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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 2 months ago

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Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession @devoted-people-hater

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: ptsd references, implied abduction references, death references, grief, loss of loved ones

AO3 link

Chapter 58 - Wylan

Wylan didn’t want to go to work. That, in and of itself, wasn’t particularly unusual - especially not in the week following the bridge collapse. But for the first time since starting his work with Kaz Brekker, it was for a different reason that Wylan felt nervous to step over the threshold of the demolition workshop.

Raske hadn’t said anything about Wylan collapsing, but he was sure that he knew. How couldn’t he? Wylan had woken alone with his back against the concrete floor, his head aching and his vision even blurrier than usual as he managed to pull himself up by pressing his weight into the nearest table and keeping his arms slightly raised for balance until he’d reached a chair. A brief moment had passed before Raske appeared round the doorway, frowning, claiming to have heard a noise and was wondering what had happened; Wylan just about managed to tell him it was fine, but he’d actually thought he might be about to throw up.

He didn’t want to see him again; didn’t want to wonder if he was thinking about it, or what he might have thought in the moment, or wonder if he thought it was going to happen again. Ghezen, please don't let it happen again. Wylan didn’t know why this kept happening, but he was not enjoying it.

Clouds were rolling in over the street like a great, dark blanket trying to smother every last breath right out of the city and the threat of rain was imminent, but still Wylan dragged out his walk for as long as possible. The cold air prickled on his skin, but it gave him no desire to hasten his step. He was near the Slat when he saw two figures that he recognised turning a corner ahead of him, making their way in his direction; Jesper and Nina. Nina didn’t seem to have spotted him as she bid Jesper and began to walk in the other direction, back up towards West Stave, Wylan acknowledged, but Jesper had definitely seen him. He called his name as they approached each other, Wylan of course hadn’t changed his stride because there was no feasible way other than sight that he could have known Jesper was there yet, and both of them drew to a stop as they exchanged vague greetings; Jesper had just come from a coffee shop, Wylan was on his way to the workshop, Jesper was working tomorrow night, so on and so forth.

“You know,” Wylan teased, when the cafe cropped vaguely up in conversation again, “you do still owe me a coffee,”

Jesper smiled as he replied:

“That’s true. Do you… I mean, would you still like one?”

Wylan had nodded before he’d even processed the question.

“Were the flowers-?”

“It’s okay, I think, for future reference,” Wylan said, before his cheeks flooded crimson and he stammered: “Not that I’m expecting you to- I mean, wait, I mean-”

Jesper laughed.

“I’ll remember that,” he squeezed Wylan’s fingers, “for future reference. How’s tomorrow morning sound?”

Wylan nodded. Tomorrow morning sounded wonderful.

“I’ll meet you at the Slat,” he managed, thinking it might be easier to go to Jesper instead of having Jesper come to him, “Nine bells? I promise not to run away this time,”

Jes laughed again, sparking light back into something deep inside Wylan’s chest that had been lost to darkness for a long time.

“Nine bells,” he agreed, “But you should know that you can always leave if something’s too much for you, Wy. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything here,”

Wylan nodded, not sure whether or not he should be surprised that he genuinely believed him. Jesper felt safe in a way that Wylan didn’t know how to quantify, and he wanted to cling to the feeling for as long as possible. He gripped Jesper’s hand a little tighter, running his fingers over the shape of the other boy’s rings like he was trying to absorb their image into his very being. He leaned up, ever so slightly, tilting his face towards Jesper’s.

“It’s a pity I don’t know how pretty your eyes are,” he murmured.

“That’s my line,” Jesper teased, “And how do you know they’re pretty?”

Wylan smiled.

“Oh, they definitely are,”

Jesper’s hand snaked around Wylan’s waist, just for a moment, before he dropped away. Wylan tensed. Had he said something wrong?

“Kaz is waiting for me,” Jesper sighed, his eyes falling somewhere over Wylan’s shoulder as he stepped back.

Wylan didn’t dare to turn and look, of course, but he could guess that Brekker was close by.

“Nine bells?”

“Nine bells,” he agreed, pretending not to watch for every moment before Jesper disappeared from his eyeline.

Tomorrow morning. Coffee. It sounded so simple. It sounded like it could change the world. Wylan made it all the way to the workshop before he realised that he was still smiling.

Wylan didn’t have many outfits to choose from, but it still took him longer than he’d care to admit to decide what he was going to wear this morning. He walked to the Slat fidgeting with his sleeve, the button of the cuff nestling repeatedly in and out of the exact right shape on the edge of his hand, a comforting synchronicity constructed between it and the movement of his fingers. Why was he so nervous?

Jesper wasn’t there yet, but Wylan was fifteen minutes early and Jesper was sure to be at least five minutes late, so he hadn’t really been expecting to see him straight away. He drifted to the edge of the room, not sure if he should take a seat or not - the Slat was busy, of course, but not the busiest he’d seen it and there were a couple of free chairs nearby. Wylan doubted anyone would think it strange for him to take one - they might even think it stranger that he was hovering over by the door without moving to a table - but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. Besides, if he took a seat maybe people would wonder how he knew that it was empty. It was safer to hold back and wait.

“You seen her?” someone was asking a boy sitting at a table not far from Wylan.

The boy was alone, studying the table or maybe his own hands quite intently, apparently unaware of the newcomer behind him. She nudged his arm.

“Pietro?”

The boy - Pietro - looked up sharply, his shoulders tensing slightly as he was pulled back into the world. Wylan wondered where he’d been.

“I - Jade, sorry, I just-”

“S’okay,” Jade sat down next to him and thumped two glasses onto the tabletop, “Just wondering if you’ve seen Layla?”

Pietro shook his head, taking one of the glasses and downing it in a single gulp.

“Convinced Anika to let us write each other messages, but she’s struggling even to read them,” he pulled a bit of paper out of his pocket and passed it to Jade, “Anika wrote that on her behalf, apparently,”

Wylan drifted away into his thoughts as Jade began to read the note, letting the sounds and conversations of the room wash over him in long, vague waves as the minutes ticked slowly by.

“You’re not still on that?” someone complained across the room.

“Girls don’t just vanish, Vi, there has to be-”

“No, they don’t, what they do is run. She’s back in Shu Han by now,”

Wylan didn’t know who they were talking about, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. There was another conversation about a murder, and this one he had heard about - the Zemeni Trade Ambassador, in broad daylight, had stepped into a washroom; no-one came in or out, but later he was found with a knife in his back, the tap still running. There was also a hum of conversation about something happening at the Exchange tonight, which was news to Wylan but he supposed that shouldn’t be much of a surprise. And anyway, whatever it was, he probably didn’t want to know.

“Wylan?”

Wylan paused, turning slowly towards the source of the sound somewhere to his left. It was too early for Jesper, surely, but anyway that wasn’t his voice. That was Nina’s voice.

She was crossing from the other door, looking a little surprised to see him there - and something else as well. Her hand drifted to play with the neckline of her blouse, and then the little necklace half hidden beneath it; her eyes flicked over him, then away, then back again; her throat quivered slightly as she swallowed and tried to give him an unconvincing smile.

“Wylan, hi, it’s Nina,” she said, as she approached, “I didn’t realise you’d be here… erm, can we… Can we talk for a minute?”

Wylan nodded warily as Nina quietly directed him to an empty table in the quietest corner of the room. She shuffled out a chair so that they could sit directly opposite each other, without the obstacle of the table in between them, and laid her anxious hands still in her lap as they sat down.

“I don’t really know what to say,” she murmured, “Wylan, I’m so sorry, I really hate that I have to tell you this…”

“Just say it,” he whispered, and that was when he realised that he already knew what she was going to say, “It’s easier that way,”

Nina pursed her lips slightly, nodding.

“I found out everything that I could about Anya,” she said, slowly, “And I don’t know everything, but…”

It was somewhere around this point that Wylan stopped hearing her. He didn’t need to. He could hear the shape of the words, the tone of her voice; he could feel the soft brush of her hands against his, the little circle she’d begun to draw just above his thumb, over and over again. He knew. He didn’t need to hear the words.

He knew.

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