[ there is no correct path to take here. as with a bulk of kalim's choices lately, it's a no-win scenario. solidly lose-lose. ire in one hand, guilt in the other. and either way, jamil will come out hurt in the end.
the path to his left... it's so tempting to simply heed jamil's order. easy, to fall into something familiar and comforting, into the thing that still (inexplicably) works for them, beyond the veil of that carefulness that kalim's maintained. even if everything else is crumbling behind their eyes, they can still touch one another without fear, and that's a connection worth holding onto. so too would it slip a bit more of that agency back into jamil's capable grasp, hand him a modicum of the control he feels he lacks in every other aspect of their lives (and how untrue -- unfair -- that is, when kalim has only ever been at his mercy). except that now, kalim's absolutely suffering under the gravid doubt of jamil's actual intentions. does he want this? is this obligation? does he touch because it brings him pleasure, or does he touch out of fear?
and to his right... what he should do -- uphill climb of a dune through a sandstorm, but the responsible path -- is dissuade jamil. as if jamil is so easily discouraged. but he could do it if he tried; grasp jamil's wrists and guide his grip away, insist he'll study alone, usher jamil out of his room. lock him out, and then shake apart when he's gone. it won't last long. perhaps only long enough for kalim to temper his storm, before jamil will find some excuse to fit himself back into kalim's presence, sourer for the rebuke. or perhaps he'll appreciate it all the same; take any excuse he's given to not have to touch kalim or to bear his company, even for a short while. and how kalim aches sometimes, wishes jamil would just leave rather than linger in a place he loathes, bound by familiarity and duty alone.
there's no excuse for it, and kalim knows the path he should take. he's two metaphorical steps to the right when his gaze flickers up to meet jamil's, and all he sees is ice and frost.
kalim burns.
face and chest, soul and bone, he burns. he swiftly catches jamil's jaw in both hands, and his touch is like the surface of the sun, as if he could sear the shape of his fingers into jamil's skin if he only lingered long enough. he can melt that ice. he knows he can. he's done it before, and he'll do it again; a thousand times, a million times, as often as it takes for jamil to let him in. to embrace this, embrace him, embrace them. so it's a sharp veer left, and kalim is on his feet, pulling jamil hard and hot into his kiss. ]
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the path to his left... it's so tempting to simply heed jamil's order. easy, to fall into something familiar and comforting, into the thing that still (inexplicably) works for them, beyond the veil of that carefulness that kalim's maintained. even if everything else is crumbling behind their eyes, they can still touch one another without fear, and that's a connection worth holding onto. so too would it slip a bit more of that agency back into jamil's capable grasp, hand him a modicum of the control he feels he lacks in every other aspect of their lives (and how untrue -- unfair -- that is, when kalim has only ever been at his mercy). except that now, kalim's absolutely suffering under the gravid doubt of jamil's actual intentions. does he want this? is this obligation? does he touch because it brings him pleasure, or does he touch out of fear?
and to his right... what he should do -- uphill climb of a dune through a sandstorm, but the responsible path -- is dissuade jamil. as if jamil is so easily discouraged. but he could do it if he tried; grasp jamil's wrists and guide his grip away, insist he'll study alone, usher jamil out of his room. lock him out, and then shake apart when he's gone. it won't last long. perhaps only long enough for kalim to temper his storm, before jamil will find some excuse to fit himself back into kalim's presence, sourer for the rebuke. or perhaps he'll appreciate it all the same; take any excuse he's given to not have to touch kalim or to bear his company, even for a short while. and how kalim aches sometimes, wishes jamil would just leave rather than linger in a place he loathes, bound by familiarity and duty alone.
there's no excuse for it, and kalim knows the path he should take. he's two metaphorical steps to the right when his gaze flickers up to meet jamil's, and all he sees is ice and frost.
kalim burns.
face and chest, soul and bone, he burns. he swiftly catches jamil's jaw in both hands, and his touch is like the surface of the sun, as if he could sear the shape of his fingers into jamil's skin if he only lingered long enough. he can melt that ice. he knows he can. he's done it before, and he'll do it again; a thousand times, a million times, as often as it takes for jamil to let him in. to embrace this, embrace him, embrace them. so it's a sharp veer left, and kalim is on his feet, pulling jamil hard and hot into his kiss. ]