𝐈𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒- ᴋᴀᴢ ʙʀᴇᴋᴋᴇʀ

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

In his failed attempt to get a full night's worth of shut-eye before the Crows departed from Ketterdam, Jesper had resorted to polishing the pearl handles of his beloved revolvers. It wasn't of lack of trying that he had concluded that he didn't have a shot at sleep that night. Not over the obnoxious pounding of Kaz's cane as paced in the room above his own. Of course, over time he had become accustomed to the boy's extraordinarily abnormal and unfavorable sleep schedule, but this had begun to get a little bit out of hand.

Jesper could only imagine the path that Kaz was carving into the floor of his room and silently pleaded with whatever saint that was listening that Brekker would spontaneously pass out from exhaustion and save both of them their sanity. It was normal for the boy above him to pace, but never so endlessly and never with the ferocity that had Jesper wondering if he should bunk with Inej or Shivani for the night in case that Kaz's floor, Jesper's ceiling, decided to give out and rain down upon him. It was with that thought of the other two Crows that the sharpshooter now became all too aware of another racket from just down the hall. 

While there were multiple rooms crammed beside each other in the Slat, there was only one to the right of his own at the end of the hall. It was a room slightly larger than his own, due to the half-hazard design of the building that resided next to the stairs that would lead down to the floors below as well as Kaz's room on the floor above. 

In all the time that Jesper had lived at the Slat and been a part of the Dregs that room had always remained not only occupied but off-limits as well. It was because of this that he knew that the glass that was being shattered against the wall at full force and the sounds of destruction was coming from the girl that had only just returned an hour or so before the manic pacing from above had started. Suddenly, the pieces seemed to fit together flawlessly in Jesper's mind.

Of course, he hadn't known her all of their lives, although it felt like, he had never seen, or in this case, heard Shivani so distressed. It was when he recognized the pattern of fists hammering defeatedly against the wall that he knew beyond a doubt that he would have rather listened to her weep. Tears were something that could be wiped away without a trace, but this left scars, and saints knew she already had enough.

The longer that Jesper listened, the more he wished he couldn't. Something about only being able to imagine her pain and do nothing about it stung more than it should of. With each crash of an unknown object, he was gradually reminded of all of the times that she had stood by him. How she made sure to never slight him for his gambling addiction that she knew he had no control over. How she would listen to him ramble about his Da and the farm. So he felt helpless as each minute passed knowing that her door was locked and that was the way she wanted it.

Shivani had become an inviting face when he had run face-first into the gang life. She had filled a hole in his heart that had been empty for an uncomfortably long time and became an incomparable friend. Over time, the more he had gotten to know her, he began to admire the older girl for the silent battle that she constantly seemed to face but never showed. Especially in the last few months, as the bags underneath her eyes darkened and her face became more gaunt, Shivani still placed everything above herself. Although, he knew she would have said otherwise.

On the other side of the wall, each punch Shivani threw felt more demanding of the energy that she didn't have left anymore. Her knuckles had split open in several places and the scarlet liquid seeped between her fingers and leaked down her hands to her wrists. When she had finally given in to the exhaustion that consumed her and sunk to the floor against her now ruined wall, she regretfully remembered the ruination that she had inflicted on the room around her.

Each lamp she threw, each hole she punched through the weathered wall was for its own reason. Her possessions laying waste, and the undoing of her bedroom served as a reminder. A reminder of every regret-filled moment, sentence, that she couldn't take back. Of those, only hours ago and some years.