He knows it's driving Jesper mad already, much the same way Kaz has already been through that part of this realization. How helpless it is. How useless. He just hasn't been able to box it up and put it away yet, which is why he hasn't left the suite. He wants to be able to put it aside when he does.
Kaz notices the movement from the edge of his vision, and he pauses in playing with the band, eyes following the other boy– up to his feet, coat set aside, slipping up under the sheets like he somehow belongs there.
It doesn't escape him this is the sort of thing that Jesper can offer him here, which never would have been dreamed of back home. It's jarring in a sense, especially with the idea of home dangled quite so closely at the moment. Out of reach, not somewhere they can go, but the rough shove back to the reality of how they don't belong here. Not that he's ever forgotten it, exactly, but a person can get used to anything with enough time. Adjustment and adaptability are two of Kaz's best capabilities, and eight months is plenty of time to let himself sink into a place.
He looks over at him for a second before he looks back at the tie in his hands and starts fussing with it. It takes a few minutes to loosen the elastic of it enough to make it work, but eventually, he does get a cat's cradle spread between his fingers. He draws his eyes back to the other boy and holds his hands out.
It's stupid. Utterly stupid, but he doesn't care. It's something Jordie used to do play with him when he was little. It's something that has no connection whatsoever to the situation at hand.
Jesper doesn't say a word while Kaz keeps fussing with the tie, over and over until the elastic has enough give to do more with it. He's no stranger to repetitive motions, the calm they can give when every other thing around can seem like overwhelming chaos. Or when the world strips something from you that you can't take back.
When Kaz's hands are put in front of him, he can't help the soft almost fond chuckle the image of a cat's cradle spread between his fingers draws out of him. It's a simple game, familiar enough to someone that needed simple things to keep occupied. So he sits up a bit and reaches for the center crossing strings to draw them to the outside.
From cradle to soldier's bed to candles.
A simple game that could be played with little communication, if you knew the person well enough to trust they knew the rules, the sequences, and could read your intent. All things he and Kaz had in spades at this point.
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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2022-03-07 12:12 am (UTC)Kaz notices the movement from the edge of his vision, and he pauses in playing with the band, eyes following the other boy– up to his feet, coat set aside, slipping up under the sheets like he somehow belongs there.
It doesn't escape him this is the sort of thing that Jesper can offer him here, which never would have been dreamed of back home. It's jarring in a sense, especially with the idea of home dangled quite so closely at the moment. Out of reach, not somewhere they can go, but the rough shove back to the reality of how they don't belong here. Not that he's ever forgotten it, exactly, but a person can get used to anything with enough time. Adjustment and adaptability are two of Kaz's best capabilities, and eight months is plenty of time to let himself sink into a place.
He looks over at him for a second before he looks back at the tie in his hands and starts fussing with it. It takes a few minutes to loosen the elastic of it enough to make it work, but eventually, he does get a cat's cradle spread between his fingers. He draws his eyes back to the other boy and holds his hands out.
It's stupid. Utterly stupid, but he doesn't care. It's something Jordie used to do play with him when he was little. It's something that has no connection whatsoever to the situation at hand.
no subject
Date: 2022-03-19 07:25 pm (UTC)When Kaz's hands are put in front of him, he can't help the soft almost fond chuckle the image of a cat's cradle spread between his fingers draws out of him. It's a simple game, familiar enough to someone that needed simple things to keep occupied. So he sits up a bit and reaches for the center crossing strings to draw them to the outside.
From cradle to soldier's bed to candles.
A simple game that could be played with little communication, if you knew the person well enough to trust they knew the rules, the sequences, and could read your intent. All things he and Kaz had in spades at this point.
no subject
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.