#soc fic
taste test {kaz brekker x reader}
there are guests today.
little information was given to you, but you don’t mind; you’re not here to entertain anyone. you’re here to do your job and move on. who the king associates with is honestly none of your concern.
you’ll leave the assassins to the royal guards.
you wake on the day to witness the palace in hysterics. chefs bustle around like headless chickens, maids and butlers ironing uniforms that have not had a crinkle in them since the war. the scent of food - a cacophany of it - rises to the surface, making you crinkle your nose at the onslaught of different options. all you want is a slice of toast to prepare you for the day, but the thought of walking into that kitchen has you cuddling up in bed for a few minutes longer.
you’ll have to eat that food pretty soon. just a small bite, just enough to get a taste. a hint.
you close your eyes.
the peace doesn’t last long, because it never does. a knock sounds at your door, startling you from your reverie. you roll over, not even bothering to cover yourself when you call out, “come in!”
a palace guard - rico - peaks his bald head round the door and raises a brow. “still sleeping?”
“clearly not.”
“good. you need to be up and at your post in thirty minutes; we have guests today.”
you pull the quilt over your head. “don’t remind me.” you peak an eye over the top, raising a brow. “who are the guests?”
rico narrows his eyes. “you haven’t been told?”
“well, no. i never really asked.”
“then i’ll leave it as a surprise.” he claps his hands, like you’re some kind of dog. “get ready. i don’t want to come back up here again.”
“then don’t,” you reply, but he’s already disappeared.
you drag yourself from bed to do as he ordered. there’s no point arguing with the palace guards - they seem to think they own the place, even though they live basically under the thumb of every other individual walking the grounds. even you, the lowest of the low, can manipulate them into doing what you want if you just try hard enough. a few sweet words and a confident tone, and they’re like putty in your hands.
but the truth is, you don’t care enough about todays events to put on that confident tone. you pull your clothes on, fiddle with your bow tie, and head downstairs to see what the day has in store for you.
breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
a risky day ahead.
you’re required to be at the kings side long before the guests arrive. you’ve never questioned it. the rules of the palace have never made any sense to you, but you go along with them, because you don’t want to get into any more trouble than you already have. that’s why you find yourself stood by the kings side in silence, hands clasped in front of you, trays of delicious breakfast foods being delivered by hasty, sweaty porters.
the dining room is swathed in beautiful decor. banners hang from the ceiling, red and gold colours matching the grand wallpaper all around. the fancy carpet has been rolled out, tucked beneath the long, mahogany dining table and stretching all the way to the double doors ready to greet the guests.
even the king is dressed well for the occasion, which is another surprise. though the king hardly looks like a peasant, he makes a point to put in as little effort with his appearance as possible, just to show people that he can get anyone to fear him from personality alone. his riches and fancy fabrics have nothing to do with his power.
but today he wears his finest silk coat, the buttons straining against his round stomach. his beard has been freshly trimmed, and you watch his hand rock back and forth amongst the hairs. a few stray ones float from his chin to the table, and you quickly swipe them away. the king doesn’t even notice; he continues staring at the doors, one dark skinned knuckle tight around the arms of his throne-like chair.
finally, after what feels like forever, the double doors up ahead are pushed open. two palace guards dressed in red hold them in place, and a man is ushered in.
a man you recognise immediately.
he’s got a cane now, which is different. there’s those gloves on his hands, the sides of his head still shaved, with that shaggy, dark mess still perched on top, a school boys haircut that looks most out of place on someone with blood on his hands. he’s frowning, because that’s what kaz brekker does - the king shows his power through his booming voice and cruel choices. kaz brekker shows his power through his expressions.
you don’t meet his eyes, though you don’t look away. kaz has his gaze on the king, not even noticing you standing at his side, and for that you are thankful; you don’t think you want to look into those blue eyes again. you promised yourself you wouldn’t, not before the nightmares disappear.
the king slowly stands. he rubs his beard one final time for good measure before saying, “you’re late, kaz.”
“call me mr brekker,” kaz replies, before gesturing to an empty seat at the end of the table - the seat farthest from the king. “shall we sit?”
you swallow; you’re familiar with this attitude from him, but you’ve been in the kings presence too long now to pretend kaz isn’t on thin ice.
the king, however, is clearly in a docile mood, as he nods and sits down. the food in the centre of the table goes unnoticed for a while as the two stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack and begin the conversation. you fiddle with your fingers, uncertain whether kaz has seen you, whether he recognises you, whether he’s just keeping a straight face because he’s kaz, and he’s a professional.
finally, the king clicks his fingers at you. “stack my plate. you know the drill.”
you burst into action, bustling round the table, scooping up different assortments of breakfast foods you know the king enjoys; he’s got his bacon, and his eggs, and the bread, pancakes on the side. you slather beans along the rim of his plate and place a single hash brown in the residue, just as he likes it.
and then you sit down, and pick apart the entire thing.
you can feel kaz’s eyes burning into you as you work, but you pay him no attention. you have to focus, because this is kind of a life or death situation. you sniff the food first, though this very rarely shows you anything you might need to worry about. it’s too fresh, still warm in your fingers when you lift it to your nose. you can smell only the warmth of it all, but you take the precaution anyway, just to show the king you know what you’re doing.
and then you nibble the edges, heart thumping with nerves rather than poison entering your body. that’s what you’re looking for - poison, an assassination attempt. even in his own palace, the king is paranoid. his own staff have turned against him before. you’re not entirely surprised.
you chew, swallow, pause, repeat.
“all clear.”
you hand the plate back, tuck your hands in your lap and look down at the table at kaz. he’s staring at you, an eyebrow raised, and you understand immediately that he recognises you, probably knew you worked here before he even entered the premise.
was he here foryou?
you banish the thought and look away. you wait until the king has started digging in before excusing yourself and exiting, your job for the morning complete. at lunch, you will have to repeat the process, and again at dinner, but until then, you have the morning to yourself.
you walk through the gardens, because fresh air is all you need right now. your heart is hammering, and you curse yourself for it - kaz brekker has not been in your life for months. he shouldn’t have a grip on you. he shouldn’t even know you are here, and yet he does, because of course he does. kaz doesn’t step foot anywhere until he knows the ins-and-outs of the entire place. he keeps his ducks all in a neat row, and you were a fool to believe you had escaped it.
it’s not like kaz is a bad man. he’s evil, certainly, with horrible actions under his belt, but you can understand his reasoning. he kills a man, and maybe that’s an overexaggeration, but the man was also seconds away from traumatising a poor woman walking home from work. kaz takes a life, saving the day in the process. it’s how he works, how he’s alwaysworked for as long as you’ve known him.
and you’ve known him for a while.
you haven’t been by his side in months, but someone like kaz brekker is someone you never forget. once you know kaz, you never stopknowing him, which is a curse more than anything else. oh, how you wish you could wipe the slate clean, pretend you never got involved with him and his gang in the first place. but that was your decision - your stupid, careless decision - and you need to face the consequences.
having him here, at your place of work, was a consequence.
you sit down by the stream just outside the palace grounds. a duckling struts past, paying you no attention whatsoever. a stray lilipad floats gently through the water, spurred on by the tiny breeze ketterdam has for you today.
you like to come here sometimes, just to clear your head a little bit. nobody else bothers with the nice scenery and the nature; they think it’s a waste of time. if it wasn’t for the gardener, this place would be a wasteland, left to shrivel and disappear into shadow. you’re thankful it’s been kept pleasant, though - it’s a good place for someone who wants to have no thoughts for a little while.
you lean down and run your fingertips along the water. it’s cold, and a weed gets tangled between your fingers. you lift it from the water with a wince, flicking your wrist to get it off-
a cane clamps down on your fingers, shoving your hand into the grass.
you inhale sharply, straightening up but not turning around.
“so easy to startle,” kaz hums. “you’re losing your touch, y/n.”
you twist your hand and catch the bottom of his cane, using it to pull yourself to your feet. kaz doesn’t stumble, but you never expected him to; kaz doesn’t stumble.he’s much too stubborn for that.
you whirl around, and there he is, that frown on his face, his head tilted like he’s analysing you even before you’ve said two words. a heat festers in your belly. you don’t know if you want to hug him or slam your fist into his nose.
“so this is where you ended up, is it?” he glances at the grand gardens, the glistening lake, the ducklings swimming past. “you’ve surprised me, i gotta say. i never thought you’d be into such grandeur.”
you fold your arms over your chest, cheeks heating up. you will admit, the palace is certainly not the place you thought to find yourself, either; after living in the barrel your entire life, you had grown used to dirt stained clothes, weeks without washing, hunger pains. this was different. this was a different type of hell, a hell in fancy clothes.
“cat got your tongue?” kaz continues, swinging that stupid cane back and forth. “shame. i think we have a lot to talk about.”
“why are you here?”
“ah, asking the right questions now!”
“just tell me, kaz. tell me, and then we can go our separate ways - just like you wanted.”
his expression falters for a moment, so quick that it’s clear he doesn’t want you noticing the power you still have over him, even just a little.
“fine,” he says. “let’s walk.”
you do just that, hands tucked into pockets, head tilted down. it’s easier to talk to him when you’re not subject to his facial expressions, too - handling both of them is too much.
“you want to know why i’m here,” he begins. “i’m here looking for you.”
your stomach drops, even though that was kind of what you were expecting.
he pauses, giving you a chance to fill in the silence with your own thoughts, but you don’t even look up.
he barrels on. “we had a tip-off from someone that you were working here now. no one else believed it, but me? i know you a little better than them. i was surprised, but i could picture it. you’ve always been irrational when you’re desperate.”
you wince. “you don’t know me at all, kaz.”
he smiled at the sky in response, like you had walked into his trap.
“i hope you didn’t come here thinking you can coax me back to the barrel,” you continue. “that’s not going to happen.”
his jaw clenches, head still tilted towards the sun. his skin is a little darker now, a little more tan. he’s probably been out and about, you think, causing havok in the sunshine, ruining people’s holidays because he can.
“i thought you would say that,” he says. “so i’m bringing the problem to you.”
you nearly stumble. “what?” freezing in the middle of the path, you grab his arm and whirl him around, forcing him to look at you. “what have you done, kaz? what problem?”
“she asked for you.”
“kaz-”
“inej is sick.”
your breath falters. those words, so simple, yet so … unexpected.inej ghafa - the wraith, your best friend, the girl designed to be indestructible. that’s why kaz picked her. that’s why she worked alongside you. that’s what made you the best damn crew in ketterdam.
“sick.”
kaz nods, shrugging his arm from your grip. “sick. ill. not well. poorly. whatever you want to call it. she’s not doing good, and the only person she’s asking for is you.”
“so where is she?” you whirl around. “is she here?”
“not walking alongside us, no.”
you scowl. “i mean at the palace, kaz. is she at the palace?”
“she will be.” kaz pulls a golden watch from his pocket. “in about three hours. that should give your employer plenty of time to set my room up and make some space in the hospital wing, don’t you think?”
you close your eyes, trying desperately to steady the thumping of your heart. he could be lying, and you know that, but what if he isn’t? what is inej really is on her death bed, and you never even got to say goodbye?
the thought terrifies you to the point your hands begin to tremble. when you open your eyes, kaz is staring at them, and you’re almost certain there is something close to pity sparking there.
you quickly snap your arms behind your back and nod. “fine. okay. i’ll see her. but once i’ve done what i can, you leave. both of you.”
kaz studies your face. the fire in your stomach burns even brighter, forcing you to look away and keep walking.
kaz follows, all soft footsteps. “i’m not here to bring up the past, y/n. i hope you know that.”
“you can understand why i find that hard to believe.”
“well, yes. but i’m serious. what we had, it means nothing now. you’re a different person, and so am i. we can let it go.”
you swallow the lump in your throat, trying to pretend those words are exactly what you wanted to hear. but a knot twists in your heart, almost to the point of pain.
you take a deep breath and glance at him over your shoulder. he’s only a few steps behind, but his presence is so large, so therethat you nearly trip.
and then you say, “we never had anything, kaz. remember that.”
—-
it’s like you’re trying to hurt each other.
that’s how it’s always been between you and kaz, but at one point, it felt natural. it was a bit of fun. a few snide remarks here and there, followed by kaz confessing he thinks your eyes are a very pretty colour. a bit of sparring, followed by you telling kaz he’s the most important person in your life.
this time, however, the mere sight of him is a torment, one you don’t find fun in the slightest.
the king tasks you with leading kaz through the palace. this was a job you fully expected to be given, but it doesn’t make it any easier. kaz stops to examine every little thing, tracing his fingers along artefacts you would be murdered for touching.
you swat his hand away when he reaches for a bust of the kings father. “stop it. if you knock that over, he’ll have you hanged.”
kaz raises a brow before touching a gloved fingertip to the stone. you groan and march off, trying to ignore the butterflies at the sound of his soft, hidden chuckle echoing behind you.
you show him his room, a beautifully decorated space much grander than any room the king has ever given you. kaz whistles when he walks in, looking at the wine bucket on his chest of drawers, and the freshly made bed with the thick linens, and a view to die for.
“spoiled,” he says.
you roll your eyes. “i’ll leave you to get comfortable.”
“or.” he whirls, catching your arm. his fingers slot in the crook of your elbow, the leather of his gloves sparking unwanted familiarity within you. “you can stay, and we can talk some more.”
“i have things to do, kaz.” you rip your arm from his grip. “the king will be having lunch soon, and i need to be there.”
kaz scoffs, slowly sliding the knot out of his tie and slipping it from beneath his collar, like undressing in front of you is no big deal. “so you can do what? potentially die? you know, y/n, i once thought you were a tough son of a bitch, but the longer i’m here, the more i’m realising just how weak you are.”
ouch.
“we’ve all got to make a living somehow,” you reply. “you murder people, i keep the king safe.”
“the same king you wanted to assassinate a few months ago?” he tilts his head, pursing his lips. “what a drastic change of heart.”
“go to hell, kaz.”
he raises a hand. “wait for me outside; i’ll come to lunch with you and your king.”
you pause. “has he invited you?”
“i don’t need an invite.”
“you’re not permitted to be there-”
“i’ll be there.” he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “i want to watch you in action. you’ve always been very good in action.” he smirks, and you know he’s just teasing you, trying to get a reaction. your cheeks heat up, but you quickly turn on your heel and scurry out before he can notice.
you don’t wait on him outside. instead, you hurry to the dining hall, where the king is already seated. he looks up when you enter, fingers already tangled in his beard. his wife sits beside him, grand and tall and everything a queen should be. she scowls when you enter, but you ignore her, immediately taking your seat by the king and fanning a napkin over your lap.
“sorry,” you say. “kaz brekker kept me.”
“it’s mr brekker,” the queen snaps. “have some respect for our guests.”
“y/n can call me kaz.”
you close your eyes, listening to the thumpof his feet and cane against the carpet.
“y/n can call me kaz,” he repeats, lowering himself in the chair at the head of the table. “mr brekker is a little too formal for them.”
“mr brekker,” the queen exclaims, fanning her reddening face. “i wasn’t aware you would be joining us for lunch!”
you nearly roll your eyes at her flustered state - okay, so kaz is attractive. he’s also half her age.
kaz leans back in his seat, tapping his fingertips together. “oh, no, i’m not eating. i’m just here to observe.” at the confused silence, he shrugs. “i have nothing better to do, and i’ve always been fascinated with the hobbies y/n takes on. such a talented soul they are.”
you’ve never heard kaz speak so formal before, and you have half a mind to laugh. instead, you glance over to see his own lips trembling in his attempts to keep a straight face - he finds this just as amusing as you do. messing with the royals, it’s all a game to him. they are the fools.
“do you two know each other?” the king asks, handing you his stacked plate.
“no,” you snap. kaz grins behind his glove, staring at you over his fingers as you hasten to add, “no, we don’t. i just met him today.”
the king nods slowly, not quite sure whether to believe you or not. you don’t give him a chance to doubt any further before picking up your knife and fork and cutting a small chunk from a slice of tofu. you go through the usual routine with everything on his plate, but all the while, kaz stares. you feel his eyes like a fire sinking into the side of your face, putting you off from paying proper attention. you pop the cut-off’s in your mouth and chew, turning to meet his gaze, as if making eye contact with him is some kind of power move. however, he actually looks a bit… worried? concerned? you’ve never seen that expression on his face before, and it makes your stomach flip as you swallow the food.
you give a final nod, handing the plate back to the king. you repeat the process with the queen before standing, straightening your trousers and excusing yourself.
kaz’s chair screeches as he stands.
“mr brekker, would you not care for some lunch?” the queen asks.
“no.” he turns and follows you out the dining room, catching your arm when you try and run. “what the hell?”
you spin, snatching your arm away. “can you stop grabbing me?”
“what happens if their food actually has been poisoned?”
“then i get poisoned.”
he raises a brow, skin paling. “and do they have someone on hand for if that happens?”
“on hand to do what?”
“don’t play stupid, y/n. on hand to save your fucking life.”
you scowl; it’s been a long time since you’ve heard kaz curse, and it shames you to feel the same thrill run over you.
“i get sent to the infirmary,” you reply. “but it’s never happened before.”
“never happened-” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “thisis the kind of life you want to live? you left the barrel for this?”
“no life is as bad as the barrel.”
kaz’s lips tighten, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment before he opens them again and says, “you left the place where people loved you, cared about you, and you came here. to this shit hole. you’re risking your life for them,and you have the nerve to tell me this life isn’t as bad as the barrel?”
even to you it sounds ridiculous, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
“the barrel wasn’t a life,” you say. “the barrel was a beginning for me, but i’ve moved on.”
“you don’t move on from that.”
“maybe not mentally, but i can damn well get away physically.” you lean in, lowering your voice. “i just wish you’d let me.”
his eyes scan your face, drawing attention to just how close you are to him. his breath fans your cheeks. you can make out every line on his lips, every crease in his face. you could lean forward if you wanted to, close that distance.
you step back, once again straightening your trousers. “tell me when inej arrives and i’ll come meet her in the infirmary.”
kaz doesn’t say anything. he watches you leave, and part of you - a retched, traitorous part - is disappointed he doesn’t follow.
—-
inej really is sick.
“so it’s true,” you say, sauntering into the infirmary. “the wraith has been beaten.”
you’re trying to jest, but there’s little humour to be felt when she looks like that. her dark skin is pale and sickly, warm drops of sweat clinging to her forehead and rolling down her neck. she’s dressed in only a thin night gown, revealing collar bones and stretched skin where her muscles once were.
she looks up, bloodshot eyes meeting your own, and even in sickness, she manages a smile when she sees you. that’s enough to have you breaking. you rush to her bedside and bundle her in your arms, nearly sobbing with relief at the feel of her pressed against you, her hands in your hair, her mouth inches from your ear.
she whispers, “it’s you.”
you pull away, nodding. “yes. it’s me.”
“what are you doing here?”
you pull a chair over and sit down. “that’s not important.”
“yes, it is.”
“i’ll explain later.” you lean forward, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “you talk first; what’s going on?”
inej coughs into her elbow; something rattles in your throat, and you try desperately to hide your wince. “i just got sick. i fell in the brig a few days ago, and i don’t think the water was very healthy.”
“of course it wasn’t,” you grumble. “it’s the barrel, you stupid girl. what did you expect?”
“i cleaned myself pretty well afterwards,” she defends.
“clearly not well enough.” you place a hand to her cheek. “has anyone come to see you?”
“some man in a coat,” she replies, nuzzling down in the pillows. “he checked my temperature and my blood pressure and all that stuff. said he’d be back soon.”
“and he didn’t seem … concerned?”
inej shrugs. “i didn’t look him in the eye. men like him don’t sit right with me, y/n. i let him do his job, but i’m not looking at him. i’m not giving him ideas.”
you nod. there is a silence, but those are okay between you and inej.
finally, you reach over and take her hand. her palms are clammy, cold, but her grip is strong.
“i’m sorry i wasn’t there to help you.”
her head snaps around, eyes widening. “y/n-”
“i know you always say you understand why i left, but it’s just… i don’t know. i feel guilty about it. i feel selfishsometimes, and you’ve had to travel all the way here whilst you’re in this state all because i wasn’t there to-”
“has kaz been making you feel guilty?”
your mouth snaps closed. “i don’t… i don’t think so?”
inej sighs, head dropping back into the pillows. “don’t listen to him. i understand why you left; i always have. kaz just… i don’t think he ever got over it when you disappeared. it was like a part of him went with you.” she shrugs. “a part of him didgo - you.”
silence again, because you have no idea how to respond to that. kaz was hurt when you left, and you know that, but he’s kaz. he’s tough. he’s been through everything a person should never have to go through. the thought of his final straw being you is almost laughable to think about.
“he loved you,” inej continues, even though you don’t want her to. “he really, really loved you.”
“past tense,” you whisper. “not any more.”
inej smiles sadly, and that’s all you need to see to understand you’re right - he’s moved on. he’s here with you now, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. he’s here on business. he doesn’t care about you, and he said it himself - whatever the two of you had is gone, non-existent. you thought you had come to terms with that, but seeing the confirmation on inej’s face makes you feel suddenly exhausted.
“well this isn’t about kaz and i,” you say, pulling your shoulders back. “come on. tell me what’s been going on since i left.”
—
you’re trying to sleep when you hear the bang.
tryingbeing the key word. always. every night, you put your best efforts into drifting to sleep, but it never seems to work how you want it to. you toss and turn for hours on end, drifting in and out of your associative state, but not really falling asleep. time just passes, and then it’s day time, and you’re working again.
tonight is no different.
the bang is loud, just next door to your room. your ears immediately prick - the palace guards aren’t moving towards it. you’re already awake, so you may as well see to it yourself.
you swing your legs out of bed, grab your dressing gown and walk into the hallway. glancing back and forth, you see nothing out of the ordinary.
the bang sounds again.
you narrow your eyes, walking further down the hallway. turning a corner, the bang sounds one final time before a pair of shoes flies at the wall and crashes to the floor in a heap.
you rush forward, eyes wide. “what the-”
kaz spins, another pair of expensive shoes already in his hand. “oh. did i wake you?”
dazed, you snatch the shoes into your possession and toss them to the floor. “what the fuck are you doing, kaz? people are trying to sleep!”
“i was also trying to sleep,” kaz replies. “i am one of those people, so why are you yelling at me?”
you rub your eyes in frustration - sometimes talking to him is like pulling teeth.
“oh, come on,” kaz says. “i was just doing a bit of late night cleaning. this room is a fucking shit hole.”
you raise a brow, sighing. “what are you on about? this room was pristine when you came.”
“yeah, well, i thought so too. and then i found this.” he motions for you to enter the room, and though you know it’s a bad idea, you do so. he hooks his foot around something beneath his bed, and pulls out a box overflowing with expensive shoes.
you narrow your eyes. “what’s the problem?”
“rich men shoes,” he says, like that explains everything. after knowing kaz as deeply as you do, it kind of does make sense.
you sigh again, kicking the box back beneath the bed. “go to sleep, kaz.”
“i can’t.”
“try.”
“you know i can’t.”
you pause, overcome with a sudden chill. you wrap the dressing gown tighter around your body, trying to refrain from looking at him - he’s still dressed in the fancy clothes he wore this morning, but the top button is pulled loose, and his hair is a mess. his eyes droop a little, evidence that he really wants to sleep, but genuinely just can’t.
and you know why.
“i’m not asking you to stay with me,” he continues, grabbing a pair of socks from the floor. “i’m just saying - you have no right telling me to sleep when you know what it’s like.”
“are they bad again?”
kaz purses his lips. “they’ve been bad for a while.”
a while. that’s how he always phrases it. when he says it’s been a while, he means it’s been a while since you left the crows, left him.
you swallow, looking to the ceiling like the intricate design will give you clarity. “i can get you tea or something. a fresh blanket. whiskey.”
“trying to get me drunk?”
“kaz, i’m serious.” you meet his eyes. “you look terrible.”
he laughs, a sly sound that reeks more of danger than amusement. “thank you.”
“let me get you something.” you turn, but he catches your elbow. you glance back just as he drops his hand like your flesh has burned him, an uncharacteristic redness adorning his cheeks.
“didn’t mean to touch you,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “but i’m serious; i don’t need anything. it’s useless anyway.”
everything is useless. every remedy he’s ever been given has never worked. the only remedy for insomnia that has worked for kaz brekker is you.
but you can’t do that to him. you can’t do that to yourself.
“okay,” you mumble. “just… stop making so much noise, alright?”
“did i really wake you?”
“i couldn’t sleep either.”
you stare at each other. it’s like you’re waiting for the other to break. you hate that you kind of want him to break.
his adams apple bobs. “make yourself some tea, then. i’ll be a bit quieter.”
you nod. “thanks.”
“how’s inej, by the way? did you see her?”
“i did. she seems… okay.” you shrug. “the doctors are going to do everything they can to help her get back to normal. then you can go back to the barrel.”
kaz nods, though his movements are slower this time around, shoulders a little more slumped. neither of you say anything else as you walk out, tugging your dressing gown a little tighter around your body.
you don’t take his advice. you don’t need tea, or whiskey, or a fresh blanket; with kaz’s words and his expressions and him,you know there is no way you’re getting to sleep any time soon, no matter what remedy you use.
—-
“good morning, royalty.”
the king looks up from his breakfast, the very breakfast you have just tested for poison. it sits weirdly in your stomach this morning; after a sleepless night, your appetite has deserted you, but you have no choice besides eating.
kaz strolls into the room, dressed in a suit. his white shirt sits against his chest, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal the crow tattoo on his arm. you awkwardly rub your own crow tattoo, suddenly very aware of how permanent it is.
“good morning, mr brekker,” the king says. “again, you surprise me with your presence. we weren’t expecting you for breakfast.”
“i am just full of surprises.” he sits down in his usual seat and meets your eyes. “how are you this morning, y/n?”
“y/n was just about to leave,” the king replies, as you knew he would; he likes hearing your voice as little as possible.
kaz, however, keeps his eyes on you. “i asked y/n. not you.”
you stare straight at him, a silent warning. “i’m good, mr brekker. well-rested.”
“you can call me kaz.” he leans back, grinning. “i’m glad to hear it. maybe you and i can take a walk amongst the duck pond again later on.”
there he goes, putting on that god awful formal accent that he thinks is so funny.
you scowl. “i’m a bit busy today, mr brekker.”
“kaz.”
“he asked you to call him kaz, y/n,” the king snaps.
kaz nods. “i asked you to call me kaz, y/n.”
you bite your lip, pushing back the retort that so desperately wants to rise. he’s just sat there, grinning with no shame. the king is looking straight at him, and he doesn’t even care.
“any duties you’ve been given today can be postponed until later,” the king says. “mr brekker is our guest, and if he wants your company, your company he shall receive.”
kaz’s grin gets wider, and oh,you want so desperately to punch him square in the face. instead, you force a smile, turning to the king to tell him just how honouredyou would be to give kaz brekker your company on this fine morning.
and that’s how you find yourself strolling through the gardens with kaz, yet again.
“you’re unbelieable,” you mumble, arms folded over your chest like a school kid having a tantrum.
“i’m good,” he replies. “you know i’m good, y/n. i don’t know why you act surprised.”
“he’s the king,kaz,” you hiss. “can you not tone it down a little?”
“tone what down?”
“the-” you gesture vaguely, though the only word you can conjure is flirting,and there’s no way in hell you’re letting that slip into the conversation. “the shit.tone down the shit!”
“i’m not scared of him. i know you want me to be, but i’m not.”
“oh yes. how could i forget? kaz brekker isn’t scared of anything.”
kaz scoffs. “kaz brekker is scared of plenty of things - men aren’t one of them.”
such a kaz thing to say. the most frustrating bit about it was that he was telling the truth.
“i told inej what your job is here,” he continues after a moment of tense silence.
“oh?”
“she understands. says you’ve always been one to do anything to survive.”
you shrug. she’s right.
“that worries me, you know.”
“nothing worries you, kaz.”
“the thought of you in danger does.”
you shake your head. “don’t start this now. you said it yourself; what we had was nothing.”
“why can’t i worry about you without it having to mean something bigger?”
“because everything you say means something bigger.”
kaz falls silent. he knows it’s true, and so do you. kaz has never been able to speak his full extent, always letting people think less of him so he can take them by surprise when the time is right. you have learned first hand how frustrating that can be, but it was also a part of him you grew to love. it was what made him so intelligent, so cunning. it was what made him kaz.
“are you not ever worried you’re going to get unlucky one day?”
you glance over. he keeps his head ducked down, one hand curled around the head of his cane, the other tucked into his pocket. “i know what i signed up for. getting poisoned was kind of part of the risk.”
“since when did you even know how to identify poisons?”
your lips twitch. “jesper taught me.”
kaz rolls his eyes skyward, running a hand through his hair; the sun glows against his tan skin. “of course he did. honestly, the shit you two got up to when i wasn’t around-”
“we had fun,” you say. “we could only do that when you weren’t hovering over our shoulders.”
kaz glares.
you look to the floor, afraid to smile at him, afraid to open this conversation into something even mildly pleasant; if you can get through this entire visit without thinking of kaz fondly, maybe it will make all of it a bit easier. maybe you’ll be able to trick yourself into thinking you’ve moved on, grown stronger since your time in the barrel.
“how is jesper?” you ask, because you suddenly feel like you can’t help it.
kaz shrugs. “how jesper always is.”
“worse?”
“for a while. he didn’t take you leaving very well, but he straightened himself out.” kaz tugs on his lapels. “he always does.”
“yeah. he does.”
you wonder about jesper sometimes. it hurts to know he took your leave badly, though you should have known; jesper has never been one to handle his feelings well. that was your job on his behalf. you would often sit with him at night, just to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. you once handcuffed him to his bed post to stop him heading out into the gambling hall of the hotel you were staying in.
he was the only one you could ever really properly speak to about what was going on between you and kaz. inej understood kaz, but jesper was kaz’s right-hand man. he was the one kaz would go to about things like that.
“does jesper know how to make your brew?”
there is no moment of confusion, like he was expecting the question. “i’m sure he does. i never ask him to make it, though.”
your nostrils flare. “kaz-”
“listen, the nightmares aren’t going to disappear,” he says, raising a silencing hand that you swat away before he can think it works. “i don’t need some special brew helping me sleep.”
“no, you’ll just stay awake until you drop dead.”
kaz grins, sharp as knives. “that’ll be the way to go, won’t it?”
you shove his shoulder, suddenly furious. he looks over, still grinning, because kaz has always found your frustration amusing. he used to say you looked like a chipmunk who just got their nuts stolen.
“for someone so smart,” you hiss, “you’re pretty stupid.”
“because i won’t indulge in your famous sleep remedy?”
“because you’ll let yourself suffer before asking for help.”
his smile fades. “i only ask certain people for help, y/n. it’s not my fault those people keep leaving.”
your heart drops; there he goes again with the impersonal little jabs, knowing he’s cutting you so, so deep. you don’t even humour him with a response, instead quickening your pace until you begin to feel like he isn’t even there.
but that’s impossible, because he’s kaz brekker. he’s yours.even when he truly isn’t there, it’s like he’s walking right beside you, and you’re beginning to get very annoyed by the attachment. it’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on kaz, but neither of you seem able to help it.
you continue walking until the cold gets a little too much. then you head back to the palace in silence.
—-
final meal of the day. you will make sure it’s not poisoned, and then you will go to bed.
kaz is there, as per usual. the king and queen don’t even act shocked any more, simply welcoming him into the dining hall. oftentimes, he’ll stroll in by your side, his cane clicking against the marble and that smug little smile playing on his face. you always ignore him, even though the king says it’s disrespectful to do so.
tonight, you do just that. you take your seat beside the king, gather up his food and start the process. the beef is smothered in gravy, making the scent test a little difficult, but you give it a go anyway, because it’s protocol by now.
kaz watches from afar, one finger pressed to his lips. he’s lounging back like he’s comfortable, like sitting in a palace is what he does every day. his eyes are narrowed, focused.
you pop the beef into your mouth and chew; nothing.
you move onto the potatoes. nothing.
finally, you dip your fork into the sweetcorn and raise it to your lips.
kaz slaps the fork from your hand. he makes no noise. one minute he is sat at the head of the table, and the next he is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you from your seat.
the queen shrieks as the fork flies directly at her, sweetcorn and all. a glass of wine tips over when kaz pulls you to your feet, your knee slamming against the underside of the table. palace guards run inside, but none of them know what to do - nobody in the room shouldn’t be there, and so they stand by the door, glancing at each other.
your eyes, however, are trained on kaz.
“what. the. fuck?” you hiss under your breath as the king tends to his startled wife.
kaz meets your eyes dead on. “you really need to get better at your job.” he grabs your arm and starts for the door. the king hollers after him, demanding to know what is going on, but kaz pays him no attention, and you have no idea why you’re not fighting any of this. your heart is hammering in your chest at a million miles per hour, and you have so many questions, but it’s just reflex by now to trust kaz.
he drags you through the halls until reaching his room, where he pushes open the door and leads you inside. it is only then, when it is just the two of you, that you come to your senses, replaying that scene over and over in your head.
you whirl around, yanking your arm from his grip so harshly that you stumble back. “what the hell was that, kaz?”
“how much training did they actually give you before throwing you in to risk your life everyday?”
“why do you care?”
he starts pulling his tie loose, not even looking at you. “just tell me.”
you fold your arms over your chest, trying desperately to keep your attention away from the way his gloved fingers tug and pull at the knot on his tie. “i did a course at the start where i could identify all the different types of poisons.”
he quirks an eyebrow. “that all?”
“it was enough.”
“if it was enough, y/n, you would have noticed the soft spots in the sweetcorn.”
your head snaps up. soft spots?
he hums, despite you saying nothing in response. “wilde yolk makes food go soft in certain places. it also kills people in about ten seconds if consumed in even the tiniest amount.” he looks up, flicking his tie off completely. “did you not learn that in your course?”
you bite your lip and look away. you were so distracted at that dinner table these days, focusing mostly on kaz brekker at the end of the table. you had no idea he was examining your food just as much as you should have been. you had no idea he was keeping an eye out for you.
“so is this experience enough to get you to move back to the barrel?”
your eyes snap up. he’s staring right at you. he doesn’t even look fazed by his question.
and that makes you so, so angry. in seconds, you have gone from grateful to furious; only kaz can elicit that response from you.
you step back, glaring. “so that’s what this is then? you came all the way here to drag me back to the barrel?”
“well, no. i came here to get inej help, but she seems to be healing up pretty well with all the goods your people are giving her.” he shrugs, bottom lip protruding. “so i thought i’d try my hand at this.”
“you are unbelievable.”
kaz raises a brow. “are you getting mad at me?”
“you are unbelievable!”you want to throw something at him. you want to break down and cry. you kind of want to go with him. “it’s like you haven’t listened to a word i’ve said. are you that self-centred, kaz?”
“you know i am.”
you close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. maybe you’re overreacting. maybe you really arebetter off in the barrel, where you were born and raised, where you learned everything you ever knew. but here, with kaz being the one to drag you back - it reminds you so harshly that you’re his.you are his, and that is all anyone will ever see you as, and that thought… you don’t know how to feel about that thought.
“this isn’t the life for you, y/n,” he continues. “you know it isn’t. once the barrel has you, it doesn’t let you go. we’ve all learned that the hard way.”
“is that what you are?” you spit. “the hard way?”
he shrugs. “you should be grateful it’s me and not someone worse.”
“there is no one worse, kaz.”
his lips twitch, the only sign that your words have actually struck a nerve. “you mean that, do you?”
“don’t act like you’re the good guy. you knowyou’re evil. you’re proud of it! that’s why i had to leave. that’s why i’m in here risking my life every single fucking day! i wanted to get away from you!”
and oh, saints, this isn’t going how you wanted it to go. the words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them, mind racing too quick for your mouth to catch up. his face continues falling with every word, but you don’t stop.
“saints, kaz, when are you ever going to grow the fuck up? you walk around pretending you have everything under control, that you own the place, but you’re nothing - nothing- without the rest of us. you would be dead twenty times over if it wasn’t for that little crew of yours, the people you have under your god damn thumb.” you step forward, teeth gritted. “kaz dirtyhands brekker can’t even take his own fucking gloves off.”
“is that what you want?” he steps closer, so close your chests are almost touching. his face is red, a line of sweat glittering upon his upper lip that only ever shows itself when he’s furious, out of his mind with anger. “you want the gloves to come off? fine.”
and then he plucks the gloves from his hands and throws them on the floor.
his hands. the hands you have seen only twice in the years you have known him, the hands that have never touched your bare skin. suddenly they are in full view, free reign to do whatever you want with them, but all you can do is step back, one hand covering your mouth as you try and process what you’ve said, what kaz has done, how the situation could have taken such a harsh, grim turn.
but kaz isn’t finished. kaz is never finished.
“is this what you want, y/n?” he demands. “you need me to bear myself completely for you to believe i’m in love with you? or is this not enough?”
“kaz-”
“what else is it going to take, huh? tell me.”
“kaz, i’m-”
“what about this?”
he’s crazy. he’s crazy, and making mistakes, and you know this because he reaches forward and cups your face in his bare hands, flesh against flesh. shock ricochets through you, eyes widening as kaz lets out an anguished groan, his own eyes slipping closed. you feel his fingers trembling upon your skin.
you wrench away from him, gasping.
he immediately spins around, clutching his hands to his chest. he groans low in his throat, pressing his head against the wall. sweat trickles down the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. you catch a single tear run down his cheek that he can’t wipe away because then his fingers will be touching his skin, and he hatesthat. it kills him. you know it does.
you rush forward, placing a hand safely on his jacket-covered shoulder. his breathing is ragged and shaky.
“kaz,” you pant. “oh god, kaz, i’m so sorry. i’m so, so sorry. why did you do that?” you whirl around frantically. “your gloves. where are your gloves?”
he doesn’t reply. you’re talking to yourself at this point. you spot his gloves on the floor and grab them, immediately handing them back without so much as a brush of your fingertips against his. he’s hurried and distressed when he tugs them back on, clenching his fist over and over again, as if to ensure his hands are safely hidden beneath the leather.
he doesn’t turn around. you stand behind him, one hand pressed to your chest, eyes swimming in tears you didn’t even feel rising to the surface.
“kaz,” you whisper. “i’m… i didn’t mean…”
“you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he mumbles, straightening up. “i’m not asking you to return to the barrel with me so you can serve me, or whatever you think this is. i’m asking you to return so i can have you there. so we can be together again.” he glances over his shoulder. “as it should be.”
you stare at him, wanting to respond, wanting to tell him to go to hell, but you can’t lie. never before have you been able to look kaz in the eye and lie, and maybe that’s why you say nothing. he’s right in every sense - you and him are meant to be by each other’s side, no matter what. barrel born and raised, nobody understands you quite like he does.
but admitting that, throwing away every barrier you have worked so hard to put up … you can’t do it.
kaz waits a moment longer before laughing half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything else. he lowers his head, black hair falling in his face before he swipes it out of the way, looks at you and says, “get out.”
“kaz-”
“stop saying my name.” he turns, tossing his tie onto the bed. “get. out. inej and i will be gone tomorrow.”
you swallow thickly, pushing away the tears. and then you do as he said, because standing in his presence for much longer is going to send you into a spiral you don’t think you’ll be able to crawl out of again. you’ve been down that road before, and it took everything in you not to be consumed.
—-
“why do you look like you’ve been crying?” inej asks. she’s sat up now, a tray of soup perched on her lap. the colouring has come back to her skin, and she stands up whenever she wants to. whatever the palace medics did for her is working wonders, which you suppose is one thing you should be grateful for.
you lean over and dip a slice of bread in her soup.
“are you checking if it’s been poisoned?” inej jokes, and when you don’t respond, she sighs. “you and kaz have a fight?”
you wince, which is answer enough.
“what about this time?”
“he wants me to go back to the barrel with you.”
inej pauses, eyes still cast to her soup. you look at her, stomach curling in sudden realisation.
“wait,” you say. “did you know that was his plan this entire time?”
“no,” she replies, though she looks sheepish. “i genuinely wassick. kaz just… came along for the ride when he heard you were here.” she looks up and groans. “you can’t act surprised, y/n. what were you expecting? for him to just walk out and leave you here?”
“that would have been the right thing to do, yes.”
“well, you know kaz better than that. use your brain.” she waves a hand in your direction. “pass me another slice of bread and tell me about this argument.”
you don’t want to. all day you have been thinking about the feel of his hands on your face, his flesh against your own, the anguished groan ripped from his throat. he put himself through that to prove - what? that he loves you? that’s what he said, but it was only a few days prior he was claiming what you and him had was nothing. it was forgotten, and you were happy about that for the briefest moment. if kaz moved on, you could too.
but then he took the gloves off, and it was just… messed up again. you were left confused and guilty and pining, and you hated yourself for it. it was as if all that hard work you had put in to forget about kaz had been thrown out the window - trust kaz to come in and ruin everything.
“i can see what you’re thinking, you know,” says inej suddenly.
“can you?”
“take it from me,” she says. “kaz is never going to get over you. he’s never going to let you go. he’s never going to stop trying for you. he’s a stubborn bastard, and a stubborn bastard is even worse when they’re in love - which kaz is. disastrously, madly in love.”
“he said we were nothing.”
“he’s a stubborn andprideful bastard.”
you close your eyes, heart thumping. “i don’t know what to do, inej.”
“well, do you love him back?”
your eyes fly open. “what kind of question is that?”
she shrugs. “an obvious one, but i want to know the answer.”
you know the answer. your brain screams it at you. you have felt the answer in your bones every day since you left the barrel, and yet speaking it aloud feels like a betrayal of yourself from yourself.
so you look away, and as inej always claims, she can see exactly what you’re thinking.
a soft chuckle slips past her lips. “the barrel never leaves a person, y/n. and apparently, neither does kaz brekker.”
“what are you suggesting?”
inej shrugs. “kaz and i are leaving for ketterdam in the morning. there’s definitely room for a third person.”
—-
you don’t sleep that night. neither does kaz.
you can hear him pacing back and forth in his room, no doubt replaying the days events over and over in his mind in the same way you are. his hands against your skin, his eyes piercing your own, those words he spoke that left you tingling all over.
even now, laying in bed, you can’t get over what he said. i love you. that was the jidst of it, and though you had heard that confession from him a few times in the past, it was different this time around. it was kaz trying to prove himself, which he never did before. if someone didn’t take kaz at face value, he wouldn’t bother.
and you have to admit, hearing him say those words was like a shot to the chest. they are the very words that have been on the tip of your tongue for months now, spoken only in dreams when you finally allow yourself to sleep. you can say them to no one else - just kaz. always, always just kaz.
and maybe this realisation is the reason you find yourself getting dressed at six in the morning. maybe this realisation is the reason you pack all your things into the ruck sack you came to the palace with. maybe this realisation is the reason you tip-toe to the courtyard, avoiding the eyes of the staff who all look at you like you’re some kind of prisoner escaping your cell.
it’s still dark. the grass is wet beneath your thin shoes, the jacket you have pulled on doing little to protect you from the icy winds coming from the ocean just feet away from the palace’s front door. hovering on the banks is a boat, a boat you recognise as The Mast, one of the many boats kaz has won from different people around ketterdam.
you nearly cry at the sight of it.
you don’t waste time waiting on kaz and inej - you don’t want to have this discussion with either of them until you’re safely on the water, until you can’t change your mind.
you clamber onto the boat, giving a sheepish smile to the stunned crew member - Daryl, you think he’s called - as he stares at you approaching. he offers you a hand when you finally reach the deck, his eyes never leaving your own.
“morning,” you say. “i’m y/n.”
“i know,” daryl replies, before tipping his hat. “it’s wonderful to have you back on board.”
you smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond; how much do the crew actually know about what happened between you and the crows? how many people bore witness to that god awful aftermath?
you decide not to wait around to hear the answer. instead, you tell daryl you’re going down to the cabins, and he doesn’t argue. you disappear beneath the deck, finding the first room with a bed and immediately claiming it as your own; despite the lack of sleep, you are not tired in the slightest. you can’t get kaz out of your head, how he is going to react when the boat eventually docks and he sees you strolling off of it, greeted by that rancid ketterdam air. back in the barrel.
you lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. you will fall asleep eventually. you’ll trick yourself into it.
and then the door opens.
your eyes snap open with it; you must have fallen asleep eventually. groggily, you lift your head and look at the intruder - and your heart immediately falls.
“kaz.”
he looks crazed, hair stuck up, eyes wild. behind him stands inej, grinning from ear to ear, though the minute kaz steps into the room, she disappears into the shadows, leaving you and dirtyhands alone.
his eyes never leave yours as he approaches. he marches to your bedside, grabs your hand and pulls you up.
“kaz-”
he shoves you against the wall, gun pressed to your temple. you inhale sharply, though you can’t claim to be surprised or scared. you stare into his eyes, watching his own trace your features, looking for any sign that you are here in bad company.
“kaz,” you whisper, because it’s always his name that fights past your lips. “it’s me. i’m going home.”
his grip slackens. the gun crashes to the floor, and before you can say anything, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. you are careful to rest your head upon his shoulder, not touching his flesh, but feeling him nonetheless. tears spring to your eyes, dribbling down the bridge of your nose and soaking the shoulder of his fancy suede jacket - one he stole from the kings wardrobe, you notice.
but you don’t pull away, afraid to go without his touch for another second.
“is this what you want?” he asks, voice muffled by your hair. “is this really what you’ve decided?”
“yes.” you pull away, hands sliding down his arms. “you’re right, kaz. the barrel is … it’s a shit hole, but it’s where i belong. it’s all i know. and you and me… we have to do this thing together.”
he narrows his eyes. “what thing?”
“everything.”
the corners of his mouth twitch. you can imagine kissing those lips, drawing him close and embracing in that way lovers often do. however, you’re content, happy even, with the way things are. you hold his gloved hands, and he says he loves you. you confide in him, and he confides in you, and sometimes you fight like children, but in the end, he will have your back no matter what.
“everything,” he repeats. “yeah.” he slips his gloved hands into the sleeve of your jacket, tracing his fingers along your crow tattoo, the one he matched, the one everyone matched when they decided to let the barrel take them over. you shiver, biting your lower lip. “you still have it.”
“i could hardly get rid of it,” you reply. kaz looks up, and you sigh. “i would never get rid of it, kaz. no matter what.”
he nods, rolling your sleeve back down. he pulls it over your wrist, covering your fingers before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the soft, rain soaked fabric.
he looks up at you again. “yes. no matter what.”
Everything - Kanej
Summary: Kaz braids Inej’s hair (and finally admits to himself just how much she means to him) a.k.a. 1.6k words of Ketterdam’s most notorious crimelord being a fool in love.
Genre: Fluff-ish? It’s real soft, I just don’t think it’s conventional fluff.
Words:1647
Rating:GA
Links:
A/N: I wasn’t sure who’d be interested in this so I stalked the accounts on my usual taglist to see who had SoC content on their blog just took a wild guess. I’m so sorry if you didn’t want to see this, please don’t feel any pressure to read it!
***
Inej’s second favourite place in all of Ketterdam is the windowsill in Kaz’s room at the Slat. Kaz knows this for a fact, because she had told him so three days ago while sitting with her legs dangling out the window, unbothered and undaunted by the multi-storey drop below.
Now, she is perched in that very same spot, one hand loosely holding to the wooden window frame as she leans forward, basking in the warm light of day’s end. Her long black locks are loose around her shoulders, dancing idly in the soft breeze edging its way into the room.
Kaz observes this from his place at his desk, opposite the window, the empty parchment paper and drying quill before him long forgotten.
She’s beautiful.
The thought catches him off guard and he presses his lips together, his brow furrowing. It’s not that he hasn’t noticed before, it’s just that, in all of his prior noticing, he’d never put a word to it. He had never specified to himself that it was beauty he saw in the slope of her nose, the rise of her cheekbones, the coffee-dark brown of her eyes that lit like honeyed gold in the light. Never allowed himself to acknowledge the way his heart ached, just a little, when she wasn’t there, or the way he could be in a room full of people and still, his eyes would be drawn to her.
Kaz watches, mesmerised, as Inej plays idly with her hair, watches her slender fingers dance through the long strands. He imagines his own fingers in her hair instead and is confused to find it isn’t dread that pools in his stomach, but something… different. Warmer, somehow. Softer.
“Can I braid it?” The words come out before he can think about them and the shock on Inej’s face when she glances back at him is enough to jerk him back to himself. He stays utterly still for a moment as he lets sink in what he’s just done.
“If you like,” she says.
Kaz evaluates his options and finds that, short of backing out, his only other path forward is to face this head on. And Kaz Brekker has never been one to back down from a challenge, so, jaw clenched in determination, he stands and crosses the room, the space between him and the Wraith growing smaller with each pace until he is but a foot away.
She gives him a smile as she gathers her hair from in front of her shoulder, pulling it behind her to fall in sheets down her back. Kaz is starting to realise just how very much he didn’t think this through.
He reminds himself to breathe as reaches out with one gloved hand to touch the flowing tresses. He tells himself that it isn’t actually shaking, that it’s just the uncertain light making it hard to see. But Inej has her eyes closed against the bright sun and Kaz knows he isn’t fooling anyone. He steels himself against the instincts that are screaming to absolutely not make contact, and slides his gloved hands into her hair.
His touch is careful, near painful in its hesitancy as he begins working out the knots, as though he is afraid he might hurt her. Inej has her eyes closed, her quiet breath and his pounding heart the only sounds.
He’s seen Inej braid her own hair enough times to have an idea of how it works, and he separates the long strands into three sections. It is thick and heavy and it slides between his gloves when he tries to grasp it, elusive as the wraith for which she is named. He wrestles, gently, with the strands, trying to gather them all in his gloved fingers, until he realizes that this isn’t going to work; he can’t braid her hair if it keeps slipping from his hold.
Kaz lets it fall from his grasp and stares at the gloves over his hands: they’ll have to go. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
His eyes flick to Inej, to her face, tilted to the sky, basking in the gentle breeze and the warmth of the setting sun. Her tranquility is a steady, tangible thing, and he latches onto it, latches onto the calm that radiates from her, his own shaky inhales falling in sync with hers, like maybe if he breathes in time he might absorb some of her peace.
He so desperately wants her peace.
Slowly, eyes closed, he pulls the glove from his left hand. The gentle wind through the window is tepid on his bare skin and his chest tightens suddenly. He focuses all his attention on Inej’s steady breathing as he loosens the fingers of his right glove and slowly, slowly, slides it off. The leather is still warm and he doesn’t look at them as he reaches around Inej, always maintaining what little space is between them as he does.
He can almost feel the way she resists watching as he sets the gloves down next to her on the windowsill. He isn’t sure if he is grateful… or disappointed. He also isn’t sure what he expected to feel, if anything, but the ambiguous weight that settles in his stomach is certainly not it.
He shakes the uncertainty off. This is not what he is supposed to be thinking about, certainly not at this moment, as he mentally prepares himself to brush a bare fingertip to the loose strands of her hair, forcing himself not to flinch. It is soft, swaying at his touch, and warm with the gentle heat of her body and the setting sun.
He steadies himself with another slow inhale, and then carefully gathers the length of her hair into his hands. A jolt runs through his body at the brush of his finger against her neck, and Kaz stands frozen for a moment, waiting while his heart settles to a steady pounding instead of a plunging gallop.
To her credit, Inej doesn’t react to the accidental touch, or his sudden lack of movement—or at least, if she does she doesn’t show it.
When he is able to continue, Kaz lifts the hair a little farther from her body and twists the strands together. Some fall away from the rest, and he does his best to gather them again, guiding them back into the loose plait he has created.
When finally he ties it off, letting go a shaky breath as he lowers it cautiously to settle on her back again, his hands are trembling too much for him to deny, even to himself. He balls them into fists as Inej pulls the braid over one shoulder to inspect his work, then turns to give him a small smile.
“Not bad,” she tells him. He wants to return her smile, but all he can manage is the slightest twitch of the corner of his mouth.
She understands anyway. Inej always understands.
Her eyes drop to the gloves on the sill next to him, and she gathers them almost reverently, staring at them for a long moment before her eyes once again find his. She holds them up to him—those gloves; his defense against the corpses that lurk in his past, the things which all at once give him strength and reveal his greatest weakness.
Kaz doesn’t try to hide the bareness of his skin from her as he reaches out to take hold of his gloves, but once again he feels that strange mix of relief and disappointment when her gaze stays fixed to his face.
He holds her gaze, and she gives him the tiniest of nods as he lifts the leather pieces from her grasp, before she returns to looking out the window, while he slides them onto his hands. The feel of the well-worn material around his fingers is familiar and comforting, and the pain that has been sitting in his chest begins to lessen as his heartbeat settles.
He still doesn’t move away, though, and he isn’t sure why, until Inej slides to one side of the big window in silent invitation.
A heartbeat passes before he sits, stepping one foot over the sill and then the other, a scant couple feet separating him from Inej’s quiet presence. The wind is gentle and warm, and Kaz watches as the people of Ketterdam roam the streets below, finishing their errands and heading home before the sun finishes setting. When he looks over, Inej has her eyes closed again, face tilted up to meet the day’s last rays of sunlight.
He clears his throat. “Um. Thank—you,” he says, but the words catch in his throat, his mouth dry.
“What for?” Inej casts a sidelong glance at him, her eyes turning to liquid honey as they catch the dusk light.
For the invitation to sit with you, he thinks. For handing me my gloves. For letting me braid your hair. He isn’t quite sure. For being the one person I can trust with anything, he thinks, and his chest tightens at the revelation. For being YOU.
But Kaz says precisely none of these things. He presses his lips into a thin line.
Inej turns her face to him fully, her eyes holding an emotion he’s not sure he recognizes.
She watches him for a mere heartbeat, holds him under her gaze for infinite eternities, and when she finally looks away, his stomach feels tight and he has to remind himself to breathe.
“For what, Kaz?” she says again, and he opens his mouth like maybe that will make the words come to him.
The silence stretches as she stares out at the far away horizon, and he studies the familiar lines of her face; the slope of her nose, the rise of her cheekbones. Her coffee-and-honey eyes.
Finally, Kaz says, “For everything, Inej. For everything.”
***
A/N: I hate writing summaries because I never know how to summarise my fics. Like, yeah, I wrote it, but what do you mean I’m supposed to know what’s in it? Anyway, I hope you got what you were expecting from this fic and aren’t reaching the end and realising I totally mis-sold this (which is very possible tbh). And, as always, thank you ever so much for reading! Please consider leaving kudos and/or a comment to let me know what you thought! This is a bit different from what I usually post, both in content and style, so definitely tell me if you like this kinda thing! I treasure all the feedback I get from you all, truly! Your support is so valued. <3
Also,please let me know if you want to be tagged in any future Grishaverse fics! (Or, if I did tag you, if you want to continue to be tagged in Grishaverse content or not!)
Tagging:@jurdanhell@my-one-true-l@eldritchred@hpcdd3 @bookavert @queen-of-demons-and-hell@black-like-my-soul@myunfortunatenightmare @stardustsroses
