The chatter serves the same purpose that the silence did, and Jamil is able to return to work with Kalim sufficiently distracted. Now it's like any other time Jamil has redressed Kalim's injuries while he's babbled on, and while the comparison isn't exactly comforting, it's at least still familiar. Having to talk gives him something else to focus on, too.
"Idris is older than Husam but Halima is older than Isam," Jamil reminds Kalim, turning his hairbrush into the intricate corners of the filigree. He's almost done. It's--whatever substance the inside of Kalim's head is made from seems clean, as far as he cares to look at it. As his task list progresses toward disposal, some of the nausea fights to come back.
"Right! Right." Kalim smiles up at him as best as this slightly awkward angle allows, and also as best as his current body horror head nightmare allows. He's smiled more convincing smiles, is what I'm saying – although the gratitude and fondness are one hundred percent genuine. "Thanks, Jamil."
He obviously doesn't just mean for remembering his ten-year-old siblings' birthdays.
Jamil pauses, meeting Kalim's gaze--as if he needs the complication of feeling some kind of way about Kalim's overbearing gratitude right now--and nods wordlessly in acknowledgment. He feels like opening his mouth at the moment might be a dangerous idea.
The gruesome exercise is more or less done, or it's as done as Jamil is willing to make it right now. He gathers the towel in his lap around the desiccated scraps of Kalim's brain matter, making sure not to let anything spill, and silently stands up with the bundle of it in his arms, leaving Kalim lying on his back on the bed. Then he turns and walks to the adjoining bathroom.
Jamil puts the towel and its cargo into the bin near the sink. He'll burn it later, when he has the wherewithal, but right now there are more pressing matters. Next, mechanically, he kneels in front of the toilet, makes sure his hair is safely tucked behind his shoulders, and then vomits neatly into the bowl.
Kalim lies there where Jamil left him, staring at the ceiling. The idea of moving his head feels a bit daunting, unsurprisingly, so he figures getting up can wait -- but even Jamil can't throw up so discreetly that no one hears it.
"Jamil?" He sits up quickly, only to be left reeling and dizzy from the off-balance feeling of his half-empty head and the bizarre and unfamiliar sensation of the lid swinging on its hinge. He sits there for a moment, blinking hard, before he manages to collect himself enough to follow up. "Jamil, are you okay--?"
Jamil hasn't exactly been eating great since they were brought to Patho-Gen, which at least means there isn't much to heave back up; it isn't long before he's just left panting against the toilet, waiting for his equilibrium to return. He groans when he hears Kalim try to get to his feet. The last thing he needs right now is for Kalim to fall over and injure himself.
"Stay there," Jamil wheezes. This was always the worst part of Kalim's recovery period, he refuses to just stay in bed like the doctors want. "'M fine. Almost done."
He doesn't actually insist, though. His head feels so wrong. It still doesn't hurt, but he doesn't trust himself to keep his balance standing up. He does as he's told and shuffles back on the bed to sit with his back against the wall.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he mumbles, even though he knows the answer is no and he knows Jamil isn't going to say so.
Jamil doesn't even respond. Instead he keeps going about procedure: he gets unsteadily to his feet, wipes his mouth, flushes the toilet, and washes his hands, all while avoiding looking at the bin next to the sink. Then he reemerges into the room where he left Kalim, pale and shaky but overall at working capacity. There really isn't that much reason for Kalim to worry; it's not like this is the first time Jamil has thrown up on the job.
He picks up Kalim's headscarf from where he'd set it aside and sits back in place on the bed next to Kalim. Now to make him look decent. "Turn your back to me."
Jamil pauses before responding, making sure that he winds the fabric around Kalim's head just right. It makes him feel better to see the lid covered up. It's easier to pretend things are normal.
He considers lying to save Kalim's feelings, but there's really no point; he'll find out eventually.
"You have an opening back here now," he says tightly. "Like a lid, that opens at that hinge I told you about." Is that enough? Should he say something else? What would make it better??? "It's gold and has quite detailed filigree work. It's rather pretty, actually."
That's mostly not really a surprise, but he doesn't know how to feel about that last part. He's definitely glad if it looks nice -- he was determinedly not trying to imagine what it might look like, but imagine if it had been really horrible and gory -- but isn't it also kind of weird, for it to look nice when it's a literal hole in his head?
He hesitates. "Could you... take a picture? So I can see it?"
Jamil sighs. "Kalim, I just finished putting this on."
It's not a real protest, though, because Jamil would probably want to see it too if it were him. He's already fishing the Syntrofos from his pocket with one hand while he unwinds the mostly-done turban with the other.
Cater would criticize his framing, probably, but it gets the job done. Jamil keeps Kalim in place as he hands him the phone from behind, so that Kalim doesn't unbalance and pitch over from trying to turn and look. Hopefully he'll adjust soon but, well, Jamil has been load-bearing while Kalim recovers plenty of times before.
Without really thinking about it, Kalim leans into his support a little as he takes the phone to look.
"Oh... wow," he murmurs, blinking at the photo. He swallows. "That's..." That's really the back of his head? There's so much nothing behind the filigreed lid. It is kind of reassuring to see that his head is still...head-shaped, that at least it isn't cut off flat or concave even though the mass that the rounded shape should contain is now gone. But it's creepy to look at.
He doesn't say any of that. He doesn't want to dwell on it the way he'd have to if they talked about it like that, and he doesn't want to make Jamil any more worried than he has already.
"...You're right," he says. "It really is kind of pretty, huh?"
It is creepy to look at. Jamil hates it, actually, and he starts re-draping Kalim's turban as soon as Kalim is satisfied. It's much easier for him to pretend there isn't now a hole in Kalim's head that way.
"Look on the bright side," he says drily. "You could be getting scales."
Kalim laughs, tilting his head back to look at Jamil. Might as well get used to the way moving his head around feels now. "The scales aren't that bad! I think they're kind of pretty too."
The flaking skin thing is NOT pretty. But the shiny, fresh scales underneath... an argument could be made!
Jamil scratches at his cheek self-consciously, the first time he's let himself do so all night. He isn't vain the way Vil Schoenheit is, but it's still disquieting to see on your own face in the mirror every day. And...
"It's not just that, actually." Jamil elects to demonstrate rather than explain: he opens his mouth and pulls back his cheek, revealing the tip of a snake-like fang beginning to emerge from his gums near his canine. His tongue also is beginning to elongate and fork, the tip falling just past the edge of his teeth, but it's obvious there's a long way to go before the transformation is complete.
"Huh?" Kalim shuffles round to face Jamil instead of looking at him upside down. His eyes widen immediately and he leans forward to get a better look – way too close, but what else is new. With his good hand, he grasps Jamil's jaw, thumb on his lower lip. "Whoah – your tongue??"
Jamil realizes a split-second too late what he's brought on himself and only manages an inarticulate "whugh" of protest before Kalim's hand is on his mouth and his instincts prevent him from doing anything to harm Kalim by accident. Typically, he proceeds to go bright red and jerks his head back, putting a healthy distance between their faces again.
"Kalim!" Jamil claps a hand over his mouth, looking scandalized.
Kalim blinks. He of course didn't think about what he was doing -- Jamil touches his face all the time -- but this is hardly the first time something it's fine for Jamil to do to him has turned out not to be okay for him to do to Jamil.
Jamil usually doesn't react this strongly, though.
"Ah, my bad," Kalim says after a moment, sitting back slightly.
Usually Jamil isn't so self-conscious of Kalim's proximity to his face. Unfortunately he has Feelings now and such are the consequences.
He's a little thrown by how readily Kalim backs off, though. Right, of course--Kalim respects his boundaries now. Just in time for Jamil to maybe kind of sort of not want him to.
"Don't just grab at my face like that," he mutters, slowly bringing his hand down from his mouth. He's still blushing, but at least his nerves are settling. "But yes, my whole mouth seems to be changing shape."
Is that why Jamil reacted like that? Because of the changes? It must have been, right? Come to think of it, though... hasn't he kind of been acting like this a lot lately? Pretty much since they got here, actually... Jamil has been getting way more flustered way more easily.
A terrible thought strikes Kalim. What if he suspects something? What if he's noticed? When they had to put their foreheads together for the imprinting thing, what if he figured it out then? Or -- worse, what if it was before then? Kalim abruptly remembers that in the dream world Idia had told them they could use his app to watch each other's dreams. He doesn't remember Jamil looking at his, but -- well, he could have! Kalim knows he isn't very observant! What if something in his dream tipped Jamil off, and now when Kalim holds his hand or grabs his arm or touches his clothes or gets really close to him or any of the other things he does all the time without thinking about it because that's just what he's always done, Jamil thinks he's -- trying to hit on him or something?
He'd... say something, right? He'd make fun of him. He wouldn't let Kalim save face over this. There's no way. Right?
He isn't sure. He doesn't know what Jamil would do.
Kalim abruptly elects to slam the lid shut on this horrible train of thought. There's nothing he can do about it now. He'll just, just do his best to be less touchy-feely and otherwise not worry about it. No problem.
He tunes back into the matter at hand, looking slightly haunted. He's absolutely just gone on a weird face journey over this and isn't conscious of it at all.
"Your whole mouth," he repeats, frowning. That's actually a way bigger deal than the stuff Kalim was just worrying about! Sheesh, he fees bad now. "Um, does it hurt?"
Jamil watches this face journey with no little alarm of his own, though he does a much better job than Kalim at keeping his thoughts under wraps. Is he being too obvious? No, there's no way Kalim could possibly keep his thoughts to himself. Jamil is clearly doing something noticeable, though, so he needs to be better about keeping himself under control.
What a normal and straightforward conversation they are both having.
"...Sometimes," Jamil admits. "Just for a moment, every so often. I think my jaw may be realigning somehow."
Kalim tries not to grimace. He goes to sheepishly rub the back of his head, but realises at the last minute that uhhh that's a bad idea now. Whoops. He lowers his hand.
"So you're, like, turning into a snake...? That's kind of on the nose, don't you think?" He laughs weakly.
Maybe who or whatever made the choice to pull them here saw his name and thought they'd be a little funny. The thought of it just puts him in a bad mood, so he'd rather it be a coincidence. And if he is turning into a snake, he'd rather not think about what that might look like further down the line. He'd prefer to stay as human as possible, as much as that matters to anyone.
Jamil eyes Kalim's movements, any body language or behavior other than Kalim's typical setting his nerves on edge. "Tell me immediately if you feel anything else happen."
"Huh–? Oh! Yeah. I will." He almost reaches out to grab Jamil's hand, but stops himself at the last second. Nailed it. "You too, though, okay? That mouth stuff sounds kind of scary. I wanna help, if I can!"
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"Idris is older than Husam but Halima is older than Isam," Jamil reminds Kalim, turning his hairbrush into the intricate corners of the filigree. He's almost done. It's--whatever substance the inside of Kalim's head is made from seems clean, as far as he cares to look at it. As his task list progresses toward disposal, some of the nausea fights to come back.
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He obviously doesn't just mean for remembering his ten-year-old siblings' birthdays.
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The gruesome exercise is more or less done, or it's as done as Jamil is willing to make it right now. He gathers the towel in his lap around the desiccated scraps of Kalim's brain matter, making sure not to let anything spill, and silently stands up with the bundle of it in his arms, leaving Kalim lying on his back on the bed. Then he turns and walks to the adjoining bathroom.
Jamil puts the towel and its cargo into the bin near the sink. He'll burn it later, when he has the wherewithal, but right now there are more pressing matters. Next, mechanically, he kneels in front of the toilet, makes sure his hair is safely tucked behind his shoulders, and then vomits neatly into the bowl.
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"Jamil?" He sits up quickly, only to be left reeling and dizzy from the off-balance feeling of his half-empty head and the bizarre and unfamiliar sensation of the lid swinging on its hinge. He sits there for a moment, blinking hard, before he manages to collect himself enough to follow up. "Jamil, are you okay--?"
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"Stay there," Jamil wheezes. This was always the worst part of Kalim's recovery period, he refuses to just stay in bed like the doctors want. "'M fine. Almost done."
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He doesn't actually insist, though. His head feels so wrong. It still doesn't hurt, but he doesn't trust himself to keep his balance standing up. He does as he's told and shuffles back on the bed to sit with his back against the wall.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he mumbles, even though he knows the answer is no and he knows Jamil isn't going to say so.
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He picks up Kalim's headscarf from where he'd set it aside and sits back in place on the bed next to Kalim. Now to make him look decent. "Turn your back to me."
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"So, um... How bad is it?" he asks with an uneasy little laugh.
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He considers lying to save Kalim's feelings, but there's really no point; he'll find out eventually.
"You have an opening back here now," he says tightly. "Like a lid, that opens at that hinge I told you about." Is that enough? Should he say something else? What would make it better??? "It's gold and has quite detailed filigree work. It's rather pretty, actually."
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That's mostly not really a surprise, but he doesn't know how to feel about that last part. He's definitely glad if it looks nice -- he was determinedly not trying to imagine what it might look like, but imagine if it had been really horrible and gory -- but isn't it also kind of weird, for it to look nice when it's a literal hole in his head?
He hesitates. "Could you... take a picture? So I can see it?"
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It's not a real protest, though, because Jamil would probably want to see it too if it were him. He's already fishing the Syntrofos from his pocket with one hand while he unwinds the mostly-done turban with the other.
Cater would criticize his framing, probably, but it gets the job done. Jamil keeps Kalim in place as he hands him the phone from behind, so that Kalim doesn't unbalance and pitch over from trying to turn and look. Hopefully he'll adjust soon but, well, Jamil has been load-bearing while Kalim recovers plenty of times before.
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"Oh... wow," he murmurs, blinking at the photo. He swallows. "That's..." That's really the back of his head? There's so much nothing behind the filigreed lid. It is kind of reassuring to see that his head is still...head-shaped, that at least it isn't cut off flat or concave even though the mass that the rounded shape should contain is now gone. But it's creepy to look at.
He doesn't say any of that. He doesn't want to dwell on it the way he'd have to if they talked about it like that, and he doesn't want to make Jamil any more worried than he has already.
"...You're right," he says. "It really is kind of pretty, huh?"
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"Look on the bright side," he says drily. "You could be getting scales."
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The flaking skin thing is NOT pretty. But the shiny, fresh scales underneath... an argument could be made!
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"It's not just that, actually." Jamil elects to demonstrate rather than explain: he opens his mouth and pulls back his cheek, revealing the tip of a snake-like fang beginning to emerge from his gums near his canine. His tongue also is beginning to elongate and fork, the tip falling just past the edge of his teeth, but it's obvious there's a long way to go before the transformation is complete.
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"Kalim!" Jamil claps a hand over his mouth, looking scandalized.
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Jamil usually doesn't react this strongly, though.
"Ah, my bad," Kalim says after a moment, sitting back slightly.
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He's a little thrown by how readily Kalim backs off, though. Right, of course--Kalim respects his boundaries now. Just in time for Jamil to maybe kind of sort of not want him to.
"Don't just grab at my face like that," he mutters, slowly bringing his hand down from his mouth. He's still blushing, but at least his nerves are settling. "But yes, my whole mouth seems to be changing shape."
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A terrible thought strikes Kalim. What if he suspects something? What if he's noticed? When they had to put their foreheads together for the imprinting thing, what if he figured it out then? Or -- worse, what if it was before then? Kalim abruptly remembers that in the dream world Idia had told them they could use his app to watch each other's dreams. He doesn't remember Jamil looking at his, but -- well, he could have! Kalim knows he isn't very observant! What if something in his dream tipped Jamil off, and now when Kalim holds his hand or grabs his arm or touches his clothes or gets really close to him or any of the other things he does all the time without thinking about it because that's just what he's always done, Jamil thinks he's -- trying to hit on him or something?
He'd... say something, right? He'd make fun of him. He wouldn't let Kalim save face over this. There's no way. Right?
He isn't sure. He doesn't know what Jamil would do.
Kalim abruptly elects to slam the lid shut on this horrible train of thought. There's nothing he can do about it now. He'll just, just do his best to be less touchy-feely and otherwise not worry about it. No problem.
He tunes back into the matter at hand, looking slightly haunted. He's absolutely just gone on a weird face journey over this and isn't conscious of it at all.
"Your whole mouth," he repeats, frowning. That's actually a way bigger deal than the stuff Kalim was just worrying about! Sheesh, he fees bad now. "Um, does it hurt?"
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What a normal and straightforward conversation they are both having.
"...Sometimes," Jamil admits. "Just for a moment, every so often. I think my jaw may be realigning somehow."
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"So you're, like, turning into a snake...? That's kind of on the nose, don't you think?" He laughs weakly.
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Maybe who or whatever made the choice to pull them here saw his name and thought they'd be a little funny. The thought of it just puts him in a bad mood, so he'd rather it be a coincidence. And if he is turning into a snake, he'd rather not think about what that might look like further down the line. He'd prefer to stay as human as possible, as much as that matters to anyone.
Jamil eyes Kalim's movements, any body language or behavior other than Kalim's typical setting his nerves on edge. "Tell me immediately if you feel anything else happen."
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"There's not much you can do about it," he huffs, "it's not like--"
Having your brain fall out is where he wants to take that sentence, but it isn't funny even in his own head, so he just sort of trails off awkwardly.
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