[ Kalim's still frantically blacking out entire sections of his note margins when Jamil emerges into the lounge. He's even abandoned his hookah hose to his lap in deference to the cause! ]
﴾ of course he is. jamil glides into the lounge much sooner than he's promised, as is customary, gaze fixed like he means to strike. which he does, one quick-handed snap of that notebook out from under kalim's pen so that it can be held up to the light of a floating lantern for a thorough inspection. ﴿
Whaaaat? In the margins? What do you-- Ohhh, these? Hahaaa, just doodles! don't worry about it!
[ kalim is the worst liar. absolute worst. he's practically grimacing through his smile. and making a one-handed grab to snatch his notebook back. failing spectacularly (flailing spectacularly?), but it's a valiant effort regardless. ]
Definitely don't need to look at the next page either!
﴾ jamil is already dutifully tearing both pages out of the book — the second will have impressions left on it from the first, any assassin worth his own blade will know to check for those — but now he pauses to look it over. none of this attention-seeking flailing about will be rewarded with so much as a glance. ﴿
Why are you doing this? Do you not remember what I told you last time, Kalim?
[ Kalim's soul has collapsed in an ashen pile along with his notebook. ]
Aa--
[ Dead eyes. Absolutely no life behind them. ]
That had my class notes too.
[ And it's probably impolitic to point out that Jamil's a weakness, whether he wants to be or not. He was born Kalim's weakness, he'll die Kalim's weakness. Clearly nothing's going to change that. It's been tried and tested in the past, and it probably will be again some day. They'll manage. They always do.
Jamil's not exactly leaving room to argue right now though. So, cheeks puffed through a sigh, Kalim rolls to his feet, bag hefted over one shoulder to drag ass back to his room. ]
﴾ though jamil's unshakeable glare is boring into kalim's back and melting all the leftover scarabian witnesses into their respective seats, the burden of kalim's bag does not remain heavy, the weight draining mysteriously from it as jamil slides a steady hand over his shoulder. ﴿
Mind your posture, Kalim.
﴾ there's nothing... wrong with it, to be fair. it's simply grating for jamil to watch as kalim labors over anything without his intervention or guidance, and for the sake of maintaining this sterling mood he's in, he will fuss over this boy all the way to the door, swatting him away at the threshold in the event that he has even the tiniest ridiculous notion of opening it for himself. that is, of course, jamil's job to solemnly carry out, head bowed as if in respectful deference, bracelets ringing sonorously as he hurries the young master inside. ﴿
[ this is probably what's meant by a learning curve.
it's easy to let jamil do things for him -- carry all the heavier and more tedious weight -- because it's what he's always done. it's how they've always been. and it's not that kalim has ever thought less of jamil (because he's fantastic, he's talented, he's so smart, he's incredible and amazing and all these glowing adjectives that kalim insists on attaching to him every time he opens his mouth), he just never questioned it until it was too late. by then, the contempt had already bred, festered; the resentment ran too deep to mend with smiles or hugs, and it hurt so much to know that jamil had been carrying it around for so long.
but he had his reasons. his hands have always been bound to kalim against his will. so by kalim's figuring, he's gotta be the one to pick up the slack between them. in little ways and big ways, he's trying to pull them closer to even ground. it won't happen all at once. cooking for himself (or attempting to, when jamil will allow it) had been a harrowing first step, but things started falling in -- and falling off jamil's plate -- a little more easily after that.
a little. jamil's still defaulting to service, and kalim's still too quick to let him (or, at times, forget himself completely and drag jamil into service regardless). he does his best. but pushing back is harder, like-- ]
You don't have to do all that.
[ kalim's not expecting it of him. he never has, but he has no evidence to back that up when he allowed it to happen for so long. so what would he normally do here? pull jamil in by his lapels, back him against the closed door, smile bright and kiss him breathless...? that all sounds about right. it also gives jamil zero agency. instead, kalim drags his bag to the couch and sprawls out over the cushions with an audible sigh.
he'll have to borrow silver's notes tomorrow. great seven, why is he dwelling on that when he's finally alone with jamil again? ]
﴾ for all the years jamil dreamed of serving kalim more humility than he can chew, he'd never imagined it to be quite so irritating as this. the sighing, the hesitation — jamil does not bother with wandering very far away from the door at first, anticipating those grasping hands and smiling kisses that seem to always strike the second they are alone. he realizes he looks foolish, then, and hurries to make up for it, one hand spreading kalim's notebook across his desk as the other weaves spellchannels in the air that stir in those unmade sheets gathered in the center of his bed, twisting them into tidy order and sailing off to neaten up the next corner of the room.
kalim, obviously, won't have anything to worry about. jamil tucks his own notes into the gored center of kalim's book, hand-written and color-coded for easy reference, as always. whatever kalim thinks he knows about their situation, it's simply too late to abandon such duties and wildly grating that he even thinks to question them now. what's next, no more witching hour patrols for encroaching assassins? is kalim going to graduate from stirring pots to testing his own food for poison? the very notion makes jamil ill. ﴿
Ah? You think you know better than me, now, what I should or should not be doing?
﴾ this is what happens when jamil leaves kalim to his own devices: he always returns with silly ideas that jamil needs to exorcise from his mind before they begin to fester. it's a lesson learned that he needs to be more careful with outside influences, even more than he has been in the wake of octavinelle's little winter break stunt. he can begin by striding forth and seizing kalim's chin — and it's not lost on him that kalim is the only one who will meet his eye anymore, still, even after everything. his taloned grasp is secure, but not harmful, only as uncomfortable as kalim feels being pinned beneath such an intense stare and gently jostled until his senses return to him. ﴿
[ if their lives used to be sensible to jamil, then maybe it really is better to eschew it altogether. none of it was good for them, and jamil didn't deserve being saddled with the duty of coddling or serving a friend (or not a friend, as he's repeatedly insisted); not while he was so young, still had dreams of his own to fulfill outside of kalim's existence. here, on the other end of chaos, kalim's wondered how jamil manages, or what he would be like -- what they would be like, if anything at all -- if jamil were never compelled to be kalim's aide.
jamil can't jostle kalim back into a damn thing now that he's learned his lesson. as always, jamil taught him too well. ]
What? Me? You know I leave that to you!
[ firm as he tries to be, jamil's grip begs a sunny smile anyway. jade and floyd were right. he really is too nice. and he can't compromise his own nature, but jamil doesn't have to be around something (someone?) that irritates him so thoroughly either. not if he doesn't want to be.
kalim has to remind himself constantly. a person like him is nothing but a nuisance and a burden to a person like jamil. the notion feels like its own kind of poison; slow-creeping, insidious, until it punches him square in the chest and sets everything beneath his ribs to wither. he forgets so many things. forgives so many more. but that contempt burning in jamil's eyes? the venom that was dripping from his lips? jamil, his beloved; the man kalim adored and admired and trusted beyond any shadow of a doubt? how is kalim meant to forget that?
still, all smiles. but just in case jamil has any ideas about his touch being unwelcome, kalim reaches up to lightly rest a hand over his wrist. ]
I really mean it, though! You don't have to do all this. I appreciate it, but I can manage on my own.
﴾ jamil's gaze flicks heavenwards, but he's not forgotten himself enough to go for a full eye roll. no matter how rough things have gotten in the past few weeks, at least he has that — his mind is completely his own, not a single dark whisper or twisted compulsion left since his speedy recovery. (y'know, beyond the normal ones.) ﴿
A thousand thanks, but I do not believe you will be able to survive on occasionally-stirred soup alone.
﴾ over his dead body, in fact. jamil has his justifications, playing nice with someone who could effectively end his entire family's prospects by speaking even a single unfortunate word about what transpired over break, but they're flimsy. kalim didn't talk for jade, he won't for anyone else either. his loyalty ended up narcing jamil out just the same, but that's more of an excuse to be pissy than anything concrete.
and so jamil looks sour — but relieved — when kalim's fingers fall over his wrist. it brings him closer before he can mute the compulsion, just near enough to be a presence of scent and breath on kalim's skin. ﴿
My duties do not end when it is convenient for me. Neither do yours.
﴾ how unfortunate that all these barbs he's throwing have soft, silken edges, that every word he speaks betrays itself with the fondness in his tone. though that's not quite the word for it, either. there is something wicked curing in that smile that is pressed nearly up against kalim's lips, like the rattling of a snake's tail before it strikes. ﴿
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ Like he's not scrambling to pack up his books and notes, hookah mouthpiece hanging between his lips. ]
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It's very mindful of you! You embody Scarabian excellence!
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Compliments won't buy you mercy. You'd better have something impressive to show me.
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I learned how to blow smoke rings!
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Okay but give me a minute.
[ He just needs to dig out his notebook and scribble through all the margin doodles of ❤❤ Jamil Al-Asim ❤❤ and 💕 Kalim Viper 💘
Don't you judge him! ]
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You have ten seconds. Spend them wisely.
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Just a minute!
[ Kalim's still frantically blacking out entire sections of his note margins when Jamil emerges into the lounge. He's even abandoned his hookah hose to his lap in deference to the cause! ]
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What is this? In the margins, here?
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[ kalim is the worst liar. absolute worst. he's practically grimacing through his smile. and making a one-handed grab to snatch his notebook back. failing spectacularly (flailing spectacularly?), but it's a valiant effort regardless. ]
Definitely don't need to look at the next page either!
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Why are you doing this? Do you not remember what I told you last time, Kalim?
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[ No.
Okay but in his defense, Jamil says a lot, and it all seems important. Which parts are meant to stick?? ]
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﴾ it bears repeating either way. jamil snaps his fingers and the pages erupt into a neat pile of ash upon the flat of his palm. ﴿
Go to your room.
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Aa--
[ Dead eyes. Absolutely no life behind them. ]
That had my class notes too.
[ And it's probably impolitic to point out that Jamil's a weakness, whether he wants to be or not. He was born Kalim's weakness, he'll die Kalim's weakness. Clearly nothing's going to change that. It's been tried and tested in the past, and it probably will be again some day. They'll manage. They always do.
Jamil's not exactly leaving room to argue right now though. So, cheeks puffed through a sigh, Kalim rolls to his feet, bag hefted over one shoulder to drag ass back to his room. ]
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Mind your posture, Kalim.
﴾ there's nothing... wrong with it, to be fair. it's simply grating for jamil to watch as kalim labors over anything without his intervention or guidance, and for the sake of maintaining this sterling mood he's in, he will fuss over this boy all the way to the door, swatting him away at the threshold in the event that he has even the tiniest ridiculous notion of opening it for himself. that is, of course, jamil's job to solemnly carry out, head bowed as if in respectful deference, bracelets ringing sonorously as he hurries the young master inside. ﴿
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it's easy to let jamil do things for him -- carry all the heavier and more tedious weight -- because it's what he's always done. it's how they've always been. and it's not that kalim has ever thought less of jamil (because he's fantastic, he's talented, he's so smart, he's incredible and amazing and all these glowing adjectives that kalim insists on attaching to him every time he opens his mouth), he just never questioned it until it was too late. by then, the contempt had already bred, festered; the resentment ran too deep to mend with smiles or hugs, and it hurt so much to know that jamil had been carrying it around for so long.
but he had his reasons. his hands have always been bound to kalim against his will. so by kalim's figuring, he's gotta be the one to pick up the slack between them. in little ways and big ways, he's trying to pull them closer to even ground. it won't happen all at once. cooking for himself (or attempting to, when jamil will allow it) had been a harrowing first step, but things started falling in -- and falling off jamil's plate -- a little more easily after that.
a little. jamil's still defaulting to service, and kalim's still too quick to let him (or, at times, forget himself completely and drag jamil into service regardless). he does his best. but pushing back is harder, like-- ]
You don't have to do all that.
[ kalim's not expecting it of him. he never has, but he has no evidence to back that up when he allowed it to happen for so long. so what would he normally do here? pull jamil in by his lapels, back him against the closed door, smile bright and kiss him breathless...? that all sounds about right. it also gives jamil zero agency. instead, kalim drags his bag to the couch and sprawls out over the cushions with an audible sigh.
he'll have to borrow silver's notes tomorrow. great seven, why is he dwelling on that when he's finally alone with jamil again? ]
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kalim, obviously, won't have anything to worry about. jamil tucks his own notes into the gored center of kalim's book, hand-written and color-coded for easy reference, as always. whatever kalim thinks he knows about their situation, it's simply too late to abandon such duties and wildly grating that he even thinks to question them now. what's next, no more witching hour patrols for encroaching assassins? is kalim going to graduate from stirring pots to testing his own food for poison? the very notion makes jamil ill. ﴿
Ah? You think you know better than me, now, what I should or should not be doing?
﴾ this is what happens when jamil leaves kalim to his own devices: he always returns with silly ideas that jamil needs to exorcise from his mind before they begin to fester. it's a lesson learned that he needs to be more careful with outside influences, even more than he has been in the wake of octavinelle's little winter break stunt. he can begin by striding forth and seizing kalim's chin — and it's not lost on him that kalim is the only one who will meet his eye anymore, still, even after everything. his taloned grasp is secure, but not harmful, only as uncomfortable as kalim feels being pinned beneath such an intense stare and gently jostled until his senses return to him. ﴿
Stop thinking. It's unbecoming of your station.
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jamil can't jostle kalim back into a damn thing now that he's learned his lesson. as always, jamil taught him too well. ]
What? Me? You know I leave that to you!
[ firm as he tries to be, jamil's grip begs a sunny smile anyway. jade and floyd were right. he really is too nice. and he can't compromise his own nature, but jamil doesn't have to be around something (someone?) that irritates him so thoroughly either. not if he doesn't want to be.
kalim has to remind himself constantly. a person like him is nothing but a nuisance and a burden to a person like jamil. the notion feels like its own kind of poison; slow-creeping, insidious, until it punches him square in the chest and sets everything beneath his ribs to wither. he forgets so many things. forgives so many more. but that contempt burning in jamil's eyes? the venom that was dripping from his lips? jamil, his beloved; the man kalim adored and admired and trusted beyond any shadow of a doubt? how is kalim meant to forget that?
still, all smiles. but just in case jamil has any ideas about his touch being unwelcome, kalim reaches up to lightly rest a hand over his wrist. ]
I really mean it, though! You don't have to do all this. I appreciate it, but I can manage on my own.
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A thousand thanks, but I do not believe you will be able to survive on occasionally-stirred soup alone.
﴾ over his dead body, in fact. jamil has his justifications, playing nice with someone who could effectively end his entire family's prospects by speaking even a single unfortunate word about what transpired over break, but they're flimsy. kalim didn't talk for jade, he won't for anyone else either. his loyalty ended up narcing jamil out just the same, but that's more of an excuse to be pissy than anything concrete.
and so jamil looks sour — but relieved — when kalim's fingers fall over his wrist. it brings him closer before he can mute the compulsion, just near enough to be a presence of scent and breath on kalim's skin. ﴿
My duties do not end when it is convenient for me. Neither do yours.
﴾ how unfortunate that all these barbs he's throwing have soft, silken edges, that every word he speaks betrays itself with the fondness in his tone. though that's not quite the word for it, either. there is something wicked curing in that smile that is pressed nearly up against kalim's lips, like the rattling of a snake's tail before it strikes. ﴿
Come to bed.
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