Kaz Brekker (
everymonstrousthing) wrote2016-08-26 12:33 am
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Kaz lets Jesper lead the way. It isn't the first time that he's been in Jesper's apartment but it's the first time without Inej, and that makes everything different. Once he's inside, he shrugs out of his jacket, leaves himself in his shirtsleeves, looks down at his gloves for a long, long time. Irritated, he passes one hand back through his hair and lowers himself down onto the couch.
"Not too late to turn me out onto the street, Jesper."
"Not too late to turn me out onto the street, Jesper."
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"Not like you to recognise a sure bet," he says. He isn't ready, probably will never be ready, to tell Jesper about Jordie, about his father, about Pekka Rollins. He keeps those secrets inside like scars. Still, he takes another sip of his drink and then sets his glass down. One by one, he carefully peels off his gloves.
It's something, at least.
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He sternly instructs himself away from that line of thought.
"Still hands," he says.
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"It's not what you'd hear in the Barrel," says Kaz, and he allows himself a smirk, flexing his fingers. "Scars, claws, bloody palms." He shrugs. "Every monstrous thing in the world." He tilts his head. "So why don't you ever look as scared as they do, Jesper?"
They both know he knows the answer to that.
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His breath catches before he can school it. In the Barrel, in the whole of Ketterdam, people had known better than to touch Kaz Brekker. It was a sure way to lose a hand. Here, though, things are different. Here, though, he's remembered that not everything is cold and waterlogged and dead.
And once that breath has shivered out of him, he can't take it back.
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"Are you going to talk about it? Or not talk about it? Your call."
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"Talk about what?"
He picks up the glass to give him something to do with his hands, takes another sip of his drink.
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"Another drink?"
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Kaz nods. He drains what's left in the glass and then holds it out to Jesper, eyebrows slightly raised. He's achingly aware of the fact that he's not wearing his gloves.
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"What kind of cocktail?"
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"Surprise me," says Kaz, absurdly grateful when Jesper doesn't even let their fingers touch. "Something strong. I don't feel numb yet."
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He fights, as hard as he can, to relax. To let go of the hard, cold ball of anger in his chest. He tries to forget how warm she'd been to the touch.
"You're the only person left that I trust," he says. "So I guess I'll have to forgive you."
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"Come again?"
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The fumble amuses him. He almost smiles.
"You know I'd trust you with my life, Jesper," he says. "It's happened often enough."
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He mixes a cocktail instead, this one sweet with grenadine to hide the tequila.
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Kaz holds out his hand for the glass, looking at Jesper expectantly. The first drink settles through him, warm and comforting. He's slightly concerned that he's not going to know where to stop.
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So it's Kaz's decision, Kaz's fault that, when he takes the glass, his fingers brush Jesper's before the drink is fully in his hand. He takes a sip, ignoring the wave of something a lot like terror that spikes through him.
"You're right," he says. "I can't."
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Kaz does not casually touch people. He touches when he wants to harm and for no other reason.
Saints.
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"You did," says Kaz, flexing the fingers of his free hand against his thigh, still feeling the touch of Jesper's skin against his. He sips his drink. He breathes.
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"I can see that," says Kaz, looking down at his own hands. "I don't..." He shrugs. "Ever. Except Inej. Not for years and years."
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"You're miles and miles away," says Kaz, and it's truth, honestly, because that's how it feels, sometimes - like there's the rest of the world and then there's Kaz Brekker, stalking the edges alone. But isn't that how he always wanted it? Wasn't that what he always strived for?
"A lot of it is habit," he says, knowing that Jesper didn't seem him faint in the wagon. That that was a secret that Inej had kept.
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