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Jesper has been acting weird. Or annoying. Or both weird and annoying. Either way, he knows something is wrong with him.
Of course, he can’t completely tell why or how, but the concerning--and progressively growing more and more so--looks he’s been getting from his peers lately have led him to this conclusion.
He can’t tell if they are expressions of worry, disappointment, exhaustion, or all of the above, but all of those possibilities lead to very not so awesome outcomes. He doesn’t know what the outcomes will be, but he knows they won’t be good.
It’s just--is he yawning too much? Or is it that people have finally started getting tired of his constant rambling and begun to think he’s just talking to hear the sound of his own voice? He can’t help out with much in the workshop other than passing out snacks and painting the toys, do they think he’s useless?
Jesper sighs deeply, rubbing his eyes with one hand and mindlessly stirring a dirty paintbrush in once-clear-turned-brown water with the other. He’s just being paranoid. Yeah, that’s it. Paranoid.
November had come at breakneck speed, and he couldn’t help but already fuss over how eager the kids were to start handing in their letters and the suddenly more frequent visits to Klaus’ cabin to deliver them. Well, the trek there at least. Because then Klaus would hand him a steaming cup of tea, pull up another chair for him in front of the fireplace, and they would begin reading the mail one by one and all of Jesper’s very short lived complaining would stem at once. (He sure hopes Klaus hadn’t noticed that.)
They’re already a week away from Christmas--their second Christmas to be exact--and by this point, the workshop smells of wood and paint and cookies and has been bustling with noise for a while now. Of course, Jesper had missed that familiar warmth so much, but things totally seem to be a little more hectic this year.
The busyness was nice at first, he liked the accomplished feeling that engulfed him at the end of the night and how his bed felt extra comfy. But now, Jesper is exhausted most hours of the day because of it and frankly, he’s getting really tired of being, well. Tired. All the time. He’s been trying his hardest not to show it, covering up yawns so huge that tears form in the corners of his eyes, but it doesn’t seem to be working.
Klaus keeps giving him the sympathetic you’re doing just fine pat on the back, which never really helps because any time Klaus smiles at or touches him he freaks out and has to focus on not bursting into flames for a good five minutes afterwards. The thing is though, that reaction hasn’t happened in a while .
It’s not that he’s gotten over his yearning for Klaus (the one sided feelings that he’s been very much trying to hide for almost a year. Yay! Happy almost anniversary!), but there’s this…He doesn’t know. He’s been so obsessed with finishing their whole 'Operation Christmas Project’ (wow, they need to come up with a better name for that), that there’s barely any room for any other emotions--or would actions be the better word? It’s work, work, work, bathroom break, more work, sleep, then wake up, and breakfast with a side of more work that’s filling his head right now.
And Alva…That malicious woman. Anytime Jesper makes eye contact with her from across the room where she was doing her own thing after a significantly embarrassing Klaus interaction, she’d be giving him this look. Like she’d been giggling to herself and telepathically trying to communicate with her eyes and tell him, ‘ you’re being so obvious.’
Then, so Alva didn’t think he was ignoring her and incite her to physically come over and talk to him, he would do some exaggerated motions and make some ugly, ‘ I can’t help it! It’s not my fault!’ Face at her.
Now, he can’t remember the last time he’s looked up from the pile of wooden sculptures he was entrusted with to paint.
Jesper sets down his paintbrush and allows his shoulders to finally relax, sitting up a little taller than before. He raises his head and observes the workshop.
Everyone is working so hard. Despite the cold weather, the fire place is blazing and he can see the sweat on their brows glistening in the light.
They’ve all worked hard.
Their entire lives.
Jesper starts fidgeting with his fingers. His hands, only now have they started forming callouses, hardly any tougher than they were when he first came to Smeerensburg.
It's not fair to them.
Is that what this is? His internalized guilt that has been silently forming over the past year? The guilt that he’s been living with ever since he got reminded of how he strode onto this island and had the audacity to act all entitled? The guilt over how everyone in this room, except for him, had to work so, so hard to get where they are now that has been actively eating him from the inside out?
Jesper just wants to be useful. His tiny moments of hardships that he went through when the town was still at each other’s throats were nothing compared to a life full of hardships.
He had it easy. A dad that loved him, his every whim tended to, anything he could ever want.
He wants to make amends or something, he thinks. Makeup for all the hardships he didn’t face with his easy-breezy upbringing. And that’s reasonable! It’s not a bad thing to exert oneself a little more than normal. It could build character…Yeah…But no! That’s also an entitled way of looking at it. This isn’t just some stupid spiritual retreat to learn lessons and become a better and more hardworking person, this is his life now! Smeerensburg. Postman. Christmas. New, lifelong hardships.
Jesper’s eyes land on the children running about, swerving around all the adults’ legs, nearly getting stepped on. He spots Márgu among the bunch.
Márgu is--she’s lovely, really. Always making herself comfortable in Jesper’s little corner and complimenting his work in Sámi, often offering him part of her snack whenever she had one. He doesn’t usually accept it though, encouraging her to eat it herself.
But sometimes Márgu does the familiar arm motion thingy children do when they want to be picked up, and maybe a week ago Jesper would have heeded and continued to greet everyone around the workshop (for the umpteenth time that day) with her tucked in his arms, but Christmas was coming in hot and they still had so many more presents to make.
Every second counts, and Jesper doesn’t want to be caught sitting back doing nothing or viewed as the guy who was just there for the conversation.
So Jesper, mustering all the gentleness and patience left in him possible, would decline and tell the instantly saddened girl to maybe go try someone else.
This is getting bad, he settles on, because it shouldn't be such a challenge to say no nicely. Especially to Márgu, a child that doesn’t know any better whom he also cares about probably more than himself.
This is getting real, real bad.
He’s netted this…Snappier temperament, and his snarky, playful remarks have instead begun seeping out as churlish.
It has gotten so abysmal that when Klaus comes over to ask him about his thoughts on lunch, Jesper snaps at the older man.
Klaus sort of pauses, taken aback. And then Jesper realizes what he’s done.
He’d been doing so well with keeping it together, and he seriously lost it over being asked for his two cents on lunch ideas?
“Oh my god,” Jesper blurts, clamping hand over his mouth with an absolutely mortified look on his face. “I am sososo sorry.”
Klaus doesn’t even seem offended by the remark, just worried, and twofold as soon as he sees Jesper’s reaction to his own words.
“Jesper, are you doing alright?”
“I’m…y’know.” He peers up at Klaus before breaking eye contact to fidget with his fingers, fumbling. “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed is all,” he spoke very quietly. Then, his voice suddenly took on a more joking tone. “I mean, last year was so much easier--I’m like ninety percent sure most of us were just tanked up on pure adrenaline and…What do those weirdos in the south say? Joie de vivre? Yeah. That. We had a whole lot of that going on. Joie de vivre.”
Jesper internally curses his motor of a mouth.
Klaus frowns at that, Jesper can see it. It is very obvious that he can tell everything is not fine or, as Jesper had said, ‘Joie de vivre.’
“I don’t know,” Jesper sighs, aware of Klaus’ expression. “Sorry for blowing up, you didn’t deserve that.”
“That’s the last thing I’m concerned about.” Klaus places a hand on Jesper’s shoulder. “I’m just worried, are you sure everything’s okay? Nothing has happened?”
For a moment, Jesper stares at the large hand resting on him, eyes wide, and face growing just a tinge red, but not bright enough to be visible in the meek light of the workshop. Damn him and his recently dormant-now very active feelings for this man!
“Peachy keen,” He gives a small thumbs up, in what he hopes would be reassuring. But he might as well be a little honest. “If I’m being frank though, I kinda-sorta feel like crashing most hours of the day, but who in here doesn’t? We’ve been going at this for weeks straight. I want to do my part, not make anyone have to pick up my slack or whatever. You know what I’m getting at. Priorities.”
“But that’s why we take breaks, so that we can focus and do well on the priorities.”
Jesper glares at his boots, tight-lipped and rubbing his thumb over one of the loose straps of his suspenders, aware he just got capped. And it seems like that was all Klaus needed to see so as to know that Jesper had acknowledged his words despite his silence.
Klaus uses the leverage of his hand on Jesper’s shoulder to guide him toward the table the latter had been working at in the less noisy part of the workshop. He urges Jesper to sit and makes room for himself as well, taking a seat right next to him. Before Klaus draws back his hand, he gives Jesper’s upper arm an uplifting squeeze.
“Now,” Klaus starts, a little stern but still kind, “Why is it that you believe putting this operation over your own wellbeing is the best answer?”
“Who said I was doing that? I’m not--my wellbeing is perfectly fine! I’m fine , just tired, like, and let me reiterate, everyone else.
"In fact, probably less tired than everyone. All I'm doing all day everyday is painting. that's nothing compared to the lifting and stuff you guys are doing."
Klaus’ eyebrows knit together and he gives an exasperated look as Jesper reaches to mess with a paint brush, the acrylic already drying on the hairs.
Jesper can’t help but try to save the excuse. Thankfully, nothing is going well for him at the moment and he--“Everyone is pitching in, constantly contributing something worthwhile and bringing something to the table. I have noodle arms, look! So I can’t do heavy lifting. And I can't cook to save my life, so helping feed everyone is out the window already. The only thing I’m somewhat good at is painting, and let’s be honest, I’m pretty mediocre at that too!” Oh no, he’s rambling. It’s all seeping out. Leaking. Oh god, he’s spilling. He can’t stop it!
“Back home, the only thing that made me distinguishable was my privileged status, which I didn’t even really earn myself because it was just a product of being born. It was just my father’s job as head postmaster.” He feels like he’s about to cry, and then continues in a broken tone, “That stuff was all handed to me on a silver platter, and I didn’t work for any of it.
“I feel useless! I’m just one man. Here, I’m nobody. I have no clue what I’m doing half the time, and if there is some miracle of a clue I do have, I’m going to run it like a rented mule.”
Klaus stays quiet, watching him sympathetically.
“I can paint. So I’ll…” Jesper says hushedly, setting down the brush. “I’ll paint.”
The two of them sit there, soundless, and Jesper’s words dangle in the air like they’re hanging from a tightly drawn and uncomfortable noose. Klaus looks as if he’s scrutinizing the postman and processing the bomb he just dropped. Jesper fights the urge to squirm under his gaze.
“You aren’t useless.” Klaus finally speaks.
“That wasn’t…That’s not what I meant. I mean, I know I’m not useless, but I don’t want to become useless. That’s my biggest fear, becoming useless to you guys--to anyone, really.” Jesper can feel the tears beginning to form at the bottom lids of his eyes, vision blurring. He shifts his focus to the ground below to hide his face, and when he goes to speak again, his voice comes out an octave too high. “If I can delay getting shipped back to the mainlands–“
Klaus cuts him off, putting a hand up. “Delay? Jesper, you’re Smeerensburg’s first ever postman.” When Jesper finally manages to tear this attention away from the floor, he meets Klaus’ own deep, blue eyes. Glossed over and saddened. “In a span of just a few months, you managed to end generations of fighting and hate. Hell, and you weren’t even trying to.”
“That’s the problem. I didn’t do any of those things with good intentions. And I didn’t do them by myself, either. I had you guys, and you all did most of the work. I’d be living on the streets and that dumb town would’ve still been fighting. I would’ve never been a part of Christmas if you, Alva, and the Sámi hadn’t forgiven me that night. But the lack of me being there wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway. All I do is deliver the presents, anyone can do that.”
Klaus sighs, his gaze softening. Placing a hand on Jesper's shoulder, he speaks with gentle sincerity, "Jesper, intentions may shape our actions, but it's our actions that define who we are. And what you did for Alva and her students, for Márgu, for Smeerensburg, that was real. That was pure." Klaus pauses, and it looks as if he’s searching for the right words.
Jesper’s cheeks flush, and not just from the tears running down his cheeks and his runny nose and him definitely hyperventilating, but because, oh god. Klaus is going to pour a huge bucket of all his wise wisdom-ness on him, and a whole other bucket of love. Jesper knows because that’s just how Klaus is.
"When we gave that gift to Márgu and I saw the spark in her eyes, I also saw a spark in yours. As did Lydia. Your heart is big, Jesper. It's full of love and kindness, even if you still try to hide it under layers of sarcasm and bravado.
"You bring so much joy to others, more than you realize. You have a gift, Jesper, and it goes beyond just delivering packages and painting."
Jesper swallows.
"You're wrong,” Jesper shakes his head, struggling to process Klaus' words. His heart races with a mixture of emotions he can’t quite name, one of the few exceptions being denial. “I’m just a postman, Klaus. That’s all I am. And I’m fine with that. I don’t need anything more.”
Why am I even arguing?
Klaus’ expression softens into a knowing smile. “You’re more than just a postman, Jesper. You’re someone who brings hope and change wherever you go. You may not see it now, but others do. Alva sees it. The Sámi see it. Even the Ellingboes and Krums see it in their own gruff ways.”
Jesper remains silent as Klaus’ words sink in. The weight of them settles on his shoulders, leaving him feeling both overwhelmed and strangely elated. It’s…Very pleasant, the warmth in his chest. He sniffles.
“Jesper, you’re not getting sent back to the mainlands. I have no clue what outcomes you were cooking up in that head of yours, but that’s not one of them. You’ve been here for a year and we still haven’t gotten tired of you, why would we now?” Klaus says gently. “Why would we ever?”
Jesper lets out a shaky laugh and goes to clumsily wipe the now flowing tears streaming down his face, nodding. Klaus reaches out, his touch kind yet firm on Jesper's cheek, and wipes away a tear with a calloused thumb. Jesper’s heart feels like it’s bursting at the seams and he is filled with so much feeling and love for the man in that moment.
Scratch that. He’s overflowing with love. Love is practically gushing out of him, and not just for Klaus, but for everything and everyone around. Jesper is so, so grateful. Grateful for the kindness he’s been shown, the chances he’s been given, the love that he’s received.
It’s not perfect. Those sour feelings of self-loathe and uncertainty are certainly still loitering, Jesper can still feel them trying to scramble his brain like eggs and confuse him, but it’s fine. Right now, Klaus’ reassurance has given him more than enough integrity to squash them for the time being. And not in the bad way he’d been suppressing them earlier.
Like, if he came back to them later and decided to face them head-on--maybe even talking about them with someone else, he could get rid of them for good.
As the night goes on, the workshop is filled with a comforting buzz of activity. Jesper, feeling lighter than ever before, throws himself into his work with renewed vigor. The good, healthy kind.
Márgu remains close, comforted by the familiar sound of toy-making surrounding her and making extra, extra sure Jesper is feeling alright. Every now and then when Jesper takes a break, he hoists the little girl up, heaving a jokingly exaggerated ho [heave, ho]. Or, they simply just talk. Rather he talks. She listens and then adds in little quips that Jesper still can’t quite understand.
To make up for the past week, he makes an effort to double his ‘carry Márgu around the workshop’ shifts. Which almost always starts with them getting caught by Alva for a good twenty minutes and shortly ends after the two resume their trek and Jesper (unwillingly!) gets stuck at Klaus’ station. Eventually, Márgu gets bored and tugs at one of Jesper’s suspenders to be let down.
Jesper ends up staying there most of the time, Klaus and him working diligently beside one another. Their shoulders occasionally brush against each other, the space too small, and Jesper can feel himself beaming and burning up all at once.
Alva and their Sámi friends move around the workshop on the first level, their laughter and chatter blending harmoniously with the sounds of hammering, sawing, and clanking. The air is filled with the scent of fresh pine and sawdust, mingling with the warm aroma of hot chocolate brewing in a pot over the fire.
Jesper leans over the railing and looks around at his makeshift family.
Alva catches his eye and gives him a smug grin, her eyes glimmering with that same knowing glint: I know what’s going on up there. Jesper laughs and rolls his own eyes, because why would he deny his feelings now?
Why did he ever think these people would love him conditionally?