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Jamil could feel, without looking, the smug smile radiating from beside him.
"Not a word," he snapped. "Not a single one."
He was out here, away from campus, to be alone, damn it, not to deal with the gloating of a smug know-it-all prince.
"Look," Leona said anyways, ignoring Jamil's words, "I don't wanna say it, but…"
"Who do you think you're fooling?" Jamil grumbled sullenly, but Leona powered on as though he hadn't heard him.
"I fuckin' told you so."
Jamil groaned into his hands. The sunset was not a sight beautiful or peaceful enough to get him to deal with this. He was leaving. He was going back to school, going back to the unsubtle glares and whispers and pointing fingers, the sharp cut of a sudden hush that told you exactly what- exactly who- the abandoned conversation had been about, the narrowed eyes and barely disguised contempt, how could he, how could he, that ungrateful little snake-
Perhaps Jamil was being a bit hasty in leaving.
Jamil's response was a non-committal, "Mm." He sighed, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Well. I didn't kill him."
Leona raised an eyebrow, something bemused tugging at his lips. "Regrettin' a missed opportunity?"
"You're insufferable," Jamil informed him drily, casting him a side-long glance from the corner of his eye. Leona had stretched his arms far above his head, back arching nearly obscenely against the plain wood of the bench. His unevenly cut shirt had ridden up further to expose the soft skin of his stomach, the rise of his hip, and Jamil looked away. "Has anyone told you that recently?"
"All the time," Leona said as though it were something to be proud of. "It's part of the charm."
Jamil scoffed. "What charm?"
"Ouch." There was the soft rustle of cloth as Leona rearranged himself, his elbow on his knee so he could look up at Jamil. Jamil refused to meet his eyes. "So. You gonna try killin' him again?"
Jamil briefly debated the merits of regicide. It would be a political nightmare, and some distant part of Jamil was afraid Leona would, in his final moments, laugh at him and grit out one last bloody I told you so. Jamil didn't think he could bear it. "I never tried to kill him."
"Shame," Leona said conversationally. "Woulda been more interestin'."
Jamil huffed, arms crossed over his chest. "You know, considering your little tantrum with Malleus, I'd say you're hardly in a position to judge."
"It wasn't a tantrum," Leona protested, and he sounded genuinely offended that Jamil found himself smiling, which only annoyed Leona further. "It wasn't." Leona leaned in further so Jamil had no choice but to look at him. "'Sides, I'm not judging. Who wouldn't want that brat dead?"
Jamil could think of a few people. He elected not to name anyone. "What are you even doing out here? This seems a way out from Savanaclaw."
Leona shrugged, the motion a slow fluid roll of his shoulders, languid. Jamil did not stare. "Can't a guy come out to look at the sunset every once in a while?"
It was now Jamil's turn to raise an eyebrow at Leona. "When that guy is you, no."
"Rude," Leona said mildly, sighing exaggeratedly, bracing his palms on his knees, making to stand up. "Well, since I'm so unwanted here, I guess I'll just-"
"No."
Leona paused mid-stretch. "No?"
"Don't-" Jamil thought about cutting his tongue out, biting it off so his next words wouldn't make it past his lips- "leave. Stay." Jamil's teeth bit into the thick flesh of his tongue, tiny sparks of pain blistering beneath the crowns. His mouth tasted of iron. He closed his eyes. "Please."
Leona relaxed back into the bench, legs spread unreasonably wide, head lolling back, rolling around to look at Jamil. His eyes were, for once, free of mockery. "Eh. Don't got nothin' better to do anyways. Sure."
Jamil never brought it up again, that one evening of uncharacteristic emotional vulnerability. To his relief, neither did Leona. In fact, it was as though that evening had never happened at all, no hint of it, nothing passing between them in the short glances they traded passing by each other in the corridors, the halls, not a word between them, not even when Leona spotted Jamil at the sides during Spelldrive practice, not a breath of acknowledgement when Jamil caught Leona lounging by during basketball practice.
Jamil never brought it up again, but the next Saturday, he was there again, on that bench, in front of that beach, watching the sea swallow the sun, and he made no pretence of surprise when Leona collapsed onto the bench beside him.
"Still not killed the Asim kid?"
"Give it a rest," Jamil said, the annoyance in his voice only slightly manufactured. "I told you. I've never had plans of killing him."
"Sure, Viper. Keep tellin' yerself that."
Jamil shook his head, exasperated. He was only lying anyways. To say he had never thought about handling Kalim in a slightly more permanent manner than legally approved of had crossed his mind on occasion, particularly when he screeched another call of joy or announced another impromptu feast or when he beamed so bright he blinded Jamil or when- it didn't really matter how often. What mattered was that Jamil had never truly acted upon it. "I saw you," he said suddenly. "During basketball practice."
"Huh," Leona replied, his tone giving nothing away. "Funny, that." His head tipped back, the rise and dip of his throat stark, skin glistening in the lingering rays of sunlight, lashes catching on it. His eyes rolled up as though he were trying his hardest to remember something from the distant past. Jamil resisted the urge to scoff. Drama queen. "I seem to remember seein' you around during Spelldrive. You new to the club or somethin'?"
Jamil's lips twitched. "Or something," he agreed. Leona's shirt had ridden up again.
Leona barked out a rasp of a laugh. "Y'know, I'd prob'ly pay to see you in the uniform. The Spelldrive one, I mean."
Jamil- did not really know how to respond to that. Leona's expression, rather unhelpfully, gave him no clues. "Hard pass," he settled on. "Too tight. Maybe you should try on our jersey instead."
"You'd look good in it," Leona muttered absently, and it took Jamil a too-warm moment to realise he was probably still talking about the Spelldrive uniform. He shot Jamil a lazy grin. "Wouldn't be too tight if you wore mine."
Jamil definitely did not know how to respond to that. Slowly, he was starting to become aware that it was probably actually too warm to be wearing a hoodie. A bit too warm. Quite a bit too warm. "Likely not," he agreed carefully. "My jersey would be too small for you, though."
Leona's grin widened, turned sharper at the edges. "Aw. We sharing clothes now? Cute."
Jamil felt his back mould back into the bench, breath leaving him in a slow- relieved- sigh. "You're impossible," he said, ignoring the heat of Leona's arm against the back of his neck. Leona had practically draped himself across the entirety of the bench, the long-limbed motherfucker.
"Sure," Leona said easily, shifting so he was staring unabashedly at Jamil's side-profile. "You're lookin' a bit warm," he noted, something almost maliciously gleeful in the tone of his voice.
Dear Seven, Jamil was going to murder him. "I swear, Leona-"
"Take the hoodie off?"
"-I will kill you."
"There he is."
Sometimes, rituals, lasting ones, habits, form in the blink of an eye, one moment nothing, another moment a fact of life set into stone.
"You do tempt me, sometimes," Jamil said musingly, like an admission, and he felt Leona's gaze on him, sharp, "towards regicide."
Leona laughed unabashedly, and a not-so-thin line of skin peeked out from under his shirt, and his throat was inclined all the way back, and the sun painted him golden, burnished, dark hair glinting, and his laugh was, Jamil noted dizzyingly, for once, genuine.
Jamil blinked.