"We didn't really drink," he knew his mother would have never approved of it. He smiles a little, there's sadness when he thinks of his parents because it reminds him of everything he had lost.
"Is it wrong for there to be someone to do so now?" Rhy asks, reaching out to card his fingers through Jibril's hair. "I want to see you happy and content, my dear. To see you reach for whatever heights you desire."
Jibril’s brow is still furrowed as the others arms take hold of him. The
wine is just enough to loosen his tongue.
“You don’t know that. You’re a prince... I’m nothing. And anything could
happen to anyone,” he tries not to let emotions get the better of him,
grief for his mother, for Samer... a seed of resentment for Al Masih, his
deceit. On most days he forgave but there were times where he blamed Al
Masih for Samer’s death. If he had never followed him then Samer would have
never been recruited by such a terrible man. Surely they would have both
died in Syria but they would have died free.
It’s all there and keeping his composure is difficult. “I’m sorry.”
Their interactions are always light, happy things or at least a sort of
banter. This is something entirely different.
Perhaps different, but very honest. Rhy listens, silent and understanding. And when Jibril is done, he leans in and kisses him, slow and gentle. This, this was his promise. He would not leave his dove. Perhaps what was between them might change, but his side would always have a place for his friend.
Jibril didn't expect the kiss but he doesn't pull away. He kisses back after a few seconds. His heart was still aching in his chest but that would go away in due time.
"You can't promise you always will," Jibril says softly. And it's hard for him to try and trust it, it'd hurt more if they were parted one way or another.
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"Okay."
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"Allow me to free you of hte burden of intoxication if you are uncertain."
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“I chose to drink it.”
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"I will ensure you are not too foolish, dear."
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"Enjoy it then, my dear."
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“My mother would have been very upset with me for this,” he murmurs.
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Because he had spent much time and more carousing with and without his brother over the years.
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"If nothing else, I know how to gauge the intake of an inexperienced youth. I shall take care of you, my sweetling."
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"You are always taking care of me now."
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Jibril swallows at that, blushing and he lifts a shoulder. He still doesn’t know how to handle it. Rhy’s affections and attention.
“It’s been a while since there was anyone to do so.”
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"I will no nowhere, my little dove."
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Jibril’s brow is still furrowed as the others arms take hold of him. The wine is just enough to loosen his tongue.
“You don’t know that. You’re a prince... I’m nothing. And anything could happen to anyone,” he tries not to let emotions get the better of him, grief for his mother, for Samer... a seed of resentment for Al Masih, his deceit. On most days he forgave but there were times where he blamed Al Masih for Samer’s death. If he had never followed him then Samer would have never been recruited by such a terrible man. Surely they would have both died in Syria but they would have died free.
It’s all there and keeping his composure is difficult. “I’m sorry.”
Their interactions are always light, happy things or at least a sort of banter. This is something entirely different.
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"I stand with you, my dove."
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"Tell me that next year. And the year after. And the one after that."
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cool to close?