Chapter Text
Matthias
Matthias likes these people, he thinks. Except the devil, but Kaz isn’t speaking much and so it isn’t really bothering him. Matthias isn’t speaking much either, though that’s not news to no one.
It isn’t that he doesn’t like conversing with people, even strangers. In fact, strangers are his favourite activity because there’s just so much to know about a person, especially a new one. He hates missing out on an opportunity to do that. But his accent.
He loves his country. He’d still be there if he could be, but he’s not. He’s always had this deep need for belonging, and how can he do that when his voice stands out starkly from the rest, like that one picture of a bear at a bus stop. It’s embarrassing for him, to hear the contrast of British phonics against his own harsh Cs and elongated Os. It’s not that he believes everyone should be the same- of course not, he has always thrived in diverse spaces, always been curious of differences rather than disgusted. But even a football team wears the same uniform, vastly different players united by a singular colour. And if the people around him are united by their country, then will he be seen as the opposition?
He readjusts his woven bracelet, glances between Inej and Nina’s chatter, nods at Wylan as he leaves. He rubs his neck as if to physically purge the restricting feeling in his throat. What are the girls talking about? Where did Wylan go? What’s Jesper looking at in his lap? Matthias must have bored him, he knows the type. The guys who bounce their legs and click their pens, jumping from topic to topic. He must’ve drained him, he must’ve been the cause of the crinkles between his eyebrows. He gradually sinks back into their small talk, leaving Jesper to what he presumes is his phone. Why water a dead plant?
He almost brings up the housing idea -almost- and then shuts down his train of thought. Wylan isn’t there, therefore he’d miss the entire reason they’re here. He’d feel left out, and Matthias refuses to let anyone feel like that. He knows it’s shitty.
“What are yous studying at uni then?” He chooses a subject no one can possibly get upset at. They must like whatever course they’re doing if it was good enough to minor in.
He can very genuinely say he’s never seen Inej smile that wide, never mind with her teeth.
“Sports and exercise science”
That makes sense to him. His brain can map out the path she might’ve taken. And he likes that he could be wrong; appreciates the complexity of humans. He likes that over time he’ll get to fill in the gaps, if they grow a friendship.
“Wow what sports do you do?”
And so he listens tentatively as she debunks her fitness schedule, recounting her experiences in acrobating as a child too.
Nina seemed less enthusiastic, but equally gave her story on choosing medicine. Honestly, he never could have seen that one coming, but Nina Zenik is anything but predictable and he’s rather happy to be in her company. She must be happy too, if the pink hue dusted on her cheeks is anything to go by, which he reckons it is. She’s beautiful, as a fact. It’s a well established fact too, as far as he can tell, which is why he doesn’t push himself to speak it. He’s sure she’s heard it a million times.
When it’s Jesper’s turn to answer, he wonders where the excited puppy fled to, why his eyes have dulled. He gives a half hearted answer and excuses himself, confirming that he most certainly must be the problem. What has he done? Did Jesper expect him to order the drinks alone? He would have, had it seemed like the polite thing to do at the time. He looked like he needed an out though, and Matthias thought he had given him one and that that was the polite thing to do.
Maybe he didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe it’s himself that’s the problem.
Jesper
Jesper felt sick to his stomach. It seemed like Wylan was having a panic attack or a shutdown or a meltdown or an episode of some sort. Why? Is a question he couldn’t answer. He gets the feeling, the walls closing in like a canopy, but he can’t fathom expressing it in a bloody cafe. Unless there’s some wild reason he’s blissfully unaware of.
He had squeezed his arms -forearms, because some people are weird about their wrists- and hoped for the best. He thought it might be helpful considering the earlier reaction to his touch, the man’s breaths slowing increasingly more as they became increasingly squished. He was trying to do the right thing and yet as usual, it turned wrong. Wylan ran out, leaving him with an autism card. So he’s autistic.
Now he feels ridiculous at his harshness despite those thoughts having no impact on Wylan. How could he ever even think that?
Again, sick to his stomach.
It’s just that ,they were in the same school, same year, same SEN department. One that Jesper became a prominent member of. So how did he miss that face?
In his head, it was impossible for Wylan to have a diagnoses, because in his head, he knew everyone that did. He would have known, surely? Clearly not, and now it’s Jesper’s fault, the same way everything else turns out to be, and Wylan’s probably in a state by now.
Wylan. Yeah, focus on him, he thinks. He scans the flat piece of plastic, eager to clean up his mess. The information is standard: ‘triggers may include…’, ‘useful sensory tools’, ‘person may run away’, ‘discourage harmful behaviours without use of force’, ‘may experience verbal shutdown,’ and so on. His immediate reaction is that it must’ve been exhausting to fill out. His second is that Wylan gave it to him for a reason, it’s intended to be used.
Carefully, he manoeuvres himself past Kaz, praying that both him and Matthias are alive by the time he comes back. Team Kaz or not, he likes Matthias and it’d be a shame for him to be shredded apart by his brother.
On the cobblestones outside, Wylan looks like a shrivelled up leaf. He looks younger too, resembling the ginger haired boy that ghosted the halls in first year. Kneeling down beside him, he takes his arms again, rolling up the stripy sleeves because apparently fabrics are an issue, the corduroy jacket long abandoned at the table. The pressure returns, followed by a bashful, tentative smile from Wylan and suddenly his own hammering heart is forgotten.
“Are you coming back in?” He asks, because they don’t know each other and even Jesper can tell a deep chat wouldn’t be appropriate.
A nod confirms that yes, that’s a thing that will be occurring in the near future. Lovely, he can go back to his own anxiety attack then.
He watches as the he pulls the headphones down to his neck and self pity becomes confusion.
“Don’t you need those?”
Now Wylan is confused too.
“Yeah but we’re going back in, you said.”
“Yeah…?”
“So I can’t wear them.”
Jesper is baffled. Well and truly bamboozled. He agreed that he needs them, so why take them off? He can’t see how it’s dissimilar to him using things that helps his ADHD chill a bit, and if something helps him he’s always been glad to use it no matter the company he’s in.
“Yes you can. Of course you can.”
Wylan looks at him with those genuine eyes, his movements slow as he situates the headphones into his mop of hair again, cocooning his ears in foam.
Good, Jesper thinks as he relents. Why suffer?
Inej
Inej hates being alone. Hates the silence. If there’s no noise, her brain will make some up to fill the void. It’s unbearable.
But on top of that, she hates wastage, and it would truly be a waste to pay full price rent without exploring other options. The housing idea would solve both of those problems, fleeing her mind for another four years. It would benefit the others too, so it’s not entirely selfish. As a bonus, they all know each other, vaguely or not. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.
At the cafe she sits between Matthias and Kaz, the latter of whom has stretched his leg out now that there’s a big enough space to fill two people. She would have thought it massively inconsiderate had his limp not been so noticeable, especially considering his general demeanour. Does it hurt to not be rude? Either way, these are the people she brought together through spontaneous confidence. She has some level of obligation now to welcome them all to her play-pretend home.
Tracing the lines of her palm, she launches into statistics and trends on students and finances and properties. Jesper and Wylan having come back from wherever, it seems like a good time to crack on.
Realistically this is her last hope. Money is scarce and school bills are demanding. She needs at least half of them on her side; for their gain or hers, she doesn’t care. She believes that Nina would say yes, whatever what the numbers say on her mental power point. Nina’s lovely and the childish corners of her brain are pouting profusely that the two rarely spoke during secondary school. A few group projects and similar timetables forced them together at times, but Nina was popular and Inej was Inej: Studious and outdoorsy and quiet. It would’ve clashed worlds.
They’re out now and freedom tastes good. The lines on her hand predict a long future, so she’s got plenty of time to make amends.
Besides, Matthias might be partial to a bigger living space and by the looks of things, Nina would follow him anywhere.
Things take a positive turn, Kaz speaks up more, scarily but handily knowledgeable about money and eager to chip in for once. She would have loved to have called it a success and called it a day, but then the questions hit.
“What area would it be in?” Was Nina’s concern and,
“How many bedrooms were you thinking?” Was Matthias’s.
“When would we pay the first payment?”
“Not everyone earns the same, is splitting it equally fair?”
“Is the transport to and from the house easy?”
“Who will share with who?”
“What about chores?”
Inej was swamped. She was tired. She was only just an adult! She didn’t have the answers, couldn’t keep up with the pressure in the same way she crumbled under it in school. Never chance, does she?
Looking down she notices semi-circle imprints on her palms, frustration mounting at the visible reminder of stress. She tucks her hands under her thighs and breathes.
“We can figure out the basic stuff once it’s rented. The first step is figuring out if we’re going to rent somewhere together at all.”
She watches as eyes meet across the table, alternating pairings casting glances. The usual bile settles just below her mouth at the concept of missing out on a joke. Of being the joke.
Kaz breaks the silence.
“We’ve all said yes, did we not?”
A collective murmur, nods and smiles. Relief washes over her, bathes her in calm. They agreed.
She digs two dots into her palm just above a semi circle. It forms a smiley face.