#intersting

And maybe he deserves the daggers Kaz is glaring at him, just as sharp as any real one, but it’s the truth. Because no matter how good Kaz looks, and yeah, he does, all Jesper can think about is the dark circles beneath his eyes. His skin is a good two shades paler than it normally is and with the candlelight flickering inches from his face, Jesper swears his eyes have a tinge of red in them.

And maybe its just the draft that chills him. But he can’t look away from those eyes.

“Why thank you Jesper,” he mumbles. “You know, you’re not exactly a prize yourself.”

“Oh please,” he sighs, waving his hand dismissively. He strides into the room, clicking his fingers as his arms swing. “I’m the greatest catch this side of Fifth Harbour and you know it.”

Kaz mumbles something that might be an agreement as Jesper perches on the seat beside him, his leg bouncing. This close to him, Jesper can see the tension wrought through Kaz’s shoulders, the way his hands tremble as he jots down yet another column of numbers. He shifts, nails tapping against the edge fo the desk. 

Three nights in a row, Jesper has gone to bed with Kaz still in his office and, despite Kaz’s insistence that he did sleep, he’s woken each times to a cold bed. He’s lain there, hand on the other side of the mattress, and searched for some kind of sign that Kaz was here. It’s like he sleeps next to a ghost.

“Kaz,” he says softly. He rests his hand on Kaz’s shoulder, his touch careful, waiting for Kaz to pull away. But he doesn’t, and Jesper doesn’t know if he’s pleased or worried. “Take a break.”

“I don’t need one,” he says roughly. He hunches forward, his hair falling and hiding his face even more. Beneath his hand, Jesper can feel him trembling, like every bone in his body is fighting to hold him together.

“Bad few days?” Jesper asks. 

Kaz blinks, slowly, something other than candle light flickering in his dark eyes. The question caught him off guard. For a moment, he’s still, like the glass in the windows. There’s not even the rise of his chest to show he’s still alive. 

Then, almost reluctantly, he nods. Jesper pulls the chair closer, wood scraping on the floor. Heat from the candle tickles his cheek. He’s careful not to touch Kaz, especially not with his bare skin, but he’s only human and their knees bump as he moves.

Jesper waits for Kaz to flinch. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t need his eyes either.

“Kaz…” he whispers softly. Each word is carefully chosen. Sometimes words come naturally to him, when he’s wooing someone for a particular job or describing the mechanics of his guns. Now though, he feels like he’s reaching for the ones to make this right, to give Kaz what he needs. Which is a hard job for any person, but when the object of your affection has walls higher than those of Hellgate? Sometimes it leaves Jesper breathless.

“Kaz, these will all still be here tomorrow,” he tells him. “Come to bed. You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep going like this.”

As soon as he’s said it, Jesper realises it won’t work. 

“I… I can’t,” Kaz replies. His voice is so small, so far away even though he’s right beside him. In that moment, Jesper knows he isn’t talking to Kaz Brekker. He’s talking to Kaz Rietveld, the kid who crawled out of the harbour and just needed someone to hold his hand. His jaw shifts, his chest stutters before it rises. “It’s… I… every time I try I see him.”

“Every time?” Kaz nods. Jesper inhales deeply, trying to ignore the lead lining his lungs. “How long has it been like this?”

“A few days,” he replies. His voice is barely a whimper. It sounds so broken that Kaz could cut himself on it. “I-I keep going back there every time I try to sleep.”

A memory comes to Jesper then, insignificant at the time but now it feels like a slap in the face. A few mornings ago, when he woke and found Kaz standing at the window, eyes trained on something in the distance. Jesper had come up behind him and brushed his finger against his, only for him to flinch away from his touch. Kaz said it was nothing, and Jesper expected a new heist in the days that followed.

A weight sinks in his stomach. There was never a heist. Kaz wasn’t looking at the harbour for pigeons. He was looking for Jordie.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Jesper is reaching for Kaz’s hair, his fingers freezing just inches from the dark locks. He’s halted, breath frozen in his lungs, waiting for Kaz to tell him what to do, expecting him to pull away.

Jesper is about to. The memory of him pulling his hand away that morning is like a sharp piano note in his head.

Then, Kaz leans back and presses his head into Jesper’s hand. Now its Jesper’s turn to freeze, unsure for a moment of what to do with such an open, willing agreement. But then his body takes over for him, and he’s rubbing circles into the back of Kaz’s head and twirling the soft strands around his fingers. His eyes fall closed, his lips parting in a soft, weak sigh.

“Stay,” he whispers. “Please.” His voice is rough gravel, tightly packed to cover whatever’s underneath. But if you know where to look, and Jesper does, you can see it, the fear that trembles in his voice, tightens his muscles. The admission of I can’t do this alone, I need you.

“I will,” he says quietly. Kaz nods. Its barely visible, the barest flicker of a candle, but its there.

Jesper pulls their chair ever closer, their sleeve just about grazing Kaz’s. With the scratching sound of pen on paper in the background, Jesper busies himself with the things on Kaz’s desk; he fiddles with ink bottles and builds a tower, he makes a little grid with spare pens and makes his fingers dance in and out of them. A loose bit of paper finds its way and Jesper doodles a happy-looking puppy with a long, loling tongue and wagging tail, a small black kitten with a sour expression beside it. Kaz writes down a new set of numbers. Jesper adds a fetching little top hat and a revolver to his puppy. Kaz dips the pen in some ink. The cat gets a little bowler had, a black cloak and a silver-topped cane in his paw.

(The cane is definitely silver, Jesper just doesn’t have a silver pen).

Kaz looks over when Jesper is adding whiskers to his cat, as well as drawing another waffle on the stack the animals are sharing. Beside him, the scratching stops and they feel, rather than see, the way Kaz’s lip curls up.

“I’m a cat then?”

“It’s not all about you Kaz,” Jesper replies.

Kaz huffs and it sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

Minutes pass, then close to an hour. Outside, light rainfall scatters against the window, the beginnings of a party can be heard from way downstairs, muffled music, half-formed shouts. The Barrel remains the Barrel, ever-lively, ever-moving, even when the two of them are tucked away in here. 

Jesper looks at the window, at the flashes of orange and red bursting behind the frosted glass. There’s fun to be had, there always is.

Kaz has noticed it too, a slight clench in his jaw and his dark eyes shifting toward the window.

“You can go,” he says roughly. He ducks his head, lets his hair cover his eyes. “If you want. I’ll be fine.” The pen scratches on the page.

Jesper drums his fingers on the table and does Kaz the courtesy of pretending to consider his offer. Sure, maybe there is some part of him that wants to go outside, drawn to fireworks and fun like a moth is to a flame. 

But that’s just a part of him. Meanwhile all of him is looking at Kaz with the bags beneath his eyes and they just know that if they stepped outside this room they’d never forgive themself for it. Besides, what good is a party if all he’s doing is worrying about Kaz?

“Nah,” he scoffs. “Sounds pretty boring to be honest. They probably don’t even have a champagne fountain.” Kaz snorts, his face still mostly hidden. But Jesper has gotten scarily good at reading people and there, hidden from view, is a curved smile and eyes glimmering with gratitude. For a moment, Jesper’s heart skips, and a sort of soft, golden glow flickers in his chest.

Then Kaz reaches out to dip his pen in the ink, and the feeling fades. When Kaz blinks its slow, heavy, weighted down with sleepless nights. A shuddering sigh escapes him, the sound of someone barely holding themself together. Beneath Jesper’s hand, his shoulders are so tight he’s in danger of snapping. His head nods once, twice, three times, and Jesper finds themself sitting to attention, awaiting the next signal. Kaz’s jaw clenches with a silent yawn, his arm subconsciously sliding across the table. Jesper pulls himself closer, his breaths quiet, his hand running gently through Kaz’s hair, willing him, willing his body to just let go, just one more, come on Brekker-

Kaz’s head drops. Before he hits the table, Jesper presses his hand against Kaz’s collarbone and manoeuvres him so he can rest on his arm instead. There’s a small twinge of guilt-not to mention the element of risk-at touching Kaz like this, but since the alternative was a potential concussion from slamming his head on a table, Jesper decides he’ll take it. 

Sure enough, Kaz’s only response is a quiet murmur and shifting on the seat before settling back down. His head is pressed into the crook of his arm, his mouth half open. Its not unfamiliar to Jesper; he’s woken up before Kaz enough times. But that doesn’t mean his breath doesn’t still catch at the sight, his head swimming just slightly. The best kind of intoxicated.

As quietly as he can be without Inej’s gift for stealth, Jesper grabs a blanket from the trunk beneath the window and tosses it over Kaz’s shoulders. There’s a slight change in his breathing then, a low hum, and then Kaz is burrowing himself into the blanket, pressing his face into the scratchy fabric. 

(Saints, the things that image does to them)

“Good night, Kaz,” he whispers. With their own blanket around their shoulders and settle into the chair beside him. As sleep begins to tug at his eyes, Jesper completely expects to be woken in a few hours by another night terror, and is more than prepared for the night’s work of calming him down, reminding him where he is and then forcing him to sleep again. Despite that though, he drifts off with a smile on their face, Kaz’s fingers curling out to meet his.