Chapter Text
They had finally delivered the last of the presents, and Jesper felt a lightness he hadn’t experienced in years—a giddy, almost reckless happiness that came from doing something purely for others. The crisp winter air stung his cheeks, but he didn’t mind; it only made the warmth from inside the cabin, where the others were waiting, feel that much sweeter. He was ready to collapse into a chair with a mug of hot cocoa, to laugh over the chaos of the day, and to celebrate with the people who had somehow become his family.
But then Mogens’ boat pulled up to the dock.
Jesper froze mid-step, his stomach dropping. The familiar creak of the oars against the hull carried over the snow-crusted water, and a flicker of unease ran through him. “More incoming mail? Already??” someone muttered, their voice tight with suspicion, but Jesper didn’t hear them. His eyes had locked onto the figure stepping off the boat.
It was his father.
Of all people.
Jesper’s heart thudded painfully against his ribs, and disbelief made him blink several times. The man moved with that same imperious, confident air he always had, the kind that made Jesper feel small even as a grown man. Jesper opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out. He couldn’t figure out how to speak, how to move, how to make sense of this intrusion into the life he had just begun to claim as his own. How had his father found him here? How had he known—knew?—about the work Jesper had done, the successes he’d quietly celebrated with the town?
“Father?” Jesper’s voice was a fragile whisper, cracked with emotion. His hand instinctively reached for Klaus, for grounding, for something solid in the face of this tidal wave of tension. “What…what are you doing here?”
His father’s lips curved into a small, confident smile, and he gestured to the boat as though it were a simple matter of routine. “I’m here to take you home. You’ve done what was required. You can leave Smeerensburg behind. Return to your life.”
Jesper felt as though the floor had dropped out from under him. His pulse raced, and the heat in his chest shifted to a sharp, aching cold. Home. His life. That world of endless expectations, of strict rules and gold-lined hallways, suddenly seemed like chains dressed as comfort. His eyes flicked to the others—Alva, the town, and finally Klaus.
He remembered the first day he’d arrived, the way he’d admitted to Klaus what his original intentions had been. He had wanted to use Smeerensburg as a stepping stone, a chance to prove himself in his own cunning way. And yes, it had angered them. It had angered Klaus. But he hadn’t given up. He had explained, over and over, that he had grown to love this town, that he had grown to love them. He had fought tooth and nail to show them that he wanted this, that he wanted to stay, not to leave behind the life that had been dictated to him.
He wanted to deliver letters, to laugh with Alva over burnt dinners, to share evenings with Klaus that stretched into the night. He wanted the quiet comfort of belonging, the thrill of connection, the way Klaus’s presence made his chest ache in the best possible way. He needed Klaus. And now, with this sudden declaration from his father, it felt like all of that was being ripped away, like everything he had fought for was suddenly meaningless.
Jesper’s gaze met Klaus’s, and in the deep pools of grey, he saw the reflection of his own turmoil mirrored back. They were both thinking the same thing—how could a man expect Jesper to abandon everything he had worked for, everything he had finally claimed as his own? The warmth of the cabin, the laughter, the pride, the love…his father expected him to throw it all away like it had never mattered.
Jesper’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He swallowed hard, trying to steady the storm raging in his chest. “I can’t,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “I… I won’t go.”
His father’s smile faltered ever so slightly, but the authority didn’t leave his posture. Jesper felt the weight of history pressing down on him, the years of expectation and control, and yet, in that moment, the thought of leaving the life he had built, leaving Klaus behind…he couldn’t. Not now. Not ever.
And as he stood there, rooted to the dock with the snow crunching beneath his boots, Jesper knew something else: he had finally chosen. Not for wealth, not for reputation, not for duty. He had chosen love. He had chosen Smeerensburg. He had chosen Klaus. And nothing, not even his father, could take that away.
“Klaus, what don’t you understand? I want you!” Jesper confessed late one night, trying to ignore the way Klaus looked down at him.
“Why on earth would you want that? I’m an old man, and you could have anyone you liked—any young lady from the village! I’d just be taking advantage of you,” Klaus said, his voice low, almost pained.
Jesper scoffed, heat rising in his chest. “And I’m just some dumb rich kid who didn’t care about anyone other than himself… until you showed me what it was like to truly live my life. Showed me there’s more to life than luxuries. And—God damn it, Klaus!—a life without you wouldn’t be a life well lived. It would be full of guilt and regret. I couldn’t imagine a life without Smeerensburg… without you.”
He looked up at Klaus, smiling shyly, before dropping his gaze to his hands. Anxiety churned in his stomach, but he forced the words out. “I… I love you, Klaus. And I know you may not feel the same—what with Lydia and everything, her being your first love—but I just… needed you to know.”
Before he could finish, Klaus bent down and pressed his lips to his, silencing him completely. From that moment on, neither of them could keep their hands to themselves.
When they finally pulled back, breathless, Klaus rested his forehead against Jesper’s, his dark eyes searching the younger man’s face for any hint of doubt. Instead, he found only warmth, a glow that melted the frigid night around them.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” Klaus murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like the earth beneath their feet.
Jesper’s cheeks flushed, familiar embarrassment creeping in at the intensity of Klaus’s gaze. “But… what about Lydia?” he whispered, the name a quiet reminder of the icy barrier that had long stood between them.
Klaus straightened slightly, thinking. “Lydia will always hold a special place in my heart,” he admitted. “But she’s part of my past, a chapter that closed long ago. What we have, Jesper… it’s different. Deeper. Real.”
Jesper’s heart soared at those words. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them. “What do we do now?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, still stunned by how fast their relationship had changed.
Klaus smiled gently, brushing his thumb against Jesper’s cheek. “Now? We take our time. Explore this. Build our own story—right here in Smeerensburg, where our lives can intertwine, just like the branches of these trees.”
“What? No… no, I—Father, I’m not. I’m not going home!” Jesper’s voice shook, but he stood his ground. These were his people. His town. His life. For the first time ever, Jesper didn’t want to leave.
Silk sheets and caviar held no appeal. They were never as warm as Klaus’ hands, his kisses, the quiet intimacy by the fire. He didn’t want grand apartments, stagecoaches, gala invitations, or gowns. He wanted Klaus. He wanted thick woollen pelts, the crackling fire, the smell of smoke, pine, and paint.
“Jesper, this isn’t up for debate. Get in the boat.” His father’s glare cut into him as he grabbed Jesper’s arm, tugging—but Jesper’s grip held.
“No! I’m not getting in that boat! You can’t make me! You sent me out here to Smeerensburg to set up a postal system knowing full well what this town held—and gave me no warning! And now… I’ve done everything you asked and more! We have a postal system, a working school, children who are excited to learn, no fights… and you just want me to leave?!”
His father’s eyes narrowed, a silent get in the boat now, and Jesper felt the weight of that command press down on him. With a heavy heart, hanging his head, he dragged his feet and finally sat on the boat.
“Good. I’ll send someone else to keep the postal system running. Now you return to your privileged life under me, at the office. Isn’t that exciting? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You threw such a fit at first. In time, you’ll understand.”
Jesper said nothing. He stared at his feet, knowing if he looked at Alva or Klaus he’d crumble. Quietly, he rummaged in his sack, pulled out a pen and paper, and began writing, hunched over, retreating into the only small control he had left.
The boat ride home was stifling. Mogens tried to lighten the mood, but it was hopeless. Silence stretched over the trio like a thick fog. When they docked, Jesper’s father immediately tried to usher him into the coach, but Jesper hesitated, handing Mogens the letter he’d been writing.
“Give this to Klaus, please.”
Mogens nodded and set off back to Smeerensburg. Jesper sank into the plush velvet carriage seats, staring out the window, already mourning the dreary greys of the town he had come to love. Smeerensburg—the place he had thought would be home forever—slipped away behind him.
On the mainland, watching the tall towers pass, he knew his father would never let him return. That’s why he had asked Klaus to “kidnap” him—bring him back to their home, where they could be happy together, surrounded by friends and the growing Márgu. Fuck, he missed them all already. He hoped they knew he hadn’t left on purpose.
The coach pulled up to his father’s mansion. Jesper ignored the butlers and maids offering assistance, striding straight to the room he knew was his. “Will I see you for dinner, Jesper?” a servant asked. He didn’t answer. He didn’t want anything to do with this place. Silk sheets, soft mattresses, centralised heating—none of it felt like home. And, somehow, he missed the snow.
“Oh, Klaus…” he whispered, curling up in the bay window as a storm rolled in. He would give anything to be back in his woodsman’s arms. He never thought he’d miss Smeerensburg—its streets, its dreary grey skies, its stupid fucking chickens—but here he was. Sleet tapped against the glass as he pressed his forehead to it, sniffling. His breath fogged the pane as tears slid down his cheeks. He mourned the life he had been forced to leave behind, wishing with every fibre of him that he could wake up in Klaus’s arms instead.
His once-selfish heart would have been dancing at the thought of returning here—having his every whim tended to at the lift of a hand. Fancy espresso, softest knitted blankets, silks and satins—he could have it all. But none of it could replace Klaus. Nothing could match the coffee Klaus made after long nights of whittling and painting. Nothing could top the woollen blankets gifted by the townsfolk, or the animal pelts Klaus scattered around. Nothing compared to weekly dinners with Alva, talking about their lives, sharing small triumphs.
Updates about the kids filled Jesper with pride. They had come so far, and now… now he was miles away from everyone he cared about. He just wanted to go home. Home with Klaus. Home with the reindeer. Home, not this hollow house. Here, everything was cold, stilted, measured—everyone respected him because of who his father was. But in Smeerensburg? Nobody cared. Nobody cared about wealth or pedigree. What mattered was who he had become.
When his tears finally dried, Jesper pushed away from the window and collapsed into the bed. The mattress cradled his aching body, soft and welcoming—but not as sweet as Klaus. Curling around a pillow, his eyes burned again, but he swallowed the tears. Klaus wouldn’t want him crying like this. But what else could he do? His world had been flipped upside down, and he was struggling to breathe in a life that wasn’t his own.
Outside, sleet rattled the panes. Thunder clapped, lightning flashed—nothing pierced the funk that wrapped around him like a shroud. “I’ll be back,” he whispered into the dark, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’ll be back… and then I’ll never leave again. Then I can live happily ever after in Smeerensburg, with Klaus, forever.”