"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.
It's something. And what more can he ask for? Nothing. Rhy moves closer and offers a light kiss to his friend. To the man he found beautiful and captivating.
"I am sorry the other does not have it still. But at the same time, I benefit, so part of me is thankful," he sighs, pulling Jibril close, kissing him lightly.
Jibril almost opens his mouth to say Samer did still have a part of his
heart. That he would probably always have despite everything. In the end,
Samer’s love for him had made him do the right thing it just hadn’t
mattered.
Instead of saying anything he pushed away at the grief he tries to ignore
most of the time and kisses Rhy. The prince wouldn’t want to hear him mourn
a lost boy.
No, he would. Rhy pulls back from the kiss and looks at the man, his attention instead on the guy's face. There is definitely something going on. Interesting.
"Tell me about this man you loved. If you loved him, I love him."
Jibril looked down, his brow furrowing and there’s hesitance.
“His name was Samer and we were from the same place in Syria. We were best
friends and when my mother died... he was all I had left,” Jibril smiles a
little. Samer who made sure he was okay, who helped him learn how to
survive with no home.
“We would lay together, even in the desert. He would read the little prince
to me, using a feather as a book mark. He read it so much,” he murmurs.
“The last time, when our hands touched, I tried to kiss him and he reminded
me his father expected him to have a wife and children... he was a dutiful
son.”
Jibril frowns. “He was so serious... but he followed me when I wanted to
follow Al-Masih. He stayed with me for so long as he were starving in the
desert but...”
he hesitated and then shakes his head. “Then a man came and recruited him
to a man he said would train him to be a good Muslim. He didn’t say
goodbye. He took the book and left the feather while I slept. I thought I’d
never see him again. Rhy. I wish sometimes that I hadn’t.”
The next part is the most difficult. “After I was taken into Isreal, some
Imams saw me as a promise and some saw me as ... something bad,” he
whispers. “An Imam made me memorize a speech because I wasn’t able to read
and I was about to give it... the mosque was full and in walked a man in a
vest. I saw him, his face. It was Samer. I stared at him. He was so
scared... I think he hasn’t wanted to be there. All I could say to him was
God is the greatest. it only took a second once he saw me but he
dropped the button. He wasn’t going to...”
Jibril trails off, sure Rhy could understand.
“But there was someone with a remote...” Jibril’s face contorted with the
memory of what he’d seen. “Almost everyone died. I should have died.”
That would explain some of Jibril’s scars. “Those groups... they prey on
young boys in poverty...ones without choices and they don’t know what it is
they are being given to.”
Jibril all but curls into Rhy but takes some strength and comfort from Rhy's arm. Jibril wonders if that's true. The marks on his body, he's never asked. Some stories should only be given freely, not requested after all.
"No. As soon as I could walk I ran away. I was surviving until you found me."
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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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"I hope to surprise you."
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"We'll see," he says and then looks at the wine again.
"Should I finish this?"
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"You are not the first boy to have my heart," he murmurs.
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For Rhy it's the salient detail.
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But he worries that Rhy too will end up dead, a pawn in someone else's game. He is a prince after all.
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Jibril almost opens his mouth to say Samer did still have a part of his heart. That he would probably always have despite everything. In the end, Samer’s love for him had made him do the right thing it just hadn’t mattered.
Instead of saying anything he pushed away at the grief he tries to ignore most of the time and kisses Rhy. The prince wouldn’t want to hear him mourn a lost boy.
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"Tell me about this man you loved. If you loved him, I love him."
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Jibril looked down, his brow furrowing and there’s hesitance.
“His name was Samer and we were from the same place in Syria. We were best friends and when my mother died... he was all I had left,” Jibril smiles a little. Samer who made sure he was okay, who helped him learn how to survive with no home.
“We would lay together, even in the desert. He would read the little prince to me, using a feather as a book mark. He read it so much,” he murmurs. “The last time, when our hands touched, I tried to kiss him and he reminded me his father expected him to have a wife and children... he was a dutiful son.”
Jibril frowns. “He was so serious... but he followed me when I wanted to follow Al-Masih. He stayed with me for so long as he were starving in the desert but...”
he hesitated and then shakes his head. “Then a man came and recruited him to a man he said would train him to be a good Muslim. He didn’t say goodbye. He took the book and left the feather while I slept. I thought I’d never see him again. Rhy. I wish sometimes that I hadn’t.”
The next part is the most difficult. “After I was taken into Isreal, some Imams saw me as a promise and some saw me as ... something bad,” he whispers. “An Imam made me memorize a speech because I wasn’t able to read and I was about to give it... the mosque was full and in walked a man in a vest. I saw him, his face. It was Samer. I stared at him. He was so scared... I think he hasn’t wanted to be there. All I could say to him was God is the greatest. it only took a second once he saw me but he dropped the button. He wasn’t going to...”
Jibril trails off, sure Rhy could understand.
“But there was someone with a remote...” Jibril’s face contorted with the memory of what he’d seen. “Almost everyone died. I should have died.”
That would explain some of Jibril’s scars. “Those groups... they prey on young boys in poverty...ones without choices and they don’t know what it is they are being given to.”
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"Oh my love, my darling. So great is the weight of your suffering. I am so sorry. Never have a known a pain like yours."
Says the man with horrid scars over his heart and the silvery-white mark of the magic burned into his body.
"I am so sorry. Have you had the chance to grieve for him?"
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"No. As soon as I could walk I ran away. I was surviving until you found me."
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cool to close?