He can’t stop the soft amused sound from escaping when Jesper indulges the game, and goes through each next pattern as expected, even though they’d never played the game together before. It was such a simple thing, but he doesn’t miss the importance in that underlying truth of just how well they know each other. To never utter a word and still manage each turn perfectly spoke loudly to that trust in each other.
When the last sequence is played through, he pulls the elastic from both of their fingers and sets it aside on the bedside table.
He turns back toward Jesper, pulling onto his side and tucking one arm under his head. “Thank you.” He says, barely a whisper in the space between them. Thank you for indulging him the distraction. For being here. For answering that text.
Kaz hadn’t realized how badly he needed the other boy until he’d seen his words on that screen. Made even more obvious when he felt that tiny release of pressure in his chest just for laying eyes on him.
“You’re not allowed to leave,” he says, as though anyone has any choice in the matter. But the next words are no half attempt at a joke, he’s wholly serious as he says, “I don’t think I can be here without both of you.” He hasn’t actually been without both of them at all yet, not really. Inej was preparing to leave, Jesper was staying more nights than not at the Van Eck mansion, but there was evidence of them around still.
There’s something sad about the idea that, eventually, that may not be true. There may be a time when Jesper doesn’t darken the doorways of The Slat again. When Inej stops coming back to a city she hates for a boy she hates less.
Funny the way sad thoughts just collide like dominoes one on top of another until there’s nothing left.
It’s an overwhelming thing, this kind of grief. The sort of thing that chokes all hopes of words out of his throat, even when he feels desperately like he needs to say something. But what would he even say if he could? That it hurts, that he hates that she’s gone? What good would it do him?
But. Jesper is here. He’s here now and he’s not leaving. He’s not going anywhere, short of it being utterly out of his control, and that’s what he needs to focus on before the increasing tightness in his chest turns into something he can’t stop.
His fingers inch toward the other boy. Impossible as ever, down to his most vulnerable moments— he hates needing anything from anyone, and asking outright is a blatant admission of weakness. But if he pushes the idea, and Jesper takes the lead, it becomes an offer he can pretend was never his idea to start with.
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Date: 2022-03-21 02:04 am (UTC)When the last sequence is played through, he pulls the elastic from both of their fingers and sets it aside on the bedside table.
He turns back toward Jesper, pulling onto his side and tucking one arm under his head. “Thank you.” He says, barely a whisper in the space between them. Thank you for indulging him the distraction. For being here. For answering that text.
Kaz hadn’t realized how badly he needed the other boy until he’d seen his words on that screen. Made even more obvious when he felt that tiny release of pressure in his chest just for laying eyes on him.
“You’re not allowed to leave,” he says, as though anyone has any choice in the matter. But the next words are no half attempt at a joke, he’s wholly serious as he says, “I don’t think I can be here without both of you.” He hasn’t actually been without both of them at all yet, not really. Inej was preparing to leave, Jesper was staying more nights than not at the Van Eck mansion, but there was evidence of them around still.
There’s something sad about the idea that, eventually, that may not be true. There may be a time when Jesper doesn’t darken the doorways of The Slat again. When Inej stops coming back to a city she hates for a boy she hates less.
Funny the way sad thoughts just collide like dominoes one on top of another until there’s nothing left.
It’s an overwhelming thing, this kind of grief. The sort of thing that chokes all hopes of words out of his throat, even when he feels desperately like he needs to say something. But what would he even say if he could? That it hurts, that he hates that she’s gone? What good would it do him?
But.
Jesper is here.
He’s here now and he’s not leaving.
He’s not going anywhere, short of it being utterly out of his control, and that’s what he needs to focus on before the increasing tightness in his chest turns into something he can’t stop.
His fingers inch toward the other boy. Impossible as ever, down to his most vulnerable moments— he hates needing anything from anyone, and asking outright is a blatant admission of weakness. But if he pushes the idea, and Jesper takes the lead, it becomes an offer he can pretend was never his idea to start with.