Rain pattered down on his head; thick droplets nestling in his hair. Wylan shivered. He kept his head down, his glance aimed at the muddy streets. While others were jumping in the puddles, he tried to avoid them. Not that he was very successful—even his socks were soaking wet.
He had no idea where he was going.
He just needed to be away from home; from its oppressive ambiance, the snide comments of his father and his looks of disdain. He thought of his half-brother or sister who was coming. His father made it all too clear that this new heir would be able to live up to his expectations—that there was no way they would turn out to be as moronic as him.
Wylan straightened his shoulders. There was no way he would shed another tear for that man. He had done that plenty of times when he was younger—and it had given him nothing but a shitty feeling. Yet, he clenched his fists in frustration, so tightly that his nails cut into the palm of his hands.
It started to rain harder.
Ahead of him, he heard music, laughter. Wylan walked further, but he came to a halt when the noise grew louder. Hesitantly, he looked at the bar on his right. He had never been at a bar. That was beneath him, his father would have said.
Today, however, he was more than happy to do whatever his father hated—to be the failure his father believed he was. How would his father react when he found out that his son was walking through the Barrel, getting involved with vermin?
Nevertheless, it was an act of rebellion that had sounded easier in his head than it actually was. He didn't belong here. What should he do there, on his own? And—
Someone laid an arm around his shoulders. "Don't just stand there, lovey. Come inside!"
A blond woman looked at him with a warm smile. Another girl took his hand and pulled him towards the door. He couldn't combine the letters on the signboard, but there was a drawing of a well-bosomed woman with a fishtail. Wylan felt the heat rise to his cheeks—especially when he entered the room and saw the waitressing girls, who were wearing glitter skirts and shell-shaped brassieres, like real mermaids.
"You're soaked—you look like a drowned young man, lured to the deep by an irresistible beauty." The redhead who was holding his hand winked.
Wylan wished he could hide in the collar of his jacket.
"Let's get you a drink." She led him to the bar. "My name is Rietje and that's Mathilda." She nodded to the blond woman, who playfully raked her fingers through his curls. "We could have some fun tonight, don't you think?"
"Uh..." was all Wylan managed to get out. He couldn't read or write, but this time he neither seemed to be able to talk and he felt so ashamed he wished the floor would swallow him.
A mug of ale was pushed into his hands. Shouldn't he pay for it?
Suspiciously, he looked at the foamy brown. He'd drank wine during dinners, but never beer. It smelled bitter.
"What's your name, handsome?"
Once again, fingers glided through his hair. He moved his head to the side—he wasn't some dog who'd liked to be petted! "Wylan," he muttered. For a moment he considered telling them his last name, but he decided not to. That would be too stupid. He came from a wealthy family—being kidnapped wasn't exactly on his bucket list. Reluctantly, he sipped from the beer. He didn't like it.
Over his glass, he looked around the room. The place was crowded; there was a smell of stale beer, sweat and wet clothes. Roaring laughter rose from around the tables where shady figures were talking, downing booze and playing cards or dice games.
What am I doing here?
On the street, the bar had sounded cozy—a coziness that was unfamiliar to him—but now he was here, seeing all these groups of friends, he felt lonely and the company he'd gotten wasn't very charming. By now, he started to suspect what kind of girls Mathilda and Rietje were and the thought that they would want something like that from him, made his cheeks glow.
"You need to relax, honey," Rietje laughed. She laid her hands on his shoulders and kneaded the muscles. "Take off your jacket first. You ain't from around, are you?"
Wylan only managed to shake his head. Awkwardly, he allowed her to peel his wet jacket from his body. His clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin.
"Come on, let's take a seat over there. You look like you're in shock, lovey." Rietje took his hand and led him to a table next to the fireplace.
Rietje turned out to be a sweet girl. She chatted merrily and the tension left Wylan's shoulders eventually. After two beers, he ordered mulled wine, which was warm and sweet.
Wylan didn't say much but he enjoyed listening to her stories. Her parents were market vendors; she'd traveled a lot. He liked stories about other places than Ketterdam—places he hoped to visit one day.
And she had a nice smile.
Although not as nice as the smile of a dark boy who sat two tables ahead of him. He roared with laughter about jokes Wylan couldn't hear and Wylan—who came from an environment where nobody ever burst with laughter—noticed it made the corners of his lips curl up.
Suddenly, the boy looked up. Wylan's heart skipped a beat. Quickly, he averted his eyes, his cheeks rosy.
Was he really looking at me?
He shook off the odd thought. He was obviously looking at Rietje. She was beautiful and sweet and laughed just as happy as he. A dark, heavy feeling arose in his stomach. He heard the scornful voice of his father inside his head.
"Come on, Wylan. Why would someone look at you? You're worthless. When you'd be lying half-dead in the streets, people would still give you a wide berth.
Wylan tried to swallow the lump in his throat. His hands clenched around the ceramic.
Another mug. What does it matter? Nobody cares about you anyway.
Alcohol might be unfamiliar to him, but he'd surely heard about its effects—that it could lay a mist over your thoughts. A prospect hat sounded quite attractive.
So he drank and drank until his father's voice fell silent.
The music was nice. There was a flute and a violin and it became harder and harder to keep his feet still. There was a warm hand around his fingers. Rietje smiled at him.
His glance flashed forward, looking for that other smile.
"You wanna dance?" Rietje asked.
Yes, he wanted to dance. With that pretty tall boy. A smile like sunshine, a warm summer breeze. Wylan patted his clothes. Were they dry? Yes. That was probably because of that beautiful, handsome boy.
"Wylan?"
"Yes," he breathed. He stared at the girl. Green eyes. Red locks.
No—he wanted to go to that boy. Strong arms, shiny teeth, lustrous dark hair. And eyes? What color would they be?
"Well, come on then!" Rietje laughed. She pulled him on his feet and dragged him to a corner where others were dancing.
The boy wasn't. He was playing cards. But he was looking.
Wylan waved his hand.
The boy lifted an eyebrow.
Wylan, what are you doing! Heat rose to his cheeks.
"I can't dance," he said to Rietje.
She giggled. "I'm sure you can!"
She turned him around. He tripped over his own feet. With difficulty, she pulled him back up.
"I'll hold you!" Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
The room was spinning around him. He felt sick. "I—I don't feel well."
She laughed. Suddenly, her voice sounded way too loud. She stood too close, she was too warm, she...
Something soft touched his lips.
Wylan's eyes went wide. Hers were closed. His mouth pressed against his.
And the world was still spinning around him. He felt so hot, he was nauseous.
He turned his head away, his stomach was churning. Then, he puked.
She stopped laughing. A hand slapped his cheek.
Wylan stepped to the side, his hands grabbing for something to hold on to. A shoulder. A chair.
He coughed, vomit was still in his mouth.
His knees touched the floor.
So hot—he felt so incredibly hot... it almost felt like he'd fallen into the fireplace.
Was he on fire? Was he going to die?
Oh—the taste in his mouth was disgusting! Once again his stomach contracted and another wave of vomit left his mouth.
His father's voice wormed its way back into his head.
"Just look at yourself. What are you trying to prove, huh? You're no good, you're a worthless dog. A stinking, begging dog, seeking for a caress, for a reason not to be put out of your misery."
Wylan's bottom lip started to quiver. He pressed his hands against his ears. "Stop..." he whispered. "Stop..."
He shivered when someone wrapped an arm around his shoulder and led him away with a little bit of force.
"You really need some fresh air."
Wylan let himself get dragged along, stumbling. The voice was warm, safe. He leaned into the strong embrace. A tear rolled down his cheek.
He felt exhausted. Then, he collapsed.
Sighing, Jesper looked down at the mess at his feet. The rain crashed mercilessly down at the boy, who curled up like a dying animal. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Usually, it was every man for himself, here in the Barrel. One didn't help strangers—and he was pretty sure he'd never seen this kid before. He wouldn't have forgotten a cute face like that.
Furthermore, it was so like Rietje to pull an unknown boy like him into Het Zeemeerminnekje. The boy wore decent clothes and his shoes were of good quality. He was certainly not from around. Yet, he hadn't radiated the arrogance that characterized so many of the rich kids.
Jesper crouched down beside the boy and shook his shoulder. "Come on kid. You can't lie here."
The boy didn't respond.
Jesper thought about using the money of the boy to book him a room and leave him there, but something kept him from doing that. Curiosity—that damned curiosity. For what had brought that boy here, all alone? And the guy had waved his hand at him. Had they met before? Jesper's memory wasn't exactly commendable, especially not at this hour, but it made him a bit reluctant.
In the end, he shook his head because of his dawdling. The kid would get really sick if he did nothing. Taking off his blazer, he draped it over the boy and lifted him up. The kid lay in his arms like a rag doll.
The Crow's Club—where he had his own room—wasn't far. He carried the boy through the muddy streets. His face was alarming pale. What did he drink?
Not much later, he pushed open his bedroom door with his shoulder. He needed to warm him up. No—first he needed to take his wet clothes off. He laid the boy on his bed and started to tug down his pants, whereafter he unbuttoned his shirt. He was just finished with the last button when the boy opened his eyes. Immediately, they went wide.
Jesper rubbed his neck. "This isn't what it looks like."
It would only happen—waking up in your underwear in the bed of a stranger.
"I wanted to get you some dry clothes, but now you're awake I'll get you a warm bath."
The boy was still staring at him with wide eyes. Jesper got up, grabbed a dark bathrobe and handed it to the kid.
"I'm Jesper. Decided to take you to my room when you collapsed on the street. Just leavin' you like that felt like a shitty thing to do."
A little bit of color returned to the boy's cheeks. He put on the robe and fastened it tightly.
Which is a shame, actually. Jesper shook off the thought. Not now.
"I'm Wylan," the boy muttered.
"Is there somewhere I can take you to?"
The boy stared down. Had he run from home?
"You can stay here too," Jesper suggested. "At least for tonight."
Wylan fidgeted with his nails; his curls had sagged. He showed a vulnerability Jesper didn't know how to deal with, but it also awakened something that was new to him.
"That won't be necessary," Wylan muttered. "I..." He sighed deeply.
By reflex, Jesper covered Wylan's hand with his own. It felt ice cold.
"It's okay." He offered the guy a crooked smile. "There was a time I was also roaming the streets all alone."
Jesper doubted he would have made it far without the Dregs.
The boy looked at their hands. From the expression on his face, Jesper couldn't decide whether he found the touch unpleasant or not. However, inside his own stomach, there was a small tingling.
"You want me to fix you a bath?" In an attempt to make the atmosphere a little lighter, he joked: "You can decide for yourself if you want to bathe alone or that you need a certain handsome young man to soap you up." He wiggled his eyebrows.
The boy flushed a bright red, making Jesper chuckle.
"Or are comments like that enough to warm you up?" he teased.
To his surprise, the boy elbowed him softly between his ribs. "I think I will be fine on my own," he muttered, but with the hint of a grin on his face.
"Too bad." Jesper gave him a wink and got up, leaving the room to fill the bathtub.
About 30 minutes later, Wylan returned, his cheeks rosy.
He really was handsome.
The boy was wearing Jesper's bathrobe again, with one hand holding the fabric together as if he didn't trust the sash.
"You uhm..." His cheeks darkened. "Do you have some undergarment? And a shirt?"
Chuckling, Jesper turned to his drawer with underwear and opened it. "Don't you think it feels deliberating? Here—pick one."
The boy muttered something inaudible. He moved very carefully as if he was terrified that he would stumble or that the bathrobe would catch on something. He grabbed shorts and looked expectantly at Jesper.
"You need help to put it on?" he teased.
"No!" Again, the boy's cheeks flushed. "B-but can you turn around?"
Jesper chuckled. "You make it sound like there's something very special underneath that bathrobe."
An even deeper shade of red. Soon, his cheeks might be able to light a fire.
Jesper laid back on the bed, dragging down his hat so it covered his face. He heard the boy stumble and shuffle—apparently, the alcohol was still in his blood. Yet, Jesper was just glad that Wylan was no longer throwing up his stomach contents and that he could stand on his feet again.
The bed dipped when Wylan sat down on the edge. Jesper did the same, throwing his hat at the desk. He couldn't resist letting his glance wander across Wylan's legs. They were slender and smooth, the skin probably surprisingly soft. The fabric of the shorts reached his knees.
"You don't look like you sleep on the floor often," Jesper noted.
"N-no I don't."
"And I'm not hospitable enough to do it myself." He started to unbutton his waistcoat, followed by his shirt. He grinned when Wylan's glance flashed to his upper body, although he looked away immediately. His cheeks were red as wine by now. "But I am hospitable enough to offer you a free striptease," he teased.
"That hehmmm..."The kid struggled to formulate an answer.
Laughing, Jesper took off the rest of his clothes. "Well, get under the blankets. I'll try to keep my hands to myself and if I don't, just bite. Although I find that kinky too."
"I uh, I'll sleep on the chair," Wylan muttered.
Shit—now he was frightening him. Maybe he should slow down a bit. "I'm just joking around. I'll be good."
For a moment Wylan seemed to doubt; then, he folded back the blankets and went underneath them. Jesper did the same.
The bed was small and even though they weren't touching, he could feel Wylan's warmth. It was a pleasant warmth—one he wouldn't mind getting used to.
"Sleep well, Wylan."
"Sleep well," the boy whispered.
Wylan woke up with a dull headache. Something was wrong. He wasn't in his own room... The scent was different, the air was different and... he wasn't alone. He heard a deep breathing. Confused, he rolled on his other side. His heart raced in his chest. There was a boy lying next to him. Smooth, dark skin, little curls... The blanket had slid down onto his midriff, so Wylan could see his chest.
He blushed.
What was he doing here? They hadn't... you know?
Suddenly, he felt so hot he was afraid it would wake the boy up. Very carefully, he shoved away from him, until his shoulder bumped the wall. He took a few breaths, trying to collect his memories. He had been in a fight with his father again, had gone to a bar... He remembered a girl. And drinks. Lots of drinks. Dancing and puking and this handsome boy.
He looked around, saw his clothes. Jesper, that was the boy's name. Jesper had carried him to this room, had fixed him a bath and thereafter, many inappropriate comments had followed.
"Mornin'," a hoarse morning voice sounded.
Wylan felt his cheeks heat up. "Good morning."
Jesper lifted the corner of his mouth. "Morning sex or breakfast?"
"W-what?"
The boy started to laugh, sat up and stretched out. "Kiddin'." He yawned. "But I am hungry."
Wylan was hungry too. His stomach was rumbling and his mouth was drier than a desert. Insecure, he looked up to Jesper, not knowing what to say.
For Jesper, that wasn't an issue. "You slept well?"
Wylan nodded timidly.
"Good." He walked to his closet and started to dress. "Your clothes are still wet." He threw some pieces of clothes at the bed. "Put these on."
Silently, Wylan did as he was told. He just couldn't wrap his head around it—had he really shared a bed with a stranger?
The pants were too wide, he needed a belt to keep them up. He folded the legs two times and he also rolled up the sleeves of the long shirt.
"Thank you for all your help," Wylan said.
"Nah, don't worry about it. I enjoyed myself." Jesper winked.
Wylan cursed his flushing cheeks.
And now? Should he go home and return the clothes another day? Nervously, he intertwined his fingers.
"Come on, let's get ourselves an omelet with bacon downstairs. A wonder cure for hangovers."
Jesper held the door open for him. Together, they went downstairs. It looked like the boy was living in some sort of inn. They shoved around a table and ordered some food.
"I'm curious what you did in Het Zeemeerminneke," Jesper said. "You're not exactly the average party animal."
Wylan bit his cheek. "Trouble at home," he muttered. "Think I was looking for a distraction."
It wasn't something he wanted to talk about, right now. Luckily, Jesper didn't pry further.
"And you live here?" Wylan asked.
Jesper drummed his fingers on the table. "Yep!" His eyes lit up—making Wylan's lips curl up. At home, the atmosphere was always so tense... seeing someone who was so different—in whose eyes the sun seemed to shine—called up strange feelings.
"Are you swooning over me?" the boy asked with a challenging grin.
Wylan felt that cursed blush come up again. Yet, he refused to look away—he'd done that way too many times. He could play this game too. "Am I not allowed to swoon over you?"
His answer surprised Jesper, and he felt satisfied. The boy showed him a wide grin and leaned back in his chair, waving his hand. "Please, go ahead."
A waitress handed them toasted bread and an omelet. There were no silences while they were eating—Jesper clearly liked to talk and even though he touched upon a dozen subjects, Wylan could easily follow the conversation. Wylan noted that the boy had a genuine interest in him too—something he wasn't used to.
It was the tapping of a cane that silenced Jesper halfway through a story, making him look over his shoulder.
"I have a job for you," a boy said.
Jesper nodded, returning his glance to Wylan. "Duty calls."
"Yeah..." Wylan gave him a small smile. So... this was it? He really wanted to see Jesper again one day, but he didn't know how to tell him. Shoving back his chair, he got up. "Then uh, I guess I'll go."
Jesper jumped up as well, his long figure rising in the air. "I'll walk you to the door."
"Since the door is so hard to find," the boy with the cane responded sarcastically.
Jesper ignored him and swung an arm around Wylan's shoulder. "He didn't wake up next to a handsome boy like us, so forgive him for his mood."
Jesper walked him to the door. There, he turned towards Wylan.
"Your clothes will be dry tonight. Maybe you should pick them up." He wiggled his eyebrows.
"I'm pretty sure my father won't let me leave the house this coming week," Wylan muttered.
"Well—you know where I live. Just stop by when you want a course of drinking without puking."
Wylan rolled his eyes, but he grinned nevertheless. He looked into Jesper's warm, dark eyes. "Thank you. For everything."
"Yeah, about that..." His forefinger turned around a curl that almost fell upon Wylan's shoulder. "You don't get something for nothing, huh?"
"Oh." An odd feeling of disappointment came over him. "You uh, you want money?"
"Hmm." His finger let go of the curl and touched his neck. Nervously, Wylan held his breath. "I was thinking more of a kiss."
"O-oh." Wylan blushed worse than he had done before. He looked up to Jesper—and his smug smirk called up rebellion inside him. Just stay cool! He stood on tip-toe and ignored his nerves. Softly, his lips touched Jesper's. His mouth tingled—he didn't want to leave it at this!
But he did—at least for now.
Jesper's fingers glided through his curls. "Is that all?"
Wylan bit his lip. He tried to think of a good come-back—of something that would make Jesper's eyes sparkle with surprise. "The next time you have lavender petals for the bath and room service in the morning, I might give you a little more."
There it was—the twinkle in his brown eyes.
Jesper leaned forward and kissed him unexpectedly—and it was a kiss that made his toes curl. "We'll see how long it takes before you come back and beg for a real kiss," he whispered.
His words made him shiver—in a pleasant way.
Wylan stepped back, his cheeks still rosy. "We'll see indeed," he answered—although it was a challenge not to give in to the boy immediately.
For a moment he drank in the sight of Jesper's handsome's face—his sparkling eyes, his sexy grin... Then he turned around and headed home. Butterflies raced through his stomach. Whatever his father's response would be—the butterflies would stay and guide him back one day.