jesper says, somewhat awkwardly since he’s talking to what looks like an empty room. “Wylan?”

Wylan wants to say something or stand up, but he can’t do either. He feels like all the blood in his body has frozen and he’s turned into ice. 

He sees Jesper walk around to the side of the desk that Wylan is at, although he hasn’t seen Wylan yet. Jesper looks at the papers, the open filing cabinet, and when he kneels down to look at them, Wylan can make out worry on Jesper’s face. 

“Jes,” Wylan says weakly. 

Jesper nearly falls backwards, his eyes searching for where the sound came from. He finds Wylan quickly, and expression changes from shocked to nervous to something so kind, it makes Wylan’s eyes water a bit. He blinks them away urgently, begging himself not to cry in front of Jesper again. 

“There you are,” Jesper says softly. He hesitates, and then comes under the desk with Wylan to sit across from him. 

“Sorry,” Wylan says pathetically.

Jesper shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry, darling.”

“I have all of the—some of the—papers we’ll need,” Wylan says, his voice breaking. 

“Let’s do that some other time,” Jesper says kindly. 

“I’m fine,” Wylan says, sure he looks the exact opposite. He shuts his eyes, taking another breath. “I want to help.”

“You are helping, Wy,” Jesper says, gently chastising. “You don’t–”

“I’m not,” Wylan interrupts. “I can’t—If I could just read, you wouldn’t have to do everything yourself, and we could divide the work, or I’d be able to just do it instead of making you feel awful–”

“Who says I’m feeling awful?” Jesper says, moving closer to Wylan. It’s slightly comical of a sight, with how tall and lanky Jesper is, and it makes Wylan’s lips twitch. “Because I’m not. Not when I get to be with you.” 

Wylan sniffs. “I know it’s boring, Jes.” 

“Okay, yeah, so reading a Quarterly Tax Return for Noncash Contributions doesn’t exactly get me going,” Jesper says, and Wylan smiles again, looking down. “But I knew that already. I want to help you, and I want to be with you. And if it gets too much for me, I will tell you. I’m hardly the type to sit still, Wy.”

“But that’s just it,” Wylan says, anxious again. “I don’t want it to ever get too much for you. I don’t want to make you sit still and read me a thousand pages of boring Kerch legal documents. I want you to be happy.”

“And I am, my love,” Jesper says gently. “I’m happy because I’m with you. And if it gets too much, then it just gets too much. I’ll take a break and kiss you a thousand times, probably, and that’s all. It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know,” Wylan says, his voice slightly hoarse. “When things get too much for me, I…” Wylan gestures weakly to himself, under the desk. “I’m not really fine.” 

“You will be,” Jesper says steadily, and Wylan feels his chest warm. Jesper holds out his arms. “C’mere.”

Wylan stifles a laugh. “I don’t think there’s room for that, Jes.”

“Right,” Jesper says, abashed. “Do you want to get out from here, then?”

“Yes,” Wylan says, embarrassed now. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jesper says, standing up and holding a hand out to Wylan. “I love a desk. My Ma would sit at a desk sort of like this when she did business for the farm, and desks were a fantastic playtime spot.”

Wylan laughs quietly. “Yeah, for me too. I’d sit here and count coins or color while my father worked.”

“See, that’s so sweet. You were a cute kid. I was probably a little terror, gnawing on the wood and coloring on the walls probably.”

Wylan laughs loudly, attaching himself to Jesper’s side. “I don’t believe that. I think you were a lovely child.”

Jesper grins. “We’ll ask my Da. He said he’d write once he’s back at home, and then we could…” Jesper trails off. He looks slightly shy, Wylan realizes, which is odd. “We could visit him, maybe? Together? If you’d want…”

“You’d want me to visit?” Wylan asks, his eyes widening. 

“Obviously,” Jesper says, rubbing his hand on his neck. “If you’d like to, obviously.” 

Wylan surges up to kiss Jesper, beaming. The kiss lasts all of two seconds before Wylan flinches back, his hand flying to his lips.

“Wylan,” Jesper groans, his hand tilting Wylan’s chin up to examine his lips for more injury. 

“My mouth is basically all healed,” Wylan says, slightly petulant. “It’s just a bruise. I’ve bruised my lips before.”

Jesper snorts. “There’s bruising you get from making out and then the bruising you get from being punched in the face by someone wearing brass knuckles, darling.” 

“I’ve bruised my lips playing the flute before, too.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve bruised your lips blowing a flute,” Jesper says, exaggeratedly suggestive. 

Wylan scoffs and knocks his shoulders into Jesper’s, grinning all the same. “Twelve-year old boys have better senses of humor.”

“You love me.”

“I really do,” Wylan says softly, and Jesper casts him a fond look. “I love you. I’d love you even more if you let me kiss you, but I love you.”

Jesper laughs, shaking his head. “I love you too,” he says, kissing Wylan’s cheek. “C’mon. I’m not reading any contracts today, but I did get a fantastic new book that I think we should read.”

Wylan smiles, and then looks at the floor slightly awkwardly. “Are you sure? I don’t… I’d get if you don’t want to read to me, you don’t–”

“By fantastic, I mean it’s probably the most predictable romance novel ever to be written,” Jesper continues as if Wylan hadn’t spoken, holding Wylan’s hand and swinging it as they walk to their room. “Loads of sex, though.” Jesper’s eyes trail up and down Wylan’s body. “I feel like it could be a productive use of a working day.”

Wylan ducks his head, hiding his grin. He feels his face heat up, and he clears his throat, looking at Jesper over his shoulder. “It could be. My ribs are all healed now.” 

(day 7) 

“The Duke scowled, crossing the room. ‘Your piano skills are abysmal! Play a different song.’

Aaren’s eyes widened, as he stared at the tall, muscular body of the Duke storming towards him. ‘But sir—I never had any formal lessons! I am but a lowly bastard, and my stepmother never allowed me to play. This is the only song I know!’

‘You’ll have to impress me some other way, then. Perhaps— Wylan, stop giggling. They’re literally about to fuck on the piano.”

Wylan bursts into another round of giggles, burying his face in Jesper’s chest. Jesper rolls his eyes fondly, putting the trashy romance novel they’re reading down on the nightstand so he can wrap his arms around Wylan. 

“I think we should make this into a drinking game,” Wylan says, attempting to stop his laughter. “Every time the author uses the words ‘tall’ and ‘muscular’ to describe the Duke, we take a sip of our drinks. I’d say do a shot, but we’d be dead four pages in.” 

Jesper snickers. “Everytime Aaren brings up the fact that he’s a bastard, we finish the glass.”

“We’d definitely be dead by page four then. That’s like, the only thing he ever says.”

“Because that’s why he can’t ever marry someone as high-status as the Duke. He’s ‘but a lowly bastard,’ Wylan.”

“Yet he sees no problem going to bed with the Duke every single night.”

Jesper waggles his eyebrows at Wylan. “Well, right now they're going to the piano, actually.”

Wylan snorts, shaking his head. “That doesn’t even sound remotely appealing. All the keys smashed together—it’d be so much discordant noise.”

Jesper taps his fingers along Wylan’s arm, as if playing the piano himself. “Cut the poor men some slack, darling. I think it’d be difficult to play something melodious while you’re bent over the bench.”

Wylan flushes, covering his face and bursting into giggles again. His laughter makes Jesper start laughing too, and he picks the book back up. He scans through the pages. 

“Ah!” Jesper says. “Look at us, thinking ahead—they start fucking over the keys, and then the Duke tells Aaren that that noise is better than the song he just played, because he’s just that awful of a piano player.” 

Wylan goes into hysterics again. “That’s—” Wylan gasps, “—that’s awful! I’d cry if someone told me that while—while…” Wylan can’t finish the sentence, gasping for air with his laughter.  

“Nah, I think it’s a turn on for Aaren,” Jesper says, guffawing. “He says—oh, Wylan, hear this—he goes, ‘He’d never play piano again if it meant the Duke would keep playing the G Major chord inside of him–’”

“Jesper— stop, I’m—” Wylan gasps, doubling over in laughter. “—my ribs, they–”

“What’s wrong?” Jesper asks, concerned suddenly. 

Wylan takes the book and swats Jesper’s leg with it, in happy tears and clutching his stomach. “They hurt from laughing, you idiot. How did you even find this book—”

“Oh, this is only the first one in a series, darling,” Jesper says, joining Wylan in his hysterical laughter. Jesper looks to the back of the book, giggling. “The next one—the next one is with an Earl and his dashing fencing tutor—oh, his fencing tutor named–”

“It’s going to be a really stupid name, isn’t it?”

“Lance Hardcocque.”

Wylan thinks he’s never cried harder in his life, and for once, that’s a good thing. 

(day 8)

“I’m going to run to get some groceries,” Jesper calls, swinging on a jacket. 

Wylan looks up from the sheet music he’s marking up, smiling. “If you leave a list, the staff can go pick it up instead,” Wylan offers.  

“I’m good,” Jesper says. “I mean, I’ll just go do it. Do you need anything?” 

Wylan thinks. “I’m alright, I think.” 

Jesper leans down to drop a kiss on Wylan’s head. Wylan smiles, feeling unbearably fond. 

Jesper only just walks out of the door when Wylan remembers—he had been talking to one of the kitchen staff, who said that comfrey plants made into a cream were good at healing bruises. Wylan was, at this point, willing to eat a whole garden if it made him able to kiss Jesper again, but that seemed like a good place to start. 

Wylan quickly stands up; there’s a plant nursery near the general store Jesper’s probably going to, and he only just left so Wylan can catch up to him to tell him to pick one up. Wylan opens the door, and then stops abruptly. 

Jesper is sitting on the grass, just a few paces away from the door, with his head in his hands. 

“Jesper?” Wylan gasps, running towards him.

Jesper jerks, like Wylan yanked a string that he was attached to. His eyes are wet, and Wylan kneels across from him. 

“What happened? Jes? Are you okay?” Wylan asks, trying not to sound too panicked. 

“I’m fine,” Jesper says, his voice hollow. 

“Okay,” Wylan says gently, putting a hand on Jesper’s shoulder. “I—Would you like to come inside?”

Jesper shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan says quickly and quietly. He lets his hand fall to Jesper’s hand, picking it up and squeezing gently. 

“I’m fine,” Jesper says, and suddenly his voice sounds bright again. But it’s not bright, not actually cheerful—but Wylan can tell Jesper is trying to make it sound that way. 

“Jesper…” Wylan says softly, cupping Jesper’s face. Jesper looks taut, like he’s forcing himself to be still with every cell in his body, and Wylan hates it. “Jes… Did something happen? Can I—” Wylan hesitates, and then just wraps Jesper up in his arms. He’s not good with words like Jesper is, and he doesn’t know how to ask the right questions without sounding nagging. So he just holds Jesper, brushing his lips over Jesper’s forehead, bruises be damned. 

“Don’t,” Jesper says suddenly, his voice a croak. “Don’t kiss me. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Wylan gives Jesper a look. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll hurt you,” Jesper says, and then he looks away, inhaling sharply. 

“You wouldn’t,” Wylan says sincerely, pulling Jesper in closer. Quietly, he says, “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. But I know something must have happened. And I’m here if you want to talk.” Jesper pulls away a bit, not looking at Wylan still. “If you want space too. I just… I want you to be okay.”

“And not sit on the grass and scare the neighbors?” Jesper says dryly.

“I don’t give a fuck about the neighbors,” Wylan says bluntly, and Jesper cracks a grin. Wylan leans in to kiss Jesper’s cheek and Jesper gives him a look. Wylan sighs, exasperated, and nuzzles his head into the crook of Jesper’s neck instead. “I just want you to be okay, my beloved.”

“I’m—” Jesper starts, and then he stops abruptly. There’s something bitter in his expression, something furious carefully masked in it that Wylan hates more than anything in the world. “I am fine.”

“Jes,” Wylan says, trying not to sound judgemental. “You’re… You don’t have to tell me, I mean that, but please don’t act like you’re alright. Unless you usually cry on your way to get groceries.”

“I wasn’t on my way to get groceries,” Jesper says hollowly.  

Wylan blinks, confused. “Oh—okay? Then…”

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” Jesper says, his voice cracking. “It hasn’t—it hasn’t even been a week and I… I just can’t learn and I don’t know why.” 

“Jes,” Wylan says softly. “Where were you going to go?”

“The first bar I saw that had a table running,” Jesper says bitterly. “And I…” he turns to Wylan desperately. “I want to say that I didn’t think about it. That I just… found myself walking in that direction. But I didn’t. I planned it, and thought about it, and lied to you and said I’d get groceries, and then I knew I’d go to a bar and not a club on the Stave because I don’t want Kaz to find me, and… I thought about all of it, Wylan. I planned how I’d lie to you when I came back and you were angry at me. I got maybe three steps in and nearly threw up on the side of the road, but I still tried to do it. I would’ve done it.” 

Wylan waits a minute, rubbing Jesper’s shoulders. “You didn’t do it, though, Jes,” Wylan says gently. “You’re here with me. And I wouldn’t have been mad at you, my love, I never could be. I think–”

“You would be,” Jesper interrupts, shaking his head. His eyes are glistening again. “Because I’m going to ruin this, Wy. I can’t—I have every reason to stay here and just… be normal. I’m not lying to my Da, I don’t have any debts hanging over me, I have you and Saints, I really love you Wylan, I swear it. I don’t know why it can’t be enough,” Jesper whispers. 

“Jes,” Wylan whispers. He cradles Jesper’s face, wiping tears off his face with his thumb. “It’s not… It’s not going to be that easy, beloved. One thing won’t replace another. But I love you, I love you so much, and I trust you more than anyone else in the world. I know you’re going to be okay.” 

“I lied to you,” Jesper says flatly. “Actively. Intentionally. And you still trust me?” 

“You’re telling the truth now,” Wylan says simply. 

“What if the real truth is that I still want to go burn money and play cards?” Jesper says, his voice dripping in resentment and self-loathing. 

“I think you will want to,” Wylan says carefully. “That urge you have—that feeling… I don’t know how to make it go away. I wish I could. But you can tell me what you’re feeling, always, and we’ll figure something out. We can… We can go shoot skeet in the garden or something.”

Jesper snorts. “Because that won’t terrify the neighbors.”

“Oh, fuck the neighbors, Jes!” Wylan says, tugging Jesper’s hand into his. “They’re all annoying investment bankers anyways.” 

Jesper smiles, shaking his head. “That’s only a few deals adjacent to what you do, I thought?” Jesper says slyly. 

“Okay, then you can fuck me too,” Wylan says plainly, grinning when Jesper bursts into laughter. Wylan leans back into Jesper’s arms. 

Jesper sighs again, looking at Wylan. “I don’t want to sound… ungrateful, Wy,” Jesper says quietly. “Because I do… I do love you. There aren’t any ‘buts’ there. I just think there’s something wrong with my head, you know? Like, instead of being happy with how wonderful my life is now, being happy with the beautiful boy I have in my arms, I still… I don’t even know what I want to do. Lose money? Chase a risk? I don’t understand it.”

“There is nothing wrong with your head!” Wylan says, his voice rising. He takes a deep breath, making his voice even again. “And… I think it’s fine to like a risk—a challenge. I don’t think you should gamble,” Wylan says, maybe a bit sharply. “I don’t like when you hurt yourself. I don’t like watching you hate yourself. But I do know that whenever I need to be brave, I think of you, Jes. You’re daring and bold and maybe sometimes reckless, but I love you all the more for it, my love.”

“Wylan,” Jesper whispers. He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it again, shaking his head. “I really love you.”

Wylan smiles, tilting his head. “I really love you too.” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jesper warns. “I’ll kiss you.”

“It’s hardly a bruise now–”

“C’mon, let’s go inside,” Jesper says, standing up. Wylan sighs, sulky, and Jesper shakes his head. He kisses across the bridge of Wylan’s nose until Wylan giggles. “The banker-neighbors definitely think we’re crazy, by the way.” 

“When you’re shooting clay pigeons you’ve fabrikated into existence, I think they’ll miss us crying and almost-kissing in their yard.”

“Who said I’d be fabrikating the clay pigeons?”

“I did,” Wylan says, lifting up his chin. “You like a challenge, don’t you? Well, I bet you can’t do it.” 

Jesper clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Dirty play, Wylan. Prepare to see a thousand clay birds by the morning.” 

(day 9)

They’re in the final stretch of documents to sign away and fill out, which serves as extra motivation. The two of them go back up to Van Eck’s office, searching through the files to find records of stock market investments, more tax forms, and some miscellaneous bank statements. 

Jesper looks through one of the files and whistles. “I knew you were rich, Wy, but I forget that you’re really like, rich-rich. All the investments the Van Ecks have—you’re never not going to be rich either.”

“Hopefully. I just might be the first Van Eck to fuck absolutely everything up.” 

“You won’t be,” Jesper says, crossing his arms. “And not just because that privilege goes to your great grand uncle Emerson Van Eck—I know all your family gossip now, darling. He tried to sue his older brother for inheritance and almost lost the entire family fortune in the process with the legal battle. It’s the reason you had to sign like, thirty thousand documents about estate beneficiaries.”

“I love your brain,” Wylan says, amazed. 

Jesper snorts. “I’m just a gossip. The information that stays in my head is questionable.”

“You’re brilliant,” Wylan says, holding Jesper’s hand. Wylan thinks for a moment. “You’d probably be good at playing the market, Jes.”

Jesper looks slightly shocked. “Stocks?”

“Yeah,” Wylan says carefully. “I mean, you have the head for it, certainly. And you might enjoy the–”

“–the gamble of it?” Jesper says, raising his eyebrows. Wylan looks away, hesitant. “Yeah. It seems… more productive.”

“We can ask Inej what she thinks when she comes tomorrow,” Wylan says with a small smile. 

Jesper smiles back, looking down. After a moment, he says, “Do you want to finish up? Or break for lunch?”

Wylan is thoughtful. There’s something immediately comforting about making these kinds of domestic decisions with Jesper. “Let’s eat first.”

Jesper grins. “Lovely. I’ll carry these files down.”

“I’ll meet you in a minute,” Wylan says, “I’ll just wash up first.”

Wylan goes to the small washroom on the floor, two doors down from his father’s office. It’s there, looking into the mirror on the sink, that Wylan realizes something—and he’s stupid for not realizing it earlier. 

“Jesper!” Wylan shouts. He can hear Jesper’s footsteps already, but he calls again. “Jes!”

Jesper bursts into the bathroom, scanning the room for some sort of danger, looking so intensely worried that Wylan almost feels guilty. Almost, because—

Wylan points to his own lips. “My lips are healed.” 

Jesper lets out an exhale and he gives Wylan an exasperated look.

“Look for yourself,” Wylan says, still pointing. “There’s not even the tiniest of bruises left. And you didn’t even say anything. I’m never going to forgive you, unless you come here and kiss me now.”  

Jesper laughs, but approaches Wylan slowly, crowding Wylan into the wall. He tilts Wylan’s chin up to examine the faded injury for himself. With a small quirk in his lips, Jesper meets Wylan’s eyes, very briefly, before gently cupping Wylan’s face and softly brushing his lips against Wylan’s. Wylan only just starts to kiss back, when Jesper pulls away, pecking the corner of his mouth one more time and stepping back. 

Wylan blinks, and Jesper gently moves a bit of Wylan’s hair away from his forehead. Wylan scoffs and grabs Jesper’s collar to yank his head back down. 

“Jesper Fahey,” Wylan says, his voice low. Jesper’s eyes are wide. “I haven’t been able to kiss you for days. Try that again. My lips. Are healed.” 

Jesper lets out a laugh that seems equal parts elated and disbelieving, and then he kisses Wylan again. There’s still something cautious about it, and Wylan feels breathless at the fact that Jesper will never, ever want to hurt him. Wylan makes a small noise and he deepens the kiss, pushing against Jesper and bringing their bodies closer. Jesper gives in and kisses him back hard then, one of his hands cupping Wylan’s jaw and the other wrapping around his waist. Wylan has the capacity to think finally, before he responds with an equal fervor, twining his arms around Jesper’s neck to bring them that much closer. They stand just like that, kissing and enjoying the familiarity of the feeling, letting the kisses grow more messy and urgent. 

Jesper pulls away, all but gasping for air, before leaving more kisses on Wylan’s jaw. Wylan whines, somewhat embarrassingly, chasing Jesper’s lips again. When Jesper obliges him, his lips going back to Wylan’s, Wylan can’t help but smile. Jesper smiles too then, Wylan can feel, and if Wylan didn’t want to kiss Jesper so badly, he might’ve burst into tears at the idea that Jesper smiles when he smiles, and that they make each other so happy. Wylan surges forward, kissing Jesper as hard as he possibly ever could without accidentally making Jesper move backwards. 

“You—” Jesper gasps out between the kisses, “are going to—to bruise your—lips again—Wylan–”

“Is that a challenge?” Wylan asks, moving his leg up to make room for Jesper’s hips against his own and resuming their kisses. 

They’re both strangely competitive over silly things, Wylan knows, and so even if there isn’t a real challenge to be had, Jesper responds to the phrase like he’s determined to win. He presses Wylan more into the wall with a kiss, using it as leverage while one of his hands curve around Wylan’s hip to under his thigh. Jesper picks him up, never once breaking their lips apart, and Wylan gasps and laughs into the messy kiss. Wylan wraps his legs around Jesper, and Jesper starts moving backwards to get them both out of the washroom, and presumably— hopefully— to a bedroom. 

Wylan still tries his hardest to make this a difficult task for Jesper, running his hands through Jesper’s hair, over his shoulders, kissing him as desperately as he can. Wylan wants to stay in Jesper’s arms forever, but he also likes to hear Jesper mutter curses between kisses, likes to see Jesper’s movements so clumsy, and Wylan really likes being responsible for it. Jesper doesn’t make it far both carrying and kissing Wylan, and he uses another wall in the hallway to rest Wylan up against. Wylan feels somewhat smug. 

Jesper’s kissing down Wylan’s neck now, and as reluctant Wylan is to not have Jesper’s lips on his own, he throws his head to the side, giving Jesper more of an expanse to kiss and bite. Looking to the side and away from Jesper, Wylan realizes something else. 

His father’s office is a door away. 

There’s something instinctual that’s still there, that makes Wylan’s heart stop for just a second when he sees the room. When Wylan walked past the office when his father had still been there, Wylan knew better than to make noise. He’d fall silent, make himself as small as possible, walking through the hall like he was a thief because he’d rather make himself disappear than face his father’s likely anger. The reminder of that, even though his father is obviously not in the room, is almost enough to make Wylan clench his eyes shut and try to remember where he is, what he’s doing, who he's with.

Wylan doesn’t need to do that, though. 

He doesn’t need to because it’s impossible to feel anything less than loved with Jesper holding him, kissing him like this, loving him. Wylan knows exactly who he’s with, what he’s doing, and he doesn’t care where he is, but he knows that too. Wylan moves his head back to kiss Jesper again, and Wylan doesn’t need to think about the fact that he’s entirely present—he just is. 

Wylan is here now, with Jesper, a door away from where his father used to make him cry. A door away from where his father would remind him, inadvertently but especially intentionally, that Wylan was worthless. And more specifically, Wylan is here now, up against a wall and making out with his incredibly perfect boyfriend who he loves and who loves him back, and he’s doing it all a door away from his father’s old office and right now, he’s not scared of his father. He’s not scared of anything at all.  

“Jes,” Wylan gasps out, moving out of Jesper’s hold. 

Jesper lets him back on the ground, but keeps an arm around Wylan’s waist so they’re still pressed together. “Where’s the closest bedroom?” Jesper asks breathlessly, and Wylan would laugh at the tone if Wylan wasn’t just as desperate.

Wylan shakes his head, adamantly. A flicker of confusion passes through Jesper’s eyes, dark and blown wide as they are, and Wylan kisses him again, before saying as clearly as he’s capable, “Here.”

Jesper lets out a mix between a moan and a laugh. “You—right here?”

Wylan nods, his hands working to untuck Jesper’s shirt already. “Right here, like this. Or on the floor.”

“Saints, I love you,” Jesper moans, pushing Wylan back into the wall, and Wylan laughs. 

“I love you too,” Wylan says, or he tries to, but Jesper’s lips cut him off midway through to steal another kiss. It makes him laugh again, and Jesper smiles.