Archive of Our Own

Wylan's hand comes up to push between Jesper's shoulder blades, and he can't do anything but follow — like he always does, after all. He is a leaf caught in the storm, — a storm with a name, deep sky-blue eyes, and hands as soft as clouds that guide him through the winds. 

He is pushed down against the mattress of Jesper's own twin bed. He gasps for air, biting the blanket underneath for good measure so that he can hold his moans back. For how much he and Wylan, in a lack of more friendly terms, fuck, Jesper still feels self-conscious in letting the other man hear him pathetically whimper. 

He can't help it, though. Wylan is just that good, and Jesper more often than not finds himself biting into the crook of his neck, or into his own forearm, or into blankets — his or Wylan's, it doesn't matter — so that he can keep quiet. Wylan never showed any sign of disapproval for his sounds, but Jesper read somewhere that sounds make things more intimate, and that is something he and Wylan don't do. 

They just — fuck. 

Sometimes it's funny and silly, and they kiss for hours during and after. And before, obviously: long make out sessions that lead to clumsy sex filled with laughter. That's dangerous waters to venture into, though — far too vulnerable for Jesper's liking. 

Sure, he and Wylan laugh plenty whenever they do things that friends do, like watching the shitty nature documentaries that Wylan loves, or riding Jesper's electric kick scooter together, or throwing pebbles in the True Sea and challenge each other on whose will jump the farthest. 

It's just that laughing shouldn't come as easy as it does during sex — With no feelings involved, like they had promised each other. 

Other times, most times, it's safer to just get down to it. Whether it's fast and rough or messy and uncoordinated, they both try and stifle their moans. Wylan does, at least, and Jesper promised himself that he wouldn't lose this secret challenge — so now he keeps as quiet as he physically can to prove to Wylan and to himself that this is just what it is: sex with no strings attached. 

It can be a pretty challenging task, though, considering that Wylan is very, very good at fucking Jesper. 

Like— right now, he has him pinned to the mattress with a hand on his back, the other holding his hip as he guides Jesper's body towards his relentless thrusts. It's maddening. How could anybody keep quiet if they were in Jesper's position, with the delicious drag of Wylan's cock inside him, his hands holding him there with the right amount of strength and control… It's a battle already lost.

Besides, Jesper is very sensitive to touch — he likes cuddles and holding hands and he sighs whenever Nina massages his shoulders. And Wylan, the little skiv, knows, and he always tries to take advantage of this: he tickles Jesper until he is breathless with laughter and a bit verging on horny, he mindlessly brushes his fingertips against Jesper's stomach until he is whimpering, he cups Jesper's cheeks like he is holding a treasure and Jesper always feels his heart jump in his throat at that. 

"You're so, ah, good," Wylan says now, and Jesper feels his head swarm, like he is floating on a lake's surface under the scorching summer sun. It's blissful. It's a curse. 

"Mh," says Jesper, teeth biting into the fabric of his bed sheets and still unable to keep quiet. "Please," he also adds, high pitched and shamefully whiny. 

But it gets the desired effect, because as always Wylan is not unaffected by Jesper's begging. He speeds up, and one of his hands sneaks between Jesper's stomach and the cotton sheets to wrap around his leaking cock. 

Jesper would like to say that he doesn't come as soon as Wylan loosely strokes his shaft not even twice but one single time, but it would be a lie. He was so dumbed down by the delicious thrusts of Wylan's hips, that he hadn't even noticed how close he actually was. Close, so close, on the edge of the precipice — until he wasn't anymore. He comes with an open mouthed, silent gasp, feeling his whole body go taut while his mind melts into a sea of nothings. 

Wylan doesn't stop — not that Jesper can notice much, with the world gone blank and the screeching hiss reverberating in his ears. That, and the thrumming of his heart — he can feel it in his ears, against his throat, in his wrists, like it's trying to get free from its cage made of flesh and bones and swarm closer to Wylan's own beating heart. 

Wylan fucks him through his orgasm, nice and deep, like he knows Jesper loves. He fucks him so good that Jesper sees stars and, by the time the redhead comes inside, he is on the brink of overestimulation and still gagging for more. 

He knows what the more his body aches for is, though, and he will not let himself follow it. He will not ask for cuddles and kisses. He will not beg for Wylan to hold him and tell him how good he was and say that he loves— No. He will thank him and put his trousers back on and ask if he would like to order Ravkan. 

That's what he does — even as breathless as he is, even as aching for that dangerous more as he is. He washes, puts his clothes back on, ruffles Wylan's hair. He receives a slap on the hand and a glare for his trouble, but he can never pass the opportunity to sink his fingers into Wylan's soft curls. He can't ask to do that in the intimate ways he'd love to, so this is what he will hang to: friendship and platonic pda and casual, meaningless sex. 

"Do you want anything from Kutya House?" he asks around a sad lump in his throat. 

Wylan's big, blue eyes meet his, and Jesper inhales sharply. 

He is beautiful. 

Technically, he knows how beautiful his best friend is, or he wouldn't be head over heels for him since eighth grade, even though beauty is not the only factor that makes Wylan so likeable. But looking at him now steals Jesper's breath away. His cheeks are still splotched red from fucking, his pupils dilated, his naked chest covered in hickeys. He shouldn't be dreaming of leaning down on Wylan's relaxed, sprawled form and kiss him until they can't tell up from down — not while his best friend is busy choosing his order from their favorite Ravkan restaurant. 

"Pelmeni and stewed turnip," Wylan mindlessly says as he buttons his trousers up. Jesper tries not to blush and whimper at the sight of Wylan's beautiful hands fumbling with the loop and button — but to no avail. Not when he had those hands pressing him down and holding him tight, stroking him and pressing on his tongue on a "Suck," order before he had pressed them inside—

"Are you calling or not?" Wylan mumbles, eyes big and inquiring set on Jesper's face — who is probably wide-eyed and with his jaw slack and, very hopefully, not drooling. 

"Sure," Jesper breathes. "Sure."

They eat Ravkan and watch a documentary about a — Jesper looks from his plate to the screen — a desert mouse fighting for his life against snakes and… were-mice, apparently. He is not really paying attention, even though the narration is ridiculous and Wylan laughs often — he laughs! — and comments on every fact he deems "Just built for the audience, I doubt those things really happened to the poor mouse."

Jesper sighs around a mouthful of kutya, wincing when Wylan's knee brushes against his thigh. It probably kicked a bruise, he reckons, even though he knows that the truth is that he is just that sensitive to touch — Wylan's touch, to be honest. 

The thing that keeps Jesper's mind busy now is not dice and the summer hit he heard earlier on the radio — it's that this whole affair is Jesper's fault, and as he miserably feels for the fact that he is fucking his best friend with no feelings involved while he is madly in love with him, he thinks back about the first time they did this. 

He can't keep his thoughts from straining there, because this is getting bigger than he thought it would, and his mind likes to make him feel guilty about any kind of stuff when possible. 

It was two years ago — a party held by some dude Nina knew. He remembers drinking plenty of punch, and he remembers watching Wylan dance with a cute boy from his art course. He remembers throwing his half empty glass of punch on Wylan's silk, white shirt, and Wylan being mad at him. He had rolled his eyes, ordered Jesper to bring him to the bathroom and help him clean up. Jesper, as drunk as he had been, had brought Wylan to his electric kick scooter and brought him to their shared bathroom, in a trail of humphs and I'm gonna get sick. 

He hadn't meant to kiss Wylan — really, because they are best friends and best friends don't kiss like that. But Wylan hadn't shoved him away. On the contrary, he had deepened the kiss and held Jesper by the nape and hung a leg around his waist as Jesper kissed him against the sink. 

It had been heady, mind-blowing, and it had only escalated from that: hands had thrown clothes off, frantic and desperate to get on naked skin — and then Wylan had kissed down Jesper's throat, and chest, and navel, and Jesper had thanked all the Saints whose names he still remembered as Wylan sucked him off deliciously good. 

It's not like Jesper did that as a thing — fucking his friends. Fucking anyone, period. He will never admit it, especially not to Wylan, but Wylan actually was his first time. 

It was a messy, drunk first time, that's for sure. Jesper barely remembers anything after the blowjob: just bits of flesh on flesh, Wylan's gorgeous, gorgeous fingers inside him, Wylan coming between his thighs. He remembers Wylan biting on his shoulder, hard, so hard he had cried out until Wylan had let go and kissed softly all over the bite. He remembers staring at Wylan's soft skin, splotched red with arousal. He remembers kissing his way down his chest and biting into one of his thighs just for Wylan to slap him away. It had ended up in laughs. In It was fun, we could do it again sometimes.

So, Wylan was his first time. And after Wylan there had been no one else but Wylan himself — and how could it not be so? Wylan is perfect, he is good, he knows exactly what Jesper wants, and loves exactly what Jesper loves. He is good, he is good — and yet there's always something missing, that comfort that comes from knowing the other person loves you, that you can trust them, that you are safe with them. Of course Jesper feels safe with Wylan but… But…

"You don't give a shit about this poor, pathetic mouse, do you?" Wylan says now, lips distended into an amused, careless smile that reaches his blue eyes. Jesper bites the inside of his cheek before he can utter stupid things like "You are beautiful, please marry me," or "I am in love with you." 

Instead, he pretends he cares about the poor, pathetic mouse — and it's not so hard to pretend, when Wylan makes him laugh every other minute with such ease. 

◇◇◇

"I swear that if you don't tell him I will—" 

"There's nothing to tell," Jesper shrieks with panic. "Please don't tell him," he begs, then, because Nina is a pretty unpredictable person, and he doesn't want to risk Wylan finding out how hopelessly in love he is. 

"But—" 

"It's just sex, and we are friends. I don't want to ruin any of that. I can't ruin any of that." 

Nina levels him with the same amount of pity and worry, but Jesper keeps his gaze steady and stubborn, so that she finally sighs.

"Fine," she concedes. "But you can't whine about him every day. We have had enough."

"But I need to," he whines, shifting his gaze on Inej and hoping to find a bit of sympathy there. Inej looks up from the book held carefully over her knees, and she — Jesper gasps — takes an earphone out of her ear. 

"Mh?" she asks. "Are you talking to me?"

"I have been telling you all about Wylan for twenty minutes and you just… You…" he yells, all dramatic and outraged. Inej rolls her eyes. 

"And I'm studying for my thesis," she says, raising a brow and looking at Jesper until he squirms where he stands. Fuck, he forgot. 

"Um," he mumbles. "Okay, fine. But still I need advice." 

"What you need," Inej says, closing the book with a heavy thump, "is to be honest with your feelings. This thing between the two of you is harming you." 

Jesper scoffs, bringing his arms up around his chest, like he could protect himself from Inej's words and from his heart bursting against his ribcage. "What? It's not harming… What?" 

Inej groans, and she slams the book on the table in front of them. A cat that was curled up on the table jerks up and jumps off the table, on Nina's lap. She pets it until it's comfortable again, purring lowly under her ministrations. 

They are in Nina's café, after closure, which means that all the nine cats that dwell there are all nestled around them, in search of long awaited silence and scratches on their backs — so of course their bantering is getting on their nerves. 

"You are so dense," Inej says — not like she is mad, but calm and collected, albeit a bit frustrated that Jesper can't see the truth behind her words and the whole arrangement with Wylan. 

It's not exactly that he can't, but more a matter of he won't. He knows he is hurt, and pining, and that his heart aches for Wylan — but it's easier to shove everything away and pretend that he enjoys things as they are. Which, he does in a way: he enjoys waking up to the smell of Wylan brewing coffee, and watching movies together, and he surely enjoys the sex.

What he doesn't enjoy is the fact that Wylan doesn't brew coffee as a good morning, after-sex gift for his lover — he does so to start his busy day, and he often leaves before Jesper slips out of bed. When they watch movies together there's no cuddles involved, no kisses, no touch: on the contrary, Jesper tries to stay the further away he can, because he won't mix up friendship and fucking, the Saints forbid Wylan realizes that there actually are feelings involved. Strings attached. That Jesper is deep in love with him. 

"Whatever," Jesper says, petting the youngest addition to Nina's cat café: a small calico kitten that she found under a bush, all alone, angry, hungry and trembling with fear and cold. She is as healthy as they come now, and loves to receive cuddles from every customer, especially from kids that are delighted by her boisterous temperament. 

"How is the thesis going?" he asks — either to change the subject, and because he is not such a bad friend that he doesn't care about his friends' lives. 

Inej smiles, sitting back with ease, all comfortable on the wobbly wooden chair that Nina usually puts the blackboard with the off-the-menu on. It's Inej's favorite chair, though, so she always grabs it for herself whenever she visits the café. 

Inej starts talking law and civil rights, and Jesper can keep up just as much, because his mind inevitably trails back to Wylan. He nods along Inej's words anyway, and tries to keep up the conversation between the three of them. And yet, all he can think about is I wish Wylan was here, and, inevitably Is this arrangement really harming me?

◇◇◇

Jesper had been eager to start middle school. He and Da had decided that he would take the bus to get to the city's school, rather than the outdated, cranky school of their little village in the outskirts of Ketterdam. 

So, backpack tight on his shoulders and a kiss on his Da's cheek, and he was nestled on the bus, legs tapping on the floor — unable to contain his excitement. New school meant new friends meant no more bullies, hopefully. Jesper knows he had been a turbulent, boisterous child all through his first years of school. He knows that his energy can get out of control, that for how much he imposes himself to listen, be quiet, be still… He just can't. He disrupted class more often than not, so much that his classmates soon got annoyed with him and his temper. 

It was going to be different now. 

When he first entered his new classroom, he was enchanted to see the variety of kids from all over Ketterdam. Rich mercher kids chatting between themselves, with nice, rich clothes and expensive pencil cases. Kids from the country — Jesper recognized one or two from Tuesday church, and he waved their way with a wide grin. They turned their heads. 

But it was going to be fine: there were other kids, some doodling on their notebooks, some throwing paper airplanes through the room, some laughing so hard their bellies must be aching. 

They didn't catch his attention, though, as much as the kid in the back row, looking out of the window like he wanted to vanish out of there. He had red curls and blue eyes — colors that he had seen countless times during the countryside sunsets. Without thinking, he had shoved himself in the desk next to his, eyes wide on him, although the kid didn't seem to notice he was being watched. 

When class began, and their teacher asked them to draw something about their summer, Jesper still kept glancing at the other kid, mesmerized by the beauty of his drawing, enchanted by the sharp lines and by the swift movement of his wrist. 

"Shoot," he heard the kid whisper. He looked at the drawing: his pencil had slipped and left a heavy, straight line up to the edge of the paper, fairly ugly to the sight. 

Jesper waited for the kid to take his rubber out and erase it, but apparently he didn't have one with himself. With haste, fingers frantic in their search, Jesper dug into his pencil case and took his rubber out, immediately handing it to the other kid. 

"Here," he said around a grin that he hoped looked friendly. "You can use mine." 

The kid had tilted his chin upwards, eyes serious and guarded. "Stop watching me," he had said. 

Jesper's eyes had widened and he felt flushed with shame — obviously he didn't think the kid had noticed. "I'm sorry," he was quick to say. "It's just that you draw so well that I couldn't help myself." 

The kid's eyes had narrowed, still suspicious, but after a long moment he had taken Jesper's rubber and quickly erased his mistake. Then — then he had smiled, a shy little thing of a smile, and Jesper had felt victorious, like a runner winning first place at the Olympics. 

"I'm Wylan," the kid had said. Jesper had laid out his hand for Wylan to shake, smiling all lopsided and joyful and hopeful that he and this kid could become real friends. " 'm Jesper," he had said. 

◇◇◇

"Fuck," Jesper moans when Wylan shoves him against the wall, a hand carefully holding his head so that he wouldn't slam it against the hard surface — ever so rough and careful, mean and sweet. Jesper melts against the wall, against the press of Wylan's body flush with his. Against the bites and hickeys that Wylan leaves on his neck. 

He gasps when Wylan sucks particularly hard, biting his lower lip to choke back the ridiculously high pitched moan that he felt building in his chest. 

"Fuck," he says again, instead, and his own hands slam on Wylan's ass, holding him there, feeling his hips snap up against Jesper's… This time he moans for real, unable to stifle it even if he tried. 

"Fuck," again. And then, "Please, bed," he begs. 

Wylan is quick to oblige. He kisses Jesper on the mouth, guiding him towards his bedroom with his hands in Jesper's back pockets and a confident step on someone that is walking backwards. 

They end up on the bed already naked, and Jesper didn't even realize that Wylan was taking the clothes off both of them, too caught in the delicious way he was being kissed, in the delight of having Wylan's hands drag all over his bare skin. 

As soon as Wylan lays over him, mouth once again getting busy on his neck and clavicle, Jesper feels it. One moment he is gasping for the way Wylan's teeth sink into his flesh, and the next his breath catches when his heart tightens and misses a couple beats. 

It's not harming me, he stubbornly tells himself, blinking some traitorous tears away before Wylan can notice them. I like this. Let me have this. 

He ignores the ache in his chest, he bites his lips to avoid murmuring I love you every other kiss that Wylan leaves on his bare body. Instead, he rolls them over and pins Wylan to the bed, losing himself in the way he kisses him, in the way Wylan's hands slip from his grip and drag perfectly tantalizing down Jesper's body, until they grab his ass. He loses himself in the way Wylan's hips buck up, in the way he moans. He especially loses himself in the way Wylan rolls them over again, showing the strength that had surprised Jesper the first times they had been doing this — and that, honestly, sends him a bit insane with want. 

Now, he lets his body be guided where Wylan wants it, and forces his mind to empty of all thoughts. This is good. It's good to have Wylan's pretty fingers inside, readying him for what's to come, and it's good, good, perfect when Wylan thrusts inside, muffling a sound by biting on Jesper's clavicle. 

Jesper, on his hand, finds himself unable to keep quiet this time — he is not face down, with his arm or the sheets to sink his teeth into. He is bare and vulnerable, with moans dragged out of his chest with every movement of Wylan's hips. It's so good, so good, so…

He looks up and gets lost for a second that drags itself for hours in the blue of Wylan's eyes. He truly is beautiful. 

It's not enough. 

It's also not the moment to bring it up, because Wylan is fucking him and there's nothing else he would like to be focused on. And yet, his mind starts spiraling. He is so numbed with pleasure and yet aching for that little bit more that would really quench his aching heart… that he starts thinking it wouldn't be so bad if he told Wylan he loves him. 

So what? 

He can tell him that he wants to stop this no strings attached affair and start dating, what could go wrong? Wylan is not the kind of guy to hold a grudge, or to stop being friends with Jesper just because he has a stupid crush — he knows it's not just a silly crush, but that's something Wylan doesn't necessarily have to know. 

When he was little, his Ma used to tell him that he was a straightforward creature. Impulsive, would say instead his Da. And Jesper definitely would agree with Da on this. Wylan is straightforward, honest, and clear about his feelings. The first time he saw Kaz — intimidating, bossy Kaz — Wylan said to his face that he didn't like him. All the rest of them had stayed there with their mouths open, waiting for Kaz to snap and say that he wouldn't want that insolent kid in the group. 

Instead, he had smirked — one of his rare, surprised smiles — and asked Wylan if he wanted to pair up for the science experiment. I noticed how good you are, he had said. He was right. And after that, Kaz and Wylan had become real good friends.

So, Wylan is the straightforward one — blunt and raw in his every emotion.

Jesper… Jesper is impulsive, and he is glad he is, because otherwise his coward fear would keep him in a chokehold. Instead, he speaks before his mind can catch up, he rolls down hills before thinking twice on the danger of rocks hidden by the tall grass, he jumps into everything head first. Sometimes he comes out unharmed. Most times he comes out harmed. 

This is not harming me, he thinks. But, before he makes up his mind and thinks it through — or the fact that they are in the middle of fucking, his mouth forms the words on its own volition. 

"I want to... ah... stop doing this," he hears himself say, gasping a bit mid sentence on a harsh thrust from Wylan. 

In a second, every thrust comes to a halt, and Wylan stills inside him, eyes snapping up to Jesper's face — worried, inquiring, searching for something to tell him what's happening, ever so curious about what the other person is feeling. 

"Ghezen," Wylan says, and it feels punched out of his chest. He withdraws from him in moments, eyes wide and breath ragged. Jesper frowns and, in the motion, he realizes that the tears he had forced away shed anyways, and his eyes are full with them. 

"Wait—" he tries to say, but his mind doesn't seem inclined to catch up to what's actually going on. All he can think about is that Wylan was fucking him so good, dragging it rough and slow at the same time just like Jesper liked — and now he is five feet away, pale like he has seen a ghost. 

Jesper feels too exposed, and his throat clenches around sobs that are desperately trying to leave his chest. He will not cry more than he is. But this means that he is also unable to articulate anything else. 

What did he even want to say?

I want to stop doing this. And then? 

He tries to focus, to collect his thoughts into coherent lines rather than the messy vortex they are tangled in. It's all useless. 

"I need to…" Wylan gulps. "Need to go to work." 

Before Jesper's mind can clear enough for him to stop Wylan, to remember what the fuck he actually wanted to tell him — because he is sure as all Saints that he doesn't want this to stop! — Wylan collects his discarded clothes and disappears out of his own bedroom. 

Before the door closes behind him, Jesper hears a soft, murmured "I'm sorry," and then, after some seconds, the front door slamming shut behind Wylan. 

That's when he lets his sobs unravel, and cries hugging his knees to his chest. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

It's fucked up that he remembers what he wanted to say — what he meant to say, only now that Wylan is gone.

I want to stop doing this — because I love you. 

◇◇◇

Jesper didn't plan to get a crush on his best friend.

Really, he didn't.

On the contrary, he spent two whole school years hoping he wouldn't, because he liked Wylan and crushes were always a fleeting thing for him. He would see a pretty boy or girl in the school halls, or at church, or at the grocery store, and get a fling that would last all but five minutes. 

He didn't trust himself around commitment. He knows he cares nothing at all, or he cares too much, too deep until he hurts. Once, he cared so much about one of their farm's mares, that when she died giving birth he cried for days. He suddenly stopped riding horses ever since, claiming to his Da that he fell once, and that the fear still clings to him. He felt pain so vividly, that the best cure he knew was to ignore it all together. 

So, he didn't want to get a crush on Wylan and ruin their thing, either by getting a fling that would make his interest in the other boy stop, or by falling head over heels and have to force his heart to stop working before it got hurt.

It happened anyway. 

It was a summer day, and they were perched on the barns fence eating watermelon and flipping their feet in the air, careful to keep their balance so as not to fall. 

Jesper said something funny, he can't quite recall what, and when he turned Wylan was laughing with his nose scrunched and his eyes closed, head reclined backwards. His mouth shone with watermelon juice, and he had a black seed stuck to the corner of his lips. 

Jesper remembers that his heart had stopped and that he had caught his breath, feeling everything inside him vibrate and his cheeks flush violently. He remembers dropping his watermelon slice to the ground, mind too drawn to Wylan that he had forgotten to keep the hold on the fruit. He remembers Wylan turning towards him, licking his sweet lips to gather the juice before talking again. 

He remembers that the sun was high in the sky, and its rays shone on them even under the shadow of the apple tree. It caught on Wylan's lashes, on his hair, in the specks of his eyes. It made his freckles show up wilder than ever. 

A horse huffed behind them, and Jesper didn't even feel the ache for the loss of his mare — it was his Ma's favorite, he knows now, and the pain he had let himself feel and show had been the same pain that he hadn't allowed himself to manifest after his Ma's death. And yet, he didn't feel that ache now. Probably because he was too distracted. Too tangled into something new altogether. 

His eyes darted toward Wylan, drinking up every feature, blushing when his gaze settled again on his mouth, and then on his hands digged in the red of the watermelon.

He hadn't meant to catch a crush on his best friend. 

Instead, he had fallen in love with him head first — and wasn't that how he worked? He jumped into things with his whole being, until he got so scratched and miserable that he regretted not working well enough as to think before acting. 

◇◇◇

He surely regrets it now. 

It's been days, and Wylan has avoided him in every possible way. Jesper more than once came home to the sound of a door slamming shut as soon as he put the keys in the keyhole. Sometimes he would wake to the faint scent of coffee, but Wylan was already gone. Sometimes he would come back home and find the apartment empty. 

He tries to tell himself that it's fine. That Wylan's schedule probably changed and he forgot to tell him. That everything is okay and okay and okay. 

It's not, and he knows it. 

Wylan is avoiding him because Jesper was stupid enough to tell him that he doesn't want to fuck anymore, so Wylan is probably busy fucking his way around town — that must be why he never catches him home, no matter what time he comes back. Maybe he found himself a boyfriend, even. 

It's okay. They just fuck with no strings attached. That was the plan. 

Unless it was never that for him, was it? How could it, when he had been in love with Wylan ever since he was fifteen years old? 

"Is Wylan not coming?" he asks now, hopeful to find Wylan hiding somewhere in Inej's flat. 

Inej raises a brow at that, and Nina asks: "Shouldn't you know? You live together, dude." 

Jesper's lips thin in a line, and he tries to widen his mouth into a smile, but he is sure it doesn't reach his eyes. He is sure it looks as pained and strained as he feels it.

"Is something wrong?" Inej asks, lowering the volume of her speakers playing some Ravkan song that Nina recommended. Suddenly the room gets too quiet, and Jesper feels the eyes of everyone on him — even Kaz and Matthias'. They stop arguing over their Trump match, no less. 

"Nah," Jesper lies. "We are fine." 

Kaz tsks, rolling his eyes — still set on the cards on the table. "You aren't," he says. 

"How would you know?" Jesper snaps, angered by the certainty in Kaz's voice. What if it's all in Jesper's head? They might be really fine for all he knows. For all Kaz knows. 

"I saw Wylan. He looks like shit." 

"Does he?" Nina asks, brows pinched in worry. "I haven't seen him in weeks." 

All eyes turn back on Jesper, but he feels at a loss of words. He sits there, beer forgotten between his hands, gaze unfocused before himself. Wylan looks like shit and it's all his fault. He shouldn't have told him that he wanted to stop doing the deed. Surely Wylan caught up immediately — because he is that good at reading people — and now he can't stand Jesper anymore. They agrees on no fucking feelings, but he was stupid enough to catch them all the same. 

Worse, he was stupid enough to dive into this stupid deal when he knew already how hopelessly in love he was with his best friend.

He wants to scream. 

He wants to cry. 

Instead, he stands up on wobbly legs and tells his friends that he feels tired. "I should head home," he mumbles, dizzy with sadness. 

Inej tells him something, but he can't quite hear it. He nods anyway, hoping that nodding was the right answer. It seems to be, because Inej swiftly hugs him with one arm around his waist and her head pressed to his chest, and then opens the door for him. 

The apartment, when he comes back home, is as empty as it often is these days. He sets on talking to Wylan though, so he sits on their sofa and waits there for his best friend to come back. 

I ruined everything, a thousand voices scream in his head. I hurt Wylan, he thinks, shedding angry tears that follow him to his sleep. 

I hurt myself, he realizes. Of course he did. What else did he expect from fucking the man he loves with no strings attached? It was really hurting me, he desperately thinks.  

◇◇◇

When he wakes, the sun is up in the gray Ketterdam sky and his alarm is going off loud and clear in his ear. He abruptly sits up, and a blanket that he definitely hadn't put on the night before slips to the ground. Jesper's eyes search all through the living room, but there's no trace of Wylan. 

He groans, changing into clean clothes before rushing to work. 

There's already a couple people outside his DIY shop, and he apologizes he is late without really having it in himself to joke his way into these old ladies' hearts. He just mumbles he is sorry, and slides the rolling shutter up to open up. 

As usual, it's a busy early morning, full of elders asking him for this or that highly specific tool, and youngsters vaguely asking for something to clean an oil spot from the floor?, or an, uh, hammer? or a drill maybe? 

Jesper tries his best to give advice and be his usual, smiling self, but it's harder than ever now that he is aware that he and Wylan are not okay. That he hurt Wylan. That Wylan is willingly avoiding him. 

Once, when he was seventeen and Wylan was sixteen, they had argued like they never had before. They haven't argued like that in the six years following, not even when they started living together and bantered about dirt dishes and empty fridges. They surely haven't argued ever since they started fucking a couple years before. On the contrary, it has all been so peaceful that now Jesper gets it's 'cause he was holding back from every emotion other than the bliss of finally having Wylan in his bed, and the aching in his chest. All their playful — and sometimes not so playful — banters had almost come to a stop. Jesper had stopped complaining about Wylan playing his instruments in the dead of the night, because he was more occupied thinking about the blowjob received before dinner, or about how to stop himself from accidentally blurting out I love you in the throes of passion.

But when they were teenagers, they had argued violently and they hadn't talked to each other for three whole months — the entirety of summer break. And Jesper had plans for summer break with Wylan. They had planned a couple trips and a concert, where Jesper had gone anyway because he had bought his ticket already. He remembers that he had left the venue after ten minutes from the start, sobbing on the pavement with his head between his knees until the owner of the bar across the street had brought him a cup of strawberry ice cream. 

Jesper can't even recall what they had actually argued about. It feels so distant and silly now, but at the time it had mattered, so much that Jesper had been afraid he had lost his best friend forever. 

He hadn't. 

On Nina's birthday she had forced them in her bedroom, away from the party happening in the garden, thus forcing them to talk it out. 

They had talked it out, and Jesper found out that none of them was mad anymore, and that they were stubborn and stupid enough to have lost countless occasions to apologize to each other. They had played Super Smash Bros on Nina's unguarded Switch, up until Nina had come open the door, with a trail of drunken Sorry, sorry, I forgot about you. 

It doesn't feel this easy now. 

They are older, for instance, and this is certainly something that they can't play their way through until everything is normal again. Merely because things can't get back to normal — not for Jesper and his pining heart, which means that they can't get back to normal for Wylan either. Jesper can picture him too well, telling him that he can't stay friends with Jesper if he is in love with him. That it would be too awkward. That Jesper has to move out. 

Saints, he hadn't even taken into account the logistics of this thing — the possibility that he could lose his home. He refuses to beg for a room to Kaz, but perhaps that's a necessary step to take before being homeless.

Realistically, he knows that Wylan wouldn't throw him in the street. He also knows that Wylan is not the type of guy to end a friendship over something like this. He is still on good terms with the guy from his art course that had confessed to him, after all. Certainly it won't be that different with Jesper. 

Except that he has been avoiding him for almost three weeks. Which is admirable since they literally live together. 

That's why he can't believe his eyes when he tears them away from his old work computer screen and, in the dye aisle — there's Wylan. Wylan in flesh and bone, with his nose set high as he studies the tins, eyes thin in focus, probably observing every color with set determination. Jesper knows that Wylan doesn't half-ass anything. He knows it personally, even.

He shoves the thought away, and instead he keeps watching Wylan. He has dark spots under his eyes that are visible even from a distance, and he doesn't only look focused, but also slightly annoyed. 

Jesper is known for being impulsive — always has been. But now, the fear that holds him back is paralyzing. What if he approaches Wylan like he desperately wishes to, and he says the wrong thing? He hurts Wylan again. He messes things up further. 

His mind tells him to stay put — take a break. Call Raske from the storage room. Pretend you are dead. 

But he is impulsive, he is fucking impulsive and his body moves before his mind catches up, like it always happens. He realizes he is right behind Wylan only when it's too late and he has no clue how to start a conversation. 

He clears his throat. 

Wylan turns, and his eyes widen with shock. The black spots are worse than they looked from afar, but he is still beautiful. More beautiful after all the weeks away from him. He stays quiet for a while, unable to do anything else but watch Wylan's every feature, the line of his nose, the trembling hitch of his lower lip that is immediately put under control, his hands closing into fists. 

"I thought it was Raske's shift," Wylan says, and Jesper knows that he is willingly infusing his voice with ice. He knows because he has heard him answer cold and harsh to many people he had been arguing with. To his own asshole of a father, even. Wylan is a firecracker, a fuse ready to spark alive with a certain temper. But he has also been hurt in life, so he knows how to guard himself, how to raise a wall so high to scare everyone trying to get past it. Jesper would have never thought to receive that ice bucket from Wylan.

He bites back a cry that wants to rip off his chest, and instead smiles bashful and, certainly, pitiful. 

"Sorry to disappoint," he says, and what wants to come as a bitter joke is instead heavy with hurt. 

Wylan seems to notice, because his posture relaxes a bit and he unclenches his hands. 

"I didn't want to bother you," he says, honest as ever. Jesper doesn't get it, though. 

"Bother me?"

"Yeah," Wylan shrugs, but he doesn't offer other explanations. 

Jesper bites the inside of his cheek, fidgeting with his hands and intently looking at the tip of his and Wylan's shoes. 

He can't resolve this with a videogame and a couple laughs, he knows he can't — but it doesn't mean he can't try. Maybe Wylan will get the bait and they'll pretend that nothing happened and that they haven't been fucking for two years now. Maybe they'll go back to being just best friends — best friends who don't fuck — and they'll forget everything about this awkward situation they are in.

"Want to play Breath of the Wild when I end my shift?" he says before he can change his mind. 

Wylan seems caught off guard by his request, but he nods anyway. "Sure," he says — careful, guarded, keeping a distance that he had never kept with Jesper. "Help me find a dye to paint over an old table from my Father's studio, first?" 

"Are you—?" Jesper should bite his tongue and avoid asking, avoid hurting himself more. He asks anyway. "Are you staying at the Geldstraat house? Do you plan to move?" 

Wylan's eyes are unreadable. 

"I'm just rearranging the place," he says. It's not a yes. But there won't be any other reason for Wylan to set foot in his childhood home, if he wasn't set on moving there. He wouldn't be rearranging if he didn't plan— Again, he tries not to let his feelings be evident on his face. 

He leans close to Wylan, rather, heady with his soft, familiar scent. While he shows him this or that dye, he mindlessly brushes his finger on the back of Wylan's hand. It's a familiar gesture of affection that he has been doing ever since they are friends — after all, Jesper is a touchy person. He is so used to touching Wylan, to being close to him, that he doesn't realize he is stroking feather-like brushes up the back of his hand until Wylan jerks his hand away. 

Jesper flushes, suddenly mortified, and he mumbles a haste apology before running back behind the counter. 

Wylan comes to pay in an embarrassing, heated silence, and then he tells Jesper he'll wait for him on the bench in front of the shop. 

The rest of his shift, his eyes keep darting towards Wylan: he is focused doodling and sketching and coloring, holding his satchel and bag full of dye tins close to his hip, like he is afraid people might come and take them from him. 

He bumps against shelves and table corners, and he also makes a whole set of brushes fall to the ground. Two young girls help him collect them from the floor, and he feels mortified. The thing is — he keeps watching Wylan instead of working, like Wylan was his satchel and he was afraid that he would disappear if he didn't keep an eye on him. 

Finally, finally his shift ends, and he rushes out of the shop, panting when he reaches Wylan across the street. 

"Sorry for the wait," he awkwardly says. Wylan just offers him a cautious smile, and he walks close to him the way back home. 

It already feels like a win for Jesper. 

◇◇◇

In the back of his head, Jesper knows he wanted to play some game with Wylan — he can't even remember what.

Not now that smart teeth bite into his lower lip, eliciting a soft whine from his own throat. 

They barely make it past the front door.

Jesper doesn't know who started it. All he knows is that Wylan is kissing him, hard, holding him close with his hands gripping Jesper's hips. Jesper's hips that are shamefully thrusting up against Wylan's, because he is that desperate to get off.

No — he is that desperate for Wylan. 

He whines when Wylan starts kissing his throat, and more so when his fingers hover before his mouth, brushing his lips. Jesper's breath catches, and he opens his mouth to welcome the digits inside. He moans around them, feeling dangerously close already just by hips slotting against hips and fingers pressed on his tongue, slowly exploring his mouth — shoved down his throat. Saints, he loves those hands.

And all the while, Wylan doesn't stop kissing and biting his neck, faster and more urgently than he normally would. 

It's perfect. It's perfect and it's beautiful and he is about to—

"W-wait," Wylan gasps, mouth leaving his neck and fingers withdrawing from his mouth. Jesper whines, high pitched, desperate as he is for release — for Wylan's touch. But Wylan takes a step back, and Jesper wobbles, unbalanced, feeling dizzy with the loss of Wylan's body steady against his. 

"Jesper, wait," Wylan says, eyes wide and worried. He looks almost afraid. 

"What?" he says, but it comes more as another whine. 

"You said you don't want to do this anymore. You should respect your will. I should…" he cuts himself short, and breathes heavily before going on. "I should respect your will. I'm so sorry I hurt you. And made you cry. I should have… should have checked in. Should have been careful…"

"What?" Jesper asks, frustration building up in his chest. What?

Wylan blinks. 

"When you told me you wanted to stop this," Wylan says, careful like he's trying to understand his own words as he speaks them. "You were crying."

"I was crying," Jesper nods. He was, there's no point denying it. But he still doesn't get Wylan's point. 

"You were crying," Wylan repeats, brows furrowing. "Because I hurt you. And kept… kept fucking you even when you didn't want to…"

"Wait. Wait, no. What? That's not true," he says, interrupting Wylan. 

Wylan blinks again, and now Jesper can see that his eyes are wet with tears, and that his lower lip is wobbling again like it was in the shop — like he is about to cry. 

"It isn't?" Wylan breathes. 

"That's not why I was crying," Jesper says, louder, like he wants Wylan to understand. Wylan still looks confused, eyes wide and wet and lost. Jesper groans. "I… I don't want to keep doing this thing with— you know, with no strings attached." 

He hopes that Wylan gets it. He hopes it clarifies everything. He thought that Wylan already knew that Jesper likes him. He is so smart all the time, he understands people at a first glance. It had never occurred to Jesper that he wouldn't know and, worse, that he would think he had — Saints — abused Jesper. 

It's clear as air when the truth sinks into Wylan, and fear grips Jesper's throat in a tight vise. He can't breathe as Wylan's brows snap up and his mouth open in a small o and his eyes set on Jesper's — questioning, searching, hoping for something. 

"You don't want the no strings attached thing," Wylan repeats. "Because you want… strings?"

Jesper tilts his head, confused. 

"You want strings," Wylan repeats, exhaling like he also had been holding his breath. The laugh that leaves his lips catches Jesper off guard. "Ghezen, you like me," he says. 

It's Jesper's turn to let his breath go. He feels air flood his lungs and his heart skip a beat. 

"I do," Jesper says. "I thought you knew and that you didn't want anything to do with— mh." 

Wylan kisses him — he grasps him and holds him close and kisses him like he is drowning, like he is as desperate for it as Jesper is. He kisses him, open mouthed and breathless. Then the kisses slow down, they sweeten and get softer until Jesper melts into them. 

When they are both thoroughly breathless, Wylan cups Jesper's cheeks and holds their foreheads close. 

"Does this mean—?"

"Yes," Wylan says, smiling so wide that it must hurt. Or maybe not, because Jesper has a matching smile on his face, and he feels anything but aching. "Yes, I like you. Of course I like you."

"Since when?" Jesper wants to know. 

He hopes it's just a few months. He hopes they haven't wasted years liking each other and pining in their closeness and telling absolutely nothing to each other. 

"You lent me a rubber," Wylan says. "It was the kindest thing anyone had done for me up to that moment."

"I lent you..." Jesper gasps. "It was the first day we met!" he screeches.

"You had kind eyes," Wylan snaps, pouting stubbornly. "And I liked your mouth."

"You liked..." Jesper starts laughing, a laugh punched out of his chest with the strength of a hurricane.

"What?" Wylan asks, cautious, pouting like he is outraged. Jesper shakes his head, eyes bright with delight.

"I love your mouth," he says. "I knew I had a crush on you when I saw you laughing with watermelon juice coating your mouth.  I think it's the most beautiful mouth in the mouths department."

Wylan stares at him, and then his whole body relaxes and he scoffs around a smile. "You're a dork," he says, with so much fondness that Jesper melts. 

Wylan kisses him again, soft and just a bit pushy, because Wylan is used to pushing Jesper around in bed and Jesper loves to be directed where the other man wants. It stays soft now, though, and it's all perfect — until Jesper's body reminds him how turned on he was before they stopped to talk. How much more turned on he is now that he knows that Wylan likes him back. 

He moans into the next kiss, carefully lining his hips flush with Wylan's, unsure on how to ask — unsure whether it's okay for him to ask —

"Could we—? Can you—?"

Wylan tilts his head, eyes glinting with a teasing light. He smiles. "Do you want me to make you come?" he sing-songs.

Jesper whines. "Please."

And Wylan does.

He works him with his hand, grip tight around his cock, fast and steady and then slow, slowing almost to a halt, making Jesper writhe against the bedsheets. Making him cry out Wylan's name. 

All the while, Wylan looks at him with eyes so full of love that Jesper could cry. He looks at him and leans down to kiss him. He murmurs how much he likes him, how precious he is, how good, how beautiful.

Jesper comes on the praises, on the soft words leaving Wylan's lips like a promise. He comes for so long that his mind goes blank, and he flomps back into the mattress, dead tired.

Not so tired, though, that he can't return the favor by sucking Wylan off and make him come down his throat. He holds his thighs and grips the soft swell of his ass, letting Wylan set the pace.

He loves it.

It's so much more than it was every other time. 

Wylan cradles his face, brushes the tear that slips from Jesper's eye with the pad of his thumb, and then finally, finally, he crunches onto himself and gasps against Jesper's head when he comes, holding him there. Jesper feels held, and seen, and loved.

He feels so loved.

He surges up and kisses Wylan, until the redhead is coherent enough to slap him away and tell him how gross he is for kissing him after that. Jesper laughs, and peppers kisses all over Wylan's face, giggling like a lovesick teenager as he goes. Wylan smiles back, radiant, and stops Jesper's frantic, silly kisses by pressing his forehead to Jesper's, again, making him pause, grounding him to the moment.

And what a moment it is.

They are still bare and sweaty, and he is well aware that they need to get up and shower — together, perhaps? He hopes they shower together. But, for now, he can't force himself to tear away from Wylan. His arms rest mindlessly around Wylan's waist, brushing sweet nothings up his spine, while Wylan still cradles his face, hands warm and soft against his cheeks and throat.

He likes him so much. He loves him so much. And he has nothing to stop him from saying it aloud now. He can tell Wylan that he likes him as much as he wants to, so that's what he does. And what mirrors his "I like you"s is soft smiles and softer "I like you back"s that make his heart settle — no longer hungry for something more that had him insane with pain, but finally quenched, as light as a kite gently held up by the wind, and full of unspoiled happiness.