It's late when Jordie slips into the room he shares with Kaz. He glances at the soundly sleeping lump on the one bed and quietly toes his shoes off by the door. He hates bringing the grime of the Barrel into their space. He checks the counter. No food. He doesn't know what he'd expected, but even so, his face crumples, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his cries.
In feet covered by socks so thin he can still feel the chill of the wood floor, he flees to the furthest corner of their small room and sinks to the ground to bury his head in his knees. He's learned, since coming to Ketterdam, how to keep his crying silent, his chest heaving in painful constrictions around his lungs, but no sound escapes apart from the occasional quiet whimper that he smothers with his hand, his teeth sunk into the flesh between thumb and finger.
His eyes close, and suddenly he's back on the West Stave, in his room in the House of Snow, his hair Tailored blonde. A breeze comes through the window, and the door opens and shuts with a quiet snick. He turns away from the view with his pleasant, blank mask settling into place. He almost trips at the sight of the familiar black mask and turquoise and purple plaid suit drenched in the smell of smoke. Oom. A frequent, but unwelcome, client. One of his best. Anders, the owner and man who holds his indenture, is fond of Oom for the glut of kruge he brings in. Jordie's stomach twists. He hates the visits, but his mouth is already watering at the thought of the food Oom will have for him and his eyes searching for the flash of purple notes and the jingle of coins in Oom's purse that will be for him.
Tonight, their evening together starts as usual. The meat pastry to sate his hunger, Jordie scarfing it down in three bites all while pretending not to see how Oom stares at his lips and throat while he eats and drinks the food Oom has brought him. The wad of notes he hands over that Jordie hides in his desk. It's never enough to help him build the savings he needs to buy his way out, but it's enough for him to give Kaz a little more to eat for the week and maybe a book for himself. Not that he has much time to read these days, except for the rare times Oom cuddles him close and tells him to read aloud from whatever book he's brought from his personal collection. His skin burns like it's been brushed with nettles where Oom's arms are around him.
Tonight, Oom is distracted. Demanding. There's always the undercurrent of threat with Oom. The first time Jordie hadn't bowed to his will, Oom had simply looked disappointed. But moments after Oom had left, Anders and two of the security detail had arrived, and Jordie can still feel the lightning bolt of pain arching through his chest as his ribs cracked with a sound like thunder under their boots.
He'd been a fool for believing that Oom cared, that he had a modicum of choice in this place, when it was with him.
But tonight, it feels different. Jordie isn't sure how react to it, so he acquiesces. It's easier, he's found, to give in, to let himself be swept along until the danger is over. Resisting... Resisting brings trouble.
Tonight, it doesn't matter.
He sinks within his mind, until Oom's hands wrap around his throat. Then, he fights. He can't stop the primal fear winding its way around his throat just underneath Oom's fingers.
He fights, but he's pinned to the bed by the weight of the man above him.
His arms flail. His hands smack against Oom's sides. Oom grabs his hair. He sucks in breath, cut short by Oom's fist against his face. One hand encircles his wrists and holds them mercilessly still, the other returns to his throat.
He clenches his eyes shut and finds the place deep inside of him, where the grass is green, the fields are large and never-ending, and the sky so blue and cloudless. There, laughter floats on the crisp, cool air.
A hand touches his arm. He cries out and jerks back, knocking his head against the wall.
He opens his eyes, and he's back in the attic room. Kaz is there, hand still outstretched, his baby face far too thin and marked with the pox that nearly killed them both, eyes wide and frightened.
He looks away and grits his teeth, swiping at the tears on his face. "I'm sorry," he forces out. "I didn't mean to wake you. I didn't mean," his voice breaks, "to scare you." He doesn't dare look back at his baby brother. He's certain the shame is written all over his face, visible to all, even in the dark. He feels Kaz back away and hears him sit on the ground, the ancient floorboards narrating the movement with their croaking song.
"What's wrong?" Kaz says.
Jordie is shaking his head before Kaz has finished asking. "Nothing's wrong," he says, his words rushed and fast, tripping over each other on their way out of his mouth. He breathes in as deeply as his aching body will allow and dredges up a smile from that place inside him, the place where he once chased after butterflies and bugs that glowed in the dark. He softens his eyes and turns his smile to Kaz. "It's nothing, Kazzie. I'm okay." He nods to the bed. "You should go back to sleep. You have school in a few hours." He sniffles and ducks his head to wipe away snot on his fraying sleeve. He can't keep the moths away. "Want me to tell you a story?"
Kaz's nose wrinkles. "I'm not a baby," he says. "I don't need a story."
Jordie's smile deepens in the way of a genuine one. Kazzie says that every time, and, yet, he loves it when Jordie is there to tuck him in at night and tell him a story or read from one of their books. "Sure. Well, I won't tell you a story if you don't want one, but you should still get some more sleep. I was just about to sleep, too."
Kaz's face is so full of disbelief that Jordie almost laughs. He shifts with a sigh, wincing — that he hides with a fake yawn — when his stomach growls. His only food today had been that savoury pastry, and he'd thrown that up after Oom had left him beaten and broken on that sumptuous bed he wished he could burn. He licks his lips, and his gaze drifts around the room. He already knows there's no food, but his eyes are still hoping to find some.
He startles again with a much more muted jump, when Kaz leans into his space.
"You have bruises." Kaz says it like Jordie's never had bruises before.
Jordie tugs his sleeves down and tries to hide his neck like a turtle, like Kaz hasn't watched him being beaten more than once by stadwatch or one of the gangs or anyone else who felt like it.
It's different, this time. He doesn't know why.
He shrugs one shoulder in quick, jerky motion. "It's nothing. I'm fine, Kazzie, I promise." His stomach grumbles again.
Kaz frowns. Jordie can tell he doesn't want to let it go, but they've both been learning in their time in Ketterdam that they have no control. He sighs softly when Kaz finally leaves, but then it's his turn to frown as he watches his brother find a floorboard he hadn't known was so loose and pull it right up. His eyebrow lifts, and he stares at Kaz's back as he digs around in the hollow space, then emerges with something clutched in his hands. "What's this?" He looks from Kaz's hands to his face.
Kaz's face would be a deep red, were there enough light, instead, it looks a deep grey. He kneels in front of Jordie and opens his hands to reveal a hunk of cured meat wrapped securely in butcher's paper and a sealed package of dried fruits that Jordie remembers seeing for sale on a vending cart. He knows they didn't buy any. He licks his lip and his stomach growls again. "No, Kazzie, I can't. That's your food. You keep it."
Kaz shakes his head. "No. You're hungry. I'm not hungry. You said you were gonna get us some more food tomorrow, right? I'll be okay." He scoots closer. "You take this."
Jordie breathes in the scent of the salty meat and breathes out through the painful clench of his stomach. He hasn't eaten in two days. Kaz needs food more than he does, and sometimes his clients bring him rich treats. It's his own fault he'd thrown today's treat up. He shouldn't steal food from his baby brother because of his own weakness. "I can't, Kazzie." His voice is hoarse, his eyes burning again. "I can't."
"Can, too," Kaz says. He grabs Jordie's hand, ignoring the flinch and the wince, and presses the food into his palm. "Eat it." He bites his lip. "Please."
Jordie's eyes flutter closed as his fingers curl around the food, then he slowly takes it and sets it in his lap to unwrap, shoving it into his mouth the moment it's revealed.
It turns to ash in his mouth, but he swallows it anyway. "I'm sorry, Kazzie," he whispers with his head bowed.
"It's okay, Jordie." Kaz whispers back. "I love you."
Jordie looks up, the food already all gone. His chest aches, not from the remnants of the beating this time, but from the desire to hug his brother close. To offer him safety, to be offered safety. But he knows the bodies are still too close for Kaz, and he can already see the fine tremor in Kaz's clenched hands from the brief touch of their skin. "I love you, too." A tear slips down his hollow cheeks. Kaz is worth this. Kaz is worth everything Jordie can possibly give him.
