After having known him for a year, Jakub was very certain that he hated Cheshire Bloom.

He hated the way Cheshire dressed above every occasion, wearing vests and suit coats whether they were on their way to a bar or a heist. He hated watching Cheshire spend his entire share of a night’s haul on cufflinks just so he’d have an excuse to undo them whenever a fight reared its head. He hated every one of Cheshire’s brightly colored, handsewn, silky smooth neckties. Why did a teenage hoodlum need so many neckties!?

He hated the gloves, too, especially because Cheshire was so eager to put them on him—poking his cheeks to tease him, grabbing him by the wrist when it was time to run, settling his broad palm against the back of Jakub’s neck those rare times he could sneak up unnoticed. He hated how easily Cheshire laughed as if every challenge was a delight, how he barreled into every situation with a lion’s courage. He hated that every time Cheshire did anything even slightly noteworthy, he’d look to him with that boyish, hopeful grin, eager for acknowledgement, and then Hannah would scold Jakub for encouraging him, even though he wasn’t encouraging any of that explosive nonsense, not ever.

And he especially hated the heat that flickered in his stomach whenever Cheshire wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Hated how that laughter of his was so familiar it became notes in a song he couldn’t get out of his head. Hated the rush of adrenaline he felt whenever Cheshire was at his back for a job, convincing him that he could do almost anything. What was wrong with him, that he found himself drawn into the big oaf’s orbit time and time again? Even Cheshire’s teasing compliments made him blush; the sincere ones left him beside himself.

He’d sit down for a drink, and Cheshire would throw himself into the space alongside, and the whole evening would buzz with energy just beneath his skin. “You must really hate him,” Barney would say. “You look sick whenever he’s around.”

And Jakub wouldn’t say anything, because like hell was he going to admit to anything else.

One particular night they were crammed into the corner of the Bottom Feeder, Cheshire’s favorite speakeasy, sipping booze they’d personally driven back from the farm. It had been a successful evening of shaking down the river-side Irish boys for cigarettes, and as the rest of Kozlow’s favorites crowded around, Cheshire was eager to show off, as per usual.

“I’ve been practicing,” he said, pinching one of their prizes in two fingers. “Watch this.”

“Everyone stand back,” someone teased, to a round of jeers.

“No, really!” Cheshire insisted. “Look closely.”

The tip of the cigarette lit up with puff of fire. Everyone around—including Jakub—flinched back, too used to the explosive results of any use of Cheshire’s magic. But lo and behold, the cigarette did not burst into a fireball; after the initial smoke it burned very normally, and Cheshire even brought it to his lips.

“Is that it?” asked Barney impatiently.

“Huh?” Cheshire choked briefly on the smoke as he waved the cigarette at him. “Come on, Barney, I’ve been practicing for weeks, here!”

The others cast shrugs and half-hearted smirks in his direction, wholly unimpressed. “All you did was light it,” said Barney, emboldened by their apathy. “A match can do that.”

“But you don’t know how hard it is to not….” Dissatisfied with their reactions, Cheshire looked to Jakub. “It’s not bad, right?”

It wasn’t bad, not at all. Jakub had never seen Cheshire combust only part of an object before, in such a controlled manner, and had until then figured it wasn’t within his capability. When he held out his hand, Cheshire passed the cigarette to him, and he was surprised by how warm the rest of it felt. Praying he wasn’t about to have his face seared off, he took a drag.

It was damn good tobacco, the kind Jakub was lucky to get his hands on. That would have been enough, except there was something more to it—an extra taste he wasn’t used to, tangy on his tongue, just like the hint he sometimes got when Cheshire used his magic. He expected it to dissipate, but another puff proved him wrong.

“Well?” Cheshire said, and he was making that face again, hopeful and ridiculous. “How is it?”

“It tastes funny,” Jakub replied.

Cheshire continued to watch him closely. Jakub wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but watching his excitement slowly crumble was unnervingly painful. So he added, “It’s not bad.”

Somehow, that was enough, and Cheshire’s good humor returned in full force. “See?” he said to the crowd, as if that proved anything at all. Even so, he still managed to be charming.

“Let me try,” demanded Barney, reaching for the cigarette.

Jakub leaned back to avoid his grasping hand, even though that put him shoulder to shoulder with Cheshire. He wasn’t about to give up a cigarette, magic or not, and...he liked the taste. He gestured to the rest of their loot piled on the table. “Get your own.”

“I can light it for you,” Cheshire offered, already reaching for them. Barney scowled, but he did watch very closely as the magic flared again. Just as he started to take it, however, the length of the paper began to glow, and with a wince Cheshire tossed it into the air. It popped like a firecracker and the entire bar jumped.

“Sorry!” Cheshire grinned sheepishly as the ashes drifted to the floor and Barney muttered curses. “Sorry, that was me!” The other patrons returned to their business, eyes rolling. “Sorry. It’s really a lot harder than it looks.”

Jakub’s heart had skipped with the tiny blast, but his hand was very steady as he held his own cigarette away from his mouth. “Should I be worried?”

“Oh, no, yours is fine,” Cheshire assured. “It would have done it by now.” It shouldn’t have been reassuring, but Jakub went back to smoking anyway.

Cheshire reached for the cigarettes again, but Hannah was quick to scold him. “Well, don’t try it on any more of these,” she said, gathering the boxes at her end of the table. “They’re worth a lot. Though I guess this explains why those new gloves you just bought are already singed.”

Cheshire laughed, thinking nothing of showing off the burn marks on his gloves. “Yeah, you should see my fingers. Like I said, I’ve been at it a long time.”

That piqued Jakub’s interest. “You burned your fingers?” he asked. “Somehow, I thought they were fireproof.”

“Oh, no,” Cheshire said, with enough humorous gravity that Jakub couldn’t help but wonder if there was a deeper story there. “Not at all—I gotta be careful trying to blow anything too close. But you would think that, huh?” He wiggled his fingers thoughtfully. “Sure would be nice not to worry about.”

“This is stupid,” muttered Barney. He swiped a few of the cigarettes from Hannah’s pile and climbed to his feet. “Don’t drink too much, either. We can’t sell it if you piss through it all night.” Still grumbling, he stalked off.

The rest of the table paid him little notice; only Cheshire looked even a little concerned about the abrupt departure. He sank back into the sofa next to Jakub. “Did I say something wrong?”

Jakub snorted. “You did almost burn his face off.”

“It wasn’t anywhere near his face when it blew,” Cheshire protested impishly.

He fell quiet for a bit, which by itself was an accomplishment. Jakub wasn’t sure he believed that he was honestly upset about having ruffled Barney’s feathers, but then, he had all along managed to remain oblivious to Barney’s obvious contempt. The calm was a welcome reprieve; Jakub didn’t even mind when Cheshire stretched his arm across the back of the sofa, making the inside of his elbow into a headrest. They were all buzzed from the alcohol anyway—no one would notice if Jakub relaxed a little deeper into to the warmth of Cheshire’s side. He was, for a few minutes, even able to convince himself that it was just the indents in the sofa drawing him in closer. It was just the aftertaste of the magic making his skin prickle.

Then the band started up, and the mood changed. Cheshire straightened up with sudden, focused energy, and Jakub was so distracted it took him a moment to figure out the cause: the band’s newest vocalist.

She couldn’t have been much older than either of them, slender and tall with a head of wavy blonde hair and a face full of freckles even her makeup couldn’t hide. She tapped her foot to the beat of the base drum, causing the ruffle of her red dress to dance against her knee, captivating every man in the room. Almost, anyway; Jakub wouldn’t have taken a second glance if not for feeling Cheshire squirm beside him. The girl fluttered her long lashes and Cheshire grinned, probably smitten already. Figured.

“Who’s that?” Cheshire asked excitedly, jostling Jakub as he leaned forward in his seat.

“No,” said Hannah. “I’m not telling you.”

“So you do know her name?”

Jakub wasn’t interested in sticking around until Cheshire moved from curious to pestering; he pushed to his feet, ignoring what might have been a question thrown his way. The back of his neck was warm from a heavy arm and he suddenly wanted to be rid of the sensation as quickly as possible. Though he meant to offer some excuse, his feet carried him toward the bar without his mouth having made any such effort.

“What’d I say this time?” Cheshire asked Hannah in his wake, and Jakub scowled at himself, feeling childish.

At the bar, Barney was just as absorbed in the jazz singer as the rest of them, but he did cast Jakub a glance as he approached. “Reached your limit, huh,” he said knowingly.

“Yeah,” Jakub replied, just because it was easier than trying to explain anything. When Barney offered him half his pretzel, he accepted. As he nibbled he glanced back to the sofa, and he wasn’t surprised to see Cheshire still pressuring Hannah for information. “Who’s the girl?” he asked.

“Her name is Grace.” Barney struck a match against the bar to light his cigarette. “She’s from the girl’s school north of here. Hans the dock manager is her uncle.”

Jakub frowned. “School girls shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

“You’re telling me.” Barry leered at the stage. “But with a body like that, I’m not gonna discourage her. Would you?” When Jakub failed to respond, he snorted. “Oh yeah, sorry. You’re not into that.”

Jakub didn’t know how to respond to that, either, so he didn’t bother. He continued to eat his pretzel as he watched Grace finish her song. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen and it showed in her face when she smiled, unable to hide her youthful enthusiasm for the attention being showered on her. She looked a lot like Cheshire in that moment, and Cheshire was sure looking at her, practically out of his seat as he cheered and clapped.

Jakub squashed a wholly unwarranted feeling of betrayal. It’s not like you didn’t know, he told himself, stamping his cigarette out in the nearest ashtray. “I’m going home.”