ara

He’s broken, he knows this, some part of him is missing. Something he will never get back. He still hears the sound of the Makker’s wheel spinning when he’s trying to fall asleep. 

Selfishly, he hopes to find Wylan asleep, unaware of how late Jesper stayed out, unaware that he came home bruised and broke, as he often did when he still lived in the Barrel. He’d just hit a hundred days without gambling. He counted every single one. Maybe it was that number that scared him. Maybe when Wylan told him he was proud of him, Jesper had wanted to crush that feeling now so it wouldn’t hurt more later. Or maybe he just wanted to gamble. He can come up with an endless list of reasons for why he’d done it, none of them matter. He wanted to gamble so he did. Simple as that. 

Wylan’s in the kitchen. Jesper’s heartbeat picks up when he sees him. He almost expects Wylan to look different, but he doesn’t. He’s wearing the same clothes he was wearing when Jesper left. For a moment, he just stands in the doorway. He wants to cross the kitchen and crumble into Wylan’s arms, beg him to talk about this tomorrow, just so he can have one more night before Wylan kicks him out for being a fuck up. He doesn’t deserve that, though, he knows this. 

“I’m sorry,” he says but it comes out garbled, different, like he hasn’t spoken in days, so he clears his throat, tries again. “I’m really sorry, Wylan.”

“I was worried,” Wylan tells him. He sounds tired and almost calculated, like he’s picking his words very carefully. Jesper wants to look at him and can’t bear to. 

“I know,” it’s a stupid thing to say. Jesper’s never been the smart one. What will he do when Wylan no longer wants him? Will he go back to Novyi Zem or the Barrel? Will it matter?

“Do you need anything?” Wylan asks and Jesper startles, turns to frown at him in confusion. “Like a medik,” he explains, motioning to Jesper’s face. The bruises must be obvious, then. Jesper didn’t have the courage to look at his reflection after. He shakes his head. He wants it to hurt. He needs a reminder. 

“I need you to forgive me,” he tries, instead. Too quiet. Maybe he’s hoping Wylan doesn’t hear him. Maybe he wants to pretend he’s above begging. “Or at least give me until morning.”

“What?” 

“If you’re going to kick me out, please don’t do it tonight,” he says. He’d go back. He knows this. He’d sell the clothes on his body and anything else he could find. 

Wylan crosses the room to him. For a second, Jesper imagines Wylan pushing past him, telling him to pack his things and leave. Instead, Wylan’s hand finds his. 

“I’m not going to kick you out,” he says. Soft. Softer than he should be. Jesper blinks and then blinks again. Swallows. In front of him, Wylan stills, patient, waits for his words to settle. 

“Why not?”

There’s a long moment of silence and then Wylan tightens his grip on Jesper’s hand and pulls him towards a chair in their kitchen. 

“Saints,” he mumbles as he directs Jesper to sit down. “Do you really think I’d kick you out after one mistake?”

“I’m a fuck up. The mistakes will keep coming”

“You’re an addict,” Wylan corrects, firm. “And we’ll deal with them when they do.”

“But-”

“No buts, Jes,” he interrupts. “I’m going to make you tea and we’ll go to bed, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, but when Wylan goes to move away, Jesper doesn’t let go of his hand. “Just another moment,” he whispers. Wylan nods. Without thinking, Jesper leans forward against him, rests his forehead against Wylan’s chest. “I know we need to talk about it.”

Despite feeling his skin crawl, he meets Kaz’s eyes. Back when he first got here, the brown of Kaz’s eyes reminded him of home, of endless Jurda fields, of the tea his Da made him in the mornings. It had felt like a sign, like the universe telling him he was right where he needed to be. He knows, now, that he had been wrong. That Kaz’s eyes are just brown, just as dark as the rest of him. Just as sharp too. He’s found home in a different colour, in the endless Zemeni sky, he’s found home with Wylan and yet, yet, here he is, watching Kaz cross the room to him, feeling his breath catch. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Kaz says, leaning on his cane, looking down at Jesper. It’d be poetic if it wasn’t so sad. 

“Yes, well, I shouldn’t be in love with you either, but here we are,” Jesper answers, as casual as he can. That’s what it is, really. Even when he’s found happiness, his heart refuses to let Kaz go. 

“Does Wylan know you’re here?” oh, Kaz has always been a master at ignoring Jesper’s words. 

“Yes,” it’s true. Wylan knows because he’s Wylan, because Jesper could never lie to him. Wylan knows because he figured Jesper’s feelings out without Jesper needing to tell him. It should scare him, it did scare him when Wylan told him he knew. He was sure Wylan would kick him out. Instead, of course, he’d just held Jesper’s hand and told him it was okay, he wasn’t angry, he understood. 

More than anything in the world, Jesper wishes that was enough for him. He wishes he could look at Wylan and see the entire universe, he wishes he didn’t need anyone else. He does, though, he’s still looking at Kaz. 

“He’s stupid for letting you come here,” Kaz tells him. Something in his eyes as they once again scan the club. Jesper swallows. Kaz continues. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” months ago, he would have followed blindly, gone anywhere Kaz told him to go. Maybe it’s a testament to things being better. Maybe it’s just a sign they’ll never be the same again. 

“Somewhere with less temptations,” is the answer that follows. Jesper startles and follows Kaz’s gaze to the tables, to people gambling their lives away.