Jamil brings a hand to his cheek self-consciously, looking away. The problem is that there isn't a good reason for Jamil to refuse Kalim in this instance--unfortunately, they're imprinted now, and thus being around each other does help with riding out the more unpleasant changes--other than the truth, which Jamil will never admit under pain of death.
He weighs the prospect of having to suffer through changes alone against Kalim holding his hand even more in the foreseeable future and having to pretend he's not having feelings about it.
Well, at least he can always change his mind later if he wants. "Fine. I'll... try to tell you if something else starts to happen."
Kalim's face lights up as if Jamil has agreed to do him a huge favour. This time he can't stop himself from reaching for Jamil's hand. The imprinting thing really makes it a lot harder to resist.
"I know imprinting and everything is really weird, but I'm glad it makes some of this stuff easier," he says, hoping vaguely that bringing that up will make it less obvious that he has ulterior hand-holding motives. "I want to be able to take care of you, too."
Jamil stares down at their joined hands as if it was an animal about to bite him. As soon as Kalim touched him, he'd been blanketed in a sense of peace, and he hates it. Associating Kalim with this feeling is dangerous. Kalim holding Jamil's hand like this, looking at him like that, fills Jamil with such an overwhelming, unfamiliar feeling that he thinks he could burst at the seams somehow if he just looks at Kalim for too long, and he's terrified of finding out what that will look like if it happens. He may literally rather die, actually.
Jamil swallows. "I'll let you know," he says tightly, a moment before taking his hand back as kindly as he can manage. "There's nothing you can do to help me right now, though. How are you adjusting? Have you gotten back your balance yet?"
(...Oh no. What if Kalim needs imprinting to fully recover. Jamil will maybe not bring that up.)
Kalim smiles, almost apologetically, as Jamil removes his hand. His own hand feels cold now they're not touching any more, and it's partially the imprinting but also, well, what else is new.
"It feels better with you here," he admits. "Can I stay in your room for a bit? I promise I won't bug you."
"That's fine," Jamil says immediately. He doesn't really want to let Kalim out of his sight right now, despite his reluctance to make their bond stronger, and if Jamil's presence can help with Kalim's recovery without him having to make physical contact all the better. "Do you need to eat? I can make you something small."
There's not much room to keep supplies in their little gifted repurposed motel rooms, but Jamil has enough squirreled away to make a basic snack every so often without having to go all the way to the shared kitchen. And this way Kalim can stay put and not fall over and injure himself.
"Oh... yeah. I think I'm hungry, actually," Kalim says. He has to think about it, though. He is hungry, but it doesn't feel the same as usual, and he isn't sure how to explain how it does feel. He frowns. "That would be really great. Thanks, Jamil."
"Stay there," Jamil says and gets up to gather his things.
Unfortunately there's very little able to be stored without even a provided minifridge, so they'll have to resort to the age-old tradition of canned fish and crackers. Jamil gets as fancy with it as he's able, mostly out of something to do; the helpless anxiety of the aftermath reminds him of those times when Kalim recovering from poison was still a regular occurrence, before it became Jamil's problem, when all Jamil could think to do was just do his job without complaint for once, as if quieting his own negative energy would restore balance to the world faster.
Actually, maybe he goes a little overboard: he ends up with an impromptu snack platter, with basic hard crackers, tinned salmon and mackerel, efficiently-sliced hard cheese, and a few options of dried herbs spread out for Kalim to arrange as he likes. (And also Jamil, because voiding his stomach earlier has made him pretty hungry too, as it happens.)
Back home Kalim would never have eaten anything like this. Not that he'd refuse to, but it just wouldn't be put in front of him – the ingredients Jamil usually prepares him meals with are always the freshest and highest-quality available. Kalim was only vaguely aware that fish came in cans because Grim kept on talking about it all the time, and he wasn't really sure why you'd do that or what it would taste like.
Well! Now he knows! It's been a bit of an adjustment, the kind of food that's at their disposal here, even when they are actually using the kitchen. He's still getting used to it. All the same, watching Jamil go about preparing this little snack platter makes Kalim feel just as warm and cared-for as his proper cooking with decent ingredients always does. He knows it's just Jamil's job. But it's still worth admiring that he takes it so seriously.
"Thanks," he says, smiling up at Jamil as he takes a cracker. "Are you gonna have some too?"
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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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He weighs the prospect of having to suffer through changes alone against Kalim holding his hand even more in the foreseeable future and having to pretend he's not having feelings about it.
Well, at least he can always change his mind later if he wants. "Fine. I'll... try to tell you if something else starts to happen."
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"I know imprinting and everything is really weird, but I'm glad it makes some of this stuff easier," he says, hoping vaguely that bringing that up will make it less obvious that he has ulterior hand-holding motives. "I want to be able to take care of you, too."
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Jamil swallows. "I'll let you know," he says tightly, a moment before taking his hand back as kindly as he can manage. "There's nothing you can do to help me right now, though. How are you adjusting? Have you gotten back your balance yet?"
(...Oh no. What if Kalim needs imprinting to fully recover. Jamil will maybe not bring that up.)
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"It feels better with you here," he admits. "Can I stay in your room for a bit? I promise I won't bug you."
This is an exceedingly flimsy promise.
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There's not much room to keep supplies in their little gifted repurposed motel rooms, but Jamil has enough squirreled away to make a basic snack every so often without having to go all the way to the shared kitchen. And this way Kalim can stay put and not fall over and injure himself.
no subject
no subject
Unfortunately there's very little able to be stored without even a provided minifridge, so they'll have to resort to the age-old tradition of canned fish and crackers. Jamil gets as fancy with it as he's able, mostly out of something to do; the helpless anxiety of the aftermath reminds him of those times when Kalim recovering from poison was still a regular occurrence, before it became Jamil's problem, when all Jamil could think to do was just do his job without complaint for once, as if quieting his own negative energy would restore balance to the world faster.
Actually, maybe he goes a little overboard: he ends up with an impromptu snack platter, with basic hard crackers, tinned salmon and mackerel, efficiently-sliced hard cheese, and a few options of dried herbs spread out for Kalim to arrange as he likes. (And also Jamil, because voiding his stomach earlier has made him pretty hungry too, as it happens.)
no subject
Well! Now he knows! It's been a bit of an adjustment, the kind of food that's at their disposal here, even when they are actually using the kitchen. He's still getting used to it. All the same, watching Jamil go about preparing this little snack platter makes Kalim feel just as warm and cared-for as his proper cooking with decent ingredients always does. He knows it's just Jamil's job. But it's still worth admiring that he takes it so seriously.
"Thanks," he says, smiling up at Jamil as he takes a cracker. "Are you gonna have some too?"