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Chapter Text

University Housing 2024

[10/08/24][3:24pm]

Inej G added “Zenik”

Inej G added “Brekker”

Inej G added “Jes”

Inej G added “Matthias Helvar”

Inej G added “Wylan”

Inej G:Hi! I’ve heard we’re all going to the town for uni and thought maybe we could meet up before hand? I believe we’re the only ones from our secondary 

Wylan:Hi! Who are you?🙂

Inej G:I was in your English class Wylan! Periods two and three every Thursday 

Wylan:Oh I draw in English 🙂

Zenik:Well I remember yous all

Brekker:I as well.

Jes:Kaz is acknowledging people?!!

Brekker:I retract my statement.

Inej:Back on track…Can we get coffee soon, as a group?

Wylan:I don’t do coffee.

Matthias Helvar:Why is the group chat called ‘University Housing’

Brekker:It’s actually called ‘University Housing 2024’

Matthias Helvar:Devil.

Brekker:Mountain goat.

Inej G:[replied to Matthias Helvar] Because student accommodation is expensive

Jes:We could SHARE!!

Inej G:Yes well Jesper’s getting the idea

Zenik:SHARE!!SHARE!!SHARE!!

Wylan:Pls stop screaming into our phones

Matthias Helvar:I do not know these people. I cannot share with strangers

Zenik:We wouldn’t be strangers for long!! We ll have coffee and then we ll be friends. That’s how it works

Wylan:I fear that is not how it works.

Brekker:I agree with the goat.

Inej G:Why is Matthias a goat??

Matthias Helvar:I am not a goat.

Jes:He is Norwegian 

Matthias Helvar:Yes 🇳🇴

Jes:Yes 🏳️‍🌈

Zenik:coffee??!!

Wylan:I can do weekends and mornings

Inej G:I can do monday mornings before eleven

Zenik:EARLY

Jes:I can do that

Brekker:You can wake up before noon?

Jes:I CAN DO THAT

Matthias Helvar:Can it be Wednesday instead?

Inej G:✅

Jes:✅

Zenik:✅

Wylan:✅

Brekker:✅

Zenik:Brekker’s going!!!

Brekker:Yes.

Wednesday, Nina

Nina woke with the feeling of dread she recognised to be linked to an exam or a PE class or a shift at the cafe. Thoughts of ill-spent time swirled and swooshed around her head, banging on the walls of her cranium until deep ache had settled itself for the day. It took a few more moments of consciousness -and the third snooze half hazardly clicked blaring through her phone- to remember her plans. The coffee shop ever-so-slightly out of walking reach, five newly adults that lie in the void between strangers and acquaintances, and picturesque dreams of living together. It seemed like a good idea to daytime Nina. She liked people, she needed people, and she needed to cut down costs. Morning Nina doesn’t approve quite so much, captured by the nausea clinging to the once vibrant idea of socialising. When did that happen? When has she not thrived in the exploring of a new person? When did she become so anxious?

Begrudgingly, after forcing herself upright amongst her duvet and watching the world spin around her, she pulls on a well loved outfit. She likes the way the red top clings to her curves, providing that she stands in a certain position and doesn’t eat too much. She likes the loose fabric of her maxi skirt draping to the floor, showing off her hips whilst simultaneously hiding the thighs that she’s so ashamed of.

In a quick moment she realised she’ll have to walk to the slightly-too-far cafe after all. The buses would take too long. 

Great.

The skirt is out the window then, the breeze might catch it and expose too wide knees and chaffing skin. And she shouldn’t wear the top either because she’ll probably have a bun with her coffee-it would appear even weirder if she didn’t eat- so she’ll have to have a small slice. She can’t eat in this top.

She throws it on her bed.

After another twenty minutes of hair pulling frustration, she walks out the front door of her parents house dressed in exactly the outfit she had started with. She walks slowly enough to avoid dizziness, speeding up every few minutes in fear of being late, then slows again when embarrassment kicks in. She doesn’t understand why a good impression matters so much considering it’s not their first, yet the thought of losing grasp of her almost-friends before they become fully-friends is too unbearable.

Maybe they’ll have grown this past month too. 

Kaz

Kaz does his mental checklist as he locks the front door. Jesper left ahead of time and Colm is with the horses. He squeezes his hands into fists, allowing himself the reassurance of crinkled leather against his palms. No one will touch him. Jesper knows not to, and everyone will be too apprehensive of him that they’ll subconsciously slip into Jesper’s lead, entranced by his bouncy character and marvelling at how Kaz could’ve turned out so different. So antisocial and weird. But Kaz is used to it and so he doesn’t fret much as he tucks his cane into the passenger seat as if another person, then lines himself sideways to the car. It takes a few minutes longer than a standard day, backing himself into the driver’s side door and lowering himself down to the seat, twisting slowly to face the wheel with one hand under his bad leg’s knee. 

It hurts. It hurts badly. But he promised Jesper he would go so he will. He cares about Jesper.

On a more realistic level he has to go, because if he doesn’t, everyone will become friends without him. He’ll be permanently excluded -doomed to living separately if their idea does work out. If he doesn’t live with Jesper then neither of them will put effort in to stay in each other’s lives and he will inevitably be shunned from the Fahey household forever. He’d be alone forever too because the only people that look after him are the ones legally obligated too.

Instead of spiralling into a depressive pool he pressed down on the accelerator, focusing on the sharp pain jolting from his foot to leg, leg to knee, knee to hip. He’s better at this, the physical pain. Much preferable to anything mental.

That leads him into another spiral.

The coffee shop is in sight. He spots dark hair and bright clothes waiting on the corner for him like he said he would. The comfort of familiarity blinds him for a split second in which he begins to breathe rather heavily, the familiarity of Jesper morphing into the familiarity of pain. His vision is bright white, worse than contact with the sun or the primark overhead lights. It darkens to black, bringing him peace until it fades away and reveals reality. Another few breaths.

He ventures out of the car, eager to avoid worry on his or anyone else’s part. Not out of consideration but for his own selfish need for the conversation to flow seamlessly. People stutter when they’re anxious.

Jesper

The first thing Jesper notices about Wylan Hendriks is the sunflower lanyard clipped to his belt loop, slightly hidden by an oversized jacket yet still easy to find. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Aren’t those for disabled people? 

The second thing he notices is his eyes, because although crinkled with what could be fear, they are dripping of kindness, as though instead of salt, his tear ducts maintain their function with kind words and gentle actions. How could he have perceived him as anything but whilst in school? Jesper never really paid attention to much in school, much preferring to doodle on his page or fold sticky notes or do tricks with his silver rings. Maybe if Wylan had been in sight he might’ve focused.

He takes a seat in the cramped booth of the cafe, taking note of how Kaz tenses beside him in the sudden proximity to so many bodies, so many people with hands and skin. Regardless, he’s more than happy to be squished against Wylan who oddly enough, relaxes at the ever so slight contact of knees to knees and elbows to elbows. Immediately he launches into conversation with Inej and Matthias, both of them almost opposite him in the semi circle booth. Neither Wylan nor Kaz seem to but in at all and he thinks they’d be good company for each other. 

Nina walks in, smiling widely, in which he returns just a bright. 

“Drinks!” He declares, externally excited for everyone to have arrived, internally starting to freak out that a) everyone hates him, he’s too loud, too much and b)that his hands are shaking quite a fucking bit and he needs coffee this instant to blame for it rather than admitting to his anxiety. Matthias perks up.

“What does everyone want?” He asks, pulling out his phone and opening a fresh notes app. Of course he is, Matthias looks like he uses his notes app. 

They rattle off their orders, Inej wanting a caffeinated chai and Wylan wanting a non caffeinated tea. He feels Kaz glare at him as he himself asks for an extra shot in his coffee and feels slightly guilty until Kaz does the same thing. Kaz can handle caffeine though. He can drink coffee as much as he wants without a racing heart or nauseous throat. Jesper can’t, but he thinks that’s why he does it so much. He knows he’s going to be anxious regardless, knows that one way or another it’s coming for him. But when? There’s no time and date preset, so why would he prolong the inevitable? Coffee is just a little aid that puts the power into his own hands and Jesper doesn’t see the problem with that. Doesn’t understand why nobody cares that he’s on edge until he caused himself to be on edge. 

Realising that Matthias is waiting on him, he carefully slips past Kaz, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers as they make their way to the counter. He does the talking at the till, reciting every drink as if he has known  them for years and known their regular orders. Not as though he kept glancing at the phone screen in Matthias’s hand.

He doesn’t think his voice is wobbling, but his legs certainly are and maybe he shouldn’t have done the talking. But he had to. Matthias is quiet, and despite not looking half as nervous as he feels, you don’t force a quiet person to talk. You just don’t. 

Matthias is clearly smart too, because he had the sense to carry their drinks on a tray. He notices Jesper gripping the scalding mugs and gestures wildly to it, his eyebrows downturned in distress for him but a small smile tugging his lips to the left. Relief came a few seconds later as he sets them down into the wooden board leaving only the ghost of a tingle across his hand. Matthias is smart, because Jesper wouldn’t have thought of that. He outdone carried them two by two back and forth, biting his inner cheeks to ensure the heat. Eventually he might even enjoy the pain, relishing in the numb burn and thinking that perhaps he deserved this and that the moment had been carefully planned out my the universe.

Good job the universe planned Matthias’ intervention. 

As he sits down again, allowing everyone to take their own belongings, he wonders if Wylan is smart. He comes to the conclusion that he must be and does so without any evidence. He knows everyone that was in top set, he was friends with quite a few. But no Wylan. And he wasn’t in second top set because that was Jesper’s class, and the only class the two shared was RE. Despite the odds against it, Wylan was really very smart, he just needed more information to prove it. 

Wylan

Wylan was very, very grateful. Wylan was also in hell, and had been for the last twenty five minutes. It was impossibly warm in the small seating area and the noise was enough to corrode ear drums; between the constant screeching of chair legs on linoleum floors and the three conversations going on at once at their table alone, he really didn’t stand a chance. It would be so simple to cover his ears with his hands, to press the pea shaped flap of cartilage into the canal. He even had his headphones, his big headphones that sound cancel, tucked safely in his bag from the train. In reach yet not an option. He squeezed and unsqueezed his waist in some sensory-seeking attempt to relax, to focus on the pressure, which was going fine and well until he was brought out of his silence.

“What class were you in?” Jesper looks at him with the inquisitive look of a toddler learning subtraction and suddenly Wylan might explode because he can’t not answer. 

“My core class? I was in C,” he says, passing off his rising anxiety as a personality quirk, scratching instead of squeezing now. He needs good input, and he needs to block out all the bad ones. Fast. 

“What were your optional subjects? And your A-levels. Apart from RE, I know you did that obviously.”

He hesitates more before answering this time, bouncing his leg fast. He can’t even comprehend the present, nevermind subjects he picked in the past. The reminder of their shared class pulls him down a rabbit hole of why he’d picked it; another childish attempt to win the appreciation of his dad. He squashes it down. 

“I did art, music, higher tier chem and further maths at gcse. Music, chemistry and maths at a-level.” He grits out, not wanting to seem rude but thinking it’s the lesser evil out of that and having a public meltdown.

It seems he doesn’t get to choose.

Before he can adjust, the previously-mellow music has switched to some pop song, and the cafe door has opened and brought in a sudden chill, and fresh food has come out of the oven with the smell now assaulting his nose cilia, and the skin on his neck has become too tight for reasons he can’t comprehend. His skin is burning, his brain is turning against him. 

Then, clammy hands wrap around his forearms. It should make things worse, but the hands seem to know that pressure is good and are squeezing without pain, only a silent understanding. He would thank them if he knew who they belonged to or even if he could speak. He attempts to lasso the thoughts running ragged around in his head. He needs logic. He likes logic. He vaguely understands his settings:the coffee shop, the guys from his school. Blinking a few times, he recognises Jesper’s hands and looks up to see wide eyes watching him.

Great.

Back to logic, he thinks. Lanyard. Information card. Fidgets. Headphones. Fuck. 

He unclips the green and yellow fabric featuring his ‘autism card’ from his waistband, shoving it into Jesper’s hand and squeezes out of the booth, barging through the cramped space like a soldier in the Trojan war. He might’ve mumbled “air” to his associates but that might’ve been just a thought. 

Outside he collapses to the floor, bundled in a heap on the corner. His headphones go on immediately, and after a few minutes he can officially see straight. He wants to cry, and although his face does end up soaked and his eyes red, he’s proud to say he didn’t turn into a gurning mess. Progress.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Nina

Jesper had very loudly insisted that she get a lift home with them. Awkward as it may turn out to be, she took the offer with a burning gratefulness. Walking another thirty minutes home sounded like death. Everyone knows the farm. A few years ago, the town pitched in for a new tractor, overwhelmingly glad to help the honest man that is Colm Fahey. She herself is familiar with the winding lane she crossed every day since primary school. Jesper knew this, knew how strong of an argument he had when he said ‘it’s not out of our way at all, you’re in one of the bungalows, yeah?’

Which has led to Nina sitting behind the drivers seat of their olive green jeep, laughing along to some joke while her legs seize up, knees locking in place due to the inability to move. A deep ache auto-installs into her joints and it’s distracting. It’s not that bad, so why can’t she take her mind off it?

Guilt floods over her. Kaz’s leg is in her eyeline, his passenger seat pushed back as far as it goes to allow for stretching. It’s visibly much worse than her own aches and pains. What right does she have to complain, even to herself, when someone much worse off is in her vicinity? She hates herself for it.

A buzz from her Apple Watch signals to take a deep breath, an ugly reminder of her now palpitating heart. Yeah, deeps breaths are sure to fix everything; the race in her chest is totally irrelevant. Totally. She was talking to Jesper and Kaz and it was good. It reminded her of primary school, of after-school play dates with Jes long before Kaz had arrived. She doesn’t have a problem with Kaz, but it can’t be said that her visits to the Fahey household didn’t grow increasingly sparse when he showed up. Either way, secondary school would’ve separated them in the same way it did in reality. She became part of the popular circle, a group of girls who didn’t care that she was fat- providing that she drank alcohol at parties and shared her revision notes.

They’re talking and talking and talking, and it’s good. Today was good, in a way that makes her question any earlier anxieties. Thank god for Inej Ghafa. She might’ve been onto something with this whole meet-up thing.

The car jostles wildly as they drive over loose stones and potholes. Pain again, sizzling from her ankles up. They stop and she gets out, relieved as her heart gives up on the relentless hammering. Isn’t standing supposed to have the opposite effect? But a win is a win.

She returns Kaz’s wave goodbye, thinking that he looks like a grumpy cat who can’t help but be nice after being offered a biscuit. She then accepts Jesper’s warm hug, leaning over the driver's seat to wrap around him per his request. So he never grew out of his cuddliness then. Ten years later it seems as though it wasn’t a childish trait , but instead a personality trait that they’ll all be subjected to for forever.
Inside her house she goes straight to boiling the kettle, sourcing a hot water bottle to fill and laying it on the counter while she waits. On the grand scale, her pain is low. Stupidly low. On the 1-5 side of it, along with paper cuts and stubbed toes. Nothing on the top end, nothing to panic about. Yet she still fills up the two litre hot water bottle and tucks it behind her back on the sofa. Paracetamol would be too far, wouldn’t it? Do they stop working if you take them too often? Can you build a tolerance?

She googles it and finds no real answer. She gathers that it seems possible, but that it’s not happening in her near future. She opens a new chat with Inej.

Inej Ghafa, Nina Zenik 

[14/08/24][11:23]

Nina:Thank you for setting up the coffee shop get-together‼️

Inej

Inej made it to the gym with milliseconds to spare, shoving fitted sportswear on in replacement of her cotton jumper and straight fitting trousers. She had an agility warm up booked, followed by an hour sparring session. The partner she’s been training with recently grew up in boxing, juxtaposing jujitsu in various ways. It’s been a learning curve for both of them and she loves it, loves the challenge, loves combatting rigid moves with her own fluid ones.

Toeing her trainers off, she mixes herself into the warm up group, smiling big smiles and filling in her semi-friends on her week. The conversations never amount to more than a delayed train or shopping trip disaster, yet it’s soothing, to have routine.  She finds peace in the simplicity of it all. Throughout the gruelling Pilates session she learns that Toby broke up with his girlfriend and Anya got rejected from every Uni. She reminds them that there’s more fish in the sea, more schools to apply for, but her bubble of optimism has burst and in an instant the repetitive routine feels restricting rather than relaxing.

A few more squats and it’s gone. She’s in the zone.

Sparring today was heavenly. She’ll be thankful for it in prayer tonight. Her body feels like a gift, her movement a power. She fades into the tranquility like a disappearing cloud and it feels as though her gratitude is on fire in the pit of her stomach.

Gone as quick as it came. A kick to the stomach. Literally. Jose is really getting the hang of those legs. A few sips of water has her replenished and she’s back to a hundred again, jumping up and down in mood for the rest of the session, though only remembering the positive parts.
As she unwraps her hands and re-ties her hair up on the bench, she reflects. The soft below her ribs features a threatening bruise, though it’s sort of rewarding in a way. To have a physical reminder of how she fought. She packs her bag up with a grin.

She heads downstairs to the front door, though ends up obstructed by the lady at the desk who notices that her shoes are falling apart and recommends this amazing sportswear brand that she buys from. It’s the same that Inej has a full drawer of at home, but she lets the woman talk. She’s seen her a hundred times before whilst scanning her membership card at the turnstiles, always hunched over the desk with a blank document opened on her computer screen. She thinks it’s sad that she has become so familiar with this stranger yet knows not her name or her sport or anything.

She asks, of course, which accidentally initiates a long conversation. One that she loses time in.

The bus!! Her mind goes haywire, a rollercoaster in flames. She can’t miss it, she’s going to miss it, she will miss it. For certain. As a fact. A very big, red, blinding exclamation mark of a fact. She can’t, because she’ll be alone and they come in thirty minute intervals and it’s raining and she’ll be alone and now she’s breathless and Natalie is still talking and she has to go.
She excuses herself with what she hopes is a polite goodbye, rushing into the bathrooms and into a stall. Her body doesn’t know how to breathe yet, her lungs expanding and depressing rapidly despite being so exhausted.

Breathe in, count to six; hold it, count to seven; let it out, count to eight. She repeats it like a chorus, willing the air to pace itself. Eventually, it works.
She flushes the toilet, turns on the tap, and activates the hand dryer without using it. Acting out a scene of normalcy. She waves at Natalie as she leaves the gym, dandering to the bus stop with the knowledge that she has time to spare now. Twenty-seven minutes, according to her calculations. She times her breaths to her steps and her steps to the tiles of the pavement, mentally reciting her favourite proverbs in order.

She waits at the bus stop, silently blessing the strangers surrounding her to pass the time. She likes to imagine how their lives might be, what’s waiting for them in the village. Through the pouring rain she recognises the upcoming bus to be hers, quickly counts the change that’s been fighting for its life in her phone case, and gets on, handing it to the driver.
She chose the window seat as usual before pulling out her phone, scrolling through lunch ideas with her playlist in her ears. A message from Nina pops up and she smiles, trying to contain her screaming inner child. She clicks on the chat.

Inej Gahfa, Nina Zenik 

[14/08/24][11:23am]

Nina:Thank you for setting up the coffee shop get-together‼️

[01:06pm]

Inej:Ofcc I think it went well, it wasn’t awkward for you or anything was it?😭😭

Nina:No no it was good dw, Kaz mentioned on the way home that he’d look at some houses in the area and send them to the gc so I’ve been looking too

Inej:Omg I’m glad everyone’s on board

Inej:Would’ve died if I was expected to do all the research and stuff alone. 

Inej:Idm pitching in but this is their accommodation too

Nina:No I get you 

Nina:I think they’re actually excited for this, Jes and Kaz were talking about it in the car

Inej:YAY let’s move to the gc

University Housing 2024

[14/08/24][01:11pm]

Zenik:Let’s see IDEAS guys 

Wylan:…?

Brekker:[sent a link] https//excel.document.314

Zenik:^^

Inej G:THANK YOU 

Inej G:Excel 💀💀

Wylan:spreadsheet girlies unite!!

Kaz:Thank you Wylan.

Matthias:Are you and Kaz girls?

Wylan: No no, girlie is a state of mind

Zenik:A vibe, if you will.

Matthias:Oh okay.

Matthias:It would be alright if you were though.

Wylan:😭😭

Wylan:Thanks Matthias.

Matthias:No problem. The houses are surprisingly appropriate, for the devil. 

Jes:Appropriate?

Matthias:Nice. They’re nice houses.

Jes:I WANT THE ONE WITH THE SLIDY DOORS

Inej G:Jesper that’s the most expensive 

Jes:but slidy doors ☹️

Jes:Why is your chat name Inej G. Why not just Inej. How many Inejs are there?

Inej G:One. But there was an Inez in my form class and teachers always mixed us up. So in came the surnames. 

Jes:🤨

Zenik:I’ve just looked at the houses. Why pick the sliding doors one when there was a whole ass WALK IN WARDROBE?!!!

Matthias Helvar:I think we should go out again to sort this. 

Jes:[replied to Zenik]☹️☹️

Wylan:Yeah I think this would be easier in person 

Zenik:yes but look at these options I found!!

Zenik:[sent four screenshots]

Brekker:I’ll add them to the spreadsheet 

Zenik:In Kaz we trust 🙏🙏

Inej G:🙏🙏

Jes:🙏🙏

Brekker:Stop that.

Brekker:Wylan said we should go out again. Get back on topic.

Wylan:Matthias said it first.

Brekker:The goat.

Zenik:Now YOU stop it

Matthias Helvar:Same location, three o’clock on Sunday?

[Inej G liked a message]

[Zenik liked a message]

[Jes liked a message]

[Wylan liked a message]

[Brekker liked a message]

Kaz

Kaz was very secretly very excited. He loves Colm, but it would be nice to have his own space, to be independent and rely solely on himself. 

He assumes he’d be sharing a room with Jes because a six bedroom wouldn’t be affordable and he’s the most bearable option. They haven’t roomed together since Kaz was nine, which had resulted in extra graphic nightmares with a side of panic attacks. Colm had very quickly cleared out his old office, setting up a single bed and assembling an ikea wardrobe. He was moved in within a few days and that was the end of that.

They’re older now though, and to his credit, Jesper is definitely more self aware in his movements and habits. He’s well aware of Kaz’s unique needs too and has gotten surprisingly good at meeting them. The new setup might work well.
He turns on the tap at the kitchen sink to rinse his lunch plate then waits a few moments for the water to heat up. Once satisfied, he dips the dish into the basin, and-fuck.

It’s cold. It’s wet and it’s cold and he’s drowning. Choppy waves crash into his neck, moist skin lays on his own. He’s dying, his brother is already dead. The water is still running, mocking and tormenting him. He really can’t think, can only watch the same memory rewind over and over. He’s sick, he’s going to be sick. People die from being sick; he's going to die.

He presses his hands firmly into the countertop, the edge biting into his palms, leaving a red line in evidence of the ninety degree angle. His mind eats at itself, any remaining good parts now ebbing away. 
He curls over the drain and soon his lunch is gone, leaving less than a shell of bone marrow and blood in his place.
All because he twisted the blue knob instead of the red.

He gets stuck in the gap between memory and the moment, staying there until a voice pulls him out an hour later. He’d been on the floor, he realised. His leg is a mess now. His brain is foggy.

Jesper helps him up, careful to touch him only through fabric. He’s brought to the sofa where his leg is repositioned, a pillow tucked beneath his knee. Soon enough a bowl of crackers arrives too. The knockoff circular ritz ones. He refills his stomach, and decides on some mindless scrolling on his favourite property site, filtering the page to show only their price range.

And so he goes back to looking for houses. In part because of the embedded fear that they’ll give up on all of this if the information isn’t pre-chewed for them, but also because he’s really fucking good at it. 

Chapter Text

Saturday, Wylan

Wylan was absolutely certain that what little hope he had with the group from school, it was gone. He knew this because he’s good at patterns, and there’s a pattern to the way people leave him the instant he reveals his undesirable behaviours. There’s a trend in how the hatred towards him grows, rapid like binary fission, completely consuming like hunger.

Jesper is sure to have told everyone under the sun about his meltdown by now. Probably referenced it as an episode, or something that sounds equally as demonic.
He’s currently buried by five blankets, two of which are weighted, on the double bed in his room. The small flat his lawyer had organised for him has become sacred;the first space that is his. He wonders if the new house would have felt like that, had it still been a possibility.

Laptop on his knee and Fish on his chest, he taps the record button again and tries for the umpteenth time to email the university’s disability office. They’re yet to source him a scribe, or give permission to record lectures, or tell the lab technician to give him verbal instructions for practical work. The course starts in less than a month. It’s not okay, but the cat has made her way into the crook of his neck and he can pretend it’s enough. He nestles his fingers into the fur, relishing in the purrs of praise. God, he’s that pathetic, that even Fish’s acknowledgment warms him.

He loves her though, proving that he’s already a better father than his own.
A rap at the door and he’s ten again, only wanting peace. He panics, because what if despite the odds, Jan Van Eck got past metal bars, fifty guards and a restraining order? No. He refuses. Not happening. But could it?

He goes to the door because he’s an adult and he’s responsible. But he’s also safety conscious and peers through the peep hole, swivelling the tiny circular covering and pressing his eye to the glass.

A smile. Nervous fiddering. Human emotions that clarified definitely not his father.
Bewilderment came next. Why the fuck was Jesper here? A new kind of panic emerges, swirling in his stomach. Has he come to humiliate him? He pulls down the handle and swings open the door.

“Hello?” because what else does one say in this situation, honestly.

Jesper, to his credit, looks like that one dwarf from that Disney movie; the other kids talked about it in the playground when he was little. Bashful? Dopey? Probably both combined. Nervous, anyways.

“Wylan! Hi, hello, how are you?”

”I’m…good, thanks, um. How the fuck did you find my flat? Respectfully. And what’s with the milk and…Victoria Sponge?” if someone had found his location so easily, then surely a certain wealthy man could do the same.

“Oh! I asked Kaz to do it. And you don’t turn up for tea at someone’s house without food, obviously. Therefore- cake!”

That reassures him, he reckons Kaz has a good few more brains than Jan. Though he wouldn’t be shocked if their criminal history evened out.

“And the milk?”

“For the tea.” Jesper looks like he might just burst by now and it occurs to Wylan that this is one of those situations in which he’s supposed to read between the lines.

“Come on in,” he beckons, widening the opening between the door and frame, welcoming him in as if a friendly neighbour.  Jesper looks borderline relieved, bouncing into his hallway. Wylan now understands what ‘walks with a bounce in their step’ looks like. Jesper is animated in his every movement, every facial expression effortlessly  precise and readable. His tummy is doing the swirling again and he can’t figure out the feeling. Is it envy?

He leads them into the small-ish kitchen, directing Jesper to a chair while he flicks on the kettle. The clinks of the mugs feel like slices to his temples, but ultimately, a whole other human in his living space is a much more prominent problem.
Is it really a problem though, if he doesn’t feel fully negatively towards the situation? It’ll take him a few hours of recharging tonight to get over the distribution to his plans. Despite this, he can’t feel anger about it. Very strange.

Jesper

It took a lot of courage and a missed dose of his meds for Jesper to knock on that door. But he did! And now he’s sitting on a wooden chair topped with pillows, watching Wylan assemble tea and slice the cake. He should feel guilty about practically forcing him to let him in, but he’s happy and he doesn’t get to be this happy all that often which makes him even happier about being happy right now.

The flat has an underlying scent of money. The signs are subtle; the fully stocked kitchen cupboards and legitimate brands rather than knock-offs. He’s not saying it’s a bad thing, his Da never let them be hungry for a second. But it’s a different sort of money. For Jesper, most of his wealth could be measured in love.
A cat, black in colour and small for its breed, brushes up against his leg, whiskers making their way under his trousers. Wylan didn’t mention a cat, though he supposed he didn’t mention much at all.  

“Who’s this?”

Wylan looks down to where he is now stroking it.  
“Her name’s Fish.”

He howls of laughter. The cat’s name is Fish.  
“You know that cats aren’t exactly nice to fish, right? Where the fuck was your mind during the naming process?”

“My downstairs neighbour asked me to take her shortly after I moved in because they couldn’t afford her any longer and were desperate for a new home. So I took her obviously.”

“Wylan, as heartwarming as that is, where’s the relevance?”

“Oh, well because they didn’t think I would be willing to spontaneously adopt an entire cat. So they told me she was a fish.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. So you just got a surprise when you turned up at their door?”
“Yeah I’d already bought a water filter and those little food flakes. I would have taken her either way but like, yeah. I had already been referring to her as Fish assuming she was a fish. It would’ve been wrong to change it incase she had formed some sort of connection to it, spiritually or whatever.”

Jesper is in hysterics now. It’s the most adorable thing amongst all the shooting stars and the sheep and the daisy chains in the world. It’s also hilarious.
They sit at the table and continue on like this, banter and conversation intertwined. After a while they migrate to the floor, when Wylan mention in passing that he’s too warm and Jesper insists that floor time is the perfect remedy to any ailment.  

The flow shifts towards the reason he showed up at all. Wylan doesn’t ask, but his eyes bore into him a little deeper and he swears his jaw is twitching too. Jesper imitates him, his movements becoming increasingly restless as nerves unfold within him. Bite the bullet, he thinks.

“Are you okay with going to the coffee shop again tommorow? I was thinking we could suggest somewhere else instead.” maybe the directness was a mistake. No no no, he cannot let Wylan turn against him. He always ends up doing things wrong but if doesn’t hurt any less this time. Wylan is shifting slightly, tucking his hands under his thighs, letting his eyes wander, intentionally or not. He can see the gears in his mind turning.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, but I appreciate your offer.” his voice is dull, clipped, rehearsed politness dominating his tone.  

Jesper hates that he’s the cause of it. Realises that he’s ruined something good. He forces his cuticles to bunch around the base of his thumbnail, ignoring the throb, then moves onto the next one.  

“Are you sure? I think it would be good to go somewhere different, especially if you’re not comfy there. Plus I wasn’t fussed either.” He tries to resurrect all hope.

“I don’t want to cause issues.”

“But it would benifit us all, you’re in no way an issue.” he tries.

Wylan glances up at him, uncrossing his legs and stretching them out on front of him. He looks doubtful.
“Okay. If you want to. Can you not mention me though, please?”

Success! The little person in his head is cheering aggressively, Jesper himself is restraining his excitement outwardly.  
“Yeah of course, great! Good, yeah. Anywhere in mind?”

He shrugs, squeezing his hands together.“Anywheres good. The less noise the better I guess.”

“Gotcha, good.”

Wylan seems to calm down after that. They’re tea is long gone and they sit and chat, catching up on the surface level stuff they’ve missed over the course of each other’s lives. Jesper’s nail beds are now beaming red and he’s oddly satisfied by his work. No blood drawn, no harm done, but the faint pulsing caused by the slight pain is enough.
He leaves after two hours, having promised his Da he’d bring meat in for dinner. It went well though.

Sunday, Matthias

The meeting place has been moved to the garden centre restaurant, which is clearly due to some fault of his own. After all, he’s the one who said the coffee shop again. He wonders if they have a groupchat without him. The thought of it hurts, but he’d understand it if they did.

He’s walking up the hill towards it, heading in the direction of the back entrance which houses the restaurant and gift shop. He has a pretty garden on his balcony at his house, vegetables nearly ready to harvest and flowers weaving though the troughs. Maybe he’ll have time afterwards to have a rifle through some new plants before his shift at the dog rescue.

Upon walking in he notices that only Inej is there so far, saving the big table for them. He’s glad it’s her;she doesn’t push, has a gentle yet strong way with words. He doesn’t think he’d manage aswell if left alone with one of the others. Though realistically, the fear of being impolite would force him to.  

Everyone shows up consecutively after that, soon fully encircling the table. Things play out a little differently this time. A waiter takes their orders and then the devil is pulling out his ridiculous spreadsheet. He frowns, noticing how Nina pulls the polyester of her t shirt away from her stomach as she orders, eyes seemingly glazed over. He figures he can’t do an awful lot about it, but it eats at him anyways. Then he feels guilty immediately because if that’s how he feels, how much worse must it be for her to be in first person view? He compliments her hair, hoping that it’s enough to uplift her.  

He zones in on the pictures of houses, takes in the statistics. They don’t all automatically agree on one. The fairytales can’t help them out on that. But they narrow it down to two and then their food arrives on hot blue plates.

He scoops his mash onto his spoon, table manners as polite as his mother taught them to be as a four year old. He thinks you can tell a lot about a person by how they eat, what they eat, even how they address the food. It shows culture and background and preferences and it’s lovely. He thinks that food is a wonderful thing. He wishes that they could just pick a goddam house and be done with it.
It’s not that he doesn’t care, he very much does. But his appreciation only goes so far and it’s running out. They’re renting it, it’s not a life long decision. Does it matter how many sinks there are?

They make a vote. They all voted for the same one. What was even the point?  
But hurrah! A decision is made. It’s done and dusted. Well, the dust isn’t quite clear yet, there’s still finances to sort first, but they’re getting there and his optimism is refilling now.

However, they’re only just beginning. 

Chapter Text

Tuesday, Kaz

Kaz had rung the estate agent’s number after lunch on Sunday, dialling the eleven digits repeatedly until she picked up; accidentally memorising it. Regardless, he got a viewing booked for today and they’re going. All six of them- in the goat’s ugly grey minivan. The leather seats are covered in tartan blankets and the air smells warm. There’s even a -dancing- cactus on the dashboard. It’s rich of Matthias to call him the devil when his vehicle is hell.

On the sinister side of things, he’s being touched. There’s no skin to skin contact, but the colliding of clothed limbs when the car turns is enough to challenge him on a good day. On a bad day it’s beyond him completely, bringing imaginative flashes to the forefront, knowing that he’s only millimetres away from full horror. 

He needs to throw up, and as deserved it may be for Matthias to have to deal with a sick-filled car, it’s not an option. Instead he resorts to humming lowly under his breath, the cadence measured and non-slipping.  

It was insisted that he sit in the very back as it had the most leg room, and he accepted. He said yes despite it meaning he’d be trapped in the middle, completely surrounded, engulfed. Jesper had tried to reason with him through glares and desperate looks but he was having none of it. That would’ve meant telling them why he can’t bear proximity. He didn’t want to do a Kaz Brekker history lesson today. It’s inevitable in the long run, he’s about to live in a small space with a big group. But today’s not the day. Even the word haphephobia is too far out of reach. 

A roundabout is what just about does it. The curving motion, Inej into his side, him into Jesper’s. He snaps, a rubber band stretched too far.

“I’m driving on the way back.”

Nina’s raised eyebrow in the blind-spot mirror, Jesper’s face twisted in anguish. How difficult it must be to have such an audacious brother. Currently, Kaz couldn’t care less. 

Inej, calm in the absolutely terrifying way that you’d expect of a lioness: in a state of constant readiness to pounce, breaks the silence.

“Why? It’s not like it matters who’s driving.”

Which enrages him, because it does matter. 

“Because the fucking goat can’t drive without giving us all whiplash.”

“Kaz-.” Jesper tries, cut off by Matthias.

“I can drive well, thanks.”

Nina looks livid. Red cheeks and blazing eyes. He hasn’t seen her like that since her best friend lost the student council votes in first year. He’d laugh, but that would only add to the rumours of his insanity. Not what he needs right now.

“Can we move past the p3 playground and not use name calling and cursing? It’s a tad pathetic.” 

And now he does laugh, because he didn’t think Nina would be stupid enough to tell him what to do.

“I’ll say what I-.”

“We’re here!” Jesper declares as they come to a halt. It seems Kaz isn’t the only one eager to get out, funnily enough. 

He climbs out of the car, stubbornly refusing help, swearing as his cane falls to the tarmac with a clatter. He can feel the looks that the back of his head is getting. It doesn’t offend him or hurt; it just pisses him off further.

Well, he is hurting, but that’s his leg talking.

He manages to stand up right. 

The house is bang average. It’s not the farm, it’s not his old house, but it works. He takes in the frame, taller than it is wide. A black front door but white windowsills. It sort of reminds him of the Barbie house Colm had stored away in a box, if only a little less grand. 

He’d already seen it of course, in pictures. Now is different though. He’s seeing it properly, as a person rather than an analyst. 

The cobble walkway to the door isn’t as picture-perfect with the way his cane can’t find secure footing. Good job he’s had his practice on country lanes. 

Inside is how he expected. Plain, a few scratches along the skirting boards, creaking hinges and peeling paint in the corners. Nothing the price doesn’t make up for; nothing worth concerning himself. He imagines that Nina is already planning colours for the walls and carpet for the floor, but there’s nothing that needs fixing, really. Just the way he likes it. 

Wylan

Wylan thought it particularly cruel the way a little bickering affected him so deeply. It wasn’t as if anyone in that car was going to hurt him, so why was his brain so convinced? It clings to him as he enters the house.

He likes it, so far. They’ve only walked around the living room and kitchen but there’s nothing substantial to note. Wylan thinks they’re dragging their steps for Kaz, giving him enough time to walk the same distance despite his limp. He doesn’t understand why they’re this nice to him when he’s been nothing but rude, but he supposes that he’s the one that found the house. Still not good enough in his opinion, but Jesper seems to understand something that enables him to give Kaz humongous grace, so he’ll do the same. Maybe everyone else is doing that too. 

They make their way into the downstairs bedroom, Jesper claiming it instantly. Loudly, at that. Wylan can’t fathom how anyone can be so vibrant with their presence and yet unashamed. He doesn’t think that anyone should be ashamed, it’s just rather difficult to comprehend how that’s not the natural default for all. 

Wait, who’s sharing with who? 

“By the way, who am I rooming with?”

“I’m with Jesper.”

No Jesper or Kaz then.

“It’s us two then,” Matthias grins, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Nina gasps. “Matthias Augustus Helvar, didn’t even give me a chance! Not even an offer to share with me!”

“Nor me! My wounded heart!” Inej exclaims, feigning faintness with a hand to her chest, the other draped over her brow. 

“I didn’t know I was of such high demand.”

“Mm, you’re not. I’m sharing with Inej. But the option would’ve been nice.” Nina says decisively, expressions similar to that of a toddler. 

Matthias’ cheeks seem to warm and Wylan can’t work out why. He hears a mumble of something akin to ‘that’s not even my middle name’ but it goes under the girls’s radar. 

Moving on.

He’s glad he’ll be with Matthias. He seems calm and predictable, aspects of a person that Wylan relies on. He also seems strikingly neurotypical, which will be interesting. He’s always been jealous of normal people. Well, more normal than him. He’d wish on every eyelash that one day he’d get it, that he’ll wake up some morning with the ability to function. That’s the real superpower. How easy it must be to be average.

They check out the rooms upstairs and look at them for as long as you can look for an empty five by six space. The only bathroom is upstairs and he’s glad to know it’s one of those showers with a bath extending out of it. The choice is always there for him on the days when the hot water running over him doesn’t satisfy the need and only full coverage will. 

He’s aware of the estate agent downstairs, probably tapping at her watch by now. It weighs down his thoughts, always circling back to her because he knows they’re being inconvenient. He thinks of telling them to hurry, but wouldn’t that make him even worse? Why couldn’t she have given them a set time to be out for, a schedule to run accordingly to? He gets exhausted by this quickly, legs activating into jelly format. It’s too warm in here and the clippity cloppity footsteps really aren’t in his favour. He very genuinely wants to cry. He rubs his wrists into his hips, his t-shirt rolling into folds at the movement. After realising what’s happening he stops, disgusted by his behaviour. Stop acting autistic. He berates himself, then a fist jolts down to the same spot. His own fist. That’s even worse than the rubbing. Stop it. Stop it. Stop.

He breathes out.

A glance upwards informs him that the rest of them are long gone downstairs. He’s mortified, sure, but at least it stays between him and the walls. 

He makes his way down, slipping into the room in the way he’s so used to doing.

The rest of them are deep in conversation with the estate agent. From context it seems as though Kaz has already pulled the sick card at least twice. Inej is speaking very passionately about their right to information on other possible tenants. It seems like something’s working, with the way they’re smiling wider and the agent’s clipboard is getting lower. 

He tries to copy them, urging the points of his lips to poke into his cheeks, training his eyes to always look at who’s speaking. Wylan may seem like a talented actor, but he feels like a puppet at a show. 

Everyone is nodding now, he notices, and watches as a pen makes it’s way around the circle. Right, they have to sign the papers. Something he’s become familiar with over the past year of legal work; something he often saw his father do growing up.

It gets closer to him.

“What is this part on again?” Wylan asks, because maybe he should double check he’s not signing his life away before he puts pen to paper.

“It’s all at the top of the page,” she clears up, giving him what is probably supposed to be a charming smile, though it gets lost on it’s way to him and translates more so as unconvincing. He gulps, returns it and squashes down the churning in his stomach, trying to ignore the imaginary squelching noises.

When it becomes his turn he grasps the pen the way his tutors taught him, scribing what he’s been told are his initials: a pointy shape and the symbol for hydrogen. He doubts they look the same as the last time he wrote them, but he also doubts that they’ve ever looked the same and decides that it doesn’t matter. 

It’s theirs now. Everyone’s giggling and looking positively overjoyed and it’s a surprise to Wylan to find that he’s happy too. 

Nina

They inevitably went for a celebratory coffee afterwards. They chose the nearby Costa, going through the drive through instead of inside. Nina now sits in the front passenger seat with her watermelon cold brew in hand, only a gear stick and cup holder away from Kaz who managed to get his hands behind the wheel. She’s surprised that Matthias relented, but had watched Inej whisper something to him outside the house that obviously won him over. 

The deposit won’t come out of their accounts for a few days but it’s official that no one else can snatch it from their clutch. There’s so much to think about. She might die, but more likely from excitement than overwhelm. Nina has never been casual about anything in her life, what would make this any different? 

They’ve been talking about their courses and this is her first time hearing that Wylan is doing chemistry. She might as well be squealing because she loves science and her previous friend group never allowed her to explore that, calling her a freak for mentioning anything that borderlines nerd-ish. Yet somehow Nina has met these people who are probably even weirder and not only are her interests supported, they’re shared. She could get used to this pretty fast.

Nina delves into the story of how she did the tour of the campus last year and she can’t wait for the labs which are a mega step up from high school. Medicine felt like an impossible feat last year, but she’s been building her strength through self focus and it seems more like something on planet Earth now. That’s not to say she has her whole career and life and family planned out, but having a general direction helps. She remembers when she was asked nothing but ‘what degree are you going to do?’ or ‘what will you be when you leave school?’ Nina hated it. Of course she wanted to know the answers too, curiosity always came natural to her, but the focus was always on money or grades. Never what she wanted to be. 

Clearly she’s past her momentary phase of giving a fuck. The real Nina Zenik does what she wants. 

She fully twists around in her seat to face the others, practically hugging the headrest. She resists the twinge in her shoulder blades that flows down into the scapulas because acknowledgment won’t make it go away. Nina has pledged today to focus on the good. The positivity might be a little much even for her but she’s thriving. Jesper makes the very valid point that they only have two weeks before uni starts. That’s a lot of time if you’re bored, but very little to fill up an entire house. Sure, it doesn’t matter if they’re not sleeping there by September first on the dot, but that’s the way it should be. It’s commemorative to have a fresh start all around. They get the keys on Friday -three days- then the mad rush begins. 

Her heart does a few skipping beats, only the threat of palpitations, but it throws her off guard. It shouldn’t, she treats them like an annoying relative by now, rolling her eyes and enduring the pain and misery they come packaged with. Still not quite pleasant though.

She’s tempted to start packing her things tonight. It'll keep the anticipation building. The move-in will be chaos and Nina is chaos. Life is finally on board with her.

Chapter Text

Inej G and Nina Zenik

[21/08/24][2:04pm]

Nina Zenik changes ‘Inej G’ to ‘Bestie Boo’

Nina Zenik renamed the chat to ‘Bestie Boos’ 

Nina Zenik: Furniture shopping tomorrow?!

Bestie Boo: OMG YES

Bestie Boo: wait

Bestie Boo changed ‘Nina Zenik’ to ‘Bestie Boo 2’

Bestie Boo: 🫶🫶

Bestie Boo 2: YES!!

Bestie Boo 2: Bring Matthias too

Bestie Boo: lol why me

Bestie Boo 2: he’ll be too scared to hurt your feelings that he’ll say yes.

Bestie Boo: 💀

Thursday, Matthias

Matthias isn’t quite sure how he ended up in Ikea, Nina and Inej skipping along on either side of him. He’s not exactly complaining, more like he’s a perplexed fly that got itself in through a window but can’t get back out of it. Matthias supposes that sums up the bulk of Ikea experiences anyway. 

“Again, why am I here?”

“You seem like the shopping type,” Inej supplies, and although it feels like her answer was for her own enjoyment, it sort of seemed genuine. Does he actually look like the shopping type?

“And you’re tall,” Nina adds, drawing comparisons with her hand flat over her head and attempting to reach over his for emphasis.

“Yeah, right, point taken.”

They take the lift to level one, Matthias taking a trolley after Nina’s excited pointing to it. Well, it’s sort of a deformed version of a typical trolley, being only a wide metal platform with two upright handles. Meant for big and heavy things, he wonders what on earth the girls are planning on buying. At least it’ll match the seventy litre bag, he muses.

They follow the peeling arrow stickers on the floor towards the furniture. However the universe seemed positively opposed to productivity when it placed the stuffed animals at the start. There would be no hope of walking on past, not when Inej had already started naming them. Assigning them too, apparently.

“Nina you are so this octopus,” she declares with a giggle, putting Nina and her new lookalike side by side.

“Yes I am!!’ and now she’s scrounging through the piles of stuffies to find Inej’s. 

Success came quickly.

After slight discussion it turns out that Inej has the vibe of the elephant. He hates to admit that neither of them are wrong, but that’s all well and fine. Trouble comes when they decide that Matthias must have one too. 

In the whisk of a moment he is dragged to the selection, standing model as they look between the otter and the polar bear with expressions of pure inspection. After watching what felt like a council meeting, it was concluded that Matthias is a meerkat. It was also made clear that they wouldn’t be getting home without all three. 

Matthias, Nina and Inej -along with three stuffies balancing in the trolley- make it to the first of many furniture sections. Their focus is bedrooms: wardrobes, drawers, bedside cabinets. All the stuff that he thoroughly appreciates whether or not everyone else calls them boring. How can you dislike the very foundation? Regardless, Matthias believes in the importance of choosing your furniture well. Which is how he ended up laying on the vinyl floor, head under a set of drawers like a mechanic under a car, desperately trying to read the reference number of the wood whilst Inej holds it tilted up and Nina fights to contain her laughter. Matthias can’t help but acknowledge, at least mentally, that the sound is beautiful. It distracts him enough to lose focus, but the overhanging threat of concussion urges him to hurry up.

He rolls out and thanks Inej, taking in the fact she’s barely even sweating.

“Got the goods?” Nina asks and oh my goodness she’s mocking him.

“I have you know it’s a delicate process. This is a lifelong decision, I need to know it’s high quality!”

“What, so it lasts long enough to be used for your casket?”

“Nina!”

Matthias picks that one after finding the makings of it satisfactory, watching Inej do the same in a lighter shade of the colour. Humans are interesting. Would she have chosen it too had he not been there to influence? He follows the alternative story in his head until his eyes lay upon his next victim standing before him. 

The matching wardrobe is a must. The three of them shimmy the massive box out from behind the display one, counting a one two three before lifting it onto the trolley too. It took a bit of manoeuvring but eventually the cardboard stacked tall. 

The current Matthias has progressed, has cleansed his mind of all things hateful. However he cannot drown the voice that reminds him that he should be more manly; that he shouldn’t need help, even more so from girls. Matthias understands that it’s wrong, that it’s just another thing to unlearn, but it’s upsetting. He loves the girls, why can’t his head act like he does?. 

Nina

To say Nina loves Ikea is an understatement. Nina loves Ikea, between the colours and the ice cream machine and the free tiny pencils it’s impossible not to. Better for her, they’ve just entered her favourite part. The showrooms.

A hundred rooms each with their own personalities, presenting endless possibilities within four walls? Sounds like perfection. As a kid she could try on any lifestyle as if trying on a dress; typing at the turned off computers and craving importance. Now Nina can buy things and it feels like the ultimate upgrade. 

Running loose around the shop might not have been on today’s agenda. It’s worth it though, and if it wasn’t purely for fun, the judgemental looks from strangers are definitely the icing on the cake. Nina has been told everyday growing up that she has ‘a big personality.’ Factually, it’s an insult, but she has always taken it in her stride. If it takes the attention off her body, if it entrances everyone so much that no one notices the less attractive parts of her appearance, then that’s fine by her. 

Besides, she’s brilliant. Her humour deserves the spotlight and who is she to deny it?

The children’s bedrooms are always the most imaginatively decorated; bright colours and bunk beds and textured wallpaper. It’s a sight that she must behold. 

They prance around it, taking in ‘inspiration’. Nina notices that Matthias has taken a particular liking to the stuffed husky toy, holding it like Rafiki holds Simba in the Lion King. She’s not surprised he’s sentimental, but why?

“You know, you could get that one for yourself too.”

He looks dejected for reasons undeciphered, face dropping into wrinkles of sadness that fully breaks her heart. Why?

He tries for a few words, but nothing coherent comes out. She butts in, attempting to redeem whatever she just did to him.

“Actually, maybe don’t do that. Meerkat-Matthias might get jealous. Ah! You should call it M&M!!”

His face comically shifts, displaying every feeling on the emotions wheel until it lands on something resembling gratitude. That’ll do nicely, she thinks.

“Yeah, I’m sure M&M loves being an only child.”

She adamantly agrees, voice laced with reassurance. Inej captures their attention, crawling through a tunnel connecting this room to the next. She has to have a go.

Nina is soon on the ground, mid-action contemplating why have they all ended up on the Ikea floor today?. 

Sudden movement maybe wasn’t the best idea, heart rate climbing and heart thudding. Way to damper the fun. Usually, Nina is happy enough to ignore every non-life threatening symptom and move on with her life. Usually, the symptoms take the hint and bugger off. But not today; not when she really needs them too.

Both Inej and Matthias have noticed, of course. A worried glance between the two. She’s not a child, there’s no need for the fuss. 

The thud becomes a thumping and okay, maybe the fuss is nice. 

Matthias kneels and asks something and she shakes her head. Nina might not know what he said but she’s fine; she needs to clarify that she’s fine. How do you explain to someone that this is your normal? He presses two fingers to her wrist, holding them there for the next few minutes until relief finally flows back into her veins. A few slow beats follow the rush and then normal rhythm returns. 

“Should we do something?” Matthias asks, sounding so sure about everything at all times. 

“No, I’m good but thanks.”

Well, that’s that then.

Inej

According to everyone ever, apparently, the Ikea food court is a culinary masterpiece. According to Matthias and Nina, it is absolutely necessary that she experiences it. This all stems from her questioning the food sign that she had noticed, promptly followed by the pair declaring it a travesty, tragedy and calamity all in one sentence. 

Needless to say that’s where they’re now heading. 

Matthias parks up the trolley and then they’re in a slow moving queue around a curving array of cold foods, everyone inevitably ending up at the hot food counter. 

On her plate Inej gets hashbrowns, beans, vegetarian sausages and veggie bacon. At a little stall to the side she collects a round of bread and ketchup, balancing everything with ease as she sits down at a four-chaired table. 

Both of them come close behind with their respective trays, Nina providing cutlery for them all. Within the mutual chattering she finds a moment of peace, mesmerised with the ease in which she’s fitting in. It’s something Inej would have found incomprehensible at school, but now she’s talking and joking the way little-her dreamed off. If that dream came true then surely her bigger ones can too.

“Inej, I love you, but ketchup and beans?!’ Nina interrupts her thoughts. It’s probably a good thing before she got too deep, but what’s wrong with her beans?

“What about them?”

“Uh, what about the atrociousness of it!”

“I don’t see how they don’t go together, they’re both literally tomato products.”

“Yeah, different forms. That’s the whole point of making two separate sauces.”

Now that’s borderline ridiculous. Inej won’t stand for it.

“Beans aren’t a sauce!!”

The debate continues, Matthias chipping in every now and then but mostly watching silently, consuming the private entertainment. Inej can respect that. She’s never quite had the experience of holding her tongue if she has something to say, but she’s also never felt the need to be loud.

After sharing an impressive amount of stories, including Inej getting stuck in a locker in second year, they clear their trays and head out of the labyrinth, trolley in tow. 

As it turns out, paying for human sized items is a nightmare.

They wait in line, watching the cashier get nervous as they approach with their three massive boxes, three stuffed animals and a pile of pillows. The biggest challenge is finding the barcodes whilst not crushing any fingers. Then there’s the scanning of the barcode which also poses an issue. 

They got through after much reconfiguration, the poor guy eventually coming from behind his till and climbing amongst the boxes himself.

Reward time.

Nina gets them their tokens, all of them looking like proud as punch two year olds. The ice cream machine was practically waiting for them, it’s shiny exterior reflecting it’s traits. One by one, cones are filled and topped as high as possible and then it’s to the car. Nina holds the three pokes while Inej and Matthias load the boot with the boxes, having to put one of the backseats down to fit them all. Nina’s being stubborn about needing to help but Inej isn’t for giving in. She doesn’t know what happened to her earlier but she’s sure as hell not going to trigger another one. It seems like Matthias is taking the same stance.

They get in and drive home, Inej thinking about how in a couple of weeks it’ll be the same home they’re driving back to. 

Chapter Text

Friday, Kaz

Kaz doesn’t know how he ended up in the charity shops at eight in the morning. Well, Jesper is why, but despite his easy understanding of Medeco locks and mechanical vaults, Kaz finds it impossible to grasp the clockwork of Jepser’s mind. From what he’s gathered, he was awake very nearly all night and has now levelled up from anxious, to anxious and hyper. 

An hour ago Jesper barrelled into his room with the claim that Kaz is morally and legally obligated to go charity shopping in town with him. Ordinarily Kaz would’ve pulled the ‘sleeping card’ or point blank refused, but the green active dot on his instagram wasn’t in his favour and he didn’t feel like arguing. So out they go.

He was also informed within the next five minutes that they were picking Wylan up on the way. Jes had seemed pretty certain that Wylan would be up already which Kaz found strange, but didn’t care enough to question further. The giddy expression on the other’s face was enough to confirm that he had no wish to know. 

Who gets that happy over a person?

So here he is, leaning against a clothes rack of jeans, watching the pair go through the jewellery bowl; Jesper picking up mostly big rings and vibrant beaded bracelets, Wylan more so watches and pendants. Kaz would love a rifle through it too, but reaching across bodies and multiple hands digging at once would limit his ability. It’ll have to wait. 

On top of that, there’s the extreme inaccessibility of the establishment. There’s two unnecessary steps to get in the door, only for the makeshift aisles to be impossibly narrow, forcing his cane to drag through the dresses and shirts and jackets as he passes. He’s aware that it’s run by volunteers, but why should he have to suffer just because the profits go to a good cause? 

That’s the sort of thought Colm would shake his head sternly at, gently reprimanding him for his bitter outlook. Kaz used to enjoy riling up anyone and everyone with a position of authority, Colm included if needs must. Now it makes him feel…ashamed? Jesper sometimes calls him the Grinch, but the Grinch never actually hated Christmas, so what does that say about Kaz?

Mm, no. The positivity’s itching him. 

They’ll be getting the keys to the house at twelve. Wylan put in the group chat to meet at Bonnie’s Breakfast for brunch but no one has replied yet, presumably asleep. It’s fine, because there’s definitely a couple more hours of shopping in them before food gets involved. Kaz wants a new coat. 

His mistake, of course, was ever voicing this. Jesper, who is still all tremolo fingers and rambling words, ushers him into a dressing room. He’s handed a long navy one to begin with.

“It’s blue.” Kaz complains, trying to give it back.

“It’s dark.” Jesper says, the hanger now firmly in Kaz’s palm again.

“It’s not black.”

“It’s trying to be,” Wylan supplies from off to the side where he’s looking for the next coat candidate. Lovely. Kaz has got himself his own personal styling team.

Having given in, Kaz pulls the first choice on over his grey jumper, assessing it in the full length mirror. It’s not terrible, but it looks a little more cheery than he’d prefer. There are colours in his wardrobe, but the amount is a bit below average. The ones that are present mostly come from other people as presents and so it is notable that he wouldn’t choose them for himself. Hence the fact the coat is a no. 

Wylan brings over another two. Kaz observes the glaringly obvious headphones and thinks they stand out a lot, though quickly backtracks is recollection of his own cane which is arguably more attention-grabbing. The voice in his head shuts up. Kaz also notices the way in which Wylan has stepped up today, socially speaking, when Jesper is perhaps less functioning. It’s nice, and Kaz wonders if that’s a thing all friends do for each other, or if Wylan’s just nice.

Like a petulant child, Kaz ends up choosing a black one. It’s not waterproof, but the wrap around type with buttons that will do well for the upcoming months of Autumn.

He pays at the till, asking for one of the purple Cancer Research pins that Jesper wanted yet wouldn’t ask for in fear of rejection. Kaz hands over a five pound note, not leaving his few coins of change in the donation box. He doubts they’ll find a cure with his thirty pence.

He turns away, plastic bag in hand. 

“Aren’t you too young to be using a cane?” The cashier himself is nearing his late sixties, hair not only white but also almost gone. Kaz is fucking livid.

“Aren’t you too old to be picking on kids?” And now Jesper’s dragging him out by the hem of his shirt. 

Kaz shoots him a glare, but there’s a hint of thanks in there. It would’ve been easy to grab his arm or shoulder or back, to take advantage of his weakness. A fair punishment for aggravating the scenario. Jesper didn’t, and Kaz suspects that maybe he should give in to the concept of trusting him. The thought of such an idea is odd.

“You’re not a kid though. You turned eighteen months ago,” Wylan says, sounding as if he’s a boy scout defending the honour. 

“We’ll give you a lying lesson someday,” Kaz mumbles back. He’s exhausted, but he won’t let go of his spite. 

Jesper

Jesper’s favourite part of the town is the six charity shops on the main street. Find nothing in the first? There’s five more to go. Another factor is that Jesper has always been on the extreme end of the empathy scale, giving each stuffed animal a turn on his bed and feeling sorry for pens when their ink runs out. The concept of re-homing used items comforts him. Soothes him to think that even though one person doesn’t like and discards something, someone else will love it and take it home; then relates it to his own life. Just because someone can’t handle his ups and downs doesn’t mean someone else won’t love him for it. Or so the rational voice in his head tries to tell him. 

Their next stop shop is organised by colour. Instead of having a rail for each clothing category, it’s a rainbow. Slightly jarring at first, but it’s Jesper’s number one. 

“I can’t believe I’ve never done this before, it’s so fun,” Wylan says, and Jesper raises a singular eyebrow. 

“What, gone shopping?”

“No I’ve been shopping you twat, just not this type of shop.”

Jesper’s jaw drops. How do you go your whole childhood without the art of thrifting?

“Never? Not even once??”

“Do auctions count?”

“Oh my god.”

Which is how Jesper decided to make it his personal mission to make Wylan’s first experience a first class experience. And where better to do that than the rainbow shop?

They start their search in the red section first— it’s the only way to do it. 

He feels awful. He feels like an electric wire without the insulated tubing. The blood in his arteries determined to burst through thick walls; the throb in his skull causing his brain to rattle. Jesper likes his sleep but the excitement of getting the keys kept his eyes open wide all night. Unfortunately, his body has misunderstood the excitement as nerves, leaving him wracked with anxiety. Typical Jesper. 

On a happier note, he’s in the best of moods. However he managed to get Kaz out of the house he doesn’t know, but it’s rare and he’s overjoyed. Then there’s Wylan who seems the most comfortable he’s seen him yet. That’s a major record for the books. 

Nothing for any of them on the red rack, although there’s a shawl-looking-cardigan that’s very Nina. He sends a photo to their chat and gets an immediate yes. It gets draped over his arm and then they’re on to the orange. 

The rest of their trip goes similarly, pointing things out to each other, buying anything that stands out. 

“Wylan you have to get this,” Jesper insists, pressing a jumper to Wylan’s front, letting him better picture what it would look like on.

Wylan tilts his head in the fashion that Fish had when he scratched his belly. He takes it as a positive indication.

“Why do I have to get it?” he asks, leaving out the part that he does really quite like it. 

“You suit green. And it’ll be a little big on you the way you seem to like it. At least, that’s how your other ones are.”

“Observant much?” he mumbles, the tips of his ears going pink. Jesper thought that was a thing authors made up in storybooks, but the more you know. “But yeah, I’ll get it.”

Eventually, they make it to Bonnie’s. Good, because Jesper’s exhausted and starved. Coffee and crêpes it is. 

When they arrive both Inej and Matthias are already seated in one of the larger booths. He lets Kaz sit on the end being the considerate brother he is, but Nina arrives late— only by ten minutes, a new record—  and happily plops down on his other side. Well, no strength of shiny shields can save him from the inevitable. 

A waitress brings their drinks first, three milkshakes, a black coffee, a caramel latte and a Tropical Blast. Within a few sips Jesper recognises the familiar thrum of caffeine mingling in his bloodstream, exuding through the cracks. It sickens him. He welcomes it. 

Conversation rises gradually, half of the group only just awake, the other half wishing they were. Plans for the day form and sweet treats are delivered all around. Jesper digs into his crêpes, enjoying the good things to an obnoxious degree in an attempt to cancel out the bad. Does it work? No, though he’ll stay optimistic anyways. 

It seems as though they’re partying tonight. Well, as much as six malfunctioning young adults can in an empty house. There will be drinks, thanks to Matthias’s offer, so he has that to look forward to. He shoves in another mouthful, legs bouncing under the table, the table vibrating along with them, the glasses clinking quietly. Everything seems concerningly fast: the pace of the conversation, time. Maybe the rest of them aren’t malfunctioning and he’s just projecting. After all, they all look perfectly fine. It’s bugging him.

Thereafter progresses as expected, making him frustrated beyond before. Where’s the variety? Why can’t they have a detour? What’s with the stupid need to schedule?

Jesper stacks his plate, taking the knife and fork off of Inej’s and putting it atop. His day won’t get better but maybe he can improve the waitress’s.

Chapter Text

Wylan

Figuratively, the house is now theirs. Two pairs of keys were handed over to Kaz and Inej; Inej because she was deemed most trustworthy and Kaz because no one dared to pry them off of him. Jesper is going to a locksmith tomorrow to get five more made, leaving it so that each of them will have a set with the addition of a spare one for emergencies. Apparently Colm knows a guy. 

It’s not long past half one and Wylan is sitting on the floor of what will eventually be the living room. Matthias brought blankets in from his car before he left to get alcohol and he and Nina are making good use of them, talking about nothing substantial but enjoying the peace. It’s weird, because he never could have predicted the situation, but talking to Nina is easy. She has this effortless way about her that he desperately craves to be. It makes him honest in a way he only ever is late at night despite it being barely afternoon. Luckily enough, Nina loves a good gossip.

Laying burrito-style in the woollen blanket, he states:

“I’m kind of scared for us to all be together in a small vicinity for like, the near future. I mean everyone’s lovely and…unique, but I feel like we’re amongst a few clashing personalities.”

“I’ve been waiting for someone to say that! But I agree, Kaz and Matthias? They’ll be like piranhas. Kind of can’t wait though, I’d bet it’ll be two days before a mental breakdown.”

“No for sure. But yeah the crystal ball shows a crisis soon. Why is it that literally all of us have issues of some description. Well, Inej and Matthias seem pretty sane, but still.”

“Brutal, but true. I don’t know what’s up with everyone but there’s got to be something. Are you…?”

“It’s fine, I’m autistic. Are you…?”

“Yeah I reckoned so, no offence. But mentally, I’m fine.”

“Mentally”

“Well yeah, fibromyalgia and all that jazz. Nothing bad.”

Wylan shakes his head and snorts. Nina’s smart, but she’s incredibly stupid. Things hurting that shouldn’t be hurting are pretty bad in his books.

Their banter continues and Wylan finds himself absorbing the drama he missed when they were in school. 

“Wait, I thought Eliza went out with the guy from the year above.”

“Jackson? No, that lasted three days.”

“Then who was Eliza meeting up with at lunch?”

“Jenny.”

“The cheerleader?”

“You’d be surprised how many of them are gay.”

Which has him howling. Is this what life was like outside of senior orchestra?

The flow transposes into something of sharper edges and pointed angles as Kaz and Inej sit down with them. It’s not the people: it’s the number of people. Wylan is quite proud of his conversing abilities when it comes to one on one encounters but groups evaporate that down to nothing. It’s harder to follow multiple speakers than one, to decipher what they actually mean through the frills of small talk. It exhausts him, sure, but painful is a better descriptor. His skin has the composition of a furnace and a sheet of cling film combined, his head bursting like an over-watered Orbeez. 

Why the fuck did he tell Nina? Now both she and Jesper know. Is it that obvious, or did Jesper tell everyone like he had feared so badly? So far she hasn’t treated him any differently— or maybe she has. It’s not like Wylan’s great at picking up clues. He hates it, rubs the heel of his hand up and down his arm, combatting burning with burns. It doesn’t do much, irking him more and so he lets his nails catch on the skin too. A little better. 

Inej, in her perfectly silent way, pulls his sleeves properly down and leaves her hand to rest there. There isn’t much weight to it, but the presence helps. His thoughts are spiked out of focus too, confusion of what she’s doing distracting him enough to break out of the cycle. 

Nevermind, living here will be okay. 

Matthias

Matthias and Jesper were on beer duty due to Matthias’s long lived experience and Jesper’s self professed ability to know what people drink based on looking at them. Matthias gazed into the eyes of absurdity and ignored them, letting him come with. Jesper seemed daunting to him at first, like a sparkler on a cake with movements that prove too quick to track. What Matthias had noticed though, is that if you watch for long enough there’s a regularity to them. They seem much less sporadic once you understand the circle. He actually quite looks forward to the other’s presence now. 

Part two of their job is to get food, but they haven’t gotten that far yet.

“Matthias turn right!”

“The sign says forwards”

“Turn!! I’ve lived here all my life!”

“Jesper that’s a field. You want me to turn into a field.”

“It’s faster.”

“We’d get run over by cows.”

“They’re friendly cows.”

Matthias mumbles something laying on the fine line between a curse and a prayer, taking a sharp right through mud and grass. 

Jesper cheers triumphantly with a few excited claps.

“Jesper they’re giving us dirty looks!”

“Hush, onward.”

And they do. It turns out Jesper was right, but he’s not so sure the trauma formed was worth it. He stops the car outside Lidl, shoving his keys into his pocket. The front one, because the look of disappointment Kaz gave him after previously putting them in his back one was frankly much worse than any glare received so far. Matthias fears that even if he’s not there, Kaz will sense that he’s done it again. He can smell the fear. Matthias can’t stand it. 

He walks through the automatic doors, Jesper’s hands oscillating a tap. If he had a tail it would be wagging without a doubt. Probably chasing it too. 

Matthias grabs a wheelie basket, passing it to Jesper when his grabby hands ask for it. He pulls out his notes app where everyone’s requests are listed, mostly snacks. Up the fridge aisle first, random items whiz into the basket on impulse: cheese, Sukie, cocktail sausages, ham; the likes. Then the shelved foods. 

Then the drinks.

Tins and bottles of green and red and pink lines the barriered off alcohol section. Jesper is already springing into action.

“Right! Kaz is a vodka with lemonade guy. We’ll get the pink lemonade ‘cause it’s his favourite but if he mentions it pretend it was an accident.”

“Okay…but why?”

Jesper lowers his voice and whispers dramatically. 

“He’s a little insecure.”

And Matthias is laughing hysterically. It seems the devil himself isn’t as tough as his edgy gloves and all black attire beg to be perceived as. Perspective is a beautiful, wonderful thing.

Jesper rattles off the rest, grabbing them as he goes. 

“Yeah so Nina’s no doubt a beer girly, and I’ll have a rosé, and a vodka cranberry for Inej.”

“You drink— wait Inej!”

“That is a person we know, yes.”

“She’s vegetarian and literally everything’s meat. Except the sweets.”

“Oh. Whoops.”

“And we haven’t lifted a drink for Wylan yet.”

“Double whoops. Right. Quorn stuff and white wine.”

One went one way and the other went the other, meeting back near the tills after a round of Marco Pollo. Matthias was mortified.

“We’re in public.”

“Yep.” Jesper replies simply, popping the ‘P’ like a stick of gum.

There’s an odd domesticity to it and Matthias finds himself content.

Nina

Nina is positively nervous. She hasn’t had a sip of anything stronger than diluted juice in months. There’s no pressure from these people, yet Nina still feels the invisible force bearing down on her clavicles. It’s unfortunate but she’ll cope.

It took Matthias and Jes over an hour to get back from doing who knows what. Matthias looks mildly stressed and Jesper’s hands are shaking but they brought food so who is she to complain? 

She and Kaz have laid the blankets out flat and are now setting the snacks out in an attempt to look even half like a meal. He’s very evidently struggling to open the crackers with his gloves on, the thick leather bunching up at the tips, the seal of the packet becoming increasingly distressed. Nina watches for as long as she can take it until she breaks like a Christmas cracker, pulled to the limit.

“Brekker, let me do it,” she reaches out for the wrinkled plastic.

 Kaz recoils; eyes dart around the room, landing with precision on each person. Nina being Nina holds no control of her tongue.

“No one cares about you being Mr Tough Guy at all costs, pass me the crackers or take off the fucking gloves.”

“I’m not incompetent,” he snarls, elbowing her hand away and tearing it open with great force. 

Huh. At least it worked.

Nina downs her first glass too fast. She had well and truly intended on it being her last, but the well known looseness has nestled into her joints and it doesn’t feel worth the fight to stop. Nina helps herself to a refill. The pounding in her chest is persistent, punching hard against her rib cage, though she ignores it anyways. Ignores it even though it’s audibly loud to not just her, but everyone else.

Another swig. 

Nina’s happy. Really happy. She can’t understand why her body doesn’t get it. She feels sick and while she can breathe, it’s not exactly legato. Her heart doesn’t slow. 

Matthias starts talking to her, which is nice. He’s nice. Nina’s not fond of that tone though. She furrows her eyebrows.

“C’mon get some air for a minute with me,” he says, tugging lightly at her wrist. She pouts.

“But it’s cold!”

“Then we’ll go upstairs.”

“Matthias, so soon?” Nina jibes, giggling stupidly. It earns her his red cheeks and slow shaking head: humour well spent. 

“Hush”

They rise from the huddle, crumbs falling from her cleavage reminding her of the available sweet treats, reaching back down to grab the jellybeans and her pint glass. Matthias’s warm hands clasp the items out of her own. She shrugs, giddiness overcoming her. 

The stairs prove to be a challenge, the last few an immediate defeat. She lies flat on the landing, glueing together the pieces of Matthias’s odd expression together. Amused? Concerned? Nina can’t tell. 

“Nina I can hear your heart. You’ve got to breathe.”

“But I am! See! Breaths.”

“In the verbatim sense, sure. But you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

Which is highly offensive to tipsy Nina, crossing her arms indignantly. 

“Fix it then.”

Matthias is taken aback, sputtering like a prude being questioned.

“How do you expect me to do that?!”

“I wouldn’t know, I never do a very good job of it.”

They sit cross legged on the carpet for forty-five minutes, ‘relaxing rain sounds’ playing in the background. Matthias had gone to YouTube and found meditation videos, picking the first he saw. Nina had proceeded to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Meditation? Seriously?  He expects her to be serious whilst he’s basically re-enacting Kristofferson the fox? Not happening.

It did, eventually, happen. 

Nina gives in, accepting the help— slightly unconventional or not— and it helps. He doesn’t say anything, but a little smile ghosts his face as the pulse below his fingers fades into normality. She finds herself wishing to see more of it. 

Chapter Text

Saturday, Jesper

Jesper forgot his meds. It’s not entirely his fault, in theory.  His Da left the house early this morning and wrote a reminder on the fridge, which would have been great if he had even went near it. He’s had no breakfast then, either. 

Jesper hates it. Hates his inept functioning capabilities and the assumptions that he can’t be alone, ever. He’s getting the keys cut and Inej asked to come and it’s obvious that no one trusts him to do it himself. Is he really like that? Jesper doesn’t mind needing extra help from time to time, but Jespers also not a five year old child.

They took the truck but he somehow ended up in the passenger seat, Inej behind the wheel. It’s surprising how many wads of blue tack can be found on the dashboard of a car that’s barely younger than him. It’s unsurprising how he’s made it a need to collect it all. She wouldn’t say it, but Jesper can tell that she’s getting progressively more frustrated at his constant fiddering. He feels bad for making her feel bad. For his unsolicited energy. 

Normally he wouldn’t care at all that he behaves socially unacceptably— it’s not his fault, so why would he? Today it is Jesper’s fault though. If he had just taken his meds it would be okay. The anxiety would stay at bay on a nice tropical island and the jitters would keep far back. He prefers it that way, at least most of the time, and Jesper can’t figure out why it’s just so easy to forget. Still, he wishes to alleviate the intensity in which he relies on them, but that’s for another day of worries.

Inej turns up the Bluetooth connected music, an immediate improvement to his mood. Frank Sinatra holds that sort of magic.

“Can you put the address of that guy’s house into Google Maps please?” Inej asks, her eyes flicking to his and then back to the road faster than the tick of a clock. The guy in question is the locksmith; a friend of his Da’s, recently retired. 

“It’s fine it’s only like ten minutes away, I can point you.”

“Jes, I live laugh love you but Matthias told me about yesterday’s cow incident. You’re not doing directions.”

Jesper frowns but concludes that she’s probably correct, unlocking his phone.

“I don’t know his address.”

“What do you mean you don’t know his address?!” Inej exclaims, and oh no. She’s unquestionably mad. He notices her breathing a little iffy which makes him realise that Jesper’s spiralling also. Fuck.

“I’ve never had a reason to know it! I didn’t learn my own postcode until I was fourteen and shopping online!”

“Right, okay. It’s okay Jesper, what was it you were saying about the new Monster High editions?”

That should’ve made him launch into explanation. He appreciates the attempt to move on but he’s unable. It feels like a permanent game of primary school stuck in the mud that has been warped in space and twisted, tarried there forever. He can’t even pretend it’s just in his head, that it’s just silly thoughts, because his visibly shaking hands and heaving chest solidify that it is in fact physical too. A perfect accompaniment for his rising nausea. 

“So the Wednesday collab came out a couple days ago and her dress is actually stunning and the highlights on her eyes are skulls and that’s only one outfit!”

And so he derails all the new dolls, trying to ignore the guilt eating him alive as Inej clearly gets lost not even half way through. 

Oh it’s not working. His heart has the spirit of the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, his hands soaking the jeans on which they rest. And his thoughts.

Rather unreasonably, it’s been declared, at least mentally, that he might as well talk to no one for the rest of his life. That whatever the fuck his body is going right now is a not-so-subtle countdown to his death. He’s going insane. 

He’s panicking, he logics. But Jesper is not logical. Even so, he has to try. He’s been trained to try. It’s not a panic attack, it’s not bad enough, surely. It’s not as instantaneous as they tend to be. An anxiety attack? That must be it. 

Jesper internally describes his surroundings, left to right; object, colour, place, repeat. They’re nearing their destination now, the country roads narrowing as vined trees loom overhead. Inej, to his side, doesn’t look much better than he feels, making him feel worse. He must have done something to cause it. He’ll have to tell her when to turn soon which is a problem because his voice is sure to be shaky, and Inej has this infuriating talent of just knowing things and naturally he’ll be abandoned because who would want to spend time with someone so messy?  

Inej

Inej had texted Jesper to come with him because everything was so fully chaotic at the house. At seven am she already had notifications of three parcels having been delivered to an unrecognised address. As one does, she turned up half an hour later to be met with the sight of Matthias getting a ‘head start’ on assembling his bed and Wylan pacing little loops around the room looking positively out of his element, eventually taking place on the window ledge. She had no control whatsoever and so she sought some elsewhere.

The car journey has been slightly disastrous so far. Inej demanded to drive, only feeling a tiny bit bad about it. She can be a passenger but it feels safer otherwise. They talked about music for a while, bonding over their mutual love for Tracy Chapman. She brought up the idea of a movie night which resulted in an admittedly condensed version of Jesper’s current fixation, beginning with the Monster High movies and ending with some sort of anxiety episode. In turn, this triggers something in her own nervous system, taking a few minutes to regain control of her breath. Focus channelled back to her friend, she sees that he has made about three percent progress in calming down. Inej pulls into the church car park, coming to a halt. Her hands struggle not to slip with sweat on the steering wheel.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just having my dramatic moment, I’ll be fine.”

His legs are shaking the entire car. 

“Jesper what’s wrong?”

”Forgot my meds. All of them. I, just, can’t.”

“Yeah, right, okay, does breathing help?” Inej thinks that she herself might lose it right now, between her tingling feet and general overheating, the dam is bound to burst. Luckily, however, something more productive kicks in.

Jesper shakes his head, shaking out his hands too. 

“Should I keep talking? Or phone Colm or Kaz or someone? Or drive back and get your medication?”

“Talk, please.” She can hear the strain in his voice, a desperate neon sign. It’s bad when Jesper, loud obnoxious Jesper, is struggling to speak.

So she talks and it’s sort of peaceful, ignoring the circumstances. It’s not often that Inej is handed this freedom to run with and if it’s benefiting someone else too then it must be acceptable. She speaks of her parents and their travels and their Gods. Of her books and her gym and her tightrope. Jesper seems to be genuinely improving from what she can tell, so good vibes all around she supposes. 

“Thanks,” he says, and his expression is tired yet no less bright as usual. Inej doesn’t know what to make of it.

“You’re welcome, it’s not like I did much. What caused it?”

Jesper laughs and she doesn’t quite understand why. It’s sort of the kind of laugh a villain does before committing some heinous crime, but much sadder. Inej has never seen him without a smile but never once has she considered that they’re not always happy ones. 

“Doesn’t really have a reason. They just happen.”

“They, as in panic attacks? Is it disordered?”

“Well yeah, and anxiety ones. Potayto potahto I suppose. Panic disorder.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“For what? It’s not like you summoned the evil anxiety spirits and cursed me as a child. Unless you did, of course?”

“Hush. You know what I mean. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

Jesper shrugs, returning the question.

“What about you? It’s not as if you’re the picture of tranquility. Not like, ten minutes ago.”

Now it’s Inej’s time to shrug. What about her?

“I’m just a worrier. I don’t panic or anything the way you do.”

“Just because it’s not the same as mine doesn’t mean it’s not a problem. We’re not going to have the exact same symptoms.”

“Mhm.” She squishes all those feelings into an airtight tub in her stomach, erasing any possibilities of her being anything but the model of health. 

Inej pulls the heat stick into reverse, backing out of the parking space and then forward through the cobblestone exit. The man in question is apparently in one of the bungalows up the hill and behind the church. The estate is small, maybe eight houses total. Jesper identifies their target and they get out. 

Inej goes from forty to eighty in mood within minutes and it’s like walking the high wire. So high up, yet there’s the risk of falling at any moment.

Wylan

Wylan has been watching Matthias set up his half of their room for the last two hours. Well, they agreed that they weren’t going to prevent their things mixing in the middle and seeping through to each other’s sides, but Matthias’s area anyways. Wylan knows that he should be helping and sorting out his own stuff but he doesn’t know how. There’s no instruction sheet for such situations and he really likes instructions. Needs them. 

He hasn’t been completely useless, he tries to reason with himself. Matthias has given him the occasional task and he likes that. He can do that. 

“Are you like, good? Do you not need to start unpacking?”

Understandable question, Wylan thinks. It still inflicts a twinge to his feelings though.

“Yeah, to both.”

“Maybe you should get started? There’s no rush, but the sooner you get started, you know?”

He looks so earnest that Wylan might cry. He feels ridiculous. It’s not some impossible task. Matthais must have picked up on something, because he adds,

“I don’t mind helping. But what am I helping with?”

“No you’re fine I’ll get there, it’s the vague big task without direction part that’s a struggle. But you have your own space to sort.”

“How about I start putting out some of your things as if they were my own and then you could join in? The way you were helping me before. And if I put something somewhere you don’t like you can move it.”

Gratitude warms him from his toes up, overwhelmingly wonderful. His mind rifles through millions of memories, scenes of his life in which similar problems have risen and yet only now a solution has been given. It came so readily, too. Earlier, when he had just awoken, Wylan had laid in amazement that he would be able to make the  room his own; decorate it how he likes, show the interests he was never allowed to have. Now, not even noon, he registers that the real win is the people he has been surrounded by. No amount of luck is that fortunate. 

“Thank you,” he close to whispers. Words could never be enough for this, though he reckons that Matthais comprehends the mass of the kindness he has shown. 

“Don’t mention it. Though, did you only bring one bag?”

He gestures to the rucksack Wylan had dropped by the door. It’s not like he can drive and he didn’t want to bring the seven packed boxes on public transport. 

“Yeah, I’ll just bring the rest on small loads on the train.”

“No point in that. Well go get them after lunch. You’re in a flat, yeah?”

“Yeah,” and Wylan buzzes at the sense of normality as he follows the other’s lead, putting the covers on his pillows and stacking them in a pile until his bed arrives. He’s content enough in the almost-silence, but he forgets that some people find this awkward. Matthias doesn’t seem to though. Wylan is no expert, but lack of downturn of his lips and relaxed eyebrows give him that impression. From a comparative view, he is fully one of those hikers that do yoga and drink two litres of water a day. 

From an honest view, he knows nothing about the man.

“Do you do yoga?”

Matthais raises his eyebrow in a disturbingly Kaz-like motion. God, they hate each other because they’re so similar, whether or not they realise it. 

“Not really, no. I think I’d give it a go though. How did your brain get to yoga?”

“Mm. Pretty irrelevant. What course are you going to do?”

“English lit. You?”

“Chemistry.”

There’s a pause for a second.

“This feels like a very weak interrogation.”

“I just wanted to get to know you better,” and Wylan didn’t know if what he said was okay, but Matthais looks like a human version of the smiley emoticon, and so it must be.

Chapter Text

9:30am, Kaz

Jesper and Inej had picked him up on their way back to the house. It was fine, Kaz supposes. He made pointless small talk and came across at least ten percent more agreeable than usual, even if most of his attention was driven into stabbing the large lump of dusty blue tack through the barrier of his glove. Kaz was willing to be civil today. He was.

Kaz stands braced between his room doorframe and his cane, last tether long torn. Carrying a bed frame, albeit only thirty seconds from the truck, is just about equivalent to skipping stones with the devil. Inej is holding the other end, his protests against help ignored, but he draws the line at Jesper taking over his side too. At least this way he’s doing something. Watching off to the side like an old man with a hip replacement is not an option. 

They heave it forwards, completing the last few steps to it’s spot. He gives it a shove with the weight of his good leg, righting it into the corner. Pain sears downwards. 

Maybe watching would’ve been good.

Kaz is on the floor in seconds, barely suppressing a yelp as the breath is knocked out of him, the folds of his eyes overlapping; shut in a foolish attempt to block it all out. His leg lies awkwardly, half tucked beneath him and twisted. Every joint and muscle screams to move but he can’t move. Not when tears are already prickling at the corners of his eyes. It really just hurts.

Hands on his leg. Hands on his leg and it’s pain and it’s touch and bad has become worse. Water rushes around his neck: constricting, choking. It’s freezing, he’s frozen in panic. His brother’s deceased flesh on his own, his nine year old self, his salt tears combining with the salt seawater. Kaz is drowning, he’s sure of it. 

It seems like the preferred option right now.

Inej guides his leg out straight, slower and much more gentle than any physiotherapist. Still, it’s excruciating to bear. He pants, watches as the damaged limb stretches to it’s capacity, ligaments pulled. He grimaces, feels the pressure of fingers through thin fabric, control gone. The waterworks are flowing. 

She apologises, setting it flat and leaning back on her knees. Kaz seethes, but more so as a result of his agony than her soothing. That is until Inej rests her hand on his shin. Then it’s completely her.

“Back off,” he snarls, though it comes out more feeble than fierce. Cruel either way.

To her credit, Inej does. Kaz stares and it has little effect. She looks hurt, yes, but the impact is nothing. Why can’t she give up?

He un-slumps himself a bit, pushing the heels of his hands against wooden floorboards, legs going with him. He sees white.

“Stop moving, it’s hurting you.”

“No shit.”

“Seriously, Kaz,” she mumbled exasperatedly, returning her hand to keep him there.

That’s about it.

“I told you to back the fuck off!” He bellows, swiping it away. Kaz’s breath is heavy, but so is hers and he has to acknowledge that the pain pulses a little lighter with the improved position. It’s too late to be thankful, he thinks.

He hears a rumble on the stairs above him, louder as it draws near. Jesper rushes in, cheeks blotched and eyes wide. Shit—they never went back for his meds.

“Kaz stop being mean and say sorry to Inej.”

“Stop acting Colm.” He bites back, highly unamused. 

“Stop acting an asshole.”

Kaz doesn’t reply, clenching his jaw. It’s not helping his case but he doesn’t care: it’s ruined beyond repair anyways.

“It’s nothing you did I swear, he’s just bad with touch,” Jesper placates, and when did he get so friendly with Inej? More to the point, when did Kaz give permission to bring that up?

“Oh my god, I’m sorry Inej. Happy?” Neither of them look it, but Jesper nods solemnly as if he’s a teacher marking the first passed test in months, and Inej stays eerily silent. Close enough.

“Do you want up?” Jesper asks, glancing at his cane. 

Kaz begrudgingly nods in reply, bracing himself. It’s passed to him and with Jesper’s underarm support Kaz manages to push to vertical. He feels dangerously close to throwing up.

Looking between the two, guilt sinks in for the hurt that he’s responsible for. Inej looks angry in the broken kind of way and Jesper looks achingly disappointed, if not also clinically anxious. Kaz can’t help but think it’s unfair that he’s hurt too. He mumbles a thanks despite himself which earns a warm smile from Jes. One for the brownie points. 

“Go grab your tablets from the farm. Bring Wylan.” Kaz barks it like an order. It sort of is one, in all fairness. Though is he concerned? A dilemma to discuss with his therapist. 

9:30am, Matthias

“What do you mean you didn’t order a bed?”

“It seemed like too big of a commitment!”

“So what, you just got a chest of drawers? Are you planning on sleeping on top of them?”

Matthias had simply asked what time Wylan’s bed would be arriving at. Never, apparently, if he didn’t even buy one. Who knew this would be such a debate?

“Of course not, doesn’t sound comfy.” And poor Wylan sounds completely genuine. Matthais can’t hold back the laugh.

“What makes it too big a commitment?” Matthias questions, straightening out his face.

“Well, there were so so so many options, you see. And I don’t really know how much money is a lot of money, but they all cost over fifty which I think must be a lot because fifty monkeys is a lot and I can’t waste that if I choose the wrong one. What would I do if I didn't like it?” 

“Hope your duvet covers it?”

“Real helpful Matthais.”

Matthias rolls his eyes but puts Wylan out of his misery.

“Come on, we’ll look then”

Which is how Nina and Jesper find them sprawled out on his freshly built single bed, scrolling through his phone to find one for Wylan. They are immediately accompanied, four bodies squished together. 

Matthias, although surrounded by great people, feels painfully sad. Why, he can’t tell, but it has a sensation of permanence to it. The thought is terrifying: a void with no door. How does he find the door?

 Forever lasts forever and he is unable to remember the start or the end or the gaps in between. Blue eyes meet his own, a slight nudge to his side helps too, and the room builds itself around him, coming into view. Time has passed, but how much?

Jesper’s lively animations, Nina’s piercing stare. So they’ve all noticed.

“Are you good?” Someone asks him. A rub on his knee this time. Matthias can’t tell if from his left or right. 

“Yeah, yeah I was just zoned out is all. What’d I miss?”

“We were wanting decoration opinions.” Nina fills in, though her eyes still search deeper than his face. 

“Oh sure. Wait why are yous in here anyways? Shouldn’t you be setting stuff up in your own rooms?”

“Our roommates abandoned us already!” Jesper complains, pouting and crossing his arms. 

“And you’re the only one that thought to bring your mattress.” Nina adds.

“Mhm, naturally.”

More chatter, laughs that Matthias is always a few seconds late to join in on. The feeling doesn’t leave; settles into some pit inside him and makes itself comfy. No amount of digging will tell him what caused it, if anything. Matthias remembers only the fog, no memory attached to it. No ‘trigger’ per se, no clear starting point. Matthais is okay with sadness. Accepts it as a gift from nature equivalent to any other emotion. What bothers him is the unknownity of this particular bout. He flourishes in understanding, craves it for and from people, but also the patterns of the world. How could it deny him of such a thing in this moment?

Jesper leaves, at some point, and Nina and Wylan talk science, from what he can tell. The fog still hasn’t cleared. Jesper then returns very briefly, leaving again with a bewildered Wylan in tow. It’s sort of sweet, how they’ve all fitted in with each other. 

9:51am, Wylan

How he ended up in the passenger seat of Jesper’s (or Colm’s) truck, speakers blasting Found Heaven, Wylan couldn’t say. He can easily admit though that he now has four videos of Jesper Fahey harmonising to Conan Gray. Or trying to. 

Jesper twists the volume knob to the left, the karaoke track now only an ambience. 

“Alright?”

“Yeah, you?”

Jesper hums in agreement.

“How far’s the farm?”

“Twenty minutes. Fifteen if Kaz is driving.”

“Right…”

“How far is your old house?”

Wylan pretty much swallows his own Adam’s apple at that. Topic twist of the century.

“Half an hour from the high school. Maybe an hour from the new house?” He fears his nerves are obvious, his feelings heightening, his voice quivering. Jesper couldn’t have known his reaction or sensed the connotations, but Wylan is very much about to freak out.

“Oh nice. Did you like it there?” Which hurts even more because Jesper, while clearly having his own feathers ruffled, is trying to be nice and kind and polite. Wylan doesn’t get to be upset over this.

“It was fine,” he concludes, adding a soft hum onto the end of it to sound lighter. He can’t tell if it works. Not until Jesper’s wobbling hand shifts the gear stick.

Maybe Wylan should change the subject. Be socially appropriate for once in his life. Or considerate, that’s a new one. 

“What were you like in school? What classes did you like?”

Jesper smiles, teeth on display. They’re quite straight, unlike Wylan’s own which crook inwards at certain places. He’s said something right, good.

“Technology! I got to saw and solder for hours, oh my goodness. And English too, it’s probably fighting for first, cause like, I can just make up stories and stuff. What about you? You seem like an English sort of person. And music, but I already know that.” Jesper replies, eyes brightening as he shares.

Unfortunately, Wylan has lost it. You seem like an English sort of person. He knows what Jesper meant by it. He wears oversized jumpers and carries a sketchbook and wears a satchel-style bag. Wylan gets it. But the nerve is struck. 

He can’t fulfil the urges he needs to, can’t claw at his arms or rub them red. He’s too scared of Jesper noticing and too aware to do it subconsciously. Nails bite into his palms rather anticlimactically. The toe of his shoe digs into his calf.  Still no satisfaction, only noise in his brain and fuzz in his skin. He needs it to stop. He needs to reply.

“Never really liked English. But yeah, music was good, and art.”

They get out of the car at the farm and his first impression is the homeliness of it all. It looks warm and firm and everything it’s supposed to be. Wylan’s happy to enter, and happy for Jesper's back to be turned for even a moment, relishing the relief of his own squeezing hands on his waist. He still very well might cry.

Jesper offers him juice, which he takes gratefully, letting the other fill two mismatched glasses of pure orange from the fridge. Jesper swallows two pills with his. 

Feelings consume him again, as plastic in the ocean killing everything around it. Wylan runs his hands over each other, letting the smoothness reassure him yet it makes barely any dent in his crisis. 

Jesper opens his arms out questioningly and yes. He just wants it to be over, embarrassment aside. A quiet question of ‘do I squeeze?’ and Wylan’s nod in return has them sorted, melting into one frame as he allows himself the relief. Safe to say this method works. 

Chapter Text

Saturday, 11:00am, Nina

Nina Zenik is many things, but patient doesn’t make the cut. Hence her need for Inej to be up the stairs this instant. 

“Hurry up, our parcel’s arrived,” Nina yells over the bannister, voice booming like a microphone in court. She really needs that girl to speed up. 

“What do you mean our parcel. I didn’t buy anything?” Inej replies, tiptoeing up the stairs with the form of a jog. 

Nina will be forever jealous of those who can do so much without factoring in recovery time. It’s sort of mind boggling, but she doesn’t dwell, zipping up the envy gremlin as she reminds herself that stairs are just stairs. Nothing more or less. 

“I got us a colour swatch booklet!” She drags Inej into their room by the wrist, holding up the ‘cold tones’ page against the wall first.

“Are we even allowed to paint?” 

“Shut up with the logistics. I’m not living in an all beige house.”

Inej rolls her eyes, though Nina watches as  mock-glares quickly relax into excitement,eagerly joining in with her shenanigans. 

It’s unexpected, to have someone that matches her energy without thought. Thank the lord for Inej Ghafa.

Together they rifle through pages upon pages of samples, high standards leaving them stumped on more occasions than one. Nina loves all things  bold, Inej prefers to blend in. It’s easy to see in the way that she herself pushes to the main lights, the way that she dresses with a flair of extra on regular days and laughs louder than everyone else. The root is evident too. The humorous attempts to silence her as a child, the even worse attempts to fit in when she shouldn’t have. No amount of hope could have shrunk her waist or compressed her arms, nor could it have made her look the same as every other girl despite wearing the same clothes. Nina grew tired of it, and who could blame her?

But bold suits her better. Between them the decision comes to Storybook Sundown, a burnt orange on the lines between Inej’s woodsy aesthetic and her own signature red. She’s really seeing the appeal of compromise. 

The problem, however, is the urgency.

“We should go to B&Q” Nina declares, already standing up. 

“Now? How exactly do we get there? Plus it’s over half an hour away.”

“You have a licence. We can ask to borrow the truck. Wylan and Jesper’s just back, so it’s probably not being used right now?” Nina’s head spins, and once it resumes stationary position a horrid throb starts up, painful and demanding of thought. She’s still standing, she can tell, but Nina might as well be in one of those fun-fare vortexes, wobbling and disoriented. Her vision stays, clarifying consciousness and therefore proving that she is fine; after all, she didn’t faint—so Nina must be fine.

“Jesper might let me but I’m not sure that Kaz will be so giving. And I…upset him earlier so I doubt he’s feeling generous.”

“You upset Brekker? The man, the myth, the legend? He can feel things?” She’ll admit, the tea does help her regain a grip on reality, but her head is still plugged into whatever broken circuit caused it. 

“Not intentionally! He hurt his leg and I rather unhelpfully tried to help.” 

Nina does feel bad—not for Kaz—for Inej, who is all shaky breaths and sympathetic eyes. Are those feelings of friendliness? 

“Hm, I want the details in the car. Go on and ask to take it.”

“Don’t make me!”

“It’ll be a definite no if I’m in the picture. You look more responsible.

They’re out the door in ten minutes.

11:33am, Jesper

Apparently home, his opinions on home, and school subjects are a sore subject for Wylan. Jesper has been running though a million scenarios in which he’s the problem and yet he has been unable to find the perfect match to reality. What did he do? Maybe Wylan had picked up on his wilting mood but that was Jesper’s fault, it shouldn’t have affected Wylan. As a side note, he finds it very unlikely that Wylan would have read through the lines of his not-so-complex attitude. It’s not that he doesn’t think he’s smart enough to because he is, but it’s more like it wouldn’t have occurred to him to try. 

Jesper and Kaz stand in their semi decorated room. He begins filling his pjs drawer.

“Why don’t you just tell them not to touch you?” Jesper knows it’s a silly question, yet he means it as serious as he’s ever been. 

“Because they’ll ask why.” Kaz replies, voice shockingly light; the one usually reserved for the safety of the farm.

“And then you can tell them,” he replies, folding Minecraft patterned bottoms. He returns the airy cadence, determined to make this seem simple. A lie no one could fall for. 

Kaz gives only a grunt of acknowledgment. So he hasn’t been possessed, then.

“C’mon, they’re not going to be bitchy about it.”

“And what do you expect me to say? ‘Oh sorry, I can’t touch you. Why? It gives me graphic flashbacks of my dead brother.’ I’m sure they’ll receive that well.”

“Yeah well, but a little sugarcoating could do wonders. Besides, it’s better than them being snapped at with no explanations.”

“Just not yet.” Kaz mumbles, sitting down on the floor. A break is always a great idea in Jesper’s humble opinion.

He lets Kaz cut open a cardboard box of CDs, smiling as he carefully sets them on their new shelf in the exact order Jesper has arranged them in. Stupid softie.

Nine year old Jesper was delighted to have a brother. His da had told him it would be like a permanent best friend and that was enough to fuel twenty rockets with his excitement. Jesper hated being an only child but he never grew lonely until his mam passed. A new face only a year later would be the great solution.

But then there was Kaz.

Lockpicks in hand, black cane alongside his legs, leather gloves covering pale skin. Jesper thought he must be a gang leader or the world’s youngest drug dealer. Regardless of his looks, Jesper's thrill didn’t dampen. Not even when a cracked rib taught him not to touch. 

He thinks that Kaz will grow comfortable with their friends like he grew comfortable with Jesper, but he hopes that they can skip the injury stage.

1:49pm, Inej

As it turns out, B&Q is everything she ever dreamed of. They spent an hour on the paints aisle, nevermind the rest.

Nightmares were next. The car fucking stopped on a country road, no petrol station in sight. She pauses the music.

Panic, so much panic, because they’re stuck and they had planned to get food and be back for two and now there are six meals going cold in the backseat and she doesn’t know what to do in this scenario and did she mention they’re stuck? Inej can’t breathe. No air to her lungs and they might as well be bursting, collapsing; fission and fusion; everything all at once. 

Make a list, she thinks. Inej would consider herself optimistic but she can’t help when ever point is bad by nature: they’re too far from the garage, the food will be wasted and so money has been wasted, it’s not her car, she doesn’t know how to fix anything remotely mechanical.

A quick prayer sent upwards. She’ll need it. 

“What now?” Nina unwraps her McDonalds wrap. Inej would kill for that level of calm.

“We try fix it.”

They stick on the hazard light and get out of the car, checking each tire. The culprit is obvious.

Nina reads aloud. 

“How to repair a flat tire.”

“I don’t know?” Inej replied, baffled by Nina’s tone.

“No, no I’m reading wikihow. I ll instruct and you can try the hard stuff.”

“Wonderful,” Inej mumbles, though a smile creeps up on her. 

Inej gains a new skill, Nina finishes her wrap. She’s quite proud at herself. There’s a hundred worse ways she could have reacted, and she fixed it too! The rush of something fizzy fills her veins, peace restored. She turns up the music, Marina blasting.

Nina passes Inej’s nuggets in, passing them to her individually as she drives, pre-dipping each one in salsa. If the car’s sudden stop had crashed them, Inej would be satisfied with this as her way to go. 

Chapter Text

Friday, Kaz

The last week has been a blur of colour, postmen and paper plates. Setting up his room has come at a cost, his leg’s baseline now at the level of a usual bad day. Jesper has been keeping to his side of the room religiously, though Kaz wonders how long it’ll take for the shiny-new-thing feeling to wear off and his efforts fade. He wonders how long it’ll take for him to go insane. 

Kaz booked an appointment with the university’s disability office weeks ago, but apparently he’s the only one with sense. Wylan didn’t book one and Jesper is claiming he doesn’t need accommodations. Again, let’s see how long that lasts.

Despite popular opinion , Kaz isn’t heartless. This is how he came to be in the driver’s seat of the truck, now sporting mismatched tires, with Wylan to his left. He emailed the office from his own laptop after Wylan’s questionably adamant refusal to do it himself. The man didn’t even have an email though, so maybe he’s just severely stupid at all things technological. For someone with a baby face, he’s really not beating the grandpa allegations. 

They drive in freezing silence, not that Kaz cares. He runs through the points in his head that he’ll need to bring up: a lift pass, queue cutting card, and the likes. Nothing new from high school specifically, but the campus is much bigger and he refuses to be in worse agony because someone at a desk can’t be bothered to help him. He goes through the list again.

In the back of his mind, Kaz then moves on to figuring out what Wylan’s list would be. He doesn’t care, he’s just curious. He proceeds to pry, not nosy.

“What are you going to request?”

“Request?” 

“Well yeah, considering Jesper suggested you get an appointment when I mentioned mine, for the disability office, and you agreed, you must have a disability that you need accommodations for. I’m asking which ones, idiot. Do I need to spell it out?”

He watches through occasional glances as Wylan does some intricate mental gymnastics. How hard can it be? He asked a simple fucking question. 

“Extra time, text to speech software, permission to record lectures, permission to wear my earphones, all that sort of stuff I guess.” 

Kaz doesn’t need to be a genius to see the way his hands grow increasingly active as the list grows longer. He doesn’t need to put much effort into understanding why someone might need those things. They stay quiet again, but for less time than before.

“What about you?” Wylan questions, wiggling himself more upright in the seat. 

“Just mobility things.”

Wylan hums, pauses, then continues.

“Can we stop by my flat on the way back?”

“Why?”

“To pick up my cat.”

“No.”

Unsurprisingly, he looks dejected. Good. Kaz isn’t a chauffeur and it’s not like he sends inviting energies. It was childish and naive to expect any different. 

You have to be nice to him if you want to keep Jesper, the irking, irritating, sometimes-right voice tells him. Fine then.

“You’ll have to put it in Google Maps.” Kaz rectifies, stopping at the traffic light. They're almost there and five minutes early.

“The university? I thought you knew the way.”

“I do. I meant your flat, on the way back.”

Wylan smiles. Kaz regrets it already.

They leave the car on a side street nearby, unable to park closer on double yellow lines because his stupid blue placard hasn’t arrived in the post. Wylan passes him his cane which he quickly snatches from his grip, making it clear that he’s pissed off but not bothering to explain why. He shouldn’t have to. 

Kaz needs to stop on at least three occasions on the brief walk there but they don’t. Wylan shoots him worried looks and Kaz dutifully ignores his screaming nociceptors. They get through the doors exactly five minutes past Wylan’s appointment time. 

A middle-aged man in a shirt and tie greets them, offering hand shakes to each; though only receiving one. 

Wylan stops half way into the office, turning back after realizing Kaz has made no effort to follow. 

“Aren’t you coming in?”

“No?”

They stare at each other.

“Fine.” Kaz mutters, pushing himself up from the waiting room chair he had just gotten down on, accompanying him. This is getting ridiculous.

Wylan

Wylan had made the decision two nights ago that he would have to be okay with telling— or even hinting to— Kaz that he’s dyslexic. And autistic, but dyslexic. Kaz isn’t Jan Van Eck. He’s already established this, however he can’t say for certain that Kaz doesn’t share the same distaste for the disability. Disgust. It went well in the car, but there’s still the meeting to get through.

The two of them sit on the other side of the man, Arthur’s, desk, forming an isosceles triangle.

“Mr Hendriks, is it? Now, what is it we’ll be helping you with?” Arthur says, pulling up some files on his computer, whooshing the mouse around and clicking insistently. 

Wylan can already feel his cheeks heating up. He hasn’t spoken a single word and he’s already mortified.

“Autism and dyslexia.” 

A few more clicks, on the keyboard this time.

“I see. And if I could just have your documents of proof to copy into the system.”

“Documents?”

“Yes, we just need your diagnosis documents or letters from your doctors so we can add them to your file.”

“I didn’t know. I don’t have any with me.” Wylan’s skin is getting tight now too, like an insect moulting in reverse. 

“I’m afraid we need proof before I can continue.”

“Proof? What, do you want me to try and read and see if it works?” Wylan retorts, tone incredulous. His hands clench around the frame of the chair, his eyes blaze yet are distant. 

“Well, if you could…”

And Wylan hears no more. He’s young, maybe eleven at most, pleading forgiveness in a wood-panelled office—not this one —but one a touch too similar. He promises to do better next time, to comprehend the next sentence. Wylan is never believed, and Wylan never does learn a word past his own name. Voices fade into his ears, though a much younger one than his father’s.

“You’ll continue the meeting because it’s your fault that you didn’t provide clear instructions, and you won’t reschedule because that would be an abrupt change of routine, and you’ll be gentler than before because you wouldn’t want to disrupt any sensitivities, and you’ll be careful of what you say because you wouldn’t want to trigger anything. But of course you will, because you’re an expert on disabilities, isn’t that correct?”

When he tunes back in, Kaz is smiling. It’s the first time Wylan has bore witness to it and it’s uncanny. Mocking. 

“Oh yes, yes. I’ll leave a note that Mr Hendricks will bring the paperwork in on Monday.” Arthur replies hastily, scribbling something down on a yellow sticky note.

“Mhm, so as one of my accommodations I would find it very helpful to have extended deadlines,” Wylan adds, joining in on the fun. Lemonade out of lemons, right?

He takes great delight in watching the pen quickly score out the swirly loops with two sharp lines. 

“I’ll just change that to Friday week.” Arthur mumbles, pressing his lips firmly tight. 

Wylan feels the smoothness of a liquidy satisfaction coat his brain and understands for a moment why Kaz is the way he is. This is great.

They get through the bulk of his needs, Kaz keeping quiet the majority of the time, save providing back up on a few points. By the end of his hour it seems like everything’s in place, more or less. Then it’s Kaz’s turn.

“You won’t be needing my proof too, will you?” He asks sweetly, holding up his cane in jest.

The drive back is better than on the way there. The goes through a drive through before Wylan is allowed to put the satnav on. He sips his tea, peaceful except from the occasional grimace due to the grating voice demanding they turn right three times before the fork in the road is even in sight.

He gets out of the car, leaving Kaz behind. Apparently it’s a lot of unnecessary work to get both him and his ill-working limb in and out of a small space. He denies himself the bittersweet feeling that comes as he enters his flat for what he suspects will be the last time. Wylan picks up Fish in one arm, the bag-for-life filled with the last of her things. He’s already got her bed and spares set up in his room at the house, but he couldn’t just leave her without her blanket and favourite plushie.

Back at the car he sets it in the boot, bringing her into the front on his lap. He watches in amusement as Kaz stares at her. 

“What’s it called?”

“Fish.”

He blinks.

“Why?”

“I can’t keep getting into this.”

3:00pm, Matthias

Matthias is well and truly exasperated. No one will leave him alone. No one has left him alone all day.

At eight in the morning, Wylan was offering him breakfast, which turned out to be a half hearted way to reveal that he had fucked up an omelette and needed help. Matthais is the picture of patience, but there’s only so much you can do for someone that deemed it necessary to pre-blend the egg, tomato, cheese and ham with an electric baking whisk. How he hasn’t starved up ‘till now is beyond him.

Then there was Inej who from the goodness of her heart reserved him a spot for the pilates session at her gym, which he attended. The workout was good, but he was very much the only boy in a room of thirty and if that’s not enough to send the thoughts downwards then what is? He returned home to scrub away the dishonour from his skin, praying that his impurity drips from his pores like the sweat. The drop only plummets, however, when Nina barges through his door, asking for help curling the back sections of her hair. 

Does he seem like that’s a skill that he’s acquired?

“I’m not exactly the person to help with that,” he tried, lips curling downwards at the curling tongs. 

“Pleaseee, it’ll only take five minutes,” she countered, dropping to the floor beside the nearest socket. 

“I don’t know how.” Which was precisely the wrong thing to say. Nina excitedly clapped her hands, insisting on teaching him. How will he ever go to bed at night, get a job or even survive without such a vital skill?

Jesper now sits at the foot of Matthias’s bed, legs folded and leaning forward. Matthias continues to scroll on his phone. He’ll listen, but full attention is more than he can give right now. 

“What are you going to be for Halloween?!”

“It’s months away. I haven’t thought about it.” Matthias answers, thumb still swiping away. He’s going to get neck pain, he thinks, then berates himself for thinking like an elderly person. 

“Two months. I mean, I was thinking maybe Cleo, a classic, but I love Opperetta and there was a new edition of her recently so it’s the perfect excuse.”

“Who are they?”

Matthias can genuinely feel the radiating of excitement flowing in jolts towards him, Jesper’s mouth twitching as it waits for him to begin the incoming ramble. Bad decision on Matthias’s part once again.

After learning the ins and outs of Monster High in great depth, Jesper seems to have impossibly increased his state. There’s now tapping fingertips and purposely shaking feet. Matthais doesn’t think he’ll make it to dinner. He should scrap uni in advance. 

“Ugh, I’m so bored. Like, literally vibrating, there’s so much energy and so little to do with it. I feel like a dog in need of zoomies. I’m going to explode. I’m going to explode, Matthais.”

“I heard Inej was wanting someone to sign up to pilates with her.”

Jesper’s eyes light up, yelling a thanks as he tumbles out of the room in a sprint. Matthias winces as the door slammed, but wow, peace at last. 

The front door opens, a voice calls out,

“We’re home!”

The cycle repeats. 

Chapter Text

Friday, 11:21pm, Jesper

Jesper lies in bed in their shared bedroom, eyes cast upwards and hands clasped over his stomach. 

“Kaz?”

“Jesper.” Kaz mumbles, his position mirroring Jespers.

“Do you have a crush on Wylan?” He blurts, eyelids lifting wide in anticipation and possibly fear. 

Kaz whirls around onto his side, facing him with an incredulous look on his face. Jesper does this too, although his face is distraught for apparently very different reasons. 

“No!! You know I’m straight.” Kaz replies, tone hushed yet still very much conveying his point. 

“He could have been your gay awakening, how would I have known?!” 

“And what makes you even associate that idea with me?!”

“You got coffee with him.”

“That’s the criteria? Drinking a beverage that I drink every day, several times a day? I wanted coffee, he was there. He doesn’t even have it, the child ordered tea of all things.”

Jesper cuts the end off, quick to jump in.

“Firstly, you’re barely older than him, but— you know his order?!” His concerns raise and he can’t tell why. Surely it shouldn’t matter to him, so why is Jesper so hung up on Wylan’s interactions with other people, with his brother. 

Kaz is suddenly looking up, the details on his face animated. A true lightbulb moment in the works. 

“Do you have a crush on Wylan?” Of all the harsh words and hurtful remarks that Kaz has spewed over the years, somehow this is the one that sends Jesper splintering into pieces. It confirms something that Jesper barely even suspected. 

Kaz turns painfully smug.

“Well I didn’t until you just said that,” he mumbles, trying to make sense of it. The boy in question is perfect; stunning from the most centre of his body, a golden heart in caging ribs which electrifies every cell and nerve, completing every inch of him. His personality shines bright through his dull clothes, orbiting around Jesper frustratingly unintentionally. It’s maddening, and it’s maddening to come to such a realisation so late. Wasn’t it obvious? 

“So you do, then.” Kaz gloats. “Don’t come targeting the innocent bystander next time.”

Jesper snorts despite his squashed up mind. 

“Please, Kaz Brekker and innocent in the same sentence? Must be a first. But can we get back to my crisis?”

“What crisis?”

Jesper glares at him, channelled breaths forcing their way through his teeth, only to realise that he’s completely serious. So much for Kaz being the one with the brain cells. 

“The crisis in which he’s our housemate? Aquintence? Friend? The crisis in which some evil part of me is wishing for more?”

Kaz’s stare is blank. Not bored, but almost. This is one of those times when his manners are irritating and Jesper would really quite like to punch him in the face. 

“So what? You like him, you’re a likeable person. What’s the problem?”

“While I’m honoured that you just half-complimented me for possibly the first time ever, there are big problems! I can’t tell him, he doesn’t like me back.”

“You won’t know that. Worse case scenario, you stay friends. You’re already at that point so really it can only get better from here.”

 Jesper giggles despite his big age of eighteen years old, rolling onto the floor and springing himself over to Kaz’s bed.

“Back the fuck away.”

Taking the hint with a smile on his face, Jesper cuddles back up into his duvet, wrapped up like he’s cosplaying a Christmas present. He lies there snug, toasting up and taking his true form of a marshmallow when Kaz interrupts his solace. 

“I can’t believe you were jealous of me.”

“Shut up,” he tries to retort, only non-threatening muffles making it through the soft fabric. 

He lies and thinks and thinks and thinks, relaying every touch, every smile and speech, anything he can conjure up between the pair. He imagines copper hair and sees only the too-long fringe and loose waves, crimping in shape like sideways curtains. If that’s the case, then aren’t his eyes the sun? Jesper doesn’t dive too deep, but the flow of memories continues to jog. Tea at Wylan’s old flat, comical messages radiating awkwardness and warmth, trips to the corner shop, lunch in cafes. Everything ordinary becomes extra when he’s added to the picture. Jesper is positively gone for him.

00:07am, Nina 

Nina was already in bed, ready to sleep, looking forward to it. Then came the thoughts.

She stands in their partially furnished bathroom, head throbbing and eyes red. Staring into the mirror, she pinches the rolls on her hips again, then again and again. It’s been half an hour— an hour at a push. Nina is exhausted, limbs useless and heavy yet she uses them anyways, grabbing the spots she hates most. It’s a stupid game without any real outcome, bruised skin aside. 

The next step is sitting down, ancient looking stone tiles freezing her. Nina knows she can’t go back to her room yet. The tears still come in unexpected bouts and she doesn’t dare present herself to Inej in such a state. Neither would she wake her up. 

Her good intentions become overruled, silent footsteps entering the unlocked bathroom. Inej has the look of a blameless rabbit, downturned mouth being a neutral pout. She kneels, wiping gentle thumbs over her eyes, ignoring the flakes of mascara on her cheeks and taking action for her comfort first and foremost. Part of Nina smiles for the kindness, the other part sympathising for the version of Inej that has been in the same scenario, knowing how to make it better from experience. There’s something so achingly honest about pain that isn’t your own. 

“What’s happened?” She asks, and Nina can tell that she’s trying her absolute best to infer nothing from the rolled up shirt and rolled down trousers. 

“Nothing, just up for the toilet.”

“Oh yes, the typical forty minute toilet crying sessions. I’m familiar.”

“So you get it then. Great.” Nina shoots back, trying to change the subject in her usual joking way. She receives only an unimpressed look. At times like these it’s highly inconvenient to have smart friends.

“And the real answer?” Inej presses.

“I’m not sure I have one. I felt disgusting so I came to do something about it.”

“And did it work?” Inej says, eyes locked on Nina’s puffy ones. Not patronising, just indicative.

“Clearly not.”

Inej nods, eyes wandering over the bathroom.

“Are your pajamas a problem?”

“I don’t know. Yeah?”

“Okay. Then we’ll change them to looser ones, and then you can sleep.”

“Wow, so simple dimple easy peasy.”

Inej stays calm, snark disregarded. They go up to their room and Nina gets a hoodie for over her pajamas. They’re sleeping within minutes.

Chapter Text

Monday, Inej

Inej got to sleep last night at three am.  She woke up this morning at five. The key to success is preparation and so she has planned every second of the day in twenty minute increments, writing it out in her journal in table format. While theoretically her first class doesn’t start until eight, that’s only three hours to stretch away every ounce of stress and tension, cook a carb-filled breakfast that won’t let her crash mid lecture, quadruple check the bag that she packed last night and sit through the trip to the campus, allowing for traffic. All of this is jolly and good until you factor in that to follow the schedule to its fullest, Inej would need to have made breakfast by seven. Regardless of her silent walking abilities, no amount of stealth can save her from a screaming kettle, and she would rather not wake up the entire household. Especially not Kaz. 

Inej, in typical Inej fashion, panics. If she had thought ahead, Inej might have foreseen this issue and prevented it, but she didn’t. Like molten rock, heat rises through her torso, begging to escape through pores and cracks. Her throat is a volcano, lava rising to the tip of her tongue, yet only smokes of rasped breaths come out. They’re ragged now, tugging and releasing her chest in a patternless rhythm. She can’t breathe. Inej can’t breathe and she’s certain to die. 

A new inkling of worry layers atop of everyone else. She’s loud. Her lack of oxygen is loud. It’s obvious. Nina’s going to wake up and she’ll fret needlessly and be dramatic and soon everyone will be forcing her to slow down, take a moment for herself, and she can’t slow down; it’ll put her behind schedule; and she can’t afford to be behind. Not on her first day.

Realistically, Nina sleeps deeper than the dead. She’s not likely to wake up, but still the worry persists. Inej slowly stands up from her bed and slips out of their room and down the stairs, entering the kitchen with grand cathedral level of next to no volume. Straight to the tap, she shoves her wrists under the cool water, counting down from ten as she holds her breath, then exhaling before repeating. Inej’s hands are sweating, resulting in a lukewarm concoction dripping down her fingertips. Breathing is yet to return to stability. She attempts to recall a verse or a quote that speaks to her but only accusations of her own stupidity come to mind. Eight, seven, six, five— another stubborn inhale forces itself unwantedly. Inej shuts her eyes and holds it. Ten, nine, eight, seven.

It’s uncomfortable. Her skin has adjusted to the cold and the water no longer has an effect. She splashes it to her face. To the pulse point on her neck. She can’t breathe.

Eventually, Inej does. She continues on with her morning because she has to, because time didn’t slow like it does in the movies and because she has now lost twenty minutes. A third of an hour wasted. Inej wrote this down in her journal, scoring it (nearly) out. She doubts that the symbolism will work, but she hopes that it will desperately with the perspective that success is success, even if it’s only placebo. 

She cracks an egg into the smaller frying pan, Richmond veggie sausages into the other. As she quietly tears open a packet of soda bread, a small black cat brushes up against her legs, spiky fur undeniably soft. How the fuck did a cat get into the house? Inej keeps an eye cast down on it as she gets out a knife and a plate, sharing the look that a mum would give to a child that has threatened the walls with crayons. It is cute though. 

She put the bread into the big frying pan and leaves both to sizzle, pulling herself up onto the bench. An extended leg invites the little shadow to join her, creating a ramp. And so she sits cross-legged on the kitchen counter, someone’s cat laying languidly on her lap. It makes her feel a little better.

Kaz is the next to ascend, not even batting an eye at the scene. It’s odd that he doesn’t acknowledge the odd, but maybe Inej is just looking at it the wrong way. As he fills his coffee cup with no more than a muttered ‘morning’, she conspires for the first time that this is not a man with a gigantic superiority complex, but just a man with a ritual that he lives to follow. Inej likes this explanation. She decides that his gloves and barks and morning coffees are just boxes on a checklist that he must tick. There’s a comfort that she finds in it.

Matthias

Matthias chose to have morning classes where possible to convenience his shifts at the dog rescue. This also means going in the car with Kaz and Inej. Emphasis on Kaz, who only enlightened the group that he has an eight am lecture five minutes before leaving. Matthais would have taken Inej in his car, but the ignorant devil in an overcoat insisted on his vehicle instead. 

Matthais sits in the backseat of the truck, gaze set on the landscapes through the window, finding equal levels of beauty in both the vast sky and the estate houses. He has always valued reliability and this is one of the few things in life that is guaranteed. He finds that even if a tsunami took over the countryside or a hurricane tore down the city, Matthais could still see an angelic loveliness in the crumbles; could still write pages on the destruction as though it his lover. He understands that this could be inferred to convey a sadness, but that’s not how he views it whatsoever. Still, there’s beauty to that, too. The way that ten people could view the same thing, yet all of them see it differently. 

Three introverts in a car means that silence ensues. Matthias considers making small talk, conjures a few conversation points in his head, but ultimately concludes that it’s pointless. He’s already got Inej as his friend, and he has no desire to recruit Kaz. He reckons that they can both take the blow of silence.

They drop Inej off at the east side entrance first, reversing out through the gate to head to the north. English and business are in the same building for some reason. It takes a moment for Matthias to wrap his head around, associating business with fractions and bar charts; though the more he thinks the more it makes sense. Most are built on lies and swindles and so it’s not so surprising that the craft of writing a good sentence comes into play. Not everyone is naturally charming— not even businessmen. Besides, a poetic lie is better believed than a blunt one. 

They pull into a parking space by the entrance, a little sign poking up from the grass reading priority. 

“Kaz, I think this is for staff and senior students.” 

“No. It’s priority parking.”

Matthais is agitated, jaw clenching.

“Yes, that is what I meant. It’s for priority people.” He says, voice smooth.

“Yeah? And wouldn’t that include a cane user?” Kaz snaps, turning around in his seat just to glare. 

“Yes obviously. But you need that sort of thing pre-booked.”

“Sorted.” Kaz bites, slamming down his blue placard and the university specific one with more force than strictly necessary.

Matthias is fine to be wrong, but he’s not fine with that attitude. Deep breath. 

“Clearly.”

They get out separately, going their different ways. Matthias doesn’t know what to expect of the building, not having attended a single open night. To him it was obvious to go here. Norway to the UK is a big enough distance, he refuses to move away from his family again and this is the closest university to the village.  

He walks through the hallway in an attempt to find where he should be, though his chances are significantly reduced as he stares up in awe at the architecture of stone arches. Matthias imagines the people who hand carved each ridge hundreds of years ago, admiring their handiwork as he is overwhelmed by the lineage that it inspires. He’s captured, enamoured, sensible enough to not be late. 

Matthias finds the lecture hall and is majorly disappointed. The white walls do nothing to match the art that’s only feet away, fluorescent lights killing the ambience violently. From the posture of his classmates, the fold down chairs do little for comfort and suddenly Matthais is internally scolded for romanticising anything ever at all. 

There’s a long, long list of required reading on the board. This is then followed by a subheading of recommended reading below it which is practically twice as long. Matthais can’t wait. 

11:24am, Wylan

The other three of them don’t have class until twelve, but Jesper has to pick some list up from Arthur beforehand, so they’ve left early. Wylan’s rather proud of Nina for getting out the door without yelling, and simultaneously wearing both shoes. Based on their last week in the same house, it doesn’t seem like a practice she’s overly skilled at. Maybe Inej has been drilling it into her.

“Why didn’t you just come with me and Kaz when we went?” Wylan asks. His voice is a little louder to be heard over Nina’s slurps of her slushie, and a little higher pitched with nerves. 

“I already know my needs, I don’t see the point in having a meeting to discuss them. Obviously you didn’t know so that would’ve been good for you, and Kaz’s change a lot depending on the venue so he needed it too, but it was just as easy for me to email a list of accommodations.”

Wylan hums thoughtfully, digging the straw into his own to source more flavour— the blue one, of course —and ignoring the painful slash of plastic on ice to the best of his abilities. 

“So what are we going for then?” Nina asks. Hers is red, blending in with her shirt. Great for spillages, Wylan thinks.

“To collect the confirmation list of said accommodations. Basically just making sure that they gave me what I ask for and a last chance to change anything.”

Jesper looks bafflingly relaxed for such a conversation, except a few awkward swallows which began long before the topic was brought up. Those in themselves are strange enough to warrant investigation, but Wylan chooses to preserve his mental capacity for the day. Other than this, Wylan practically reeks of jealousy. It  may not reach surface level, but he can’t fathom how Jesper talks about these things to multiple people like it’s as mundane as the weather, like he’s a teacher teaching the same booklet to three different classes in a row. Where’s the shame?

Jesper’s slushie is mixed red and blue, summing up Jesper as a whole. He doesn’t make decisions, he never sticks to one colour or does anything plain. Wylan fixates his stare on the swirl forming purple, his thoughts swirling similarly. 

What if he spills a chemical and uplifts the flooring with acid? What if he drops a boiling tube? What if he gets lost? What if he’s expected to speed through word equations because they’re not sentences? What if he gets lost, and he can’t even follow the signs? 

Clearly, it’s all going swimmingly.

Jesper parks them in the library car park, claiming that it’s the closest free one. Wylan wouldn’t know, but agrees anyways. They cross at the traffic lights, waiting for the beeps before making the run for it. There’s a slight drizzle in the air, but time is a bigger pressure than weather at the moment. The few curls that it sticks to his face prove to be a distress though, so maybe the weather is the original villain. 

Nina and him walk Jesper to the disability office, Wylan throwing the most barbarous dirty look towards Arthur as he walks out, Nina following suit with full-fledged support with no context. 

Jesper gets what he needs, thankfully, but the battle has only begun. Onwards to class. 

Chapter Text

6:13pm, Kaz

Kaz spent the first half of his lecture today listening to information he already knows and spent the second half twiddling a coin. It shouldn’t come as a shock to say that he’s now irritated, residual boredom clinging to him like the pain in his leg as he lounges on their second hand sofa. No one ever got around to painting the off-white walls, substituting colour with photo frames and ornaments. Kaz hates it, but he hates caring about such things even more and therefore keeps quiet about it, letting someone else bring up what they’re all thinking when the time is right.

Jesper is sitting on the other end of the sofa, expertly leaving a large gap between them as he plays a Wordle on his phone. Kaz thinks it’s the daily New York Times one, but he can’t see well enough to be sure. Despite his foul mood, crippling nerves and prickling leg, Kaz was getting on with it. Was. 

Wylan, seemingly unsuspecting, sits down between them. An entire arm, an entire side’s worth of contact, lurching him into the cold waters. Choppy waves, his brother's dead body. He’s in the water, orange arm bands providing him safety from the vast depths of the ocean. Jordie, plummeting. Bubbles, bubbles, then nothing at all. No breath. His body floats up beside him mockingly, showing that is was possible, though only moments too late.

Kaz forces a break between him and the body, hitting hard in self defense. There are cries, distinct, belonging to someone he can’t pinpoint. 

It comes back to him like it always does. His breathing gone, his stomach malfunctioning, his memories repeating. He’s going to be sick. Yes. He is sick. That’s how it’ll get him. There might be no water but there’s always a way. A way to take him down.

Cold, freezing cold, to his wrists. Brief, but long enough to royally screw him over. There is water now, aligning with his veins. There’s shouting. Is it lifeguards?

Kaz throws up, feeling worse for it. It can’t be lifeguards because they know his name. Jordie? No; he’s dead. The water is rising, to his chest, to his neck, above his head, engulfing him, like it’s a phagocyte and he’s the bacteria. He sucks in a final breath, waiting for it to take him completely.

The silence never comes, and he doesn’t acquire recognition for another while; not until their living room develops in front of him like a PowerPoint transition. It seems as though the room has been divided into two groups: two people crowded around him, two people crowded around Wylan. A hyperventilating Wylan. Perfect.

Jesper and Inej are kneeling in front of him, ice cubes pooling in Inej’s palm and Jesper’s wide eyes popping out of their sockets. He dreads the questions that are sure to follow, and they will follow, judging by the curiosity written over Inej’s face which is now morphing into something more apologetic. He also notices his clean clothes and therefore lack of sick which he was sure to have produced. 

Exhaustion, familiar and unrelenting, coats his body as if it’s a wax seal that can only be scraped off. He doesn’t have the energy to. Not to apologise to Wylan, or to ask for the fill in of what he’s missed. 

Inej gets up and switches with Nina who now takes her place. Kaz talks.

“Is Wylan sorted?”

“Yeah I mean you can’t be hitting people but, shit, Kaz, are you okay?” Jesper says, almost leaning forward before stopping himself. 

“Peachy. Didn’t I throw up?”

“Yeah, Jesper put the bin on standby as soon as you started…reacting.”

“…Thanks.”

Kaz shrinks back a bit, despising that he does. He’s not blind to the pointed look that Jesper is portraying, along with a spider dish of sympathy. Still, Kaz gets the message. It’s not one that he’s fond of.

He directs his words to Nina, but speaks loud enough that the others will hopefully hear. He’d rather not repeat it.

“I didn’t mean to whack him. I have haphephobia and he touched me. Yous can’t touch me.”

Jesper grins like a proud father. You would think Kaz had just won the sack race on sports day. Nina’s face goes through a fleet of emotions, showing something raw then concealing it with a clinical neutrality.

“Okay, we won’t touch you then. But it’s Wylan you should be apologising to.”

Kaz doesn’t respond. They should be grateful for what they got. 

Wylan

In all fairness, Wylan didn’t know that he was doing anything wrong and there was zero ill intent, even if he did hear Matthias mutter ‘karma’ under his breath with a little more accent than usual. One minute he was picking out a playlist, the next—

Well, the next he was quivering on the floor, petrified that the next hit would come from his father’s hand. That there would be a next hit at all. 

The irony of it, is that Wylan knows that he’s not in the Van Eck study, or even in a tutoring room. He can tell the difference. The problem lies in that his body doesn’t know. It lacks Wylan’s five senses and draws conclusions from only the data presented directly to it. Saw the strike to his arm and made a quick link back to the last time that happened. It’s basic technology, really, and it drives him mad.

It drove him to tears in front of the people he’s been trying so hard to be normal for. Reduced him to choked sobs and sweating hands, rendered completely useless— just like the child he once was. Every contracting of Nina’s arms around him or Matthias’s reassuring words only pulled him out of the simulator for a few moments, the plunge back into childhood getting deeper each time. He silently begged for an end to it, probably vocally at points to. It worked, at last, yet he doesn’t feel all that much better than before. 

Kaz shifts slightly, angling his body towards where Wylan is curled up on the floor, knees drawn to his chest. Despite trauma and all the serious stuff, Wylan struggles not to laugh at the situation itself. Kaz Brekker, sorry? He didn’t think it possible. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Sorry.”

And while Wylan is most certainly not okay, and while a brief apology won’t make him okay, he replies earnestly. He really is pissed though. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Conversation over, they manoeuvre into comfier positions. 

Wylan sits on the armchair, slightly squished as both him and Inej fill the cushioned semicircle. A blanket has been draped over them (Matthias’s idea) and his headphones are placed over his ears (Jesper’s idea.) On one hand, he’s living his dream. Wylan has never felt so understood or cared for. On the other hand, he has walked into a nightmare. Very few things irks Wylan more than being infantilised. He doesn’t need help to tuck himself in. What’s next, being fed with airplane noises?

Fortunately that’s not the case, but reality comes close. Pot Noodles are brought over for each of them and even though the guilt eats at him, Wylan can’t force an opinion on them. Sure, he’s thankful to be looked after, but it’s been filled with too much water and it’s mushy the whole way through. He pokes a few holes with his fork to feel better, and when asked why he didn’t eat his dinner, Wylan replies with ‘I prefer my noodles not floating.’ 

The true testament comes later. A room full of six people should never be so quiet. Even bright, chatty Jesper seems committed to some pledge of silence, coffee number three cupped in his hands. Someone should probably stop that but nobody does. It’s not like it’s making him hyper or anything anyways.

With a twist of horror, Wylan completes the puzzle of today’s recent events. All arrows point to him; the bearer of shame. The initial domino that set off the effect. He’s ruined just about everything in a matter of seconds. He should win a medal for that; it’d be his first ever award. 

Inej moves her legs to fold overtop of his own thighs, glancing at him for permission before laying down the full weight. She’s probably paranoid now, he thinks, which is silly because he’s never been anything but receptive to contact. She would know if he was averse to it. But, he chides, Wylan didn’t know that Kaz is. Perhaps you never know people completely. 

He allows it, of course, and the small weight helps a little, dropping the fluttering bugs in his nervous system to the ground. Nina picks up conversation, asking about how their first days went. 

His morning was just as bad as his night. His professor’s title-winning teaching methods consists of a slideshow and minimal talking, leaving Wylan to fend for himself as they were instructed to ‘take their own notes’. This task, while simple in concept, is virtually impossible when presented with words he can’t read and next to no spoken ones. 

Brilliant day all ‘round. 

7:08pm, Jesper

Jesper’s hangnails are now hang-fingers, bright red flesh striping vertically down his skin. His coffee is now drunk, and upon trying to refill it he notices that the little sachets for the machine have been replaced by a written-on napkin, saying ‘give the caffeine a rest—K.B. xx’. Jesper crumples it into the bin immediately and storms into his bedroom, very much not in the mood to plaster on a smile . 

He paces the same five steps until he starts feeling a little crazy, getting into his bed instead and assuming ball form. That’s when the thoughts start to really race. 

Did he react how he should have? Was it right to go to Kaz instead of Wylan? This he can reason with, because the others seemed to manage Wylan just as well as Jesper could have. That wouldn’t have been the case for Kaz.

But there’s more. 

Was he too nice to Kaz? Too harsh? Did he push him to far to explain himself? Is he really trying to parent him, like Kaz has suggested before? 

It gnaws at him from the centre out, like a book worn starting it’s tunnel at the climax. He gets up, returning to his pacing, shaking out his hands as if that will shake off the rest of his issues too. 

He feels nauseous, rising in his oesophagus, threatening to spill but never carrying through. Jesper’s sweating, pits stained and hands sticky. Every positive thought gets brutally knocked down by ten negative thoughts. It’s scary, when your brain overpowers you. 

On top of everything, because evidently everything else isn’t enough, his heart has declared itself a drum at one-sixty beats, though even after eighteen years of practice it still manages to skip some beats. Typical percussion behaviour. 

He works out that his anxiety symptoms are giving him anxiety, and now he’s anxious about that too. He sees no finish line, and so he returns to bed, lasts five minutes, then goes back to the living room. 

Only Matthias and Kaz are left and are now having a non-officiated staring contest. Jesper waits by the door and watches, seeing neither of them take a breath at any time. The atmosphere is solid, hundreds of degrees away from liquid or gas. Jesper would feel safer in the shooting range. 

“What are yous up to?” He says casually, faking a casual entry.

“Nothing. I was letting Wylan have our room to himself for a little while.” Matthias answers, tearing away his gaze.

“You left my cane on the table. Assuming you lifted it out of the way.”

Jesper laughs.

“You could’ve just asked Matthais to pass you it instead of being stranded for an hour.”

Then, scarily in sync, both of them glare at him. Point understood.

Chapter Text

10:12pm, Inej

Inej has questions. Why did Kaz react so extremely? Sure, he said that he has a phobia, but hitting someone is more akin to the ghastly rumours spread about him than the living human that she has recently become accustomed to. And for Wylan, why did he react so extremely too? She doesn’t doubt that Kaz can pack a punch, but the state that he was in was in no way proportionate to the injury. A bruise at most, probably blossoming a yellow-green by now, she suspects. So why? 

Then of course, there’s her own worries. 

How, in the very few opportunities to help someone, has she messed it up every time? Last time she had tried to help his leg pain which had only resulted in being snapped at. Looking back, she may have been a tad touchy —in the literal sense— and therefore it was fully her fault regardless of whether she knew his trigger at that point in time. Inej is yet to figure out this time’s fault, but something about the ice to his pulse that always helps her so well caused him to panic more. Who knows, maybe he’ll have a round three and she can reflect again next time. 

She does feel slight guilt at that, sending a prayer up in apology before twisting around to face Nina and slipping into easy conversation. Nina, who is yet to glance up from her scroll on Vinted, mirrors her and strikes up the start of their talking. Nothing too upbeat, but enough to tie over any possible awkward pauses and keep both minds occupied. Or Inej’s, at least. Maybe it’s egotistical of her to think that she’s interesting or important enough to distract Nina. Inej should really remind herself that she gets to share a room with Nina Zenik and be grateful for it without yearning for more. 

The mood seems to dampen impossibly further, but it's as though Inej is the only one that notices. She finds it strange and ponders how the other seems fully oblivious to any tonal shift. 

Bolting upright from her bed and terrifying Nina, Inej is immediately and inexplicably energised. Like the Duracell bunny, but if it was high and just won the lottery. A perfectly genius idea erupts and of course, it must be carried through. 

“Reckon we should go get slushies?”

Nina’s eyes light up. 

“We should always be getting slushies. What are we even doing in life if we’re not getting slushies, honestly.”

Inej fully agrees, grabbing her phone off of their nightstand and opening the group chat. She stops herself before sending anything, conscious of not forcing anything on anyone. She knows how that feels. 

“Is it good to ask everyone else or do you want it just us?”

“I don’t know if anyone else will be up to leaving but definitely ask. Maybe text it though, I’m not feeling it’d be received well to ask to their faces”

Inej hums, already on it.

University Housing 2024

[02/09/24][10:29pm]

Inej G: Me and Nina are getting slushes, does anyone want to come with?

Jes: YES obv

Wylan: Can you bring me one back please?

Inej G: Ofc

Matthias Helvar: Same for me please.

Jes: What colour?

Matthias Helvar: Red.

Zenik: Kaz are you coming or even want one brought back?

Jes: he said he wants one brought back

Zenik: And he couldn’t have typed that because…?

Jes: he threw his phone across the room and can’t get up to get it

Zenik: Yeah but YOU can get up to get it.

Jes: nuh uh uh. He must learn the natural consequences of his actions

Inej G: No gentle parenting from Mr Fahey, noted.

Wylan: Are we going to skip over the part where he threw his phone across the room?

Zenik: It’s Kaz, we don’t question it

Nina

Both she and Inej stand on the outer side of Matthias’s and Wylan’s door like trick or treaters, giggling obnoxiously but trying to knock quietly so as to not disturb Wylan. Matthias opens, of course, and looks perplexed for all of ten seconds.

“No.”

“I’m an excellent driver.” Inej replies, the living saint that she is. 

“Remember last time you took my car?” Matthias combats exasperatedly. 

“Hey, I didn’t make the tire go flat!”

“Not physically, but the energies are still there.”

“The energies?!” Inej turns to Nina dramatically. “We’ve corrupted him.” 

“We have! We’re incredible.” Nina herself is also in hysterics. What will be next? Vibes? Auras? Matthias is surprising them all.

He shakes his head, disappointment and frustration mixing into a questionable colour.

“No, no. No to…” he waves his hand floppily in search of a description, “Whatever this is. And no to the car.”

“Jesper can drive it instead,” Inej adds. There’s slushes on the line, they must get a yes.

“That would be almost worst. He drives on non-roads.”

“We’ll insist on no short cuts.” Nina’s very convincing. 

He looks defeated.

“Fine, take it.” He rumbles begrudgingly. Matthias turns back into their room and returns with a jingling hand, dropping the keys into Inej’s.

“Thanking you!” Nina calls out behind her, heading down the stairs in path of Inej. Jes should be by the door by now.

The stairs, quite unfortunately, behold a certain power over her; every joint suffering some sort of anguish, every moment decreasing her future mobility. It binds her to a specific step for a moment, waiting for the throbbing pace to slow and then continuing on. The recovery period is short enough to escape notice but long enough to shadow her for hours. 

Nina’s young. These things shouldn’t be a problem for her, not for another sixty years. Anger is inevitable, grief, misery. A drink would numb it— bring out her true personality without any pesky anxiousness getting in the way. Something a little stronger than a slush. The possibilities pool in her mind, teasing their way to her mouth where it imagines the taste: the texture of silky liquid; the crisp feeling in her throat. Nina longs for just another drop of it.

Pulled through the bush of her mind, Jesper is nudging her out of the house. She feels scraggly still, despite no physical changes. Non-existent thorns prick at every millimetre of exposed skin, summing up her own ridiculous problem. Nina can’t just be happy, always has to make problems for herself. 

In the passenger seat of the car she sees that Jesper is way too smug to be driving, joy puffing out of him like an automatic air freshener and taking over the small space. Inej, dutifully placed in the backseat, is clearly the safest option but doesn’t interject. Nina has a temper peak of jealousy, because who blessed her with such selflessness? It’s something Nina clearly doesn’t possess. 

They get to the corner shop precisely seven minutes before the eleven pm closing hour. The rush begins to fill up six cups and scan them through the recently installed and slightly temperamental self-service tills. There’s an even greater panic of how many of each colour they need, resuming to sort their own then figure out the other’s. 

“We didn’t ask what Wylan and Kaz want.” Nina says, itching from the inside out. The alcohol is just a few aisles over. She tries to re-fix her focus on the task.

“They both like the blue.” Jesper supplies. 

Huh. That works.

The three of them work through the rest of the process, not a thought in the world as the pajama-clad trio march across the street, each carrying two slushes. 

With a struck of sickness it occurs to her that she probably looks fat, accentuated by the sugar filled items in her hands— twice the size of a regular portion. It would have been best to change her clothes, too. Even a jumper or a hoodie to cover up the worst of it. Then there’s the slicing pain that is searing achingly slow up her arms, originating and expanding from her wrists. She pictures it to look like Elsa’s icicles carving through her flesh with a driven force. The image does nothing to help.

Wednesday, 5:21am,  Matthias

Matthias never gained the acquired taste for Pilates, but he nervously invited Inej to run with him on the mornings that she hasn’t already got booked up. It took a lot of working himself up to just ask, not because of some legitimate anxiety or even the speaking part, but because he had always associated running with boys. As a thing for men and not women. So surely even if he’s not the one committing the act, it would be just as bad for him to recommend it. Matthias isn’t like that though. He doesn’t want to be. Instead, he hypes himself up for days, offering pep talks to the mirror whilst embodying a football coach in an American movie. 

Overcoming raging fears, he did it. While the sun has barely begun to rise, he is filling his and Inej’s water bottles while she ties her shoes and hair up. It’s only their first go at it, but the rhythm feels natural and the light is warm, and it's moments like these that he could write poems upon poems about, filling a full tree’s worth of notebooks. 

There’s not enough time in a day for passion, and so he snaps a quick picture through the window along with one of a square of the kitchen, then beckons Inej to leave as he holds open the front door. 

“Are we walking first for a few minutes?” Matthias questions. He doesn’t want to assume. Doesn’t know if she stretched first, or maybe she has a pre-established routine and runs a lot. Maybe she is relying on his. 

“Yeah, maybe five?”

“Sounds good.” His voice might not have been the problem before but it’s certainly posing one now. It’s early, his accent is pure and sleepy and relaxed, completely natural and completely uncontrollable. There’s no hiding the difference, not until breakfast at the soonest. 

Matthias becomes confused as she bends down to pick up a close-to-dead flower. It’s lying in the middle of the footpath and has likely been trampled over, yet someone has gravitated to it as if a newly opened lily. Matthias does find the flower beautiful, but the human act towards it is even more so. Nature in all its forms creates and connects.

“While I am not judging at all, what are you going to do with that?” He asks, as least judgy as he can.

“It’s for my journal.”

“…Journal? Like a science thing?” 

Inej shakes her head, provoking further bafflement.

“No it’s like, a diary, but instead of only writing daily accounts you get to write anything in it.”

“You write anything? But what if it is nonsense?”

“Yeah just whatever you feel like I guess. And you can stick things into it, or draw like how I’m going to draw around this flower, or print out photos for it.”

“So it’s…Instagram on a notebook?”

“Yeah, with a combination of Pinterest and the Notes App in there too. Plus it doesn’t matter if you don’t like a page, just cover it up with a sticky note or rip it out.”

“I think I would like to have one too. Can I get one too?”

Inej smiles a bit too much and oh, no. She thinks he’s silly. Matthais should’ve known better than to ask.

“Why would you need to ask? Yeah, we’ll get one tonight. Or the weekend.”

Oh. That’s kind.

Their five minutes is soon up and they begin the meat of their run, starting with a slower jog before speeding up. They keep pace with each other well and he can feel his body doing its job and he’s going to get a journal soon. Content is superior to happy.

Chapter Text

2:34, Wylan

Wylan has been struggling, actively, since his eyes opened drearily when the cucumber-shaped alarm clock on his nightstand beeped obnoxiously to wake him. That was only the beginning, and now the too-cold floorboards on his bare feet seem only half as significant as his current problem. Overstimulation is horrific at the best of times; and one time he ran his fingertips over the cheese grater, being the curious child he was, just to find out what would happen. Ever since, as a teen and eventual adult, it’s what comes to the forefront of his mind when the overload starts kicking it. His brain works in comparisons, and nothing else replicates the feeling quite as well. 

Itching skin and beaded blood on his fingers are mild now; the preferable option. He’s yet to find a comparison to serve the mess that he’s in. 

He had a class in the lab for the first time, following his twelve o’clock lecture. There was no real substance to it, the main objective being to familiarise the group with the room, go over safety, and set up the experiment for next day. A gradual transition? Sounds perfect for Wylan— usually. Maybe his nerves weren’t already frayed and his perception not warped, he might have succeeded in the most basic of tasks. Not today, though. Today, when instructed to fill his test tube with twenty five millilitres of a specified alkali, he filled it with forty five millilitres. He heated it over a Bunsen and boom, glass shattered, Bunsen roaring, soot splatted. Thirty plus faces stared at him in disbelief, wide eyed but blank faced like mechanical cartoons. Horror, to his gut.

Wylan is tucked away between two cabinets in a neighbouring storage room, identical to how he looked standing shaken in the lab. His white coat is shoved up to his elbows, goggles pushed into his curls, arms wrapped around his waist. He searches desperately for pressure, pressing his back backwards and his toes forwards, creating maximum tension as the firm surfaces return the press. He cries pitifully, occasionally clawing at any available skin when the input isn’t enough. 

He then cries some more for good measure.

Wylan is usually quite good at numbers. They’ve never given him as much suffering as letters do and it’s a sacrifice worth making for chemistry. Petulant or not, it’s not fair that Wylan couldn’t figure them out at such poor timing. Ordinarily, somewhere he’s used to, Wylan would have easily caught his mistake. At school he could estimate any value easily by a quick glance at the measuring cylinder or tube or beaker. The university has different equipment at a probable higher quality that Wylan isn’t used to working with. Different diameters, different heights, different measurement markings. He couldn’t tell he was wrong and it hurts. And he’s embarrassed himself, he has proved that Jan was always right after all. 

A sharp whack to his thigh, firm and stinging. He hates himself, because he’s putting on the perfect little autism performance. He hates himself, because the ache feels no different from his hand than from his father’s. 

At some point his phone dings, half muted by the fabric barrier of his pocket. He takes it out, recognises the emoji beside it to be Nina’s contact: a disco ball. He doesn’t bother to opening it to listen to its contents, vaguely recalling their earlier conversation to meet up at the west side entrance to wait for Kaz who would basically be doing a lap of the campus to pick them up. Wylan stands, rubbing the back of flopped wrists into his eye sockets in an attempt to pat down puffy undereyes and cleanse him of tears. After going to make a move he halts, a vicious voice seeping into his narrative. What if Nina had messaged to let him know she went home early? Or that she needed to meet up somewhere else? Maybe Inej was getting them instead of Kaz? Wylan huffs a sigh and pushes in his password, clicking on the jumble followed by a silver circle and being at least semi satisfied when the right chat opens, he lets it read the text aloud. 

She was only letting him know she’s there. Fabulous. 

Wylan heaves himself to the intended location, fixing a smile on his face and an upright posture as he nears Nina. She nudges him slightly, eyebrows cast slightly downwards, but launches into a recount of her day when he doesn’t react. Okay, this works at least. Gotta love her. 

Kaz

Kaz is completely trapped when a group shopping trip is planned without his notice, coinciding with the end of everyone’s classes and therefore conveniently leaving him, as the driver, with no choice. Inej is the only one not on campus today and is apparently taking Matthias’s car to the shopping centre to meet them. Jesper, Nina, Wylan and Matthias are packed into the truck, pleading with him as if he hasn’t already made up his mind to agree. Kaz, however frustrated he may be at their childish puppy faces, is taking great delight in heading slightly in the direction of home with the concealed knowledge that the roundabout will take them back on course to the shops. He swears to god, they’re pouting. 

“Kaz you have to, it’s already planned.” Nina tries determinedly, looking earnest yet fighting.

He glares in return through the rear view mirror.

“We need food for the cupboards, we all need to be there for shopping until we know what everyone likes. Please Kaz,” Wylan tries too. It’s the first they’ve spoken since Monday and Kaz is surprised to see that he doesn’t seem off-put or in fact acting any different than normal. Maybe a little quiet, but it’s not like Wylan was ever rambling away. 

“Please please please,” Jesper begs. Wow, Kaz would love all of this on film.

“Yes, fine. We can go to the shops if you’re not going to shut up about it,” Kaz says, feigning begrudgement a little too well. 

The car erupts into a fanfare-like cheer, arms in the air. 

Then a slight halt.

“Wait, Kaz, you don’t actually have to say yes. You’re the one driving.” Jesper reminds, either concerned or suspicious. 

“Make up your bloody mind,” Kaz mumbles, eyeing Jesper murderously.

“Yep! Right, yeah, sounds perfect, thanks.”

Kaz snorts, indicating onto the exit leading to the town centre. They cheer once again, rolling the windows down —manually, because the car is old— and waving their hands into the breeze with enthusiastic whoops. Matthias is deservingly being reached across my Nina to get her’s out. Kaz’s mouth twitches with satisfaction as the goat braces himself as firmly back against the seat as he can, avoiding the commotion. A bit of discomfort will do him good. 

“When is Inej getting there?”

“She’s already left, probably will arrive before us,” Nina informs.

“Good. Yous can take the goat’s vehicle on the way back then.”

They all nod solemnly, even Matthias not biting. Good. 

Kaz follows the road for a bit longer, growing colder in the metaphorical sense as he gets colder in the physical one. Any weak reminder of that day is still a reminder that he doesn’t need, and so his mood depletes and he snaps at those in the back seat to roll the windows back up. A therapist told him at fourteen that he’s not naturally cruel, but acting out of self defence. Kaz isn’t sure if he believes it. 

He pulls into the massive car park, most spaces empty but still choosing the spot closest to the door with a hasty gesture to Jesper to put his blue placard up. He allows his cane to be passed to him with minimal hostility, leaning on it heavier than preferred. Memories unregarded, the cold attacks his leg with spirited aggression, turning the festive months into one extended flare up. September isn’t as bad as it gets, but it does get, and he can feel the onset already. So cane in clutch, he guides the group to the entrance like a Brownie leader. Might as well be sixty and climbing up a mountain with a random twig propelling him. Same image.

Jesper

Jesper bear-launches into Inej who has been waiting by the reduced washing baskets for ten minutes apparently, spooking them all as she just appeared through the automatic doors. But naturally, bear hug.

She returns it, but softly, reaching up to smooth her his hair. 

“Any particular reason for such a passionate greeting?” Inej asks with a laugh, pulling back with a few pats to his forearm.

“I haven’t seen you today?” Jesper replies with a screwed up face. His reasoning is obvious. 

“Ah, I see. Adds up.”

Jesper agrees, padding around to walk beside Wylan again.

“How was your day?” He asks him, because Jesper’s day was great. He had a smoothie for breakfast; he got the New York Times Wordle in two guesses; his lecture was all about cognitive and social development in zero to five year olds and he was super interested; Wylan let him feed Fish for the first time and he got to rewatch the start of Boo York, Monster High at lunch. Then on top of all that, he gets to go shopping? 

He thinks he might see Wylan’s face falter, but the lights are bright in here and he can hear at least three separate conversations right now so he doesn’t dwell on it.

“It was good. I had a lecture and lab pretty much straight after each other though, so I’m just tired.”

Jesper thinks that’s a solid reason to be tired. He himself is beyond glad to have dropped chemistry at the first given chance. 

“Fair enough, yeah. Do we know if there’s a specific reason for the spontaneous trip or do we have a genuine food shortage?”

“Umm, I don’t actually know about the food. Matthais said he wanted a journal and let it slip to Nina so I think she dragged everyone into it.”

“That…sounds correct.” Jesper reasons, not surprised at all. “But why a journal?”

“Some random inspiration from Inej’s. I swear the guy’s a poet at heart.” Wylan explained, not quite joking.

“That’s English Lit’ for you.”

They continue to chatter, splitting into pairs or threes, disconnecting then rebranching in new groups each time. Jesper is one of the lucky candidates to end up in the stationary aisle with Matthias. Them and Inej dander up it with an exaggerated slowness, forcing him to observe every detail and every option in a tranquil atmosphere. Sure, there’s the beeping of the shop security system and a staff member being called to till five, but he has the freedom to set his own pace, just how it should be. 

Jesper stands silently while they discuss the benefits of lined journals versus bullet journals. His mind is racing, not necessarily with bad thoughts, but racing. His nails drag down a hangnail far past the nail bed, annoying him profusely. Jesper reminds himself —or his brain— that he’s in a good mood. There isn’t a need for this nonsense. He repeats this to his bleeding pointer finger for emphasis, the absurdity of it way over his head as he focuses on bigger issues. 

That is, until an even bigger, bigger issue comes into play.

“Matthias, you need stationary!” Jesper exclaims. “You need to experience the joy of stationary.”

“Yes, and how do you think I’ve been doing any sort of work for my entire life?” Matthias replies. Is that sass?

“With ugly pens and pencils. A neon yellow highlighter. Neon yellow isn’t your vibe!”

Matthias looks humorously offended, Inej is very pleased.  

“That’s what I’ve been trying to drill into him!” Inej supports, angling her body towards the pencil case items.

“But I do not need new ones when my ones are nice and work. They’re not worth any less because they’re not shiny.”

“Aw, Matthias, of course they’re equally precious. But you’re going to treat yourself! Pick a highlighter set.” Jesper wiggles his eyebrows, pointing to four different packs.

“No.”

“Pick. One.” Jesper threatens.

Matthias’s shoulders rise slowly, slowly, then sink back down like the air going out of an inflatable. He reaches for the pastel pack of four.

“Yay! A win for Matthias!” Jesper cheers. Has he been doing that a lot today? He’s happy. 

Inej nods, smiling wide.

“Very great choice.”

“Thank you.” Matthias answers, glancing down at them again and then the cardboard plops into the plastic wheelie basket. No one should look that nervous over buying tubed ink.

They get to the tills at some time or other, three baskets worth of stuff combined. The receipt is scary, but Jesper bought berries to make more smoothies and zero scratch cards, so it’s bonuses all around.

Chapter Text

Saturday, Nina

Nina Zenik is a woman of her word and when she declared a few days ago that she would be the first to try Bonnie’s Breakfast’s new breakfast sundae, she meant it. The epic release (advertised only through fliers and with a subheading on the town’s three page newspaper), was said to have a launch time of six am, and while Nina has never once been witnessed to be awake at such an hour you can bet that new records will be set in the name of ice-cream. 

All of this to say that Nina is now up and dressed at half five in the morning, much to the shock of everyone who might ever find out. Inej can’t go with her because of a training session already booked, and Jesper was supposed to but is refusing to wake up, acting like a small child reluctant to go to nursery school. Knowing Matthias is always alive at disgustingly early hours, she barrels into his room expectantly. He’s pruning his odd collection of succulents, expertly pinching away any shrivelling leaves while Wylan lays scarily still in a loosely attempted C shape. 

“Does he always sleep like…that?”

“Like the dead, yeah. But he is usually up by now, so let’s let him lie in and be nice and quiet. How come you’re awake?”

Nina briefly stares at sleeping Wylan, thinking his position is slightly unsettling and disturbingly similar to Wednesday Addams if Wednesday Addams exercised a little more flexibility. 

“I need to be at Bonnie’s Breakfast within the next ten minutes.”

“Not that I am judging any random craving of yours, but how is that my problem?”

“It’s not random! It was a perfectly created and thought out plan. And it’s your problem because I need you to take me.”

“Yes, so well thought out that you also planned transport with more than a two minute warning.”

“Yeah well Jesper clearly isn’t as committed to the plan as I am.”

“I’ll do myself a favour and not question that. You can take my car then.”

“I can’t drive, dumbass. I need you in it.”

Matthias looks shaken to his core, but apparently he’s a man of his word too, not questioning it. He looks back at his plants longingly before grabbing his keys from his drawer and telling her to get out. 

Sitting in the passenger seat of Matthias’s car, Nina allows herself a quick moment of relief, her knees losing the painful tension that has been imposed on her since gaining consciousness this morning. The usual, bearable level of soreness has drastically increased making tasks a greater struggle and paracetamol ineffective. Still, it’s just a flare up, nothing she hasn’t had before— if not worse. A break granted by the soft seat below her is accepted with gratitude, though. 

Matthias speaks up, which is basically unheard of but she supposes that everything new is happening all at once.

“So what do you need from Bonnie’s?”

Aha, so the curiosity got to him.

“The new breakfast sundae is being sold from six. I need it, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Matthias mumbles, but a smile betrays him. “But you said we need to be there for twenty to six.”

“Yeah. So we can be at the front of the queue in case anyone decides to do the same.”

“Because you need it first, of course.”

“Of course! Now you’re getting it.” Nina grins, trying with tremendous effort to conceal the onset of agony reappearing in her knees. What was now freedom has turned restricting, the tight space causing locked joints. Nina reaches down for a lever, pushing feet against the footwell to extend the seat backwards. It creates a little more room but the effort used to do so has caused a new shooting pain, somehow in both legs. She is massively in torment, struggling hard not to show it; her heart corresponding to the situation as always and speeding up. Disloyal bugger. 

Okay, Nina would really like two ibuprofen now. On a realistic level, it won’t do an awful lot, but desperate people do desperate things so she might as well try the easiest. She weighs her options of taking and not taking some, comparing the suffering of physical pain and the suffering of mental pain that would come with Matthias knowing. He’s already been eyeing her suspiciously for a few minutes, piercing hydrangea eyes glancing in her direction with few gaps in between. Nina decidedly settles on doing approximately nothing about it when he beats her to it.

“What’s wrong?”

Wow, way to lay it on heavy from the get-go. Nina has learnt very early that you can’t lie to Matthias and she has done so through experience. He didn’t believe that there was no washing up liquid in the corner shop when she had forgotten to buy some; he knew it was her that had stolen Kaz’s rice crispy buns when she had blamed it on Jes; he knew that Nina most certainly wasn’t ‘fine’ as she had claimed after near fainting. Matthias observes people, learns their tells and twitches, which makes him the perfect lie detector and alarming alike Kaz. Meaning she has no choice but to twist the truth. 

“My legs are just sore, must’ve strained them or something.”

He frowns like a stray animal turned away.

“How did you strain them then, the step into the car?” Matthias looks unimpressed. It’s offensive, honestly, the way she’s being treated like a kid who’s been hogging the electric pencil sharpener. Nina hasn’t been looked at so disapprovingly since school.

“Hilarious. Who knows, could have even been the step at the front door! Or even both combined!”

“I can hear your heart, Nina, what’s wrong?’

“Nothing, I just get a bit sore sometimes. I’m about to take painkillers and then I’ll be fine.” She shakes the small box for emphasis as she pulls it out of her pocket, popping a couple out into her palm.

“That is possibly less reassuring. Why are you hurting?”

“If I knew why then I would fix it, wouldn’t I?” Her words come out harsher than intended. Matthias doesn’t deserve an attitude for simply caring. Nina should be grateful, she thinks, but she’s also sick of trying to explain when it’s an explanation that she is desperate for and has never gotten. “Sorry,” Nina adds, quieter but still there. If he can hear my fucking heartbeats, he can hear me mumble she thinks bitterly. The thought scares her, a slight wobble at the top of the slippery slope of becoming a certain type of mean. The type that she had acted and experienced with way too many girls. 

“It is fine, but someone clearly isn’t. Is whatever this is the same thing as your palpitations and your dizziness?” Matthias is keeping respectably cool, calm and collected. It sort of makes her angry, in a way. The same effect as when you insult someone and they treat you even kinder for it. A stabbing smile.

She bites her tongue, swallowing a few replies because this is her friend. She’s not arguing. 

Especially not when her sundae is on the line and he’s behind the wheel. 

“I never told you I get dizzy.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t see it. Now stop deflecting,” he huffs, pulling into Bonnie’s drive through and up to the window, the rusted grey shutters still covering it. 5:42.

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“When it’s your health everything matters. What have the doctors said?”

“Haven’t gone to them.” Nina answers, chipping away at her nail polish. She doesn’t care, just another needless excuse to redo them. She should treat herself to getting them done in a salon since it’s been so long. Nina deserves a lot of repentance after this conversation. “Will you go get your nails done with me?”

“Yeah sure another day,” he says dismissively. Matthias is never dismissive but it seems extreme measures are being tested. “What do you mean you have not gone to the doctors. That’s the first thing you’re doing when we get home.”

“I really don’t need to. And there’s no chance of getting an appointment that soon, so really it’s pointless and you should forget about it.”

“Maybe not, but you can ring them and get one.”

Nina rolls her eyes. Whether or not she accepts it is up for debate as of this second, but Matthais doesn’t force the matter and they relax into contentment.

The shutter raises at exactly six, Bonnie looking ecstatic to see them already there. Nina is equally as excited to see her too considering she’s nearly seventy and rarely works shifts at the diner anymore, only showing up for special events. She has voluminous curls and floral print shirts in bold colours, smiling with red stained lips and treating every customer as family. Exactly how Nina wishes to end up.

They extend greetings fondly, Nina receiving her breakfast sundae with extra strawberry sauce and two cherries over one. Matthias almost didn’t order one but she could never allow such a crime and was wildly backed up by Bonnie. It was unavoidable, really.

Driving away, Matthias is back to questioning, though fortunately with much better topics in mind.

“What makes this sundae more special than a normal one? And what makes it a breakfast sundae?”

“It’s chocolate, cookies and cream, and strawberry, instead of just strawberry and vanilla. The waffle in the bottom makes it breakfast-y.”

Matthias nods approvingly. It seems she has won him over.

“You could have had an extra half an hour in bed, you know. There was no one else there early.”

Which is true, but Nina refused to be wrong at any moment. So she says “We had to be there for moral support.”

Besides, they might not have gotten to talk otherwise. 

11:33am, Jesper

Jesper feels horrifically guilty, stomach squelching, bile rising up to his mouth. He let Nina down, his mind too groggy at such a time for the anxiety to kick him in and warn him off of sleeping in, of ruining everything. Now the deed is done and he’s got no means of saving their friendship or himself. She must hate him, right? The note on the fridge with a scrawled ‘at Bonnie’s, be back soon, M+N’ clues him in on the fact that she must have taken Matthias instead, and Matthias probably didn’t want to go so therefore he must hate Jesper too now. 

He didn’t hear them come back, still asleep at that point, but both cars are parked at their gate so they must be back and upstairs. He would really like to redeem himself, or try at the very least, but his plans and pits are sweating buckets, and his vocal cords are scratching against each other like a violin and bow. He needs to do something, he reasons, but his feet are rooted to the ground, flamingo slippers stuck down with unjustified strength. Jesper scrolls though Depop to ease his mind a little, because a little can’t hurt. He hits buy on his first few liked items without sending a lower offer first, proceeding to checkout with a total of forty pounds.

Wylan walks into the kitchen causing a whole separate carousel ride in his stomach. He grabs a plate —mismatched, because everyone latched onto individual plates in the charity shop instead of choosing a set—  and begins arranging different types of crackers on it. He glances up to Jesper with his face pulled oddly. 

“What are you up to?” 

“Just about to head up and check in with Nina, she and Matthias are back, right?”

Wylan nods, looking even more confused.

“Yeah. Wait, how did you even know they were out?”

Jesper returns the look, glancing at the fridge in which he had watched Wylan encounter numerous times upon building his mini cheeseboard. He must be super zoned out or oblivious as hell.

“They left a note, is all. See you in a bit,” Jesper explains in his happiest tone, squeezing Wylan’s arm in the same motion as he walks away.

Great, now he has to face Nina.

Upstairs he knocks as a beat of warning, then waltzes in as carefree as he can. Or as well as he can seem. Nina and Inej are facing each other on one bed talking about what appears to be something of importance before rapidly shutting up at his sighting. Probably talking about him and his long list of offences. 

“Sorry I shouldn’t have barged in, but sorry for not going with you this—.” 

Nina cuts him off, her natural excitement twice as enthusiastic as his fake portrayal.

“Doesn’t matter. Thoughts on a group nail appointment?” It’s possibly the brightest Jesper has ever seen her, excluding as children. If that’s all it takes to solve this then he’ll happily do it and more. Selfishly, he also quite likes the idea. His need for acting is plummeting.

“Oh my goodness yes. When and where and yes.”

“The one I usually go to. Half an hour bus, so probably less than that to drive. They’re pretty booked up though so it could be a week or so. You would want to go?”

There’s another thirty pounds down the drain. Twenty if he skips the intricate designs.

“Well duh, I want sparkly nails. Wait, as a group?” 

“It can be bonding! Matthais agreed, Wylan will, and Kaz will if he’s the only one left.”

Matthias agreed. Kaz with a manicure. Jesper laughs.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 8:23, Inej

A week has passed since Nina managed to get a six person availability in the salon, two weeks passed since the start of term. Inej feels majorly unproductive and stuck; her wellyboot in a pothole type situation, only the pothole is academic validation and she is the wellyboot. To combat this she has jam packed her schedule with an extra hour of exercise per day, set her journaling minimum to three pages instead of one, and cranked up the morning stretches from warm up to work out. It might not be increasing her quality of life to a recognisable degree but at least maybe she’ll be high off of endorphins. 

Inej sets about preparing breakfast alongside Wylan. Well, Wylan is making Fish’s breakfast but same thing. She’s mid omelette making —her proper meal to refill on after the pre-gym protein bar— when his distress begins, searching not-quite-frantically through the bread cupboard with a weak hint of nonchalance.

“What can you not find?” Inej asks, staying calm with the knowledge that it might do the same for him. 

“Have you seen the brioche?” He says instead, answering indirectly. 

“Don’t think so, sorry. There’s pain au chocolates there that Kaz got though, they’re pretty much the same thing.”

Wylan nods somewhat out of politeness, grabbing the apple juice carton from the fridge and completely ignoring her suggestion. He sits down at the table with his sad looking glass, fingers tapping up and down the ridges on it.

Inej feels a little put out, like how it feels to answer a question so stupidly in class that the teacher moves straight on. She should have given up on the whole ‘being nice’ thing by now and given in to her misery. Instead she just keeps failing at pitiful attempts, not helping at best and exacerbating things at worst. Inej scores her mind for a line or two of reassurance; for an inkling of wisdom or a drop of humanity. She repeats it over a few times with the hopes of making an impression, stamping it into her membrane. 

She plates her food and brings it to the table, tucking her feet up on the chair. Wylan makes little effort to acknowledge her presence, twisting the knife and pulling the trigger of what is a useless demand to be liked. Her mum would soothe her, as a child, brushing back her hair and massaging in oils with circular rubs. She would praise her differences and reassure Inej’s excellence over what she’d call the ‘foolish duplicates’ in her class. She’s passionate for the justice of her daughter and hates anyone who initiates a snide remark towards her, but she’s never hateful. Never angry, nor does she ever cross the line of her gentleness. Inej should call her tonight. 

Wylan stares in some vague direction behind her, eyes floating around the room as if seeking a source of entertainment that Inej isn’t good or funny or bright enough to provide. 

“Are you not getting food?” She asks, slicing up her own with a knife and fork. She should grab the ground pepper. 

He doesn’t answer quickly, an unnatural gap forming before her replies.

“No thanks.”

Inej finds that weird. She can relate to not being hungry, but he clearly must have been if he wanted brioche initially. Why can’t he take the next best thing?

“I swear the pain au chocolates near identical, you should try one.”

He shakes his head, not supplying a verbal response. Inej can’t comprehend why someone would refuse perfectly fine food. She grew up with eating what’s there, with making dinner from leftover ingredients. He’s not going to die from eating his bread in a slightly different form than usual. Okay, maybe he’s just overwhelmed. She doesn’t know what he could possibly be overwhelmed by in their practically empty kitchen, but decides to be patient. The lull of her mum’s voice settles her energies through her head.

“Do you want some of my omelette? You need to eat something.”

Another gap, this time longer. He hasn’t even looked at her. 

“I don’t like eggs.”

“There’s eggs in brioche.”

“It’s easier to ignore them in brioche. Not exactly possible with a yellow blob on my plate.”

Fair enough. Inej shoved the last mouthful into her mouth, hating herself a little for it and the ungratefulness it displays.

“Okay, we’re going to the corner shop then. We can get the brand you like.”

Wylan takes a moment to process this, (or at least that’s her best guess at what’s going on up there,) before pushing his chair back gratingly and getting up. He appears to not care, a resting bitch face cementing like she’d never seen on him before, but she picks up a murmured thanks. 

11:05am, Matthias

Matthias had only been trying to get a point through to to Nina when he hastily agreed to her suggestion. He would’ve agreed to anything in that situation to make her feel better, though that’s not something he’s willing to name yet. The complication occurs when she takes his input completely serious, and really, Matthias doesn’t know how Nina fitted them in with weeks notice, but it doesn’t come as much of a surprise. She has certain people properties that rival even Jesper’s.

Matthais isn’t supposed to get his nails done. It’s not a thing that men do. He knows that they are allowed to, has read numerous articles and forced himself to scroll through TikToks that he didn’t necessarily agree with at first in order to open his mind and accept every lifestyle. So Matthias knows that it’s okay and is enthusiastically accepting of the choice to do so, however it’s a much bigger step to let himself have it. He’s yet to overcome this. 

They’re taking his car so that everyone can fit, but Kaz is driving because he insisted and Matthias doesn’t have the usual urge to fight back. Such an act would heavily involve speaking and that just isn’t on his cards for today. He isn’t prepared to fully surrender though, sitting in the front seat and controlling the aux. He puts Hozier on shuffle; upbeat enough to be socially acceptable but with depressing enough lyrics to fuel his sadness. There’s no scenario in which Hozier isn’t acceptable and Inej seems to be paying attention to the songs so he counts it as a win. 

The discouraging thoughts resurface as they get closer, building up raggedly like sticks on a bonfire, fire alighting when they arrive after twenty five minutes. The trains become jagged, lines crossing over each other with unpredictable junctions, unwanted beliefs ramming into the front wall of his brain and making any rational notion unreachable. He’s supposed to be getting out of the car now. Everyone else is. But there’s that typical closing up of his throat that catches him in a rut, frozen to the spot despite his good efforts to move. How does he move?

Wylan approaches and peers through the window with a frown, opening the car door with a jolting click.

“Matthias?”

Matthias reaches into his voice box and pulls out an empty hand. He can’t respond, which leads to further worry knowing that Wylan will worry. Matthais doesn’t know what’s happening. He really wishes to know what is happening. 

“Right. Okay. You’re okay, yeah? Uh, do you want to get out of the car?” Wylan asks. Yes, Matthais has definitely worried him. He’s being stared at with wide eyes, the thought not even occurring to him that Matthias’s are the same. 

He shakes his head. 

“That’s fine, we can do that. Oh, shit, right I think you should breathe,”

Matthias realises that he isn’t. For someone so incredibly zoned in on every aspect of life and appreciative of every detail, it hits a specific nerve to not pick up on something so blatantly obvious about himself. His pattern is irregular, his inhales sharp and exhales uneven. That didn’t count as breathing. He’s said so himself many times to Nina.

Jesper slips into view, sliding in beside Wylan. He looks calm and certain: two things Matthias has never been further from. He talks to Wylan which really feels quite unfair.

“He’s having a panic attack. It looks like one.”

“But I don’t really have those. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Let’s not use the words ‘fix it,’” Jesper grumbles, turning to Matthias properly, “Has this happened before?”

Matthias shakes his head. Does it look like he knows what he’s doing? How does Jesper know it’s a panic attack? Matthais has read a lot of labels in his life and none of them listed the symptoms. Matthais isn’t even experiencing symptoms. If he could control his lungs he’d be fine, and that’s a physical problem anyways. 

He really can’t breathe. His fingers and toes feel funny as though he’s walking barefoot in the sea, crabs attacking with determination to reach his phalenges. 

“What do I do about that?!” Wylan asks Jesper, which frankly, Matthias is thinking the same. He’d laugh at the preposterous situation if he had the air to. 

“Ask what he’s feeling,” Jesper provides, slow and definite as if he’s not feeling the urgency that Matthias very much is, yet not drawing out the length of his suffering. He lowers his knees to the tarmac while Wylan gets comfortable in the little space at Matthias’s feet, his legs now cramped with an entire body.

“What does it feel like?” Wylan asks him. Do they know he can hear them both? Do they realise that he’s suffocating?

“Can’t breathe.” Matthais forces out. He can feel the scratch of the words in his mouth, his saliva nonexistent, the malfunction causing miscommunication between his tongue and his brain. 

“Yeah we can tell?” Wylan agrees. Very productive indeed.

Jesper nudges Wylan in the ribs. Or it seems so. Matthias can’t see all that well, his vision blurry in the sense that windows are when it’s raining. It feels like he should be crying but his eyes remain sealed in that department.

“What else?” Jesper asks.

“Fingers are tingly. Mouth’s… dry?”

“That’s okay, even if it feels shitty, it’s normal and it’ll go away. Palpitations?”

Another head shake.

“Good, how’s the thoughts?” Jesper questions.

“Swirly. I can’t breathe.”

“Jesper what do we do?” Wylan practically exclaims. Again, valid point. 

“Show him how to breathe.”

“How?” Wylan berates. 

“In for four, hold for four, out for four. It’s the easiest. And remind him his inhales and exhales.”

Matthias tries hard to follow Wylan’s counts, even correcting his form when Jesper points out that he’s breathing with his chest and not his stomach. He panics further as he uses his hand to demonstrate how it should be expending, not thinking it appropriate and not thinking clearly enough to push past that rigidness. He forces a clinical lining onto it in his head, making him feel slightly better. Matthias tries over and over, over and over and over and over. After what has been perhaps forever, he breathes again. The first gush of oxygen entering his lungs burns, alveoli surely bursting. It hurts but the relief is immense. 

Kaz

Kaz has been fully aware of the implications of a manicure or gel nails. It’s not as if it can be done with some physical form of telepathy, magically painting them without contact. However he has come prepared, sacrificing a lesser worn pair of gloves and snipping away the very tips of them to expose strictly what’s necessary and not a millimeter more. Kaz has also mildly stalked every social media that the salon posts on and found several photos of evidence that they wear gloves too. Thin ones, but gloves. So while discomfort is inevitable, it should be bearable. 

The other half of their group came in a little later than him, Inej and Nina, Matthias living up to his standards as the goat in his unarguably pale demeanor. Kaz has held up strongly through the cutting and buffing. It’s the five little pots of lukewarm water in a semicircle formation that’s getting to him. He is sitting remarkably still as his fingers rest in them, softening his cuticles while his left hand goes through the first process that his right went through. In other words, he’s being attacked from all sides.

The water decreases in temperature becoming colder and the waves becoming higher. At a point he couldn’t pin, he snaps: an arrow or a ruler or an elastic band. All making the same noise yet coming from different sources. He stands up abruptly, rushing to the nearest escape and finding it to be the bathrooms. Kaz doesn’t think to grab his cane, ending up on the floor in one of few stalls. He sits in a heap, electricity pulsing through him like a live wire in which he’s the fuse. A wrongly applied fuse, the rating too low and melting on the spot. Kaz is done for, wheezing and choking. He clenched his hands into fists, all care for his treatment gone. He’s dying. He’s sick. He wants it to go away or be fast.

Nina waltzes into the stall, opening it and bending down with more grace than he did to sit. He’s sick. What if he be’s sick?

“You’re safe. I’m not touching you and no one else is going to. There’s no water.” She reminds him, truthfully keeping her distance. 

Kaz doesn’t react, his eyes on the present while his mind is still stuck in the past. 

“Kaz you’re okay. No more touch.”

He nods slowly as if considering this. The nausea lurks in his throat, a surprise attack of escaping not ruled out. He can taste the bile in his mouth. It feels like a graveyard. 

“Why are you telling me there’s no water?”

“The last two times you’ve done this there was water involved. Inej’s ice made you worse. The manicure bowl tipped you over the edge. I don’t know what the deal is with it but it’s obviously an issue.”

Kaz squirms at that. It doesn’t sit well that people are learning his tells. Clearly his mask has slipped.

“Only if it’s cold.” He says with a glare. Then adds, “This is the men’s bathrooms.”

“So?”

“The floor’s gross.” Kaz replies, telling that Nina doesn’t care that she shouldn’t be there and needing to save himself from stupidity. 

Nina laughs. It’s good that there’s something they agree with. 

Chapter Text

Thursday 19th September, 2:12pm, Jesper

Jesper is absolutely frazzled from class. Or classes, he should say. He thought it would be smart to keep his classes consecutive where possible, filling in the term’s timetable with glee after seeing that he could take three lectures in a row which would leave him with Fridays off. That should have guaranteed maximum productivity; four and a half hours straight of hyperfocus and a long weekend to recover and catch up notes. Perfection— except it’s not. 

Jesper throws his yellow-lime book bag into Matthias’s backseat, climbing in the front beside him and watching Matthias’s hand grip the gearstick. 

“Quite nice having my personal chauffeur. I’ll never have to drive again,” Jesper jokes, hoping to open and shut conversation. He peels down a hangnail. 

“Yeah you should be very grateful. Wait hey, did you know Nina can’t drive?” Matthias chirps, proud of his gossip. 

“No?!”

“Yeah, apparently she hasn’t learnt yet.” 

Jesper disputes this, unsatisfied. Meticulously he begins to scratch around his wrist bone in circular motions. Pink rings show up through his skin, enriching into a deeper red as his nails dig deeper.

“That’s clearly our issue to solve then,” he mumbles, pulling out his phone and opening his chat with Nina. 

We didn’t start the fire

[19/09/24][2:20pm]

JayFay: how would you feel abt a friend funded driving lesson tn

Nina Nurner: as in, you teaching me? I LL RUN OVER SOMEONE

JayFay: YES AND MATTHIAS 

JayFay: AND WHOEVER ELSE VOLUNTEERS

Nina Nurner: YES!! I VOLUNTEER!!

JayFay: you can’t volunteer WE RE the volunteers. You’re the victim. 

Nina Nurner: :(

JayFay: see ya soon :)

“Sorted, we’re going driving with Nina after her cafe shift tonight.” Jesper is sharply itchy, fisting his skin in clumps like bundles of fabric, bouncing his legs to the rhythm of the car radio. Could he cut down a class? No. He’d get behind. He would just make things worse, just like he always does. 

Matthias seems to go through the five stages of grief before completely moving on.

“Where?” He asks instead.

“Sainsbury’s car park I reckon,” says Jesper. His arm is red now, random little nicks scattered down to his fingertips. He’ll have to wash his hands and conceptualise some faux-heroic story on a papercut fight to the death. 

The car drives up the curb outside their gate and stops, lights turning off and the unclicking of their seatbelts ringing out. The door bangs as he shuts it, the vibrations channeling into his touch in slow motion. The footpath creates a slicking sound beneath his well worn soles, shoes favouring the force of the ground than the force of his foot. His steps feel heavy.

After sitting in his room for all of five minutes, Jesper decides that being alone will only loosen the spiral, allowing the coils to unravel at a quicker pace. Matthias said he would be heading straight to his shift but Wylan’s home so bothering him is a viable choice.

By the time Jesper reaches the top of the stairs he can already hear some sort of podcast playing aloud from Wylan’s room, following it like Hansel and Gretal’s trail should have been followed had it not been eaten by birds. He creaks open the door to be met with sight of Wylan colouring in some kids colour book with his laptop set on the bed in front of him, Fish curled up in the duvet alongside him. Jesper wrinkles his nose dramatically at the head of science-y gibberish.

“Why are you listening to your notes? Isn’t that like sitting through a lecture twice? It’s double suffering!”

Wylan tenses strangely on the delivery of Jes’s question but deflates too fast too point it out.

“Revision method. Helps me remember it better.”

“Oh uh huh, uh huh. And the insect themed colouring book?”

“Jogs the brain. Warms up the mind.”

Jesper grins, laying on the other end of the bed and stretching up to stroke the cat gently. Wylan takes only a split moment focusing his gaze on his arm, speaking up and ignoring what Jesper wants him to ignore.

“Oh also, how’d you know how to stop Matthias’s panic attack the other day?”

A magnificent change of subject. Ten points to Wylan.

“I have legal documents proving my expertise in the subject,” Jesper boasts with a wink. 

8:57pm, Nina

Nina yells at Jesper for the umpteenth time, nearly crashing them into their fourth lamppost. Who the fuck puts lampposts in car parks? A collective shriek from Inej and Matthias. Jesper cackles in the seat beside her.

“That’s it, we’re switching again.” Matthias declares, kicking Jesper out of the passenger seat and replacing him in the usual rotation achieved over the last hour. 

“How do I move without crashing?” Nina asks innocently, teeth on display with as much charm as she can muster. Maybe they’ll take pity and actually help.

“You need to reverse out of this spot.”

She wiggles a few controls.

“The gears don’t like me.”

“The gears are old and don’t like anybody. Push them harder.”

Nina does as she’s told, shoving the gear stick into reverse and stomping down on the pedal. They fly backwards, rolling through multiple rows of marked out parking spaces with she and Jesper harmonising their own ‘screeeet’ sound, only stopping not far before a footpath at Matthias’s shouts to “Break!”

Irrevocably un phased, Nina pushes on forwards and begins some rather awkwardly turned laps. Speak Now blasts through the speakers, Nina and Jesper singing along characteristically with Inej contributing to more and more lines. Matthias grips the edge of his seat.

“My turn to direct Nina!” Inej exclaims, crawling into the front seat without even leaving the car, fitting through the gap between chairs expertly.

They high five, praising the ‘deity’s of pop’ and skipping to Better Than Revenge. 

They don’t get home until ten. 

Chapter Text

Sunday, 10:00am, Inej

Inej is currently squashed on the sofa between Jesper and Wylan, both having enough room on their other sides but being two people who very much love touch, neither of them budge. She doesn’t mind —it’s better than being alone— but part of her thinks that they’d be much happier if squished against each other. Nina is on the floor and carrying the bulk of the conversation, though it mostly consists of her own monologue while she scrolls on her phone, whilst Kaz is on the armchair and Matthais is grabbing a drink from the kitchen. 

“The buses are very rudely cancelled tomorrow, will someone give me a lift to work?” Nina says, encapsulating the attitude of a police interrogation. She looks between Jesper and Kaz for answers.

“I have physio at half three so only if it’s before that.” Kaz reasons. Inej is surprised he offered at all.

“Nope, shift starts at four.” Nina huffs, turning her attention to Matthias’s approaching figure. “What about you?”

“What about me?” He replies, eyes darting around as he counts his odds of getting a seat and ultimately ending up in the rug beside Nina.

“Can you give me a lift to work for four o’clock tomorrow?”

Matthias shakes his head as he swallows his sip of water, lowering the glass to his lap.

“Sorry, I’m having dinner with my parents.”

Nina doesn’t relent. In fact, Inej can see the thoughts behind her eyes and the huff of breath of warning before she speaks. 

“Since when do you go for dinner with your parents? Actually no, I’m not even going to question that. Couldn’t you drop me off on your way though?”

“It’s a reservation for Wetherspoons at 3, so I don’t think so.”

“Okay now I am questioning. Who the fuck has dinner at three?” Whether she’s bitter about having to walk instead or just having fun, Inej can’t exactly pinpoint. However these are clearly pressing matters.

“Yeah wouldn’t you just pick another day instead?” Inej adds, slipping into the conversation in the easy way that she’s getting much better at. It really does feel like an interrogation though. She would feel bad for Matthias but he doesn’t seem bothered. His tolerance to them all is growing, only really feigning annoyance like a dad who loves the dog he didn’t want. 

“Sure, but it’s my birthday tomorrow so it would be a bit weird to have birthday dinner not on my birthday. I would feel silly.” Matthias states this as plainly as a voice can go. 

Four mouths drop agape. Kaz even looks up from his phone. Immediate outrage ensues.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow and you didn’t tell us?!”

“That’s not enough time to plan!”

“What are your plans?”

“What presents do you want?”

“What cake do you like?”

“Who should we invite?”

Matthias watches silently as the circus around him erupts, which Inej might focus on if her flabbers weren’t gasted to her core. He could have told them, and now what? She needs to plan. She needs to do whatever it takes to fix this depressing revelation. 

Inej takes charge, firstly in her head. They need to further investigate Matthias’s current plans before layering more on top of those. She needs to know how many people he wants to come and to secure their contact details. Then there’s decorations, food and dessert. There’s so much to do all by herself and she has to do it by herself because it has to be done right, and it’s not that she doesn’t trust the others but it has to be perfect because Matthias clearly doesn’t think he deserves a fuss which means he deserves a fuss even more and there’s so much to do, has she mentioned that there’s so much to do? Breathe, Inej thinks. The voice in her head seems to agree, puffing as though it’s ran a marathon and jumped over the moon. There’s a quick moment of guilt, because tomorrow is Matthias’s day and she should be focused on Matthias, not her own twisted thoughts. Instead she focuses on mutual support, on her faith, on her heart rate. She accepts that maybe it would be best to take control in the form of directing everyone else rather than making it a one person job. She becomes a bit too much like Gordon Ramsey when he’s addressing adults.

“How long will you be out with your family?” Inej asks, pushing her question through a tunnel of calm towards Matthias, waving it’s way through total chaos. She impresses herself with the facade. 

“I’m thinking maybe two to five?”

“Okay great, can you text me a list of who you want at your party?”

“I’m not having a party.”

“Of course you’re having a party!” Nina squeals, looking appalled at such a suggestion.

“No party.”

“Matthias you have to celebrate your birthday.” Jesper reiterates, no happier than Nina.

“I am. I am having dinner.” Matthias emphasises, looking between them as if determining who will be easiest to convince.

“But party!” Jesper whines. As much as Inej agrees, it’s kind of hilarious.

“Not even a party. What about a…small gathering strictly with household members. We can do very low effort things.” Wylan says.

Matthias debates this.

“Fine. But nothing extravagant.”

Nina replies. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Wylan

Wylan and Jesper have been sent on ‘decorate and cake’ duty on strict Inej orders. Wylan mentally stores away that she can be bossy when she wants to be. This is what has brought them to big Tescos at eleven am, wandering up and down the party cluelessly. Jesper is chucking random pieces of fun-shaped plastic into the trolley, each movement fuelling another dopamine-filled rush of joy that Wylan can’t begin to comprehend before noon. He expresses as much as he’s pulled into numerous bursts of dance. 

With Wylan pushing the trolley like a mum on a mission, he’s then tasked with another job, again just like mums are when they’re clearly already busy, of messaging Matthais to ask what type of cake he likes. He panics immediately, skin tightening, grip growing tighter on the handle. It’s all fine and okay though; he’s prepared himself for this.

“Sorry I don’t have any 4g, can you do it please?”

Jesper sighs dramatically, taking his phone out of his pocket. Wylan watches with jealousy as his thumbs type effortlessly, pressing the send button with a mockingly happy ‘we-woo!’

They just about make it two steps before there’s a ding from his pocket.

“Matthais says he doesn’t care and doesn’t want any!” Jesper growls, furiously typing again for a split second before coming to a halt. “Oh, and now the fucking idiot is apologising for ‘sounding harsh’ because he ‘does care very much and appreciates our kindness.’ That’s even worse!”

“Jesper it’s fine, he didn’t even want us to know. The thought of a cake and everything’s probably overwhelming him. Just ask again.”

Jesper hums as if never concerned in the first place, sending another message.

“He said either banana bread or something plain.”

“So we’re obviously making banana bread then?”

“Well yeah. Plain is sad.”

“Plain is good!”

Jesper raises an eyebrow at him. Wylan proceeds anyways.

“Is banana bread cake? And is it within our skill range?”

“I think it’s almost cake. And it’s within Nina’s skill range so close enough.”

Wylan considers this a good enough answer, continuing into the baking aisle. Jesper poses with one hand on his hip, the other with his phone in hand reading off the list of ingredients they’ll need. Wylan mirrors his position comically, committing as many as possible to memory just in case. Colour drains from his face.

“Right, I ll get the bicarbonate soda and caster sugar, you grab the plain flour and buttermilk.” Jesper rattles off these items carelessly, Wylan goes rigid with dread. The contrast is almost blinding, like glass shards to his eyeballs. He feels ill.

Determined to feign normalcy he heads to the flour area, trying to discern between the different packagings. He picks one with his fingers crossed, lifting the buttermilk too on his way back to Jesper, who absentmindedly goes:

“Oh no it’s the plain flour we need, that’s self-raising.”

Absolutely brilliant. Wylan turns back, returning to his stance in front of various small paper bags at which he glare with increasingly teary eyes. He doesn’t know which is which. They’re all labelled, though as usefully as see-through curtain to Wylan. He wants to cry, but he doesn’t want to cry here. Not that it matters though, his cheeks are long soaked. His arms twist back and forth furiously before he catches on, folding them across his chest and squeezing his biceps tightly. He vibrates with the force. 

Jesper is going to find out. He’s going to know regardless of whether Wylan can fabricate some excuse in time, because it’s visible. It’s blatantly clear and evident. Anyone else could look at the words and understand them and Wylan can’t, so what other conclusion could he draw?

On cue, Jesper appears by his side, trolley in toe and worry written in highlighters on his face. Thankfully smart enough to not start with questions, he takes in the scene for a minute. Then the lightbulb moment clicks. 

“Shit Wy, that’s fine. It’s fine, you’re okay.” He puts his arms slightly out in ask of Wylan’s want for a hug, only for Wylan to flinch away 

violently, arm shielding his face defensively. Then logic kicks in, and Wylan shakes his head, half worried of hitting him and half scared it’d be the other way around. He retreats a little, knocking into some icing tubes. 

“I’m not mad, I’m not going to hurt you, I won’t hit or punch. I can’t believe I even need to say that, Christ. You’re okay.” Jesper soothes, seemingly in shock but pushing through it.

Wylan shakes his head, pulling at the elbows of his jumper. He must be lying. He’s angry, he has no reason not to be. If not because of the dyslexia, then for the way he has sneakily hid it for so long. How should Jesper know that he isn’t lying about everything ever? How should he know that Wylan’s favourite colour isn’t pink instead of green, or that he doesn’t secretly hate chemistry, or that Wylan isn’t his real name? He could laugh at the irony where he not mid crisis. 

“Okay, can you squeeze yourself instead if I can’t right now? Or maybe if you preferred some grounding tec—.”

Wylan shakes his head adamantly.

“Squeezing it is. Press your hands together?” Jesper suggests, replicating the prayer emoji before wrapping his fingers around either side with strength.

Wylan does the same and he smiles encouragingly. 

“Hug?” Jesper offers again. This time Wylan accepts, quickly embraced firmly, though with warmth in place of power.

Wylan begins to apologise, words just about returning as an option. He still feels rather ill.

“Nuh uh uh, none of that. Dyslexia, right?”

Wylan utters a muffled “Yeah,” quieter from the proofing of Jesper’s hoodie. 

“That’s not a bad thing, that’s not something I would ever ever be mad at you for. No one would ever be mad at you for. You don’t need to hide it or panic.”

“Yeah well, tell that to my father then.”

The sweet, soft lines of Jesper’s face jut out instantly, hardening and sharpening scarily. Well, it would be scary if it was pointed at Wylan, but Jan will have a lot of running to do if he’s ever free. 

“Okay no, I’m making him pay for this.”

“You let Kaz influence you too much. And besides, good luck on breaking into prison first.”

Jesper’s eyes widen and Wylan laughs. No further comment is made, no questions asked, but that face is a better remedy than any fancy technique Wylan could do.

Kaz

“And why do I need to partake in this?” Kaz demands of Nina, who has metaphorically dragged him into her room to help her with gift ideas. He’s unrefutably the worst person for the job so there’s about zero percent reasoning on why he’s being forced to help. How is he any help?

“Because it’s essential for developing children to participate in group activities! I learnt that from Jesper.”

“I’m not a developing child. I’m a fully fledged adult who can make his own decision on who I engage with.”

“Yeah, as of less than a year ago. Don’t throw out the nappies yet, Brekker. Now start giving me ideas.”

“At least I don’t act like the age that needs them. Now you start thinking of ideas. I literally hate the thick goat with a burning passion.” He snarls, jabbing his cane into her thigh to shove her further down the bed as he stretches his leg out in the newly created space.

“Yeah yeah, a burning passion of love.” She mumbles, scrolling through Etsy. Kaz watches silently, feeling an awful lot like he’s a lion waiting in the grass for a gazelle, then cringes at the thought. Why is he making Lion King comparisons? Nina must be really getting to him. 

“He does English Literature, right? So get him a book or something.”

“Easy said. How are we supposed to know what’s on his tbr? Not as bright as your ego tells you.”

Kaz rolls his eyes.

“Then get him a nice copy of a book he already owns. A hardback that he’d never buy for himself.”

Nina gasps theatrically.

“Not bad. Care and compassion from Kaz Brekker is rare, but ladies and gentlemen, it does exist.”

Chapter Text

30th September, Matthias

Matthias is being blinded by a million lumen torch, searing through previously restful eyelids and piercing directly into his retina like a dart to a bullseye. He is being stripped of all heat and shaken uncontrollably. He is being woken up. 

“Ha-ppy birth-day to youuu.” Oh and they’re screeching at him. They’re singing and they’re in harmony, albeit a little off-key. There’s a store-bought cupcake with a one and a nine stabbed on either side of it; backwards from Matthias’s perspective, but still beautiful. He’s surrounded, by all five of his friends, and they’ve stopped singing now, clapping and smiling and promoting him to blow out his candles. He has friends. Really kind friends. 

He blows his candles out, eyes flickering downwards to make a wish, the push rolling a teardrop out. 

“What’s wrong? Matthias what’s wrong? Is it the bun? It’s only a plain one and you said you don’t have allergies but maybe the sprinkles were too—.” 

Matthias laughs, shaking his head adamantly and slowing Inej’s rambles. “No no, thank you, it’s perfect, you’re all perfect.”

He watches as Jesper and Kaz share a look with raised eyebrows and squinting eyes. He laughs again.

“I really really love it. I’m just very grateful.” Matthias reiterates, pushing himself to sit up properly in bed. 

“You better love it,” Kaz warns, eyes darting between him and Inej. Meanwhile, Inej and Nina are practically cooing over the whole ordeal. Though in their defence, Jesper and Wylan don’t seem far behind. 

“He does love it.” Nina decides, kneeing him in the thigh to make him scoot over as she gets comfy on the bed, everyone else spreading among his and Wylan’s. Then, without even a here-comes-the-plane warning, food is being directed towards his mouth. Nina being the culprit of course. “Eat your bun!”

“Well yes I would have,” he mumbles, grinning around his mouthful with an acknowledgment of a slight teary salt taste. Then: “What time is it anyways?”

“4:40.”

“AM?!” Matthias exclaims, looking around the hooligans that have created such chaos with little clue who to blame. They all look so innocent with sweet little smiles on their faces, not betraying a hint of what he knows they’re capable of. Except Kaz, face as blank as ever. Better the devil you know, though.  

“Yes well you’re always up freakishly early but we had to make sure that we got to wake you up incase you woke up yourself and went about your morning routine as usual. That would be bleak.” Wylan explains.

“Yeah and we had to wake you singing happy birthday, it’s not optional,” Nina defends.

“And you had to blow out your candles.” Matthias notices that Jesper has burrito-wrapped himself in Wylan’s duvet as he says this. The bed head’s really shining today, he sees. 

“Mhm, and it couldn’t have been at an hour when poor Nina and Jes were more alive? I could’ve pretended to go back to sleep.”

“Nope, not as magical,” Inej protests, and Jesper does perk up too, to his credit. Inej opens the window, caressing the few plants whose leaves got brushed against by the curtain. It’s still dark, they won’t be nourished for another few hours. 

“Was it magic, then?” Nina pressed, smiling at him in a silly way that shows humor more than meaning, but he does like it very much when he does so in this way with her teeth. 

“Yeah, it was magic.” Matthias replies honestly, maybe too honest for the context. He loves his friends and he hates himself for reacting with girlish tears and sappy responses, but no one reacted poorly. They’re kind, and they’re generous with their kindness. He feels infinitely lucky.

“Well up you chop, we’re going to Bonnie’s for breakfast.” Inej orders, waving her hand around in the direction of anyone looking lazy. 

“We don’t have to I’m happy enough eating here.”

“Stop your nonsense and get changed. Or don’t get changed actually, it doesn’t matter.” Inej is clearly on business.

Matthias holds his hands up in surrender, laughing. Wow, everything’s hilarious today. “Fine, fine, I’m moving. Are we going right now though? It’s barely past five.”

“Bonnie’s opens at six, it’ll be that time by the time we get there. We need to be early so you don’t have to rush your food to get back in time for your lecture,” Inej states, Matthias taking the hint and giving in. Nina has other plans for peace though.

“You’re going to a lecture on your birthday?!” She shrieks, astonished.

“I enjoy my lectures.”

They take Matthias’s car to the diner, Kaz letting him drive his own vehicle for possibly the second time in two months which he takes as the biggest present Kaz will ever get for him. Once inside they have an entire room’s worth of choice on where to sit, choosing the biggest booth and huddling in like an invisible camera will take their picture any second. After feeling completely ridiculous at first, he does quite like his birthday badge that Wylan practically attacked him with before leaving the house. Even though he’s the only one wearing it, it makes him feel like he’s a part of something, like it’s a physical reminder that he has people care about him enough to make him wear it in the first place. Beautiful beautiful people. 

Margaret, Bonnie’s daughter and younger Bonnie’s mother, is delivering waffles to their table, stacks on each plate. Nina is talking to her about something suspiciously dessert-like. Margaret heads back to the kitchen. 

“Nina? What did you do?” He asks, talking slow as if coaxing a crime out of a child.

“Ordered you a breakfast sundae!”

“Nina you’re amazing but I already had that cupcake. And I’m about to eat three waffles.”

“No buts! You loved the breakfast sundae the last time you got it. Plus breakfast is in the name so it’s not even dessert.”

Matthias rolls his eyes, accepting the tall glass gratefully when it arrives. It’s his birthday, he’s allowed to. 

12:38pm, Kaz

Jesper has been sent on ‘keep Matthias busy and out of the house’ duty, consequently abandoning Kaz alone with Inej and Nina. Their tasks are only to decorate and bake the banana bread, which, first matters first, is a choice only the goat would choose. He’s been sat on a kitchen chair for the last ten minutes, ceramic bowl in one arm while he whisks it in circles, feeling as though his muscles will fall off after this. The burn’s sort of nice though.

He watches as Inej carries out her own instructions, currently consisting of greasing the tin. Nina has taken charge of decorating and really he thinks that they should be swapping positions because Nina keeps shouting orders at Inej from the living room side of the room and Inej has been keeping a tentative eye on how she places every single balloon. He knows that won’t happen though; Nina loves decorating and Inej doesn’t trust Nina not to give them all food poisoning. 

“Kaz, come put this banner up.”

“Sure, make the man with a limp do the physical labour.”

“Shut up, you’ve got an extra few inches that I don’t. We need it as high as possible so Matthias doesn’t knock into it.”

Making a show of it because he can, Kaz accompanies her to the doorway where she wants it hung, leaving his cane by the chair for the small distance. He sticks it up with a wad of blue tack, his left foot on it’s tiptoes. 

“It’s squinty, move it to the side a bit.” Nina complains, standing back to judge it critically.

“If I’m remembering correctly, you’re the one who refused to make me rice crispie buns.”

“Because it’s not your birthday, you don’t get to make requests.”

“No, but it’s me who holds the power of the banner,” he jests, reaching up to tap it.

“Get back to your bowl Brekker.”

Kaz begrudgingly does so, not because he feels threatened by Nina Zenik but because he doesn’t want to be in the house when their previous plans crumble to the ground and everyone starts throwing temper tantrums and having panic attacks. He doesn’t want to instigate that because he doesn’t want to be in the middle of it. Kaz sits down again, his leg aching. Then again, it always aches.

“My bowl has been stolen,” he mumbles, watching Inej pour the batter? dough? into the baking tin. He’s still watching when she puts it in the oven and checks that she hasn’t turned the top oven on instead of only the bottom, and when she double checks it, and when she rechecks it again.

“You can stop that. You’ve done it right, nothings going to go on fire,” he reassures, feeling out of his depth but justifying to himself that it’s for his own benefit. The fittering of the knobs was getting annoying.

“What, putting the cake in? And waste all that time we’ve spent?” She feigns, sarcasm ripe.

He glares at her, eyebrows settling and dark eyes hardening.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, allowing herself a small smile. 

That’ll do, he supposes.

7:30pm, Jesper

The lot of them are gathered in the living room, blankets creating a canopy over them like a paper chain of softness and takeaway cartons laying half hazardly on the coffee table and scattered over any free bit of floor. Despite the sun not having quite set yet, everyone’s movements have become sluggish and all sides are slanted onto somebody else’s. Jesper really loves it.

After a little nudging, Matthais is now opening his presents and adding his occasional commentaries in the times where Jesper can tell he doesn’t feel that his ginormous smiles are enough. He’s completely wrong of course, but Jesper appreciates the fuelling against his own bundle of worries that it provides by showing he’s wanted, even in the small way of presents. There aren't loads and loads, certainly not as many as Jesper would’ve made a point to make or buy had he been given more notice, but god has lit Matthias up. He’s getting quite comfortable in this little family. 

As a side note, the warm hue of the second-hand lampshade has draped itself so gently over Wylan’s cheek, dripping down his neck like some divine syrup. Wylan’s eyes that he can’t seem to stop noticing, focused so surely on the littered wrapping paper with undulating eyelashes forming shade. Jesper is stunned, and then he is stunned back to reality with a claw to his arm, soon identified to be Fish’s. The cat climbs her way towards Nina, and right, the cake. 

Inej is recording and Nina is bringing over the candle topped banana bread, breaking into the third rendition of ‘happy birthday’. Despite having taken many closeups beforehand, Jesper hopes for a close up of his icing job, big bubble letters reading: Have a plant-astic day! Honestly, he deserves a pay raise and a head massage for the laugh it gets. 

Chapter Text

Wednesday, Wylan 

Wylan was in the lab again today, mortified into another realm from his last experience and not doing a whole lot better. It’s over though, so he walks the short distance to the west entrance to meet Nina who already has her brolly in hand, prepared for the torrential gushes of autumn. 

Tiny drops of rain prickle cruelly on his hand, stabbing upon impact and rolling down his skin sluggishly as if they know they’re treading on a grotesque organ and not just some sandpaper surface. His limbs feel mangled; his teeth misshaped and chiseled. Nina smiles brightly in his direction as she rambles on about her class and Wylan hates that he can’t smile back. He tries, but his muscles ache, his gums are too gummy, there’s too much saliva in there and his tongue is disgustingly limp on the roof of his mouth. He wants to be scraped clean from the inside out and unfortunately niceties can’t compete with a burning need so intense. It’s all a bit too gross for his liking.

He and Nina get in Kaz’s car like the good little soldiers they are, strapping their seatbelts across their torsos and clicking in the metal. 

“So considering we almost missed his birthday,” Nina pauses, looking pointedly at Matthias, “We clearly need a calendar to write everyone’s in.”

“Kaz’s is in a couple of weeks,” Jesper vouches, shoving in a mouthful of maltesers with his palm flat to his lips, then proceeding to pass the rattling box to Nina in the backseat. 

Wylan tracks his own eyes to the one in question; featuring a quick drawl over the speaker while he’s at it. He finds it suspicious, the way they don’t quite want to move onto Kaz. 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Kaz mutters, swerving a bit too harshly onto the road home. 

“What date is it?” Wylan asks, because it seems he’s the only logical one left except for Matthias and an interaction between those two is rare.

Kaz doesn’t answer within the first half a second and they may never know if he would have as Jesper overpowers the entire car in a fourth.

“The nineteenth! Practically Halloween!”

“Party!” Nina shouts, hogging the maltesers tactfully with a brooding Jesper sending glares through his high.

“Halloween!” Wylan parrots. The combined volume grates down to the minerals of his skull, but he’s in more of a ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’ mood today. 

“Halloween costumes!” And now Jesper has opened a bottomless can just as they’ve gotten home. The conversation continues up to the house— if you can even call it that. 

“I could be a Monster High!”

“No Jesper, you were one of those last year.”

“I could start a tradition.” He retorts. Honestly, it looks to Wylan like Jesper is walking in a bubble of light.

“Matthias should be Frankenstein,” Nina decides.

“Frankenstein is the scientist."

“Okay, then you should be Frankenstein’s monster, Mr English Lit.”

“But Frankenstein was the monster.”

“You just said Frankenstein was the scientist.”

“Exactly.” 

She looks at Matthias as if in search for a battle worth fighting, then claps his back as high as she can reach without effort.

“Name doesn’t matter, I’m sure you’ll look deliciously handsome either way with your green face paint.”

To which his face heats up, though Wylan does hear a faint ‘he literally had transparent yellow skin’ under his breath. 

Wylan follows the queue through the front door, immediately bombarded on all senses by a waft from the kitchen. Inej is surrounded by every pot and pan they own, tofu and parsnip and garlic in an array of multicoloured substances. Steam puffs upwards from places Wylan isn’t quite sure should have steam, appliances turned on that aren’t in use. Isn’t Inej supposed to be calm, cool and collected? He questions so and is met with only a shrug that barely shines through Nina’s taste testing and Kaz’s sighs. Can’t anyone in this house ever shut the fuck up?

Right, he has to revise.

Wylan expertly waits until both Kaz and Jesper are in their room for a few minutes before knocking on the hollow wood door, attempting to avoid the appearance that he’s been lurking. For anyone else he’d barge on in, but he fears that if he saw Kaz getting dressed he would kill him, and if he saw Jesper getting dressed it would kill him. 

Jesper opens the door. His smile shouldn’t be so toothy for a grown adult.

“Can I study in your room please?”

Wylan is beckoned in with a welcoming hand flourish, though he doesn’t miss the confusion in his features.

“Yeah ‘course. Why not your room though?”

“Matthias is there.”

“And you have a sudden feud with Matthias because…?”

Wylan quickly shakes his head, squeezing himself to soothe the nerves. It’s not like they’ve discussed the whole ‘can’t-read’ thing.

“Because I need to listen to my notes.”

Jesper settles into realisation for only a moment, horror gracing his face with widening eyes that dart between him and Kaz. 

“Jes calm, he knows too.”

“Kaz knows?! I thought it was a secret. What about Nina and Inej and Matthias?!”

“No no, you can’t tell anyone,” Wylan begins to panic, rambling his words like they’re falling off the end of a conveyor belt. He feels ill. The red marks on his hands are becoming more prominent, too. Tender, forgiving hands hold around his own, juxtaposing the sharp sting with a soft press. A grey gaze is fighting to meet his.

“I won’t, I promise, that’s not what I meant at all.” Jesper uses a reassuring tone, coaxing him down like a young boy and wild animal, succeeding without an ounce of condensing. Wylan doesn’t have the language to respond, still trying to claw his way out of his bind and allow the attraction between nail and skin to grab the go ahead. 

“Wylan, it’s okay. I won’t breathe a word. It’s okay, you’re safe to relax.” Jesper reiterates. It’s not in Jesper to be stubborn —at least not naturally— however there are certain occasions in which it pays well to possess the skill. 

Though as soon as his thoughts unscramble Wylan’s attention is instantly brought to an undisturbed Kaz sitting in the corner on his bed, legs out and comfy as if they’re living in a sitcom. Truly a laughable sight, and to think that Wylan was worried about lurking?

After a few minutes of recovery time he is propped up at the end of Jesper’s bed, laptop on a pillow in front of him with his spine curved shrimp-like. His headphones are the egg of the cake, wirelessly connected and saving a world’s worth of hassle. He feels at home.

Chapter Text

Thursday, Kaz

Kaz is quite sick of people, to be frank and honest. There’s something so agitating about nattering conversations and brushes of shoulders that really puts those thoughts to the forefront that if acted on, would land him in jail. Kaz isn’t stupid though. He’s calculated, and he’s impulsive’s polar opposite, repelling it with an extreme massiveness that the field lines curve backwards with an avid need to flee. So, instead, Kaz does the wise-old thing of pettily whacking ankles with his cane and ribs with his elbows. Neither provides the punch of a left hook but the message is all the same: I could if I wanted to. 

Fortunately for Kaz and just about everyone around him, he’s done and dusted with uni by eleven thirty, home and on the sofa by twelve. The lift to his lecture hall was broken because lifts are always broken, resulting in an aching leg that wouldn’t have to be as severe as it currently is. On top of that, because a dead brother and a limp isn’t enough, his trusty, expensive, cherished and loved laptop has broken. Shut down. Become unresponsive. His laptop has died; he mourns it in the familiar way he knows best, almost heartlessly nostalgic.

Inej becomes one as a pretzel, contorted strangely comfortably on the worn leather armchair covered in sliding-off blankets with tatted tassels. She has a lined notebook resting on a makeshift pillow table, a barely touched textbook fallen down the gaping crack where pennies never return from. Kaz notices the hitch in her breath when the biro between her fingers slips up and frantic straight lines cross out the mistake. He notices that she has a tendency to turn the page before her letters reach even halfway, that this happens exclusively after a scribble out and with a little working out, he finds that four mistakes per page is the limit; after that Inej starts again from the beginning. Kaz notices that she is noticing him too, peering up with a thoughtful expression that lasts much longer than any other previous glance. For an uncalled for second, Kaz ponders on his watching, because Inej is not a threat and therefore he has no need to waste energy on her weaknesses and tells, has no other reason to observe. He reminds himself that not all threats look like ones. 

Regardless, Inej is still looking.

“What?” He demands defensively. Who gave her the right?

“Your screen has been blank for twenty minutes. You’ve done nothing since you got back.” Her reply isn’t accusatory, but inquisitive and human. Kaz takes it at face value despite his analysis. 

“So? Can’t a man take a break?” He bites back on instinct, like a lioness for her cub. There’s a guilt that trickles into consciousness and he doesn’t welcome it like he does to anger or greed. Inej flinches, her demeanor as an overall concept reminding him of Jesper in an odd way, though he finds Jesper far more annoying. He feels unpleasant for it. He doesn’t actually want her to be scared. Still, she holds her ground.

“Yeah, it’s good for you. Just unexpected.” His mind juggles to conclude if she's earnest or if it’s a good save. 

“My laptop broke,” answers Kaz, unafraid to be definite and nonsense free as Inej is holding her own and looks only moderately anxious. He’s still looking, though he thinks he must just be cautious. 

“Mm.”

He balks at her, slightly disgraced by the minimal hum that provides no sympathy whatsoever. Not that he wants sympathy. He— well, he doesn’t. He’s Kaz Brekker. Still, she had some nerve.

“Mm? Is that all? Can I be lazy now?”

 “Go ahead,” Inej says, writing away in her book, frequently highlighting sections in a way that implies she has a colour code. Of course she does. What’s everyone’s obsession with colour? It’s infuriating. 

“Alright then,” he mumbles. Then, recognition spikes sharply, London’s Shard piercing through the clouds. Inej is amused; she finds humour in his defeat. But there isn’t time to retort.

“Do you want to borrow mine?” 

Kaz feels mocked, but he does want to and voices so, Inej replying,

“My iPad is beside my bed, you can use my Microsoft apps or log in yourself.”

“I can’t do any more stairs today.” A phrase he has no shame in stating. Kaz knows his rights and he knows not to apologise for his needs. So what if he appears arrogant?

He feels his leg being raked over in hunt for some visible sign of distress. He receives that sympathy now and it’s the nice sort, not pitiful or exaggerated. It’s nice.

Inej goes herself wordlessly, taking a little longer than he knows she’s capable of, passing through the kitchen on her way back with a few accompanying fistles. Kaz thanks her, when a fabric-wrapped ice pack is dropped by his side and an iPad into his gloved hand. The cover is turquoise, one of those protective ones that open like a book, and there’s an assortment of stickers well stuck onto the front. You’d expect them to peel, but long term use is a spectacular superglue. 

Nina

Nina has been hating her body since she woke up. Her curves feel like segments of horror rather than points of beauty and an ugly idea of insecurity. Even so, she went to campus in the truck with Jesper and Wylan, Matthias and herself. She went to class, things only exacerbated by every single other girl being unarguably thinner. It’s not jealousy. Rationally, Nina loves herself and wouldn’t trade her appearance. Not-so-rationally, she hates everything and wants to take a sculpting knife to fix it. 

After getting through class, the notion of fixing things sticks with her and plants the silly little idea of walking home somewhere in the worm-like structure of her brain. Burn off her meagre breakfast and half eaten lunch. Nina has been warned by baffled friends of the forty minute track but is yet to be unconvinced. Matthias, ever keen on fitness, tags along as they walk down the street. He’s quiet as usual and voices concerns for any pain that Nina might be feeling. Nina enjoys this interaction like watching a sports match with the volume down when you realise that a commentator isn’t always as reputable as people let on. It’s not really necessary to put words to everything. Company can be appreciated without conversation; a concept Nina isn’t so familiar with. It’s thrilling, in a way. 

Once hopped up in her bedroom, she turns sideways to face Inej, blanket wrapped around her shoulders like the witches from Macbeth. Nina launches into it in Nina fashion.

“He’s perfect.”

“The pope?”

“Inej be serious. I’m dying.”

“Aw, I’m sure he’d save you.”

“Inej.” 

“Alright, alright. Who is it?”

Nina straightens her spine and leans forward as if at a campfire missing only a torch. She pulls the blanket over to cover her torso completely, trying to present herself as someone who deserves to be attracted to another being. 

“Matthais fucking Benedik Helvar. Who else?”

Inej’s lips part, not reaching a gasp, not unsurprised either.

“Could’ve been anyone. We do live in a house full of men.”

“Jesper is practically my brother and Wylan’s gay.”

“Wylan’s gay?”

“I don’t know if he knows, but yeah.”

“What about Kaz?”

“The devil? Doesn’t even count.”

“Awww, you really do like Matthias. You’re even picking up his lingo.”

“Shut. Up.”

Inej smiles really, really widely. She jumps up from her bed, exiting the room with Harry Houdini speed and precision whilst making no sound above human’s lowest decibels. In probably a minute or less, Inej has refilled her previous spot and chucked sensations crisps onto the dip in Nina’s lap. Nina really loves Inej, and this is in part due to her otherworldly knack for knowing what each occasion calls for. Now that their needs are fulfilled the gossip proceeds.

“So you like Matthias.”

“You could have at least phrased that as a question,” Nina mumbles, swallowing down the shredded crisps with an unnatural difficulty, her through narrowed; those wrongful thoughts acting as walls. But she has identified them as wrongful which means that there is a truth to her beauty, giving her the control to turn them off and open her airways. 

“You already answered it,” Inej replies steadily. That smile is still present and Nina wouldn’t be surprised to learn that so is hers too. 

“But he’s Matthias. He’s compassionate and caring and tall and honest and I really hope our walls are thick enough to block this out.”

“Compassionate, caring, tall, honest. Seems like pretty qualifying qualities if you ask me.”

“Hey, don’t steal my man!” 

“Oh no, you can have him thanks. But sorry, your man? That was a quick engagement.”

“Maybe he will be, you never know.”

“Well I do know as a matter of fact,” and true to her word, Inej says this matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen those blue eyes stare at you all adoringly. There’s no ‘ifs’ about it.”

Jesper

Jesper is losing it. No— Jesper has lost it. He can’t do another Thursday in his life, he can’t go back to uni, he can’t do another assignment. Who is going to hire him to look after kids if he can’t even look after himself?

He’s in one of those stuck-in-the-middle situations where he can breathe but his heart doesn’t know it. His hands shake at a ninety semiquaver beat, his lungs expanding at a twenty semibreve one. Jesper is nauseous yet frustratingly never sick, twisting from his gut to his throat like vines around a tree or tangled chargers that have never been unwoven. It tugs at him, triggering his gag reflex in the tormenting manner of a scare actor slash highly moody teacher. It agitates him, simulating the experience of Jesper as a sensitive child and another poking him in the belly like a soulless teen poking at a dead bird with a stick. Everyone and everything seems cruel.

Jesper is in tears; soaked cheeks, puffy eyes, running nose —the whole works. He sits criss cross on his bed with Kaz being thankfully absent, clawing at his neck with hope to relieve an unknown pressure. His lava lamp is on, his neon green fidget cube is nearby, but nothing on the table is eligible. Wylan pops his head in the door. Jesper embarrassingly sobs louder. Wylan takes this as an invite.

“What’s up?”

“What’s up?!” Jesper practically laughs, hiccuping though his cries. What’s up? What’s up with that question?

“I’m not great at comforting people.” Wylan delivers this message plainly, sitting down on the floor and looking up. Is this some sort of humour distraction method?

“Why are you on the floor?”

“We’re having floor time. You said floor time fixes everything, so I thought if I sat down here then you might too.”

And Jesper does, sliding down the side of his bed with a practiced glide. Jesper would be making some smooth comment right about now if his thinking neurons weren’t attacking him from the inside and eating away at all things good. He wonders if it’s those guys in his head making him ill.

“Do you like hugs and squeezes and stuff too?” Wylan asks him, eyelashes tilted upwards with his eyeballs following, inquisitive and pure. It’s unbearably sweet and Jesper stashes the image away, can only hope that the neurons don’t eat away at that one too. It’s sweet, because Wylan doesn’t understand but he understands enough, wanting to help him with the tools that helps himself with little knowledge of any other methods. It’s inconvenient, because a nice grounding technique would do wonders at this moment. 

Jesper finds it all acceptable, appreciating that Wylan’s presence alone is distracting enough to redirect his thoughts. 

“Not as much as you, but I like hugs,” which leads to some slight hesitation from the counter succeeded by Wylan enfolding him with security. Jesper is taller, but on the floor Wylan is on his knees, adding just enough in contrast to Jesper’s floor-flush bum that he can cradle Jesper’s head overtop and swaddle him with his other arm which has become a strand of tinsel for the cause. Jesper’s heart slows.

“Do you want to tell me the ‘why’?” Wylan questions lightly, soothing a thumb over his curls. The occasional sweep to his forehead are his favourite. 

“Too much to do.” Jesper feels pathetic. Not because he should be masculine and not cry, but because he should be Jesper. The Jesper who jokes and flirts and never slips from happiness. His shield is shattered.

“Exams?”

“Mhm. And lectures.” And now Jesper is a blabbering mess again, hands a mess from hacked-at cuticles and scratched-away scabs on his knuckles. He reaches for his neck again. Too tight.

“Yeah, you had a couple today, right?”

“Three.”

“Without a break? No wonder you’re burnt out.”

“Mhm.”

“You can just phone and get your timetable changed. Between the six of us we can help manage your workload. It’ll be fine, I swear.”

“Don’t want to phone the disability office. The guy was kind of an arsehole over email.”

“He’s already been through Kaz. I wouldn’t worry about him,” Wylan reassures, though the sinister tone of the line should be anything but. Still, the conviction in which it’s told removes any doubts. 

Chapter Text

Sunday, Matthias

Matthias is sitting in his car with Nina to his left, coaxing Nina into going into the GP. He doesn’t do it gently, because Nina doesn’t need that and he knows it. What he needs her to know is that if she doesn’t get in there in the next five minutes then they’ll turn her away, aggravating the whole ordeal and prolonging the inevitable as she’ll undoubtedly have to go through the treacherous process of ringing the secretary, detailing her symptoms and enduring the weeks long wait. Matthias has watched achingly as Nina’s stress has risen like the sea levels in cruel anticipation, dreading the appointment that he had convinced her to book pushing a month ago. Now, in real time, he begs not timidly, but with a sound strength that demands answer; he begs for it to be over with.

Nina gets out of the car.

Matthias watches as she walks through sliding glass onto nylon fabricated flooring. He allows her to go without his shadow after numerous conversations in which she promised a companion would make things worse. Matthias isn’t quite sure if he believes her, but he compromises in his brain that he can let himself feel less guilty for not standing the role of the manly protector, by reasoning that he is respecting the women in the situation’s choice. He finds that in his heart he does want to protect her though, if even in a softer way. In fact, he feels like some sort of hyper-attached ghost following Nina around in spirit with hopes of urging her towards good. It seems like he’s resorting to ludicracy in a pathetic desperation. Well, not exactly pathetic— anything in relation to Nina is far from that.

It’s been ten minutes and Matthias suspects that she’s now starting to get into the bulk of the list they created together. It consists of six main bullet points of concern, each having little hand drawn arrows beneath with further details on specific symptoms and recorded evidence. The page itself was ripped out from Matthias’s journal, which is strange because at the beginning he was so particular about the neatness and organisation of it, but now sees the value of disorder by recognising it’s simple way of demonstrating human nature. It also helps that he would do an awful lot for certain people. Despite his calculated estimations it appears that Matthias is definitely best suited for his English degree, Nina rapping on the window for him to unlock the car door at least twenty minutes before he expected. He clicks the button and she swings the door open and shut in a hurl, throwing her body into the seat as if m she’s a kid shooting her water bottle into the bin instead of a life worth being fragile with. There’s anger in her expression. 

“What did they say?”

Nina smooshes her lips outwards, looking up at the headliner of the car. Matthias knows that she isn’t religious as he is, but it really looks as though she’s searching for something from above. Something to quell the fury boiling up from her toes and pulsing through her veins, pushing forward in tight canals fighting vigorously only to simmer with a crackle when it reaches it’s destination in her chest. 

“I should try yoga and deep breathing,” she tells him, voice smooth and calm in the terrifying way associated with stern teachers who come back worse after a good day. Matthias is on the verge of storming in there himself, but doesn’t on the thought that his assistance is much more useful here with Nina. It’s a nice idea all the same.

“That’s it?” And while Matthias’s voice is low, he isn’t concealing his anger like she is; his is raging in a deep rumble that reflects the depth of his feeling. His is a warning.

“That’s it.”

“In ten minutes, that’s it?!”

“Five actually, had to fill my form in first.”

“Fuck. Ice cream and waffles?”

Nina nods very seriously.

Monday, Kaz

It’s ten at night, and since Kaz has been a certified loser from Colm put him in therapy at eleven softened his edges, Kaz is in bed with Jesper’s laptop opened up. His fingers type; focus unwavering. Jesper is in his own bed playing Wordle. It’s not even the daily one, but apparently his score is past three hundred and Jesper is unmovable once committed to something. It isn’t even late yet but the easy flow of words has already begun.

“Does Inej have anxiety?”

Jesper doesn’t look up from his game, but there’s an inquiry on his face that Kaz can’t deny. He elaborates on his blunt question.

“As in, has she talked to you about something like that?”

“No, I had an attack in front of her ages ago and she seemed to be spirally a bit herself but I don’t know anything, why? Did she tell you?” 

Kaz shakes his head.

“She hasn’t mentioned it. Just thought maybe she had to you.”

“Kaz, as lovely as it is that you’re caring about a human being that isn’t yourself, why would she mention something that doesn’t seem to be a problem?”

“Fuck off. I just thought some of her…behaviours are too much like yours to be normal. Breathing goes off sometimes, sweaty hands, weirdly cautious about safety things. Textbook stuff.”

Jesper mulls this over, taking long enough to speak that Kaz can tell he agrees.

“Are you concerned?” Jesper asks.

“Have you met me?”

“Unfortunately.”

So that’s the end of that. While Kaz is on his apparent do-gooder mission, he sends a message to Nina for her to come down to his and Jes’s room. Quite a reasonable ask. Kaz is already exerting generosity beyond his limits tonight so the least everyone can do is leave him with no need for the stairs.

Nina is suspicious and asks multiple times if it’s Jesper typing through Kaz’s phone, but alas she complies with a flamboyant entrance.

“What do you want?”

“I made you a spreadsheet.” Kaz turns the laptop screen to face her. Nina breaks down into a fit of laughter rivalling a hyena’s cackle which Kaz finds thoroughly unamusing.

“What’s your problem? If this is how I’m going to be treated for being kind then—.” Nina cuts him off, trying to compose herself before her reply.

“There isn’t one, it’s just, the formatting is a little funny. A spreadsheet? Why on earth would you make me a spreadsheet?”

“It’s to help whatever’s wrong with you. The pain and stuff. Look—,” he points at the table, “The row headings are the symptoms and the column headings are the fix. Or well, the suggestion provided based on what helps me.”

They all knew the impact that yesterday had on her. Kaz knows the least details on the situation but he sure knows the most on pain. Everyone else contributed their support with hugs and deep chats; things that Kaz just isn’t good at. To make up for it, because Kaz hates debt, he helps in a way that suits him— and he is mighty good on Excel. Nina looks happy.

“Thank you Kaz. I can’t even, just, thanks.”

“That’s fine. My splints won’t fit you but I got a few spare rolls of sports tape out for you. I’m sure Inej will know how to wrap it.”

“Actually, I dug under his bed to get the tape while he ordered me around,” Jesper corrects, his glare a playful jab.

“But it belongs to me.” Kaz says it with finality as he does often. It works often too.

Inej

“Aw it’s kind of sweet that he made that for you. It’s like when the baby grinch eats the Christmas plate and it’s so cute you could squeeze him to death but it’s also mildly disgusting.”

“Weird, but true,” Nina agrees, looking over the printed out copy of her spreadsheet. “Still more helpful than the doctors. Look, if I have back pain, all I have to do is go to row C and see that cells C3, C4 and C7 have been X’d off. That means my options are stretching it out, heat pad, ice pack, and painkillers.” 

“Very technical.”

“Mhm, clearly.”

Both of their phones buzz amongst the duvet. 

“Oh my god, they’re battling in the group chat.” Nina declares, opening up the chat instantly. 

“I thought they were supposed to be arranging Halloween costumes?”

“Oh, they are.”

University Housing 2024

[07/10/24][10:37pm]

Brekker: Why don’t you just dress up as one of your fucking Billy Goats Gruffs and live up to your name.

Matthias Helvar: What, so you can be the grumpy troll under the bridge? 

Brekker: Yes, it’s always been my dream to match with the Norwegian goat.

Matthias Helvar: Ooh Kaz, stop flirting with me.

“Oh my god, they’re going to get themselves killed.”

“Speak for yourself, I’d love to see them brawl. My man would win,” Nina says, delightfully typing into her phone to add to the swirl of messages with 

increasing drama.

“But have you seen Kaz and his cane? The thing has probably got a core of iron.”

“That don’t impress me much….!” And now Nina and broken into song, gaps between lyrics punctuated with love hearts towards the imaginary Matthais on front of her. 

Chapter Text

Tuesday, Nina

Nina thought she was having a bad day. Her bones ache, her body doesn’t align with the image she thinks it should, her mind is uncharacteristically busy with a stressed-out-shopping-centre-full-of-bosses-carrying-coffee vibe, rather than a cheery-shopping-centre-at Christmas-time one. That is until Matthias arrived home all stroppy and miserable from his lecture. Bigger problems were clearly at bay.

So they let him sit on the armchair —Kaz’s seat, but feel too bad to warn him of the incoming war. They don’t say a word when he sticks a half-over episode of ‘Four in a Bed’ on the tv and watches it with an intense fixative stare that could nearly set the whole device on fire. It’s only when the moping Matthias peels back the straw of his third mango and apricot smoothie with a flopped wrist and loose fingers that Wylan finally cracks. 

“Matthias, what’s happened?”

“Nothing, I’ve just bent my paper straw,” he grumbles,forcing it through the foil of his carton. 

“I keep silicone straws in the spoon drawer, go grab one,” Inej tells him, glancing over at Nina with a confused expression which Nina reflects back. What’s up with him? 

Nina dwells on this like she dwells on her teens, eyes following the sturdy frame that minimizes in size as it danders further into the kitchen. How massive of a thing would it take to deflate someone so great and strong, and what is this thing that has succeeded? He trails back in with his head bowed, resuming his position. 

“Did something happen in your class?” Nina asks him, just as Wylan had, but more direct and with less room to refute. Matthias tears away from the screen as if watching the mother-daughter duo on it check for dust is the one event he’s been counting down for. She could drown in those blue eyes; the way they look more like slushing waves than icicles, the silent beg for understanding.

Still, uselessly, he shakes his head just once. 

“You’ve just finished a full box of Wylan’s smoothies and he’s already going to lose it. Might as well fess up the real reason now.”

“Nothing happened. I have to do a presentation next week. Ten minutes long.”

“But you’ll be good at that! It’s just talking about something you enjoy,” Wylan reasons, looking just about as perplexed as Nina feels. 

Matthais doesn’t share the same sentiment.

“Yes, it’s just talking you fucking sausage, why don’t I just go bungee jumping too while I’m at it?!”

Wylan flinches, slightly, noticeably. Nina almost does too out of sheer shock. Wylan continues on.

“Are you anti-talking all of a sudden? Seems like you’re doing a pretty good job of it right now.” Which is a snarky response but maybe slightly deserved, even from Nina’s biased point of view. 

“I think you might be too if you sounded like Kristoff Bjorgman with a two times deeper voice drop.”

That’s about the end of Nina’s limit; her rope of containment frazzled from desperate grip. She bursts into a cackle.

“You know the guy from Frozen’s full government name!”

“You’re bullying my struggles,” and while Matthais says it jokingly she can see the evidential impact on him by glance alone. He swallows jaggedly before his words can spike up, words that somehow roll out smoothly and warm in the richest manner. His lips stay permanently flat and unamused as though the very corners themselves are heavy of tonnes.

“I’m sure you could get out of doing it for now,” Inej suggests, practical in her compassionate way. Nina wishes that she had some of that softness in her own actions and words.

“Everyone would notice I haven’t done it. The whole point is not wanting to stand out, that would only make it worse.” Matthias explains.

“Are you kidding?! I wish I could blend in and be as normal and act all good as well as you do.” This comment comes earnestly from the depths of Wylan, but it comes across as a compliment that Matthias seems to really appreciate. What Nina really appreciates is the cluelessness of this entire household. 

Matthias refuses the account but thanks him.

“So is it your accent that’s the ‘problem’?” Nina asks, making sure to include her bunny finger quotations with emphasis. The look she receives back isn’t a glare, but a dimmed version with dropping eyelids that confirm her question. Matthias looks really, really sad. Not angry. Not stressed or nervous. Not annoyed.

“But I like it,” Nina claims, sharing his feeling. It hurts to realise his lack of awareness of his beautiful nature. 

Matthias is on the weekly planner on the fridge to cook dinner tonight, and while many would have offered to step in just as Inej had, they agreed that a treat is called for. Inej and Wylan left the house to get takeaway, agreeing to bring Matthias with them as a form of distraction. That’s around when Jesper and Kaz got home, Jesper declaring his want to join them due to his general love of trips; Kaz taking his seat in his armchair, frowning at the ruffled cushions and concocting a list of suspects. It’s just the two of them left. 

Nina actually does watch the rest of the ‘Four in a Bed’ episode, including the ad breaks in between that amuse her just as much as the show. She then stands up to head to her room at the same time that Kaz does so. She becomes dizzy.

Nina’s joints crackle, painfully crunching down together as her feet solidify to the ground, but no —they aren’t solidifying; they’re liquid and jelly; soon to be gas. They have one job, but they can’t complete it and she’s falling. Leather gloves tug on her, at the shoulders and waist. Nina doesn’t hit the ground, pulled upwards too soon, followed by a shove onto the sofa where she plops. It was fast, and now she feels ill. She’s hurting, and it’s everywhere. There’s a pain in her knee that fries down to areas she didn’t know she could feel, twisting and warping all perception as her mind tries to cope with the physical aspects that syncopate with the mental. Her back throbs, affecting her head and chest and really, she can’t tell where it begins. The expanse covers her entire body and there are only bad spots and worse. A spiderweb of infliction. A fog. 

Through the fog and squinting vision she sees that Kaz is curled on the floor, approximately where Nina would have ended up, convulsing from the utter disgust of their contact. His gloves are very much still on, clinging to his sweating skin, the excess trickling down his wrists in beads of pure repulse. The shine on his face is separate, likely from tears, glistening on his pale cheekbones like the sheen of an ice rink. Nina doesn’t think he can breathe much more than she can, though his overall semblance seems much more severe. The guilt floods her. 

Nina’s fault. 

But she can’t help him. She can’t help herself. Fatigue has infected her brain and pain has corrupted all motor neurons, excluding even words from her abilities. Her eyes shut. 

Nina finds herself in her own room and bed, not knowing how long it’s been; not having the energy to care. She feels deep into the mattress, flat on her back with the impression that it has dipped so much that she has become level with it. The atmosphere is spiritual despite her groggy state, swirls of force floating through the air similarly to jellyfish, circling her head and feeding into her delusions. Nina tries to categorise the present tense for herself. 

She still feels sick, but not to her stomach. Everything else remains of the real stuff but the same can’t be said for the corresponding mental connotations. The fog isn’t quite there, no longer grey but instead a translucent cover that separates mind from reality without the dark weight from before. The thoughts are now gone to an almost worrying degree, though she’s personally not complaining about it and would prefer it stay that way. The trouble comes when they reach their natural flow, building up and up and up until the nauseating guilt attacks her flesh like once before. This time, she is more aware; and this time, it hurts bad.

Inej, her hero, comes to her rescue, and she comes with the goods.

“One salted chilli chicken for you, freshly microwaved,” she pulls her left hand out from behind her back, “And one red slush.”

“Literal saint, thank you,” Nina says, enthusiasm in tow however fake it may be.

“Don’t worry about it,” Inej replies, sitting at the end of Nina’s bed with her own plate supported by a pillow. They dig into their meals.

“Can you fill me in on what I’ve missed while being…unconscious?”

“Uh, when we got back both of you were completely out of it. I focused on you and Jesper focused on Kaz. The other two hovered.”

“Oh. Was Kaz passed out?”

“I don’t think so. Pretty close to it I guess, but I think it was a panic attack sort of thing. What happened?”

“I nearly collapsed and he like, stopped me from falling and then directed me to the sofa. Set off his touch thing.”

“Yeah, there’s paracetamol sitting there for you for when you’re done eating. Is it bad?”

“It’s better now.” Not miles off a lie, but Inej catches it. Pity is taken though, and Nina escapes today’s lecture. 

“Is he fine again?” Nina asks her, redirecting from herself. This is unexpected on her part, because it’s been a rarity her whole life to pass up attention. But here she is.

“Getting there I reckon. Jesper has managed to get him into his own room which apparently helps, but I don’t know how much progress has been made since then. It’s been five minutes?”

“It’s my fault. It’s my fault and I’m in debt to bloody Brekker. I don’t think it can get much worse.”

“Oh it can. There was vomit on the floor.”

Nina rolls her eyes. Inej is possibly the best person on this planet and Nina would argue that she would have an extra five lives had she met Inej in first year. She’s so funny, and Nina has never once heard someone tell her so. 

“Right, it’s all depressing. Tell me something happy.”

“Hm, let me see. Oh! Matthias carried you upstairs.”

Nina smiles wider than she has done all day including even the first glimpse of her red slushie.

“I should do this more often.”

Why am I talking to you:

[08/10/24][6:25pm]

Zenik: Sorry, and thank you!

Brekker: Yes, and you’re welcome. 

Chapter Text

Sunday, Kaz

Kaz has been in isolation for five days. He hasn’t been to class. He hasn’t spoken to anyone other than Jesper, who has been lucky to get three words a day at most. Their conversations have mostly consisted of: ‘Meds? Taken,’ ‘Have you eaten? Guess,’ ‘How do you feel? Fine,’ ‘Have you drunk water? No?’ Consequentially, Jesper is freaked into another fucked up RSD realm and Kaz feels as shitty a he started. 

His gloves aren’t enough; not now that he knows the true consequence of skin to his own. Walls aren’t enough. Neither would the whole world be. He feels ill, sickeningly so, seared through his flesh, easily, as if it’s rotten. It feels patchy in areas, mind warping a fixed reality and it seems as though it’s one step away from disintegrating. Memories grip him like a hand up his throat, reaching for some unplaceable thing as Jordie might have done for his last breath; water flooding his lungs where oxygen should have been, taunting the surrounding cells mercilessly. These memories loop, persisting after the banishing of his initial panic and truly enhancing the absorbing phobia he is forced to bear. Usually, they shake away, but this time it’s blooming late; the knowledge that someone could bump into him at any time when he’s living with five other people is really sinking in. 

Kaz stands hovered over the sink, dripped blue toothpaste squirted by the tap out of a tube squeezed from the middle, a razor on the left that he does well to ignore. The hot tap is on, run for as long as possible, then allows himself to rinse his hands, his arms. The water is boiling, creating a painful tingle with short pricks to his pores as each trickle flows down. It follows the path of his veins in a way that should only happen in science fiction. Again, again, he thinks of gore, of death. Kaz scrubs desperately, yellow tinged skin brightening into an ugly red. The blotches form as reminders of the why, and he scrubs again, hoping for the claws to catch on the net below his skin and tear through it, maybe pull out the disease. He leaves the bathroom broken, yet follows into the living room for the first time this week instead of retreating back to his bed.

Inej, compassionate as she is, doesn’t comment on his sudden return. She is stretched languidly over the sofa, not speaking first, however she turns her body to angle towards his place on the armchair. Kaz sometimes wonders if Inej is mindful of her words because she’s caring or because it’s been instilled in her to be careful. This, paired with her irrational hesitancy around being alone with him, leads to him gathering a few questions on the matter. With the success of his frequent analysing he has ruled out the possibility that it is purely a Kaz problem because the nature doesn’t automatically evaporate with the introduction of say, Jesper or Wylan. He couldn’t say for sure about Matthias as he tends to avoid proximity with the goat, but Nina is able to fix it by just being there. He doesn’t know what’s got him so interested though. Why does he even care? She ends up taking the plunge herself. 

“It’s so close to your birthday, are you sure there isn’t anything you want?”

Kaz scoffs.

“No.”

“Surely there’s something you want.”

“Colm and Jesper are getting me a new laptop for a joint birthday-Christmas present. That’s what I want.”

“Okay, but what about from us?”

“Us?” Kaz repeats. Inej rolls her eyes.

“Yes us, the group of strangers you live with.”

“Don’t need anything.”

“Kaz,” she huffs, but they lapse into silence.

Kaz is fine with quiet. Welcomes it. But the minutes drag on and while she sits with a book and pen, Kaz has come on this expedition unprepared. His leg aches the usual ache and his thoughts churn in their regular rhythm, but a sharp jolt through his calf prods an unexpected manoeuvre to release the pain fast. And it’s just that —the quick movement as he repositions— that draws a flinch out Inej like a clip to her ear. Questions swarm. He wants to know the why, and so he offers something of his own as almost a playground trade. 

“My brother died in front of me”

Inej looks up, face trailing over emotions like fingers over files. She reveals nothing and he respects it. 

“Oh, sorry. Thanks for telling me.”

He studies her steadily, watching for her to slip up. He doesn’t offer any real reply beyond a grunt.

“Is it something you want to talk about?”

“No. It’s the reason for the touch thing. Thought you should know.”

“Thank you, Kaz.”

He nods. 

Monday, Matthias

Matthias is fully convinced that this is the end for him. His presentation is in an hour. An hour and he has to talk to strangers who he doesn’t trust, let them soak up the highs and lows of his voice whilst deceiving his professor of ‘confidence’, because only the self assured folk get good marks. It feels like an injustice to just about every minority, but really Matthias doesn’t have a say at all considering he doesn’t belong to any. Regardless, unjust feels accurate. He can’t do it, he can’t. He won’t. But he can’t cry either; that’s another layer of shame that his tendons can’t bear to carry. To replace the tears he ran far past the time that Inej went back to the house with a half-hearted claim to do only ‘a quick lap of the estate.’ This very quickly turned into a two hour journey featuring many worried phone calls and a text from Kaz, which honestly, even more concerning. 

Now he sits trapped in the bathroom, calves burning as if he’d taken a torch to them himself. He’s not panicking —not the way he did over the nail fiasco. He’s dreading. The distinction is very important to notice, because while before he was sad and out of his mind, now he is sad and in his mind, and very aware of his problems. His thoughts are clearer, kindly gifting him the chance to process the up and coming horror in more detail. But can thoughts really be clear if darkness blurs around their edges? 

His body feels it too. The familiar constricting in his throat, a noose pulled tight. Matthias is cramped on the small bathroom floor, the red wooly noodles of the shower mat below him, but not cramped enough to explain the pins and needles in his feet that tingle to the extent of almost pain at every slight movement. He’s tired yet it’s only reaching eight am. Matthias doesn’t want to go.

“Get the fuck out of the bathroom, we only have one! One, Matthias. For two girls and four looks-obsessed boys. Move it.” Nina thuds the door another few times for good measure. Matthias should add headache to his list. 

“Two minutes,” he mumbles back.

“Yeah, that’s when I should have been out of the house. Two minutes ago. Put a kick in it Helvar.”

“Nina c’mon—.”

“Are you naked?”

Matthias splutters, taken aback and conflicted by the heat now resting in his cheeks. It seems Nina’s bullets can blow through walls.

“No?!”

He hears Nina softly mutter something affirmative, unlocking the door from the outside. He didn’t know that could even happen. Then, once she’s caught side of his sulking state, she is closing the door behind her and kneeling down. She’s close and she’s beautiful and maybe Mattthais should act on that. He can’t though. His new motto for today is that: ‘he can’t.’ He feels empty like a field at night, nothing but overgrown hedges and jagged branches to poke at him the way one might poke an animal to see if it’s alive. He doesn’t feel alive much right now, and he doubts he looks much alive by the frown hanging from Nina’s face. He feels hollow and there’s a petal of nostalgia within that, because doesn’t he always? Isn’t that the reason he looks so deeply for beauty in the most mundane items? To manually fill the void? Matthais can’t reach the truth right now; it’s too far away and far too heavy to catch. Pitted by miles, his head is a crater of despair, and well, he doesn’t quite have the energy to climb out without rope. After all, his legs do burn.

Despite the fog surrounding other matters, Matthias does know that Nina’s beauty requires no digging. There’s a certainty in that.

She’s been trying to get through to him, he realises. The shaking of his torso by a grip on his shoulders tells him so. 

“C’mon you’ve got to talk to me.” He picks up on her insistent tone with distaste.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Matthias bites this out bitterly, sadness seeping into his vowels instead of anger into his consonants. 

“What, me?” Nina asks, and she sounds hurt as she says it. More sadness. 

“No, the talking.”

It takes a few seconds for it to click, but it does. Nina considers the impact. Or that’s what he thinks she does in the moments in between. 

“Your presentation’s today.” Which Matthias finds to be interesting phrasing. A statement not a questions. 

“Nine-fifteen sharp.”

“I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Matthias is soothing circles on his knee, exposed by shorts. Nina takes up the same action on a patch of skin by his ankle, lazily swirling the closest area to where her hand already rested. His circles were helping and she noticed, and now her circles are helping too. 

“My fear of public speaking?”

“I guess. And the accent thing. I thought you were just a bit insecure about it.”

“More than a bit.” More than insecure. He can’t bear it, the humiliation, the judgement. He can’t speak. He can’t go in. He can’t. There’s a buzz in his head that just won’t get out. It grows louder and it multiplies, projecting the sound of a thousand bees, a thousand devices, all buzzing at different pitches and harmonising in a discordant chord. Matthias can’t hear beyond it; his thoughts are distant. 

“Matthias. Why do you care? You have a gorgeous voice to match the rest of you. I don’t get it.”

“It’s alienating. I get away with blending in and then the second I open my mouth, boom. Everyone knows I’m different.”

Nina doesn’t take this well. She shifts from sitting opposite to by his side, squishing to lean her back against the same wall as him between the towel rack and the shower and gently guiding his shoulders down to force him into a slump. His head rests on her chest and he’s grateful now for the buzzing. All thoughts of masculinity are muffled. 

“Just because you’re not a born and bred farmer? It doesn’t matter if you’re not from here. You can have two homes, it’s not like there’s a set in stone limit. It’s also not like any of us fit the norm.”

“But Nina I can’t.”

“Do your presentation?”

He hums, wondering if she felt the rumble of it in her throat the way he did in his own. 

“Then don’t go in.”

“That’s rude.”

“Then send a fucking email.”

A good suggestion, Matthias thinks. His grade could be a concern, but one won’t make a difference. He doesn’t reply, but he’s sure that Nina knows his thoughts anyway.

“Shower and pajamas. I’ll make breakfast and stick on a movie while you’re getting sorted,” and it’s times like these that he recalls just how bossy she can be.

“It’s your class today aswell.”

“It’s a lecture not lab. Easy to catch up on.”

Suits him fine.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, Jesper

Jesper is hyped. He loves birthdays and while they ended up getting to do Matthias’s properly in the end, the lack of preparation was sorely missed. Planning is the fun part, and that’s the part they missed out on? What a terrible and cruel world this is. So naturally, as the mother of the earth would have it, he’ll be taking advantage of Kaz’s birthday just as he has done every year since they both turned ten. A beloved tradition, at least on Jesper’s part. The grass wouldn’t be green without the girls though, hence his inviting of them on his quest to the shops. Nina has class until two o’clock which is simply too long to wait, driving him to take action now —at eleven am— instead of afternoon. 

“It’ll be fun and we can go TK Maxx so you can live your truth while I frolic around and we can even get slushies on the way, and you can control the music in the car, and make a list of what you want to buy in your notes app so you don’t stress.” Jesper rambles on as Inej wraps her ribbed scarf around her neck, fighting to convince her despite the fact she agreed on his first try. He feels guilty, sickeningly so, for no other reason than satisfying his impulse. Can you even call shopping an impulse? This is where his third year counsellor would have chirped up about how his ADHD and addiction combo can alter some definitions for him, RIP Mr Lanton. Regardless, Jesper needs to prove that this isn’t solely for his benefit, that Inej will enjoy herself too, that he isn’t a selfish blob of bones and nothing more. 

“We can’t get slushes without Nina, but yes to the other things. What’s the plan?”

“Shops and then pick Nina up and then more shops,” he replies, tone lazy and hands hyperactive. They might not be had he taken his stimulants after his Xanax this morning. 

“That’s not a flow diagram, it’s a bullet point list. What shops? Where? When? For how long? How far away? When will Nina get out? What car are we taking? Are we eating? Where are we eating? Are we waiting for Nina to eat, or just us having? Specifics, Jesper. Specifics.”

Fair enough, Jesper mumbles inwardly, scratching the nape of his neck, fingers digging into the groove. He hadn’t thought that far ahead though. In fact, he had, but it was all in bold-lettered bullet points, just as Inej had said. He hadn’t filled in the gaps and he hates that he’s so easily read. Kaz would have a proper lecture at him for that one. 

“We’ll do the shops on main street first: TK Maxx; the charity shops; the trinket-y one with the blue door; the Spar; the smaller The Works. Then we’ll get takeout from somewhere —probably Bonnie’s— then we’ll pick up Nina. Then we’ll go to the shopping centre and do the other shops, like the big The Works and Primark and stuff. Slushies on the way home.”

Inej nods, seemingly pleased and approving, then questions again. He feels the dread of a scolded schoolboy. 

“Who’s car?”

“We can take the truck cause Matthias drove them to campus instead of Kaz,” he replies: smooth, controlled, not-at-all-practiced.

“And Kaz let him?!”

“I think Matthias is growing on him. They’re becoming surprisingly affectionate.”

“I’d tell Matthias to barricade his door at night and watch his back. "Keep your enemies close’ or something," she comments jokingly, but the sentence delves increasingly under her breath which portrays her seriousness blatantly. Oh, to be young and fall into the trap of overestimating Kaz Brekker that so many others follow. Kaz hasn’t actually killed anyone yet. 

“They really are a couple of softies. You’re missing out on all of the good rom-com material when you’re at your fitness classes.” He offers her the keys as they head out the door, taking in the subtle drop of her shoulders as he does so. Jesper can add this to his evidence list of reasons why a little break from his medication can be good. Usually it’s bad, super bad, to feel and see and hear everything around him, but if he wasn’t seeing everything right now then he wouldn’t have seen Inej’s minuscule reaction. It’s looking like either Jesper is a horrible driver, or Inej feels more comfortable with the control in her grip. Jesper chooses the latter for his own feeling’s sake. 

They get in the car, Inej plugging her phone into the aux and hitting play on Tracy Chapman; an easy choice to agree on. She’s driving and he’s tapping his feet. His head is a weird scene at the minute: his thoughts race above speed limits but the volume stays at library level. It’s a war, but between who? Jesper thinks anyways, and circles around his hamartia that he has armoured against so ineffectively today that it’s obvious that the tragedy of his life will come to its end. He brought his car, not cash. Cash is easier to control, to set a set-in-stone upper limit. His card has money on it, and maybe positivity would say that it’s an achievement, to have saved for as long as he has. Still, he’ll face the inevitable today and the numbers will drop to zero once again. His brain disregards this.

‘Talking Bout a Revolution,’ is playing now and he jumps on it, glad of it’s pull on him as he touches random things laying around, playing with the hair ties on the gear stick. 

“Are you alright? If you’re too, like —you know— anxious or something, we could always go out later and stick to the original plan.” 

“I’m not though, I’m the one who asked to do this now so really you have no choice but to indulge in my delusions.” Jesper pauses only briefly before adding “Unless you don’t want to obviously. Then you do have a choice,” because he can’t be sounding like a manipulative asshole. He can’t be manipulative, and he certainly can’t cause Inej to hate him. 

“Shockingly, I’m not quite sold. What’s all that then?” She gestures to his catastrophic fidgeting, twirling fingers and bouncing legs. 

“The usual? You’re dramatic today, maybe some distancing from Nina is a good thing. Want a Malteser?”

She takes one from the box in his hand and pops it straight into her mouth without a glance away from the road. “Dramatic? Coming from you? Stop evading questions.”

“It’s the neurodivergent part of my brain, not the anxious part.”

“It’s split into parts?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I thought your medication calmed all that.”

“It does.”

“So why isn’t it today?”

“I didn’t take it today.” The guilt returns, though it is quickly overridden by the wash of a high. Inej looks like she wants to be pissed but in reality she’s 

“Jesper!”

“Calm down, I have my lunch time ones with me. I just wanted to feel it for a while.”

“Feel what?”

‘I don’t know? More than usual.”

Inej scratches her elbow. Leans back. Checks for traffic. He waits nerve-wreckingly for a grand reaction to his casual admittal. Funny how there’s a weight to the words that he says so lightly. As she shakes her head he questions what thought she shook it to. It feels like a rejection. “Let’s not debunk whatever on earth that means right now, it’s too bright of a day for it. More to the point, where did you just pull those Maktesers from?”

“I keep a stash in the glove compartment at all times.”

“Mhm, necessities.”

Jesper agrees with a returned hum, shoving a bobby pin into the stripy hot-air-blowing vents. 

“What’s the difference between your ADHD on-edge and your panic on-edge?”

“I thought it was too bright for these talks,” Jesper tries, earning a look of disapproval before continuing on. “They feel different. And they look different too if you’re used to seeing it.”

“But how do you know you have either of them? Like do you have a mental checklist where you can just say ‘ah yes, this one is causing my issues today’?”

“I draw the line at listing my documented symptoms. I’m sure they’re more or less the same as yours.”

“My what?” Her aloof tone is about as convincing as his own. Trimmed nails bite into the hard leather of the steering wheel. He doesn’t know what, because he can rarely ever tell, but Jesper has somehow fucked up.

“Your anxiety symptoms. Anxiety’s anxiety, they’ll be mostly the same.”

“I get the gist Jes, but you know I don’t have that.”

“You’re not diagnosed,”

“Yeah, like I said.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t have it though.”

“That’s pretty much the definition of a diagnosis. I don’t have it.”

“I bet you meet the criteria.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“You could get a diagnosis then. Why don’t you?”

Inej goes quiet in her quiet way. It’ll be brought up again if even not on her accord, Jesper’s sure of it. So they continue on, parking up on a set of double yellow lines at the top of the street, blue placard on the dashboard. They’ve been talking, but Jesper asks a question as she turns off the engine.

“Will you send me this playlist so I can show Wylan?” He adjusts his rings. Inej’s muscles don’t once contact, no twitch betraying a hint of information and Jesper sometimes wonders just how much she knows. About anything and everything, really.

“Yeah I can just send it straight to him to be easier.”

Easier, he grumbles internally. As if the recipient's not worth a little work.

2:27pm, Nina

“What do we even buy for him. He doesn’t like things.” Nina speaks loudly as though she was aiming this towards the general public. The shopping centre isn’t packed but it’s nearly at that point, not due to large numbers of people but because of the smaller scale of the building itself. A chip from the takeaway carton in her hand satisfied her until she received verbal answers. 

“I asked him and he didn’t want anything,” Inej comments, dipping her own chip into Jesper’s salsa. Nina does the same, and then loads the other end with her mayo-ketchup combo. 

“See? Lost cause.”

“We’ll just get him nice things. There doesn’t need to be a list. Go with the flow!”

Nina nods solemnly, allowing herself to be led. Sainsbury’s first. 

“What’a first?” Inej asked, immediately cut off by an enthusiastic Jesper. 

“The flow!”

With sympathy towards Inej, Nina agreed. The flow.

“What were you up to in lab today?”

“They’re not letting us do fun stuff. I took notes on fifty sets of cell divisions and now I have another two hundred due to set up myself.”

“Yeah I see the future nice and clear: Nina Zenik, world renowned for saving lives with microscopes.” Inej jokes. Nina thinks that Jesper is probably zoned out by now, but pays attention to find that he’s turning into the fourth aisle ahead. Figures.

“I will save lives.” Nina affirms, swiping a dollop of sauce from her shirt and licking clean her fingers.

“What are you thinking of doing? Nursing or something doctor-y?”

“Nursing, maybe. Or o think I’d like to be a paramedic.”

Inej smiles. Oh how she loves her friends. “It suits you.”

Chapter Text

Inej

Inej has been englishetened on many things since the start of the day. For instance, the anxiety that she may have? Yet she doesn’t concern herself because things are good. She has friends and she loves them and for once in her short and holy life, she truly believes that they love her in return. Isn’t that something? Regardless, that’s how things are going as Nina and Jesper hook arms with her as they skip down the bustling shopping centre like an old married couple and their gangsta best friend. Who the couple is There’s laughter and chatter and maybe she doesn’t have to hate the irregularity of it because their unpredictability is predictable. Inej knows these people like the bridge of a song. Inej is happy, even happier as her imagination runs wild with the prospect of a small, glowing smile on the face of Kaz Brekker as he receives presents from people he didn’t know cares. That’s the dream. Inej fully believes that they could all be happy like some dysfunctional family crammed along a rectangular dinner table for a reunion. It seems like Jesper is happily the glue. 

They rumble into the fourth shop on this level, his basket quickly filling just as it had in the other three, evidence in the bags hang at Inej’s elbow. It feels like his card is just tap tap tap, cautious though he is being, even Nina’s and her own has gotten a turn at the cash desk. A storm of colours float inconspicuously in the form of wrapping paper, a scheme of shades unmatching to the demeanor of Kaz yet Jesper insists upon their perfection. They decide on a group birthday card to remove pressure off of the less enthusiastic participants of their group, presuming that everyone would be happy enough to sign their name and a good wish. It wouldn’t be fair to not do so for the sake of Wylan and Matthias who mightn’t get to the shops themselves in the next week. A quick message and a photo attachment to their Kaz-exclusatory group chat ‘Plotting Against The Plotter,’ confirms that they are happy with the chosen card. It’s bought and they move on.

Somewhere in the mix of joy and giving, emotions are brought in and the reaction is worth seeing, in Inej’s humble opinion. 

“You know, Matthias moved the sofa while I was sitting on it this morning. He then proceeded to make me a smoothie bowl.” Nina drops this into the conversation lazily, though Inej knows her heart is in the hundreds. 

“He did?!” She exclaims in reply, recognising the utter excitement in Nina’s face and ultimately seeing why herself. 

“He did!” 

“Excuse me for rudely barging in on your chit chat, but what’s the significance?” 

“Cause I like him, obviously. Get in the loop Jes.” Nina rolls her eyes, pinching his Lucozade from his pocket. 

“You what?!” Jesper’s turn to exclaim now. Inej feels equally out of the loop for separate reasons.

“Wait, you didn’t know?!” 

“Of course he didn’t know, the boy’s as oblivious as a gay preacher.” Nina drawls, returning the bottle.

“Hey— wait, what?! I’m bi and I’m very aware of the fact, thanks very much.” Jesper splatters, his own mind referring to something that Inej can’t quite place. She’s not sure if Nina can or if her educated guess is one of a conman. 

“Yeah, but for who?” Nina goads, smiling knowingly. So she can place it then. Inej thinks it’s best to give him a break and let his head stop spinning for just a second. She diverts.

“Back to Matthias, sofa and smoothie?” 

“Yes! Can you believe?”

Jesper shakes his head, not in denial exactly, but more to empty out the questions he knows aren’t worth asking. Very silly really. Does he think he’s a salt shaker? “Back to my original question. What’s the significance of Matthias moving the sofa while you’re sitting on it? And why did this occur in the first place?” Jesper queries innocently. 

“Because it’s hot. Imagine Wylan’s hair tie dropped and went under the sofa, and instead of inconveniencing you, he moves the entire thing effortlessly while you’re still lying stretched out like a cat. Hot.” 

“Why Wylan?” Jesper stays calm, shockingly, but those eyebrows can’t hide confusion. He shoots them at Nina. 

“Gay preacher, Jesper. Gay preacher.” Nina repeats. 

“Whatever, anything’d be hot with you lying stretched out.” Jesper bats his eyelashes as her in typical Jesper fashion, flirting humorously enough that strangers could easily fall for the act be they unaware of their sibling closeness. 

“Nice try love, you’re me in this scenario.” Nina rectifies. 

“So true. Right, I’m on the sofa, some mysterious being is shifting tremendous weight without breaking a sweat. Hot.” Inej can tell he’s truly envisioning by the tilted smile alone.  

“Right?! And he didn’t want to inconvenience me. How cute?!” Nina smiles it too.

“So cute!” Jesper parrots. 

“Hey, that’s bare minimum girl, you should be getting queen treatment. Keep those standards high.” Inej reprimands.

“Preach girl.” 

“I’m so glad he’s trying out that smoothie bowl recipe I gave him though. Is it good?” Inej questions, shifting the digging-in bag straps to her other arm.

“So good, knew it had to be yours. Should be marrying you instead,” and wow, those two really are two peas in a pod.

“You flatter me.” Inej responds. 

Life continues as it does, five bags now dangling amongst them. A hilarious sight if anyone knew who the legos and the chocolate planned for rice crispy buns are for. Still, Inej is determined to watch Kaz crack, and not how most people are. She doesn’t want him miserable. It’s not like he hasn’t had enough of that is his short and holy life. She hopes that his nineteenth is a good one. 

They call it a day when Nina grows visibly worn out, shaking presumable aches out from her hands increasingly frequently with an attempted subtly, to the point where a glance between Inej and Jesper directed them to the underground car park. She helps load their purchases into the back beside Jesper before seating into the driver’s side herself. Secretly, she’s glad to be getting back home in daylight. She’s comfortable in her body and she trusts it, but that means solo and doesn’t include other huge metal oddly shaped machines like the one she’s currently in control of. Not to mention other people who she definitely doesn’t trust on small roads in a big darkness. In her books: almost everyone deserves kindness, almost no one deserves trust. She’s all for safety and really, is there a better way to ensure it?

“How did you even know what to get him?” Inej asks Jesper, eyeing the twenty-four pack of Pepsi. While she and Nina did end up getting into the groove of it fairly quickly, Jesper waltzed down the shop aisles like he was born with the rhythm. The slight increase of speed in Jesper’s movements doesn’t go unnoticed however he quickly settles and replies.

“I let the vibes guide me and picked up anything that gave Kaz energy. Easy peasy.” Jesper explains, picking at the label on a jumper.

“I learnt today that Kaz does have a personality, even if I’ve never personally seen it.” Nina comments, completely unnecessarily and completely appreciatively. 

Inej continues their drive, fingers clenched on the wheel, posture a little rigid, eyes trained to scan for danger. She parks up at the corner shop. 

Nina squeals in delight.

“Slushies?” She looks for confirmation, which Inej gives. 

“Slushies.” 

“Is Matthias still at work?” Nina asks. 

“Yeah his shift ends at seven.” Jesper replies, glancing up from his phone. 

“Hey, how’d you know that? Back off of my husband.” Nina says accusingly, wiggling her finger over her shoulder. 

“You can have him! You can have him, jeez. Heavens forbid I’m chatty.” Jesper surrenders, looking genuinely frightened. 

“Don’t we know it,” Nina grumbles, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“We can get him one anyways, there’s room in the freezer.” Inej says placating, opening the door for Jesper as a peace offering sent by pigeon from Nina. 

They get out of the car, discussion closed, though Inej could swear that she saw Nina grin before getting out. 

Wylan 

Wylan was very kindly surprised with his usual, familiar, blue slush. These began as a Friday treat, and then a feel-better remedy, and now an every occasion thing. Not that he minds though, they are convenient to grab and Jesper or Inej always makes sure they get his favourite. He himself isn’t a fan of the corner shop. It’s always much too cold and the fridges make peculiar noises that are sure to be ones of a monster. Then again, he’s never heard his dad hum. So maybe not a monster. 

He’s sat —no, squished— between Nina and Jes, Fish to Jesper’s right taking up a good third of the sofa because no one has it in them to move her. He’s immersed in their conversation, yet doesn’t feel the pressure to be, aided by the headphones over his ears and the comfort that’s been a steady building wall since they moved in together. If his confidence builds up likewise there’s a teeny possibility that he’ll tolerate the corner shop, aided by his headphones. They can’t talk about Kaz’s birthday because unlike in the cases of the others, any Kaz birthday plans that are mentioned are birthday plans that Kaz will demolish. To accommodate this, conversation shifts to Halloween, specifically the apparently existent plans that Wylan has been so far unaware of. His levels deplete automatically, head under an electric whisk as he tries to pick out information from the pool of their conversation. The storyline is everywhere and so is his brain. Costumes. Movies. Funfair. Staying at the farm; everyone invited? Already, it’s too much. He’s out of the room in an instant.

While Wylan would love to tell himself that he’s not a terrible person, he is very glad that Matthias is still at the dog rescue for another hour or so, leaving his bedroom empty and tears free to flow. It’s so stupid. He doesn’t have anything against the plans. He just doesn’t know when they formed and is actually quite alright with not being present for the process had he just known sooner. It’s what, the fifteenth? Halfway through the month and absolutely no mention, and now that there finally is mention Wylan can’t bring himself to be happy or even satisfied because of the utter lack of details. His own fault, really, for not sticking around to learn more; as if he would be able to speak. In no situation could he have won. But no, the fact doesn’t comfort him. Instead, Jesper is at his door. Actually no, Jesper is in his room. Wylan is in tears, and Jesper is approaching him, in-the-same-vicinity-as-him, there. This is positively not a great situation to move in so he naturally curates an escape route and attempts to make a run for it, quickly cut off by a pleading Jesper who clearly doesn’t approve of his mission. Warm hands encapsulate him completely, firm on his back from his standing position. He neither directs or redirects him, standing strong and solid. 

They stay like that until his sobs soften into echoes in the silent room, only quiet breaths protrude into the space. After that they break apart, the warmth spreading from Wylan’s back to his front, hands to his shoulders pressing him to sit down again. He does so and comforts himself with folded legs and a hunched posture and a reflecting Jesper in front of him. As petty as he is, Wylan doesn’t speak, at least not at first. This time it’s a little more voluntary than before.

“What happened?” Jesper looks at him way too nicely for Wylan’s current temper. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Wylan corrects, not-so-slightly panicking at the implication. 

“That’s not what I asked” Jesper presses.

Wylan kneads his knuckles into the meat of his leg, little dots of red and white dancing around the area of his calf. 

“Right,” he breathes out in response, not quite responding. 

“So what happened?” Jesper repeats.

They go back and forth for some time, Wylan never fully giving in. Until he does, of course.

“I just didn’t know everyone had plans for Halloween?”

“Wait Wylan no, you’re included in those plans did you think we would—“

“That’s the problem! There’s plans including me that I didn’t know about! Did everyone assume I’m a fucking mind reader that—“

“Wy, breathe. It’s my fault, I get that I fucked up and should’ve known you would freak over the suddenness of it. I get that that’s a bad thing for you. I’m just a bit… excitable over this stuff and once I have an idea in my head I tend to run with it. We don’t even have the details worked out yet.”

“That’s another issue! How I’m I supposed to be okay with something I know nothing about? It’s like you’ve put me on death row with no date.”

“Okay yeah, that’s… that’s not great. What if we put this on hold, watch a movie, and we can get everyone to talk about it later when Matthias is here too.”

Wylan nods very slowly as if considering a life-changing business deal. Some wretched part of him wants Jesper to be very sorry, and a little prolonging won’t do any harm. “Yeah, movie sounds good.”

“Yeah? And I can get Kaz to send you the spreadsheet that he’ll undoubtedly make for our schedule. In fact, he’ll make the schedule and force the rest of us to follow it claiming that he didn’t want to participate in the first place. Complete lies by the way. He’s dressed up every single year that I’ve known him.”

“I want the spreadsheet.” Wylan confirms. The anecdote cheers him up a tad too.

So Jesper nudges him in the ribs, elbow finding a ridge and digging it, and Wylan moves over to allow them to lie side by side on his single bed. He requests his laptop to be passed over and lets Jesper sign in on his Netflix account. He even lets him pick the movie, now content enough to be laying against him with his worries hashed out. Wylan will occasionally ask for the description of one as he scrolls through the titles, small and bright rectangles of various images wheeling past. Jesper only hesitates for a brief stilling of his chest in confusion before reading aloud, catching on quicker and quicker these days. Not quick enough for everything, though. Jesper puts on Moana, saying there’s ’muscles everywhere’ as his argument and Wylan doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s not interested in Moana’s. 

It’s Wylan’s turn to still. Of course Jesper is a subtitles person. It’s not like he’s the best processor in the world, Mr One Thousand Words A Minute. The stab lands regardless. Wylan is getting worked up and cuts in just as he feels that Jesper is about to comment.

“Do you need the subtitles?” He phrases it as well as he can in the short moment given to get it out. His voice is shaky, he can tell, but he says it as a question in case Jesper does need it. How awful would it make Wylan if he did?

“Sorry, shit, sorry, oh my god,” and Jesper fumbles to turn them off. You should be Wylan bitterly thinks, wishing someone else could do the thinking for once since he has to do double all the time. Despite this, he straightens his legs out the same as him and balances the laptop between both of them using one thigh each as a stand. Wylan slants himself into Jesper too, humming in satisfaction as Jesper does the same, their equilibrium forming a triangle.

Matthias 

Matthias is annoyed by the time he gets back to the house having met more than one prison-worthy pet owner and having not had his dinner yet. For a man that prioritises love and health, this combo is beyond the gates of hell. Regardless, there’s a slush waiting for him in the freezer and a group discussion waiting for him in the living room. 

He sits beside Nina, scooping up Fish into his lap and cradling her in his unoccupied arm. Among them there are two laptops open, Jesper’s on Kaz’s knee with Exel open, Nina’s on her own with Amazon. So much for waiting on him.

“I want to be The Cat In The Hat.” Jesper declares. Why is that unsurprising? There’s murmurs and input and they approve as a council missing only the hammer and wig. 

“Everyone’s staying at the farm, yeah?” Kaz clarifies, glaring into each of their souls with a dare. Everyone nods.

“Kaz what’re you going to dress up as?” Nina asks.

“Haven’t thought about it yet.”

“Lies! He ordered fake fangs days ago!” Jesper shouts, pointing at Kaz as if selling out a witch to the stake. They really are a mini village. 

“Those are to dress up the dead bodies I’ve need hiding,” Kaz retorts. 

“Devil,” Matthias mumbles.

“Right, Jesper is The Cat in The Hat, Kaz is a vampire, we already decided Matthias is the creature from Frankenstein, I’m going to be The Mad Hatter. Inej? Wylan?”

“I want to be one of those knights with the diamond shaped mask things. And I want a big sword.” Inej answers, fully serious. Matthias can’t tell if she is fully serious. Nina moves on.

“Inej is a knight. Wylan?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Ooh, you should so be Casper,” Inej decides, clearly already mentally designing his costume.

“Is that the ghost?”

“You haven’t watched it?!”

“No?”

“You really missed out on your childhood,” Inej jokes, Wylan bristles. The conversation flows.

“Is there enough room for us all at the farm? I don’t mind staying behind if there’s not.” Matthias asks Jesper.

“Of course there is, stop worrying, you’re not staying behind under any circumstances. There’s loads and loads of room.”

“And Colm doesn’t mind?” Wylan asks.

“Nope. He’s as excited as we are.” Jesper laughs.

Chapter Text

Saturday, October 19th, Kaz

Kaz doesn’t care much for other’s scheming. 

To take it further, Kaz thoroughly hates it. The act is a ritual reserved for himself and himself only. So if that makes him the devil, it’s better than being a goat. As a plus point, his birthday hasn’t once been as bright as the last with his brother was and he doesn’t see the point in rekindling beyond keeping Colm happy. Of course, Colm is a necessary factor to consider too. For a few years after he moved in with the two it felt as though each birthday was just another sum of debt for them to nonconsensually creep him into, until he was eventually six feet under with his life to owe to them and no escape. It took another few years after that for him to accept his fate as something more neutral and not maliciously intended. Worse comes to worse he can sell any poorly chosen gifts. 

They’ve ventured the journey to the farm in the two separate cars available, Kaz suspecting that it’s intended to be a mitigating technique to de-fluster him before any of the inevitable fuss takes place. Without context the description could be assumed to be of any wild animal, Kaz thinks. It's a thought that he’s not entirely opposed to; the idea that he protrudes danger. The optimal course for his reputation to take. 

It’s this image that Kaz accentuates in the living room surrounded by eager faces that scream punching bag, with their encouraging nods and clasped hands. Colm is an exception, possibly Inej too at a push, but regardless Kaz has no blame to take. There are two bags in differing shades of blue by the fireplace, the fire guard still kept in place as though any of them have the grabby hands of a four year old, his cane propped against the mantel despite the ache working it’s way up his leg. Kaz is known for his familiarities. It’s predictability that increases the impact of a simple blow or the shock of a twist. Who would suspect a kick from his right leg? So it is this that he clings to, to the point of a fault. Ten year old Kaz refused the need of his cane indoors, taking up the habit of leaving it by the fire in the house. Kaz has matured, he’d say, but he is yet to shake the habit when he’s back at home.

Kaz scans the room again, recognises the deepening of his thoughts that slide down a slope he doesn’t like the bottom of, recognises the weakness in the matter. He clenches his hands in his gloves, satisfied in the contrast so unlike the flesh that feels it. Kaz scans the room again, and again. He takes in the gift bags and infers that wrapping paper was avoided in a futile attempt to trick him, to convince him that there are less presents than there are, that they put less effort in than they did. Maybe it was even a subconscious act rather than a choice, but even so, how stupid do they think he is? How stupid are they? Perhaps it was responsible of Colm to put up the fire guard up considering the nature of his guests.

Jesper passes him his presents as they form a semi-circle around him as a respectively sized audience. Kaz prepares his happy face for the sake of the few that he cares about. Kaz doesn't want to upset anyone. He isn’t evil –at least not by nature. It just so happens that he views kindness as more of a gift than a give in. He pulls out the first item and finds the truth of the gift bags: a disguise, for obnoxious, rainbow, Christmas wrapping paper. Inej and Nina are already in stitches.

“Jesper. What the fuck is this?” Kaz holds the wrapped parcel up for inspection, rotating it left and right like a villain who’s flaunting a new creation.

“Those are your group presents. I don’t see why you’re pointing fingers at me.”

“It screams Jesper.

“You’re being ungrateful. 

“Boys,” Colm interjects, looking between them very sternly and creating absolutely no threat. 

“It says ‘Sleigh Queen’ in block capitals all over it. Santa is in pink suits.”

“Oh, so now you’re a Grinch and a homophobe?” Jesper argues, his face the picture of smugness. 

“No, but it’s October?” 

“So? There’s decorations for sale everywhere already. Christmas loves consumerism.”

“Amen to that.” 

Kaz hears Nina whisper something to Colm along the lines of ‘isn’t it so lovely when your boys get along,’ to which he sends a glare, but she quickly redirects her words.

“Hurry up and open them, I’m impatient and you’re slow.” Nina is too fond of ordering him around, Kaz thinks to himself.

“So much for them being group presents. Wouldn’t you know what they are already?” 

“Wylan wrapped everything. So yes Kaz, I know the general contents of the bag, but I don't know what's in your hand right now. Stop being a twat and rip it open.” 

Wylan smiles bashfully and Kaz thanks him before tearing away the paper, though he soon grows agitated when Wylan refutes these thanks.

“It’s still more than I’ll do for your birthday when the date comes around.” Kaz mollifies, which surprisingly settles Wylan rather than offending him. It seems that he has more backbone than Kaz has given him credit for.

It’s a fancy playing cards case. Silver. Engraved. Expensive. He’ll have to have a conversation with Jesper later about using special events as excuses to indulge in his addiction, or retail therapy to put it lightly. Either way, Kaz does love it, and he opens the rest with a greater appreciation. Then comes a minty body spray, one of many grey hoodies, spikes for his cane, a life (or a week) supply of Pepsi Max and a necklace that he’s been wanting. From Colm, he receives a ‘Kaz survival kit,’ pajamas and a good watch. He hopes to get a chance to thank him properly later in private. 

“You bought me weapons?” Kaz questions, judging who the culprit of the purchase is as he refers to the sharp object in his hand.

“Apparantly no one has ever seen you use them on your cane in Winter which is frankly horrifying, so now you have anti-slip cane tips.” Inej explains this casually in a way that suggests that her casualness is honest, which is something that Kaz doesn’t quite understand. Why does she care if he slips on ice and falls on his ass? Kaz is feeling unnameable feelings.

Kaz doesn’t quite get the time to ponder these, Matthias, who had gotten a juice from the fridge only seconds before, spills it on his way back to the sofa. Spills it walking past Kaz, over Kaz. The panic seeps in determinedly, knowing itself that it can’t resist taking home in his body on a day as ironic as this one. It captures him, binds him in shackles so heavy and so tarnished that no strength could free him. He’s on the sofa and he’ll stay on the sofa because there’s water all around him and he can’t breathe and he won’t ever be able to breathe again and he’ll die. It’s rational and it’s scaring him. The monster is right, Jordie’s right, Jordie’s dead, Kaz is dying. He’s dying and Jordie is dead. Dead.

Meanwhile he is aware of Colm beside him, not too close, trying to reach him by name. It’s nice in some strange way, were there not angry things inside him messing with his guts and spewing nausea, because for months he’s had only the comfort of Jesper, and while Jesper does do everything correctly ninety percent of the time, every one of his help-Kaz-be-normal skills originated from Colm. It’s good to feel them from the source again. 

“Feel your gloves Kaz. Breathe in again.”

Which Kaz does try to do, however Colin’s voice morphs into Jordie’s and he’s back ten steps again, struggling for consciousness. He also feels very, very ill. A factor that someone in the group has caught onto to and sorted out, judging by the bin now pressed into his lap. 

Improvement has it’s costs. As his vision clears the crowd around him becomes increasingly apparent. Judgement that wouldn’t ordinarily bother him burns in his throat in shame. It’s disgusting; the feeling comparable to only a slimy, yet strong, gripping hand, clinging to him with such vengeance that his windpipes could push out through his mouth with a pop and it still wouldn’t satisfy the claws that dig in. Kaz could be blood covered and blue and it still wouldn’t be enough. The shame overwhelms him and he stands. He staggers to his room down the hall, grateful now more than ever to have been placed downstairs as his leg reminds him with repetitive stabs that emotion agony doesn’t cancel out the physical. 

Nobody follows him for a few minutes. He didn’t close the door behind him and it’s not worth the pain and struggle to get up from bed to do so, resulting in a nearing conversation being completely audible and therefore eavesdropping-worthy as Jesper and Matthias draw closer.

“Matthias, you’re amazing and I love you.” Kaz hears a deep breath from Jesper. “So in saying that, please think about this for a second.”

Matthias looks at Jesper with downset eyebrows and a tugged at lip. 

“I think I love you too Jesper, but I am not gay? I don’t think I need to think about that. You’re a lovely friend to have, though.”

Kaz does little to control himself. Who needs to shock their nervous system when there’s a soap opera by your door? His laughs escape him guiltlessly. 

“I can’t believe that you’re the second person that I've had to reiterate this to, but I don’t want to date you. Glad we’ve cleared that up. I want you to think about the fact that you of all people are maybe not the best person to calm down Kaz” 

“It is only right that I apologise.”

“But you don’t even like Kaz.”

“Correct, but I have done wrong.”

Jesper shakes his head grimly. 

“I wish you good luck with keeping your head then.”

And so does Kaz. 

Matthias knocks on the already opened door, grating his patience before even speaking a word. You can’t just knock someone’s door while staring them in the face. Have some decency. 

“I’m sorry Kaz, it was an accident. Are you better now?”

“I didn’t think it was on purpose, but good of you to clarify.”

“Well no, although I thought it was only cold water that panics you. Apart from touch.”

“It’s cold, and it’s wet. It’s not as if my skin has eyes or a sense of smell.”

“Well, no again. But I just didn’t expect that spilling my apple juice could do all of this.”

“I’m glad that you’ve gotten that off of your chest.” Kaz smiles. Matthias frowns.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not fine, but I appreciate it anyhow. Means that at least everyone can stop expecting nothing but cheer out of me for the rest of the day.”

“You’re a horrible human being, Kaz. They’ve put so much effort into making a nice birthday for you”

“I’m sure that they enjoyed the process. And I myself am very grateful. Grateful that you’ve put me out of my misery, yes, but grateful nonetheless.” 

“I’ve literally put you into your misery.”

“Depends on the definition.”

Chapter Text

Monday, Matthias

There aren’t a lot of problems in the gods’ gracious universe that Matthias can’t deal with, but it gets to a point. Jesper is talking to him, a favourite activity, but there’s a lack of subtlety in the way that he is slipping an interrogation in that Matthias can’t ignore for the sake of his own self respect. So he waits it out. He finishes gathering together his pitta and hummus, piling more than he’s hungry for with the quick-built knowledge that Jesper will eat half of it and the slow-built knowledge that he’ll no longer want it if Matthias offers him a plate for himself. He’s annoyed and beyond frustrated but he’d rather a fed Jesper regardless. Sitting down and eating, Matthias watches Jesper with little clue who will snap first.

“How come you’ve never went out with Nina alone?” Jesper asks, hiding innocently behind his personality and the arm that has just taken a piece of pitta off of Matthias’s plate. In response, Matthias comes up on the defensive. It can’t be said that he’s being defensive though, because it’s been an hour of calculated information seeking and any sane person would crumble. Matthias is reacting proportionally.

“We’ve gotten breakfast.” Matthias corrects sternly, not caring to take a breath before going on. “And I’ve driven her to work, so stop lying first of all. And why do you care so much about Nina all of a sudden today?” 

Matthias stares him down, shoveling a good dollop more of the hummus into his carefully folded bread-scoop. It’s the plain one rather than the pepper kind that they usually have in the fridge but Matthias secretly prefers it. Maybe he would get to enjoy more of his favourite things if he vocalised his opinions more often than his current once a month schedule. Actually, maybe he wouldn’t be in the position of going through questioning from his friend if he vocalised anything more, or everything. Or maybe these are journal thoughts. He should stick to being mad at Jesper. 

“Wasn’t breakfast because I didn’t get up in time to take her myself? The only other time that I’m aware of is when you went for sundaes after her doctor's appointment, which I mean, come on, it’s a doctor’s appointment.” Matthias, as the good pacifist he tries to be, is prepared to ram a stick through Jesper at the very next argument he makes. They migrate to the kitchen where Matthias washes his dish —a crucial task to stay controlled in a house of six— whilst Jesper pushes up on the countertop, straightening his legs out as a makeshift ramp for Fish to get to his lap. A spear to the heart might be a bit harsh, Matthias decides, but he’s not totally opposed to a sudden attack from Fish. 

“What is pressing you?” Matthias remarks, agitated and squeezing the rip-off Fairy Liquid bottle a little too aggressively. 

“What…is pressing me?” Jesper questions, and his confusion seems genuine.

“What has you being so pressed?” Matthias repeats, trying a new angle.

“Are you asking why I’m so pressed?? Matthias, you’re supposed to say ‘why are you so pressed’ instead of whatever— actually, no, it’s fine. Continue.”

Matthias just looks at him with no response to give. 

“Yes well anyways. How do you even know every time that I’ve done something with her? ‘Cause either she told you for whatever reason, which is honestly impressive because I couldn’t list every occasion off the top of my head, or you’ve been creepily keeping track.”

“Close. Kaz keeps a spreadsheet for every possible pairing in this household and notes every time they leave the house together. So I just asked him for yours and Nina’s one,” Jesper replies simply, coddling Fish in his arms like a newborn, belly up and C-shaped. 

“—he what? Can we share with the class the reasoning? The motives?”

“Incase he ever gets caught for something illegal and needs someone to pin it on. Then he’ll have data to help him decide who could have most likely done it, if it wasn’t himself.”

“That’s psychotic. I moved in with a bunch of strangers and now I’m going to be falsely imprisoned.”

“You’ll be fine, Kaz doesn’t get caught.” Jesper reassures him with a natural air. As if anything about the devil himself is natural. Matthias is just thinking about how he needs some serious cleansing when Jesper goes on. “Besides, you two are getting buddy buddy anyways. You were warming up to him the other day.”

Matthias glares. Bring back the spear. 

“Relax the cheek, you’re yet to tell me why you’ve been interrogating me.”

“I’m not allowed to talk to you? I’m wounded! I thought we were friends! ‘Till death do us apart!” His hand is over his chest. Matthias turns with his hands on his hips. It’s not a stature he’s familiar with, but it works for his mum to gain power so he’ll give it a go. 

“How have you not cracked already, your entire being is a loose wire for God’s sake. Just spill and tell me what you want from me.

“Tut tut Matthias Helvar. Have some faith in me,” Jesper feigns, lowering his voice to talk to the cat conspiringly about the worldwide underestimation of him.

“I do have faith in you, but you’re not you right now. Jesper would’ve rambled out the truth already. You’ve been possessed by Kaz, or Scary Wylan.”

“Ah, so you’ve encountered Scary Wylan too. He has quite the attitude, hasn't he?” Jesper Fahey, the king of sidetracks. 

“You don’t know true horror until you’ve seen Scary Wylan’s face when you politely suggest to him to stop painting at his easel with the studio lamp shining over him like some ominous figure at three in the morning. That’s a step beyond a little attitude.”

“Have you considered that that’s prime time for painting ominously? His art is cute.”

“You just think that Wylan is cute. Stop deflecting.”

Jesper chokes, eyes widening comically so much that Matthias feels his own throat scratch up a laugh. 

“I don’t?!”

“Yes you do. It’s common knowledge, is it not? Now back to the point we go. Just tell me whatever all of this is already. I’m still baffled by your sealed lips.” 

“Being related to Kaz has it’s perks. Teaches you things.”

“He’s adopted.”

“So? He’s still a vital part of my upbringing. Don’t erase my culture.”

“Kaz is your culture?”

“Yeah, he created cancel culture. Kaz cancel culture.”

“I suppose I can’t argue against that.” Matthias mutters. 

“No you can’t. Why don’t you go out with Nina? What do you have against Nina?” Jesper argues back casually without bite but the panic possessing his thoughts say differently. His problem is quite the opposite and he can no longer deny himself the truth that is the fact that Jesper must know. Jesper is close, crossed fingers, arms wrapped, toothpaste shared, close with Nina. He’d tell her, surely, if Matthias were to admit. Which he won’t. Still, his thoughts resemble tornados and too fast convection currents; a spiralling feather falling from a ceiling fan, speeding up erratically with each new gust of air, egging on the deranged theories that his brain can’t help but conjure up. 

“I don’t go out much with any of the rest of you. And it’s not like you plan many specific days out.” Matthias makes his points clear, though they don’t sound quite how he intended to project them, his voice discordant in his ears. Jesper’s too, he’s sure.

“You go on runs with Inej practically every morning. You share a room with Wylan so you obviously do stuff with him, plus yous go on the slushie run together a lot. Kaz you hate, and we do things together all the time like we literally are right this second. Plus for the record, I do plenty.”

There’s no more points to argue. Wylan walks in, dripping sleep from head to toe, eyes barely opened past the minimum for sight. Arguably not even that, as his parallel arms stretched outwards seek guidance from walls and furniture. It’s noon?

Neither he or Jesper speak, watching their zombie travel to the fridge, grumble at it’s contents, turn begrudgingly to face them and give an accusatory look. The silence persists, Wylan’s threat not landing with his pouting lips and tufty eyebrows, yet Matthais doesn’t dare risk a glance to Jesper for fear of poking the bear. The bear demands smoothies, apparently. 

“There’s none left,” Wylan states bluntly, pointing to the fridge. 

“No smoothies left?” Jesper confirms, suddenly all compassion and no jest. Very telling, Matthais notices. Very telling. 

“More to the point, you’re wearing a jumper and pajama bottoms and no socks or shoes, an hour before your one pm class.” Matthias might as well have said he murdered a puppy and burnt down Lidl. 

“But there’s no smoothies,” and to his credit and possible to the blow of Matthias’s guilty conscience, Wylan appears to be genuinely distressed. He’s bound to be burning double energy with the strength of his grip around his own waist. 

“I have my pre-made ones in the freezer. Or I can make you a fresh one,” Jesper tries, mediating.

“Won’t be my one.” 

“It’ll taste really good though.” Which Wylan seems to accept, with only the demanding input that it must be smooth. 

Matthias lets them be, going up to his room to water his plants and pack his bag, ensuring that’s he’s brought enough material to revise in the time that he’ll be waiting on Wylan after his class. He then gives up on the idea and throws in his battered copy of The Book Thief. A guilty pleasure, if he believed in those. 

Back downstairs and ready to go, he interjects into the tail end of Jesper and Wylan’s conversation, Wylan attempting the laces on his boots with a bottled up smoothie in one hand. 

“Oh my god I’ll kill whoever you need me to if you make me these forever,” Wylan claims, his mouth grappling to suck the straw as his curls fall to cover his eyes and his laces are still far from intact. “It’s so so good.”

“Careful what you say, Kaz might cancel you.” Matthias’s warning earns curiosity from Wylan but a very, very loud laugh from Jesper. Matthias is happy to contribute.

2:33pm, Nina

“You weren’t supposed to say that much!” 

“I promised I would get the goods and I did. It’s not as if your man of all men was going to catch on.”

Nina puffs, the corners of her mouth planted firmly into her cheeks as the result of the widest smile for the longest time. Jesper and Inej sit on a single bed each, Jesper recounting his mission from earlier while Nina paces between them in the small space as if hatching an idea. 

“But did he give any clues at all? This is a dire situation!”

“I know and I’m here to serve you as my queen, but he gave me nothing other than defensiveness and nervous gestures. He loves you obviously, but he won’t tell me that.”

Nina wants to rip her hair out, which Inej notices in close timing.

“Jesper, give us the timeline.” Inej requests. She’s invested and Nina loves her for it. 

“I asked him how he was finding living with each of us individually, keeping it casual as one does. And then when I got to Nina’s name I just continued Nina-based questions. What he’s getting her for Christmas. If he’d thought about the rooming situation at the farm over Halloween, and if that included Nina. Does he know Nina’s uni and work schedules. How come he doesn’t do that much with her outside of the house. Little things.

“I thought we discussed on Kaz’s birthday that Christmas is two months away.”

“Focus Inej. Why doesn’t he do much with me?” Nina berates, locked in to the fullest with a piercing glare at Jesper.

“Dunno. He got all nervous, so you can do the mental maths for that one.”

“He’s in love, obviously.” Inej notes, discarding the muscle diagrams on her iPad that she’d been attempting to label to leave her attention for more important things. Hey, if Matthias, her one true love, doesn’t return it, at least Inej will cuddle her at night. 

“He better be. Anyways he’ll be home soon and then I can force him to go on the slushie run with me. Does this hoodie look alright?” Nina turns in the mirror, confidence all fake and curves all wrong. The other two are cheering her on.

“Yeah, zip it down a tiny bit,” Inej suggests, which true enough finishes the look completely. The red of her top and the ruby glint of her earrings does the trick, and if nothing else, the neckline is cut nicely. 

“Hello?? You’re perfect, go make Matthias blush and bring updates back with you.” 

Nina rolls her eyes, insides twisting horribly. 

Instead of those thoughts, Nina hums in response to Jesper and grabs her phone and lipgloss as she hears the front door click open with two turns of the key.  She grabs enough change for six slushes from their communal coins dish/bowl/charity shop-sourced ceramic platter by the entrance on a rather tall table.  Matthais smiles in greeting. 

Chapter Text

Sunday, Nina

Nina has felt cared for at the Fahey’s since she could remember. Visits grew infrequent after Kaz, sure, but she secretly relished in the school-curated excuses to show up. Regardless, there has always been a lack of need to; to fake formalities and rap the knocker on the stern front door. Showing up uninvited is an old trick of hers that is yet to become overdone, though not one that is Nina’s fault entirely when Colm is the complete opposite of the cold strict figure you’d expect from someone so solid. From her first playdate with Jesper to her first grazed knee on the farm, Nina has been carefree here, and Colm, Colm who mediated her third dramatic divorce with Jesper, Colm who has set her place in the dining room relentlessly without complaint, has made it this way with intent. So yes, truly the opposite, if you get over his pet peeve for elbows on the table. He’s warm. 

It’s the deep, soppy backstory that drives her to stay collected in this moment.

Nina has vacated to the kitchen of the homely farm house to refill the crisps bowls and everyone’s drinks, per the request of the cuddle pile (plus Kaz) currently situated on the living room sofa in front of a movie. It’s Ghost Busters, because Jesper can’t do horror. Three different bins of snack variants sit idly in the cupboard, staring back at her with gaze that Nina can’t confirm to be of love or disgust. Not far off her own reflection, really. Despite the thoughts, Nina methodically unloads a flavor of each kind, not surprised when the simple task turns to chaos and not caring either. Four plastic bowls sit filled to the brim; pink, orange, green, blue. After having done this Nina is exhausted. That’s a fucked up realm of unfit. There was the getting up from almost floor level to stand initially, then the bending down to the kitchen cupboard, then the standing up then the bending down, a wave of dizziness surrounding her head like a loyal orbit, trapping like a predator. It’s engulfing, right down to the vacuole in which Nina is destroyed for good. As she is hunched over the island, forearms bearing her weight, it’s Colm that walks in with his steady pace and knowing look.

“Did we buy the wrong postage stamps for those snacks? They’re arriving slow, even for Nina-Mail.”

“So there’s been rioting from the hooligans then?” Nina asks, palming a handful of skittles into her mouth as one last will of energy to move and look socially acceptable. Well, socially acceptable in terms of a middle aged man throwing out dad jokes. 

He holds his hands up in surrender.

“You didn’t hear it from me. Although,” Colm continues after a pause, “Rumour has it that those pains are giving you trouble again. Or well, still.”

Nina balks at him.

“And how would Jesper know that?”

Colm just shakes his head with a smile. How is it that old people have all the answers? Matthias will have to explain. 

“It’s Jes, you’re bright enough to know how he goes.”

“Well then, there’s a gossiper amongst us.”

“This house is full of it, it seems. But you’re taking care of yourself?”

“Yes Colm. It’s not like anyone gives me much choice, is it?”

“Ah, there’s our Nina back. I knew there was some snap zapping around in there. All’s well if your attitude is.” He nudges her arm with an elbow and begins to sort out the drinks for the group himself, the list of requests stored in his brain in a way that Nina’s fog couldn’t ever comprehend. 

Nina carries in the bowls and passes each to whoever’s torso is the most horizontal and table-worthy. She gets herself comfy in the pile of them. Colm leaves in their drinks and closes the door on his way out.

Soon enough she has been cemented into the furniture, Inej on one side and Matthias on the other, Jesper and Wylan opposite each other with a back to each armrest. Nina’s own back is rested against what she can only guess to be Wylan’s feet, the combination of bone on bone not particularly optimal for the muscles that screech in feeble protest. More to the point, her knees are seizing, locking up and soldering together, fusing as one indestructible mold of agony. Yet it’s dull, the pain that plagues her. Not shooting but persistent, intensity being a changeable thing that flows up and down, but never sharp so much as bothersome. It hurts and she struggles to argue the validity of this fact as it ascends the pain scale, climbing to the peak of bearability. It’s roaring, all of Nina’s chaos and charm twisted into horribly means, channeling through canals where only blood should pump. She’s stuck and although she doesn’t want to move emotionally speaking, her screams may become external if action isn’t taken. Normal people’s legs cramp. Is this a normal people leg cramp? Is there a distinct line? Can they give her a test for that?

Nina moves said knees to the top of their pile of limbs, reaching to grab sweets at the same time in one smooth motion. Or so, smooth in Nina terms. To add to the mix, Matthias’s arm has been newly fitted around her shoulders, snaking gently into place like it’s meant to be there, like the engravings on a namestone; painted idly in greens of varying shades where the moss has filled a name, written by nature and time. It’s not personal —his other is along the top of the sofa— but it’s there and it’s touching and it’s making her giddier than any amount of alcohol ever has. Nina is happy for Matthais to become her next addiction.

Jesper

By eleven they had each separated to their respective rooms, planning to stay at the farm all week and no one wanting a burnout so soon. Colm has brought the blowup air-bed down from the attic into Kaz’s bedroom and Jesper has been heavily puffing into the hole where an air pump should be inserted had it not been lost years ago and never restored. It’s been a long hour of tormenting his lungs and Kaz holding a pitiless tone in response to Jesper’s every complaint.

“Remember my crisis?”

Kaz doesn’t even look up. The audacity.

“Which one?”

“The Wylan one.”

“Yeah, and what about it?” 

“What about it?! It still exists!”

Kaz turns his head up from his phone, a face of pure incredulity morphing from one previously so apathetic.

“Are you that fucking thick?”

“My grades are literally better than yours.”

“We’re not in school anymore.” 

“Kaz, get on with it.”

“What?? You’ve been drooling over him since you met and now you expect me to help you confess to him despite the fact that every single person on the planet is well fucking aware that you’re in love, including him. I don’t get what exactly you want me to get on with” 

Jesper backtracks, heart stopping for longer than it maybe should. 

“Wylan doesn’t know.”

“He should do by now, you’re all over him all of the time. And I’ve given him a good few hints.”

Jesper hit a strong whack to Kaz’s shoulder, the weaponised pillow discarded on the floor.

“Hints?!”

“Nina bet me that I wouldn’t, with her gullible claims that I care about you too much.”

“Well that was stupid, you’d think she’d never met you. But even still, I can’t believe yous bet on how much I'm loved?!”

“At least you know your worth.”

Jesper groans, palms sliding down his face.

“And now you’ve gone and traumatised Wylan.”

“Before either of us says anything else let it be recognised that you just implied that it’s traumatising to be on the receiving end of your love.”

“Wait–”

“Nope, you don’t get to take this away from me.”

“Be helpful.”

Kaz grunts. This ends with a perfect cadence, perhaps signalling that kindness is on it’s way. Jesper looks down at his hands where beads of blood decorate each nailbed and realises why.

“Fine. Do you want to tell Wylan or not?” Kaz asks, setting his phone down and giving full attention. Jesper screws in the plug with a triumph that’s short lived, staring at the inflated mattress as he rolls onto the balls of his feet.

“I can’t.”

“That’s a disorder talking, not Jesper.”

“I think I know that. But I still can’t.”

“Do you want to gush about him instead?”

Jesper feels his cheeks work overtime to keep up with his widening smile. Teeth out and all.

“Nuh uh, first go put plasters on your fingers.” Kaz chastises. The fucking prick can blackmail anything. His smile drops immediately.

“It doesn’t need plasters.”

“Colm would throw a fit if I let you do that to yourself. Put a plaster on so you don’t make it worse.”

Jesper rolls his eyes but stretches across the floor Spiderman-style to grab a packet of the small kind from Kaz’s dresser, bottom drawer. He dons the nude sticking plasters, paler then his skin and nothing but an offensive symbol of the habits he can’t shake. Eyes shifting to Kaz, he looks at him expectantly.

“How come you’re so certain about Wylan. About me and Wylan?”

“Your and Wylan’s spreadsheet is filled in the most. The correlation graph is a line of best fit. You’re each other’s most interacted with household member. Need I continue?”

“Wylan goes places the most with me?”

“Go on, gush” Kaz allows.

So Jesper talks. Kaz sits up and presses to the headboard, blanketing himself from all risks of trigger with his thick duvet as Jesper takes seat at the other end. Jesper talks about Wylan’s smile, about the laugh that accompanies it in harmony if Jesper is so lucky. He describes Wylan’s freckles and his favourite of the bunch and how he will continue to live in despair until he can get close enough to memorise every one of the dusted sparkles. Jesper goes into deep analysation of Wylan’s personality, confesses his love for Wylan’s moods and sass, bores Kaz half to death in the process. He details it all and he feels nauseous as a result. He retires to his own air-mattresss and dreams of the man who is fictionally his.

 Inej

The world is moving slowly at 6:21am. The clouds are only beginning to wake up and the trees look like they're mourning something that Inej feels terribly sorry for. She sits on the kitchen windowledge with grand appreciation for the vast acres before her. On her lap is her worn journal, on the bench a half drank tea that’s been abandoned out of preoccupation. Inej has a minimum of approximately half an hour before her peace is ruined to micromanage her day to the minute. Within this rushed schedule there is her meditation also to be done –an absolute necessity to remain sane in a house so insanely outnumbered by men– as well as a regular to do list to unscramble the heap of work that’s been assigned with zero care for Halloween break. This is cause for panic. Inej takes in the scenery once again. The trees are grieving and stage two is anger. Her chest is burning, rising irregularly, the gap between each inhale shortening. The heat has manifested into a measurable thing as it diffuses out through her pores like water through a leaf's stomata, the energy turning kinetic, fuelling her shaking hands which sweat as though in an attempt to put out the flames that they’re up in. A breath would help, if Inej could get one successfully. There’s a delay between her rationality and her spontaneous thoughts that hinders the methodic approach she craves so hungrily. She leans to the sink folded practically in half, turning the cold tap on and promptly shoving her wrists under the freezing stream before hesitation can worm it’s way into her process. Inej feels a hiss from the shock, heart rate spiking and her thoughts slamming straight into a concrete wall. A breath does come but she has to work for it, counting in sets of three. It’s okay though. It does come.