the door to your room slam shut. His heart was still beating a little faster from having found the courage to try and compliment you, just like Inej had advised him too, but now it felt as if it had been stabbed. Had he said something wrong? Why had you ignored him? You had never ignored him before!

Hastily he made his way down to the kitchen, where, much to his luck, he found Inej.

"Did something happen with (y/n)," he asked her, sitting down on the chair opposite her, to stretch out his aching leg. The cold and wet air of autumn always caused the pain to worsen.

Inej looked up at him with sadness written all over her face.

"I told her about the heist, that you want me to join," she answered.

"So?"

"So? I told you she wanted to come," Inej replied exasperated. "She's disappointed that you chose me over her. I told you: You should at least have asked her-"

"And I told you that I won't put her in danger!" Kaz's voice had gotten louder without his intention.

Usually he always managed to stay collected, but the mere thought of you caged by the stadtwatch sent his mind into frenzy. Never would he allow you to meet such a fate.

"Maybe that's what you should have told her," Inej bit back. "Instead she now most likely thinks you prefer me over her."

There was a moment of silence before Kaz spoke up.

"Is that why she just ignored me on the stairs?"

"She ignored you?"

Kaz nodded. "I said good morning, and wanted to compliment the pullover she was wearing. Like you said, complement her clothes as a start, but she just rushed past me!"

Inej sighed deeply. "You should just talk to her. If you are honest with her about how you feel, you'll be surprised to find out that she probably reciprocates these feelings."

Kaz scoffed. "You were not so sure about that yesterday."

"Yesterday I haven't seen her so disappointed about not having been chosen as a member of the crew for the heist."

Kaz left Inej alone in the kitchen not long after. He tried to knock on your room to see if you were alright, but you did not answer, and later he learnt that Specht had seen you leave the Slat pretty soon after Kaz had joined Inej in the kitchen.

He spent the entire night planning out what to tell you, his heart anxiously beating in his chest. Again and again the same doubts rose to the surface of his consciousness. Was he even good enough for you? He pushed the intrusive thought aside harshly. He was Kaz Brekker. He was strong. If he was not a man deserving of you, he would become one who was. He was strong enough to do that. What did he have to offer you? Certainly not a safe and peaceful life. Not one filled with cuddles and kisses and lazy mornings in bed, limbs entangled and quiet giggles on your lips. He was a criminal. So were you. He could offer you nothing but the thrill of the life in the Barrel, not even a comforting good night kiss.

Or maybe he could. Had he not sworn to himself he would become a man worthy of your affection, should you be willing to have him? Did that not mean he would have to learn how to overcome his fear of touch, too? He had always felt it was easy to be close to you, easier than to other people. He had consciously moved his chair right next to yours, had leant into your space to test out his limits. You had never stopped him. When he had felt especially brave, he had patted your back appreciatively, ruffled over your hair or even rested a hand on your shoulder or kept his knee pressed against yours. He had always pulled away before the waters of panic had started drowning him, but that was where the difference was: With you it took the waters longer to start rising, to start pouring into his boots, to wet his socks. With other people it happened almost instantaneously, even when he was wearing his gloves. With you he had time, even if sometimes just a few seconds. So would he be able to offer physical comfort? Eventually. If you were willing to give him time to learn.

The whole night went by like this, and before he knew it, Inej slipped in through his open office window. While she was giving her report, there was a knock on the door, and just from the way the knuckles hit the wood, Kaz knew it was you.

He called you in, and did not miss the way your eyes wandered between Inej and him, before you told him you had just come to tell him about tonight's patrol.

He nodded and let you talk, not even taking in half of what you were saying, while he tried to finally phrase a sentence that would give him an opening to talk to you.

When you had finished you took a deep breath.

"(y/n)-" he started out, but you interrupted him.

"I know. You need to talk to Inej."

Your voice was bitter, and it seemed like you regretted the tone you had struck because a sad expression flashed over your features.

"Actually I-"

But you were already out of his office, leaving him disappointed, and Inej with raised eyebrows.

The next days were not better, no. In fact they were worse. The heist was drawing nearer, and Kaz needed Inej to keep an eye at the mansion so they knew the exact time the guards would change positions. Of course he knew that it made you feel even more left out, but he refused to allow you anywhere near the mansion where you could be more easily at risk.

Inej again and again tried to help him find a way to talk to you, but it seemed he had trained you too well; again and again you slipped away. And it did not just feel like the conversations with him were the only thing you slipped away from. You never stayed in his office anymore after giving your report, even when he made sure Inej was not there. He asked for your help with planning, but you only told him Inej would be better suited for that, since she was the one who later would be carrying out the plan too. You were slipping away from him, and Kaz hated it with his whole heart. Maybe he hated it even more than he hated Pekka Rollins.

It was freezing cold outside. Winter had come early this year. Snow covered the roofs and streets of the Barrel, the canals were almost completely frozen over, and additional workers were needed in the harbour to help keep the ships from freezing in.

Kaz sat at the bar in the Crow Club, staring down at the amber coloured drink in his glass. It had been weeks since he had talked to you properly. By now you even handed in your reports as letters instead of dropping by in person.

Someone entered the Crow Club, causing Kaz to lift his gaze to be able to see who it was in the mirror over the bar. His heart jumped to his throat. It was you, patting snow off of your coat, and huffing from the cold outside.

Quickly he swivelled around in his chair, and waved you over. You stopped in your movements when you saw him, but then walked to where he was sitting.

"Join me," he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. Hope is a dangerous thing.

Reluctantly you placed your coat over the back of the bar stool by his side, only to climb onto the one next to it, so there was a free chair between the two of you.

That's not gonna do, Kaz thought to himself. There's still so much space between us. It feels wrong.

He waved over the bartender, and ordered a drink for you, well aware that you were watching him, probably wondering what he was up to.

"So," Kaz started not quite certain what exactly he wanted to tell you. "Why exactly are you handing in written reports now?"

Kaz knew you had trouble writing. You had been taught how to read and write as a child, but on the ship you had spent most of your later childhood on, you had barely gotten the chance to use it. Now you read lots of books, and had become quite the fast reader, but you still had trouble writing. The words always looked a little crooked and unskilled, like the writing of a child who had just learnt the letters.

"It saves you time," you answered after a short pause, causing Kaz to furrow his brows.

"It costs you time," he countered.

You did not reply to that. He bit his lip.

"What happened between us," he eventually asked. He hated talking about his feelings, it made him feel exposed and weak. But not having you close made him feel worse. "We were so close, and now... we're like strangers."

It felt like an eternity until you finally answered, your voice so quiet and hoarse that he had trouble understanding what you were saying over the chatter that slowly picked up in the club.

"I thought you didn't want me around anymore."

Kaz blinked. This was not what he had expected you to reply.

"Nothing could be further from the truth," he heard himself answer.

It was not something he had wanted to say out loud, but seeing your reaction made him forget to regret the choice of words. Your head snapped up, and your eyes met his, a glow shimmering in them, which he had not even realised how badly he had missed. A smile was tucking at your lips, and Kaz found himself staring at it, mesmerized. What had he been thinking about working on his tolerance for physical touch? If he leant down now to kiss you, what would happen first: you pushing him away or the waters drowning him? Would he be brave enough to find out?

"I've missed you," you whispered, averting your gaze embarrassedly.

Kaz, too, turned away from you, his cheeks suddenly burning with a rising blush. Nobody had ever made him blush before, but your simple admission of having missed him did.

I've missed you too, still do, Kaz thought, hoping that somehow you understood without him having to say it out loud.

Instead of saying anything else, you picked up the drink he had ordered for you, and took a sip. With a deep inhale you turned to face him again.

"You won't believe what I saw in fifth harbour the other day," you started, and Kaz could tell that there was concern mixed into your excitement. You obviously tried to start a conversation like one you had had hundreds of over the past years, but were scared he would shut you down.

He did not. He was not exactly listening either; too happy that finally you were talking to him again, too focused on the way your hair bounced when you gestured around, how your lips moved as you smiled. Had a picture been able to conserve the bright energy you were radiating, he would have learned how to draw just to be able to paint it.

Occasionally he nodded or hummed to show you he was paying attention, or asked little questions to coax you into continuing to talk, and at some point, when the club had grown too loud, he had slipped from his chair into the one you had thrown your coat over. This way he was finally closer to you. Sometimes, he made a point by bumping his knee against yours, just for a short moment. He wanted to learn how to enjoy your touch so badly that he could not wait to start learning. Sometimes you leant in a little closer to him, as if you were about to share a secret with him, and a whiff of your smell rose to his nose; the same smell that would always linger in his coat when he had covered you with it after you had fallen asleep in his office. Sometimes he would turn in his chair just enough, that for a moment his shoulder would brush against yours, long enough for a small bit of your body warmth to soak through the layers of clothes, but not long enough for him to worry about the waters starting to rise.

Outside the sun had long set, and at some point you had told him it was time for you to leave so you could do your job, climbing over roofs and listening in to secret conversations. But he had asked you to stay, insisting that just for tonight it might be excusable to not know every secret in town, and that the roofs were too slippery from snow and ice for even you to safely climb along them. The truth was that he simply wanted you to stay, wanted to spent more time with you, wanted to hear you talk for longer, and did not want you to slip away from him again.

The door to the Crow Club opened again, for what felt like the one hundredth time this evening, allowing a gush of cold wind to blow into the warm club. Kaz was sitting with his back to the door, something he usually hated doing, but tonight he could not care less. If someone came in to seek revenge on him, he trusted you to warn him in time. But those were not his thoughts now, as he watched you smile over a silly story you told him, trying to memorise the details of your face. Only when your eyes, which had been looking through the room, stopped at a person who had to stand close by the door, he got torn out of his thoughts that had been entirely occupied by you. Your eyes widened, and Kaz was not sure whether it was in a good way or a bad way, so he quickly turned around to see who you were looking at.

Kaz had been beat up many times in his life, but never had anything knocked the breath out of him as hard as the realisation that he knew the man who stood by the door now.

At first Kaz seriously thought that maybe he was actually asleep. The whole, beautiful conversation with you, in which you had made up with him, had only been a dream, and now a nightmare started seeping in. The person by the door did not look like the Jordie who Kaz remembered, but it was him, there was no doubt. He was older now, his face slimmer than that of the thirteen year old boy who had bought Kaz a hot chocolate whenever he was cold. In fact, the man by the door looked a lot like a younger version of Kaz's father, looked a lot like himself. Perhaps his cheekbones were not quite as prominent, and there were a few nasty scars on his face, but all in all there was no doubt, no doubt whatsoever that the man by the door was the grown up version of the boy Kaz had been convinced had died.

A sharp pain suddenly shot through his system, and Kaz realised that he had crushed the glass he had been holding, shards of it cutting through his glove and into his skin.

No, this is no dream, he though, as he felt blood run down his fingers and seep into the fabric of the glove.

Maybe it was just a coincidence then. Someone who eerily happened to look like Jordie would have, if he had gotten the chance to grow up. But then the man took a few steps into the room, his eyes scanning the crowd, and Kaz gave up trying to find an explanation to why someone who was not his brother, but looked like him, had stepped into the Crow Club. There simply was none. None that could explain why the man moved just like Jordie had, held his head just the way Jordie had, had the same sparkle in his eye, just like Jordie had.

Kaz caved in, and allowed his world to tip over. He suddenly felt far dizzier than the little alcohol in his system would have justified, and was about to stumble off his bar stool, when a movement at his side startled him.

"Jojo!"

You had jumped up, and brushed past him, bolting right towards the man who could not be Jordie. Kaz felt a wave of sickness wash over him as he had to watch the man turn to you, and catch you in an embrace, spinning you around, and hiding his face into your neck, both of you clearly laughing.

The sounds of the world around him were drowned out by the rushing of blood in his ears. Whoever this man was, it was obvious he was much more deserving of you than Kaz was, than Kaz would ever be. Had Kaz ever made you smile as brightly as this guy? Would he ever be able to twirl you around like that, hide his face in your neck like that? No.

He was still staring at the mismatched pair, you dressed only in your usual blouse and trouser, the Jordie imitation more than a head taller than you, and wrapped in a warm coat and hat, the kind that was worn on ships. The man put you down on your feet, and you excitedly gestured over to Kaz, who had come to a fatal conclusion. Whoever this man was: it was obvious the two of you had past. And not only a past, but by the way you had greeted him, also a future. A future like he would never have with you.

Before he had finished the thought, you suddenly stood in front of him again, the man standing just a bit behind you.

"I need you to meet someone," you excitedly bubbled, not noticing the way Kaz's eyes were fixed on the man's face. No, there was no other explanation than this really being Jordie. "He was my crewmate on the Wolfszahn for, gosh, over five years, I think. This is Jojo."

The man smiled down on you fondly, not having taken his eyes off of you yet.

"Actually that's just a nickname. My name's Jordie Riet-"

The moment he looked up at Kaz, his voice died down. Realization settled over the two of them like a heavy blanket. For a long moment they stared into the eyes of the brother they had believed to be dead. Kaz felt like he was drowning, drowning in the sea that had almost killed him at nine years old. And this time there was no body he could cling to, no dead believed brother he could use as a support. Yes, you were there, alive and well, by his side. All he would have to do was stretch out his hand to you, to ask for you to help him, to hold him, to tell him the last eight years had been nothing but a terrible, terrible nightmare, and then surely the waters would back down as he hugged you, and reached out to pull Jordie in for a hug, too. But he was frozen in place.

It was Jordie who broke the silence between them. His voice was shaky, higher than when he had spoken just before. "Kaz?"

Subconsciously Kaz noticed you looking between them in confusion.

"You know each other?"

"Yes," Jordie nodded, unable to take his eyes off of Kaz, "He's my-"

"No," Kaz spat, trying to stay enough in control to stop the swaying under his feet. "You're dead." He pointed at Jordie. Blood dripped from the glove where the shards of the broken glass had cut into his hand. "You died."

"Oh saints, Kaz! You're bleeding!"

He hardly noticed your worried exclamation. He needed to get out of here. Now.

Kaz ignored the way you tried to reach for him, ignored Jordie's confused and shocked expression, ignored the dizziness, and headed straight for the door. As straight as he could with how much the ground was swaying underneath him, anyway. He had not even grabbed his cane to help him walk. He just needed to get away from here. Away from Jordie, away from the brother who had caused him so much trauma and pain, away from the man that already deserved you more than he ever had or ever would.