[His chopping slowed. Jamil's gaze turns towards the distance, not at Kalim, not at the vegetables he had cut to bits, not at the kitchen, or Scarabia, or Night Raven College, but at some fixed point a million miles away, and all Jamil could think was ah.
So that was it.
So that was what he had been mad at, this entire time.
He doesn't respond, not right away. What Jamil does is take the things for the bullshit fry and set them aside. He pulls out a pan. He stands there, for a moment, contemplating getting on with cooking, and then carefully walks towards Kalim, taking off one glove as he does so.]
You're right.
[But he doesn't sound...mad, more contemplative. Like they were discussing a fact. Like this isn't about them. This is about the latest thing Azul tried to pull, or the news that Leona was found sleeping in yet another new spot, or Riddle terrorizing his freshmen once more, or something else. Something boring. Mundane. Not about them.]
You shouldn't.
[And then he grabs Kalim's chin and Kalim would be forgiven for thinking that this was the prelude to him using his unique magic, and for one wild, angry moment Jamil considered doing that instead- but hadn't he said he wouldn't back down? That he wouldn't hide? That he'd stand by Kalim as an equal, instead of a servant?
So, instead, Jamil moved in, quick, kissed Kalim, hard, none of the hesitation of the kiss from before, none of the duty, none of the obligation, and while it still might be terrible it had one thing the last kiss lacked, which was passion. Decisiveness.
And then he pulled away as quickly as he had struck.]
If. [Jamil had to force himself to look at Kalim, to ride the wave of whatever had crested, to follow whatever had tipped over inside of him. Jamil had to force himself to stand there like he belonged, to force Kalim to see him, really see him, to not try to slither back into the shadows and hide.] If you're going to dream of a kiss, dream of this one, not...whatever that last one was. I'm better than that.
[...he should get back to cooking, before that whatever broke and he really had to think about the consequences of his actions- oh.]
no subject
So that was it.
So that was what he had been mad at, this entire time.
He doesn't respond, not right away. What Jamil does is take the things for the bullshit fry and set them aside. He pulls out a pan. He stands there, for a moment, contemplating getting on with cooking, and then carefully walks towards Kalim, taking off one glove as he does so.]
You're right.
[But he doesn't sound...mad, more contemplative. Like they were discussing a fact. Like this isn't about them. This is about the latest thing Azul tried to pull, or the news that Leona was found sleeping in yet another new spot, or Riddle terrorizing his freshmen once more, or something else. Something boring. Mundane. Not about them.]
You shouldn't.
[And then he grabs Kalim's chin and Kalim would be forgiven for thinking that this was the prelude to him using his unique magic, and for one wild, angry moment Jamil considered doing that instead- but hadn't he said he wouldn't back down? That he wouldn't hide? That he'd stand by Kalim as an equal, instead of a servant?
So, instead, Jamil moved in, quick, kissed Kalim, hard, none of the hesitation of the kiss from before, none of the duty, none of the obligation, and while it still might be terrible it had one thing the last kiss lacked, which was passion. Decisiveness.
And then he pulled away as quickly as he had struck.]
If. [Jamil had to force himself to look at Kalim, to ride the wave of whatever had crested, to follow whatever had tipped over inside of him. Jamil had to force himself to stand there like he belonged, to force Kalim to see him, really see him, to not try to slither back into the shadows and hide.] If you're going to dream of a kiss, dream of this one, not...whatever that last one was. I'm better than that.
[...he should get back to cooking, before that whatever broke and he really had to think about the consequences of his actions- oh.]
And don't tell my sister. Or my parents.