– ♣♚ ᴅɪʀᴛʏʜᴀɴᴅꜱ

Quite frankly it was embarrassing how hard Spring had to concentrate on...not concentrating on the feeling of their intertwined hands, lest she crash into something in this unfamiliar place and take them both to the ground. Truth be told, it was mostly the distraction of their environment that allowed her to press on despite the flutters erupting through her chest. (And the merciful fact that Kaz couldn't see her face due to her walking in front.)

But it only took one look back at her companion for her effervescent curiosity to simmer into something much more subdued. Concern pinched her brow as Kaz's hand slipped from her own (far too soon, even if it meant that her heart rate could calm to at least a somewhat normal pace) and she watched him stalk across the room.

"Is something wrong?" The question trailed after him as much as she did, but upon approaching the table, all that greeted her was a rather large—and entirely innocent, as far as she could tell—basket of food and flowers. She wasn't sure how she'd overlooked it initially; the bundles of blooms were freshly cut and vibrant, and the pastries tucked between them were freshly baked and fragrant. Yet Kaz's expression as he located and read the note tucked inside was so sour that one would think everything in the basket had gone rotten.

"For me?" More confused now than she had been thus far (and not catching the double-meaning of the statement as a result), Spring still accepted the paper when it was offered. In stark contrast to her companion, however, her grin immediately returned as soon as she read the authors' names.

"Jesper and Wylan left this for us? How kind of them!" It all looked delicious—despite being far more than the two of them could eat even if they had all day to do so. Scanning over the letter a second time, their post-script bickering softened her smile. Those two really were a perfect match, and they clearly cared for Kaz and knew him well. It warmed her heart to know that he had other people who cared about him, too.

At the same time, though...

Was this sweet little gesture really why Kaz looked so cross? Spring not-so-subtly hid a giggle behind the sheet of paper, though there was no covering the amused twinkle in the eyes peeking out over the top.

And there she went again, as she always did: taking time in her delicate fingertips and stilling it with hardly an effort, little more than a smile, than a laugh that floated through the air like petals in the wind and caught itself in every crease of Kaz’s garments. The delighted giggle bubbling up the quiet space halted his initially vexed hunt, and any onlookers then would’ve had a right guffaw themselves at the sight. Dirtyhands turned his head with the speed of a man who’d sooner perish if he missed the barest second of that sound . . . or missed the source of it.

Equally, if these hypothetical onlookers could gather even a morsel of his inner thoughts, they’d be rolling their eyes at this fleeting jealousy that Spring’s joy emerged from a gift that wasn’t even his own. But his desire to not miss a second of her happiness was him chasing a vice he knew drove him as silly as any fool who had already relinquished his heart to an unknowing woman long long ago . . . because when he saw the way her eyes glistened over the letter, beaming at him, he knew.

He delighted her. Him. Kaz Brekker.

In that one ridiculous moment, behaving like an utter buffoon tripping over his feet, struggling to gather even a shred of dignity—

Spring had giggled.

And suddenly . . . Well, damn it all to hell, what did he need to be so worked up and nervous about?

He expelled a breath. Just as suddenly, it was his turn to be endeared by her. (Arguably, when wasn’t it?) The continued confusion over this whole thing brought a faint and soft smile to his lips. Kaz returned to her side, and he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs with a nod directing her to it. “This house belongs to a merchant named Reinier Luth. He and his wife purchased the property fresh out of marriage and had the place built themselves from the ground-up. It was an enormous change from a life previously led in The Exchange. They wanted an escape”—he carefully claimed his own seat, stretching out his leg with a small sound of relief—“or something of the sort. I can’t relate.”

And if that was meant to be a joke, it would explain the passing twinkle in his eye before he proceeded. “Luth became a widower about a decade ago. Since then, he’s let this place fall into disrepair, needing a fresh touch and someone to bring new life to it.” Kaz drummed his fingers on the crow’s head of his cane, and his own head slightly tilted while he surveyed Spring’s reaction. “He has occasional guests, even all the way out here; the state of the place has started to embarrass him. You know how it is. When he heard of the work you do, the man barely needed any further convincing, and he was thrilled that you were so willing to come all the way out here regularly. . . . He’s an old man, after all. He can’t make the trip into the city frequently. Rumor has it he’s only seen once or twice a month, if even that.”

He tapped his cane on the ground. “That’s the story.” His attention eventually slid downward, as if incredibly intrigued by the finish on the table. “The one we’re going with. The one everyone’s going to know. The one everyone has known. It’s easy enough to follow, and when people inevitably start noticing your presence out here more, they have a nice bland helping of lies to chew on and discard before finding something more interesting. Anyone who cares to look into it will stop caring as soon as they’re fed.

“Reinier Luth doesn’t own this place. By all records, yes. By all records, he’s a man who exists who no one cares exists. The point is, you won’t have any official ties out here aside from strictly business. And I have my best men ready to forge the work orders if the stadwatch start sniffing about.”

Now, to get to the real point:

Demjin

Spring would be the first to admit that she wasn't cut out for this: the lies that were necessary to keep herself safe. It was a cruel twist of fate that she was forced to resort to such things. Yet it was an irony, too—for she had the power to protect herself by other means, but was largely unwilling to do so.

"Hate" wasn't a word she used lightly, but she did hate this. Thus it was for both of their benefits when the conversation moved on from her floundering deception. Spring didn't dwell on the knowing look that her companion shot her way, other than momentarily floundering all over again for an entirely different reason. Goodness, if Kaz didn't stop looking at her like that...

Luckily there wasn't time for any real fluster to take hold. Soon enough a quaint cottage came into view around the bend. The road they walked was the only hint of civilization in its proximity; otherwise, it was surrounded on all sides by encroaching forest and greenery. Spring hurried to keep pace as Kaz led their way through the wooden fence towards the door, her gaze inevitably drawn to the vegetation around the little house. Most of it was what most people would consider "overgrown," but the wildness of it just made Spring smile. With so many plants about—large, untamed, unfamiliar—the susurrus of their voices washed over her like a soothing wave. She said hello, and a curious giggle rippled through every stem, petal, and leaf, perceptible to others only as rustling in the gentle breeze.

Still, she couldn't help but ponder the nature of their destination. Perhaps the person who lived here was elderly, or was otherwise unable to care for the property? Was she about to meet a friend of Kaz's? Or perhaps even his family? That particular thought struck her in tandem with a bolt of irrational panic, but when they reached the door and she was about to question...the words stilled in her throat at the sight of the key being offered to her.

"Me?" Confusion couldn't take root when Kaz's voice was so soft, when his eyes were so focused. No, it was curiosity that tilted her head even as she obliged, accepting the cool metal of the key into her palm. A part of her thought to ask if he was sure, but that suddenly felt...inappropriate, somehow. The way he gazed at her, with such weight and that absurdly charming, wryly curved smile, made her quite certain she would have gladly done anything he asked in that moment.

And so, even as her own eyes sparkled with a dozen questions, she agreed in an equally soft tone, "All right." But before he could retract his hand, Spring's other caught those gloved fingers. She may not understand just yet, but that was okay. It didn't dampen her encouraging smile. "So long as you go inside with me."

Maintaining that grip on his hand—though it was light enough that he could pull away, should he choose to (and ignoring the fact that her heart was practically beating out of her chest from the simple contact alone...)—Spring fitted the key into the lock and stepped over the threshold. She was met with a modest living space: the necessities of furniture and not much else, though it did appear to have been recently cleaned. Personally, she found the simplicity quite perfect. Her lengthy excursions into vast woodlands had taught her how few creature comforts she truly needed. A solitary little cottage set into the edge of the wilderness, away from the hustle and bustle of civilization...it sounded rather heavenly, if she were being honest.

This had an immediate effect on her, Kaz noticed. But he noticed everything. And he noticed everything when it specifically involved her. From the way she seemed to blossom like the span of unruly plants before them—new life an almost golden sheen on her rosy cheeks—to the childlike curiosity sparkling in those flecks of that same gold in her eyes (but somehow more precious of a gold, Kaz could without hesitation admit). She belonged here. Not in the cramped streets of Ketterdam. Not in the dreary days and stifling nights caged between buildings and packed in crowds where the air was thick and tainted. Here. Away from all of that. Close to nature. (But still not too far from him.) Where she could thrive . . .

Where she could be herself.

“Giddiness” wasn’t exactly the proper word to describe what he felt just then. He decided not to use the word, rather, even if a bundle of nerves swirling in his chest was releasing fluttering waves through the rest of him, siphoning a newfound energy to those once-weary legs. When she claimed that key from him despite her understandable confusion, he was about ready to burst through the door himself like some excitable puppy, untrained, unchecked. But she held him back. She stopped him. Without realizing it. Without knowing—

Kaz had planned all of this. He’d spent an absurd amount of time setting everything up to be as perfect as it could be: everything like clockwork, down to guaranteeing they found a day when the weather would be acceptable. But.

Oh, but.

He had not planned for Spring to throw a wrench into those gears through such a simple gesture.

When her hand closed around his . . . Saints, Kaz was positive every single gear grinded to a halt. (Or maybe it was just his heart, damn it all.)

She touched him gently. She always was gentle with him. Like she couldn’t see the crookedness of who he was, couldn’t fathom how many layers of blood that weren’t his had sunk through his dark clothes and into his skin, down to his bones, made him wrong. She was soft. She was sweet. She was compassionate. She wasn’t stupid—She knew who he was and she still treated him like this. And even if she couldn’t truly know what this one delicate hold on his hand meant, the tenderness by which those fingers wound around his trapped his next breath in his throat. 

His gloves were there, naturally. They always were. They always would be. But despite that, through that fabric and in every place it awkwardly bunched under that light hold, he felt her as if she were a flame burning straight through. Not an uncomfortable burn. Not one to harm. One that seemed to melt the icy shields he kept around him, and all too shamelessly fast, he couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like without that glove between them—

She guided him inside. Kaz nearly tripped when that aforementioned energy in his legs abandoned him and left them weaker than before. But he adjusted his grip on his cane, pulled himself together, and was, for the barest breath, mildly thankful to find something else to capture his attention at that exact moment.

While Spring took in surroundings entirely novel to her, Kaz’s gaze pinned the one thing he didn’t recognize. There, in the middle of the kitchen table, sat an extravagant basket of baked goods interwoven with bundles of flowers. And of course tied off with a neat, pastel bow to make it clear—if it wasn’t already—that this could not possibly have been anywhere close to an idea by Kaz Brekker. Somewhat of an irritable huff skated through his teeth, hidden beneath the questions already flowing from Spring’s lips, and his hand only fell from hers to make a swift approach as if he planned on strangling the damn basket with its own ribbon.

Kaz spun the basket around until he found what he’d suspected: a small note tucked between a loaf of bread and a muffin so large only Nina could consume it all on her own, likely. Although the parchment clearly had “Spring” written on the front of it, he flipped it open, scanned the contents, and uttered a soft curse under his breath before shooting another pointed glare at the cluster of pastries and petals.

“No,” he eventually answered both of Spring’s questions with one word, caught in the distraction of yet another unforeseen wrench. Kaz glanced between the note and the basket—like he couldn’t quite decide which one was the most heinous—his thumb absentmindedly flicking the edges of that letter to create a rhythmic noise while he contemplated. Then, with nothing more than a flex of his wrist, he held the supposedly offensive note out to her.

—and at the same time provided further explanation to her questions and the paper in his hand.

“It’s for you.”

Hello, Spring! (—and Kaz, because you definitely read this first, you podge.) Since we all know Kaz didn’t think to bring food or anything remotely “nice” on this little outing of yours, consider this a housewarming gift! Enjoy! Jesper & Wylan (PS: This was Wylan’s idea, Kaz. Take it up with him if you’re miffed about it. Or don’t. You’re welcome.) (PPS: You're not subtle, by the way. -Wylan) (PPPS: Wylan told me not to write that. -Jes)

Kaz didn’t look at her while he waited for her to read it, all but shrugging off the “gift” to cross the room and begin checking the windows. The doors. Anything that proved how and when the two of them had weaseled in and planted this without his knowledge. Oh, he would be taking it up with them. Both of them. Jesper had to be more moronic than he remembered if he thought he could pin the blame on his boyfriend. Clearly they'd gotten past their honeymoon phase if they had time for meddling in other people's affairs.

"I do not think that is true," she ruminated with a gentle shake of her head. There was no judgement in the statement, however, simply the openness of an unfettered conversation. "I think most people are kind by nature. It is simply their circumstances that can make them angry." Perhaps it was a naive view, but Spring had always believed in the best in people—and she was astonishingly grateful for that quality now. After all, how else would she have ever come to be here, enjoying a delightful outing with a gang leader?

When Kaz called out the forest in the distance, the gaze she cast towards the trees was fond. (Though not as fond as when her attention returned to the person at her side.) "Yes, that is the one—at least, usually. Sometimes I do walk to the farther ones." Or, more accurately, sometimes she traversed so far in this nearby forest to come out somewhere on another side, at which point she might as well keep going. But pleasant thoughts of grass beneath her feet and leaves rustling all around were swiftly popped by Kaz's impish question.

"O-oh, well—" Floundering for a moment, she struggled to not appear too caught off guard as her mind raced for a way to explain her apparent lack of worry over what should be a reasonable danger to an ordinary, unremarkable florist. "I-I am simply familiar enough by now to know their preferred hunting grounds." A beat. Then, too quickly— "To avoid them, of course."

Was that an odd thing to say? Goodness, she had no idea. She'd never had to worry about this before: being close enough to someone to risk them discovering her secret. With effort, she fixed a smile in place despite how sour the words tasted on her tongue.

Lying wasn't in her nature, but she especially hated having to lie to Kaz. The closeness they'd built meant the world to her. Lying to him of all people just felt wrong—like she was building walls where they didn't belong, right in the middle of that special path they walked. It was cowardly. But when discovery could mean losing the life she loved so dearly...

Shoving the guilt aside, Spring spoke up again to try and breeze past how shaky her excuse sounded. "I am much more troubled by the possibility of falling behind while I am away, especially now that I have the House of the White Rose as a regular." Between the number and size of their arrangements that needed upkeep and replacing, they were proving to be a rather demanding customer—a fact that Kaz surely knew, considering how often she had to travel through the Barrel now.

Despite the apparent pessimism of Kaz’s statement, that truth behind his words was something he could positively count on, no differently than he could count on Spring easily stepping in to correct his phrasing, to put an optimistic, unending hopefulness to the sentiment. He didn’t argue with her. Not because he wouldn’t relish a well-meaning banter between the two of them, but because he couldn’t help but be humbled by the amendment; it was hardly lost on him how accurate her assessment was toward his own experience, not that she herself could know. (And there, for a fleeting flicker of a second, Kaz had to wonder why he didn’t simply think, Not that she herself would ever know, as if—someday—he planned on telling her everything . . . as if he’d unconsciously already decided to.)

Whether through a silent acceptance of her blissful worldview or further confirmation of these forest ventures of hers, a faint curve still molded the edges of his lips. It only managed to grow in direct response to the way she fumbled a lie through her teeth, and a painfully obvious one even for anyone who wasn’t Kaz Brekker. (Which did rather give him a lot of credit. Truth is, he’d made a point to keep tabs on her—in what he’d convinced himself was nothing like the methods of an obsessed stalker, all simply for her safety in a world where the cruel chewed up the kind . . . especially when the latter happened to be involved with him.) The stammering gave enough proof. The extraneous details dug the grave of her innocence for her. But even so, Kaz wasn’t remotely bothered.

No, though the girl in all of her pure ideals might believe lies to be a crime most heinous, he went on unruffled. Unperturbed. Not even a sting of offense dogged his steps regardless of his understanding full well that this one meager lie covered up far more than it seemed. She wasn’t ready, and that was okay. Neither of them were being totally honest with each other, because both knew how this cold world took every vulnerability it could find and twisted it into a detriment.

She was a survivor. Just like him. Kaz respected that.

“Then I won’t be troubled, either,” he said, and though his letting the topic go was also meant to quell those nerves of hers, he didn’t successfully resist a knowing side-eye, a mischievous quirk taking one brow before he shook his head and moved on. The downhill trek was somehow easier and harder on that aching leg of his, but he ignored it as his body grew accustomed to the change in elevation . . . and as Spring’s voice stole him away from every annoying thing that had ever disturbed him. He relaxed into a steady pace again, attention skirting to her profile consistently while they walked.

Eventually, and as if he had timed this flawlessly, their destination came into view at the exact moment her query put him on the spot. They rounded a swell in the neighboring forest, behind it peeking a new plot of land that held a small, modest cottage there in the center: a pearl nested in fresh and overgrown greenery. “I didn’t say,” Kaz dismissed, his steps quickening just enough to be noticeable while they neared the old wooden fence embracing the property. He pushed through that gate with ease, up the dirt path leading to the house. “We go back a ways. It was high time someone stepped in to take care of things.”

IT’S THE KIND OF DARKNESS THAT CONSUMES, an inky, starless forever. Even the bright promising face moon couldn’t break through the thickness of its murky veil. So there Ari was, perched on the window seat with her legs folded beneath her. Her freckled face was pinched with concern as her nervous gaze focused on the bustling, dimly lit street below—or what little of she could see, for the cement balcony lined with broken wrought-iron railing obstructed most of the activity. Beside her sat Club, her faithful plush companion, who pressed his squishy beak against the glass with Ari, serving as an additional set of eyes to help her spot The Singular Person of Interest when he would eventually appear in the throng.

She hoped for a hat. She hoped for a black coat. She hoped for a cane with a shining crow’s head as its handle. She hoped for sharp features and no smile and tired eyes.

She hoped for KAZ.

Spring had never had many friends.

Perhaps that was surprising for someone who was so friendly. Her job allowed her to meet many people: a revolving door of faces coming through the quaint shop she'd built for herself from nothing. Customers, casual browsers, window-shoppers—all manner of city-folk who marveled at so many pretty little curiosities. Certainly friendly in return, for the most part. But all fleeting, like the flowers she sold.

No one who stayed. No one who really mattered. Until...

Suffice it to say, Spring was far from an expert on friendship. And yet, somehow she knew that what she had with Kaz felt quite different, at least from her own side. Much like the path they now walked, a turn had been taken somewhere along the way, leading them down a new trail meant only for the two of them. There were times when she couldn't help but wonder where it led. Embarrassingly, she even dared ponder what destination she may want, given the choice.

But that was silly, wasn't it? So long as she walked at Kaz's side, companionable and comfortable and absurdly aflutter just from those rare brushes of their arms, the destination didn't much matter, now did it?

Spring enjoyed their literal walk equally so. Her pace was leisurely as she took in the lovely countryside, happy for the slow stroll allowing them more time together. (And silently considerate of her cane-reliant companion.) As they approached a gentle slope, Spring gathered a few folds of her skirt in one hand to keep it raised out of the dirt.

"I wish I could," she admitted. "It is not easy for me to find the time to be away from the shop long enough to allow it." A consequence of having zero employees, she knew, but it was...safer that way. Besides, it'd be a different kind of shame to give any of the duties she so enjoyed to someone else. "But I am very glad that I was able to today," came her next confession, in a softer tone as she offered her companion a smile that was warmer than the summertime sun overhead.

Though Kaz was certainly right: she did thrive out here. It had been far too long since she'd felt the open air, the wind and sun unhindered on her skin. She felt more alive, more herself than when surrounded by civilization. Spring turned her gaze up to the blue sky, trailing over clouds and back down to a line of trees off in the distance.

She did things to him. She had for a while. And Kaz was pretty damn sure the girl hadn’t the foggiest notion of her influence, which he—for just as much of that while—couldn’t have been more relieved by. He knew, of all the people in this shithole of a city, Spring would be the last to ever lord anything over anyone. He knew she’d never use something so genuine and vulnerable against him. And it should’ve been all Kaz needed, ideally speaking. In a perfect world. Maybe in some alternate timeline where Rietveld lived on, where Brekker had never been born. . . .

He knew if he was going to lose his Saints-forsaken mind over anyone . . . The messy remains would be safest in her care. Treated as sweetly, as carefully, as compassionately and wholly devoted as she nurtured her flowers.

That was the problem. That was what continued to be the problem.

Even now that he had committed to this outing, committed to . . . whatever the hell this was— An overpowering voice in his head continued to scream about the wrongness that was him and her. (Him. Mostly him. Entirely him. The problem was him. But how could he trust anyone else to ever regard her like this, to know how to treat her, to—)

Enough.

Conversation was a good way to smother the never-ending wheel that was this ridiculous thought process. Every pesky little doubt all but squirmed beneath his choking grip as he asserted himself in the present, in the real fact that he’d made a choice, and he wouldn’t be turning and fleeing with his tail between his legs now. As Spring responded to his ruminations, he couldn’t deny the trill in his chest at one very particular comment—like he was that small boy again, unabashedly excited by the mere prospect of a girl liking the silly little gift he’d gone out of his way to buy her. (Or was he the dog here, too, that aforementioned tail wagging from one shred of approval . . . ?)

“Customers are angry by nature because people are angry by nature,” Kaz said, a dismissive shrug rolling through his shoulders. But he was smiling, still. Nothing cocky or smug, as the miffed leaders of rival gangs might sneer about: the only way they ever saw his lips in anything more than a stiff line. For her, it was always different. It always would be. “So, it’s well worth it.”

He bolstered her right as they neared the top of that slope, and as the downward curve gave them a better view of the new smattering of farmlands ahead of them, Kaz’s steps slowed only to lift a cane and point to a sea of greenery at their 2 o’clock. “That forest, right?” She didn’t need to answer. He was already well aware she took trips out here. “You may have entered from a different direction, but it’s the only one for miles otherwise.”

Shoutout to the five Six of Crows fan this fanart possibly reaches; Good books... Good books...