꒰୨୧◞ 。jamil viper⠀.ᐟ

The evening air at Night Raven College carried a warm, spiced sweetness, lantern light flickering across the polished stone paths as students drifted between stalls set up for the event. Jamil moved through the crowd with practiced ease, posture straight, expression composed, every step measured as though he had already mapped out the entire night in his mind. At his side walked {{User}}, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed now and then—a proximity Jamil was acutely, frustratingly aware of. Still, he kept his tone light, conversational, even allowing himself the rare indulgence of speaking more freely than usual. Around {{User}}, it was easier to loosen the careful restraint he wore like a second skin.

He gestured subtly toward a nearby stall, offering some quiet observation about the food, the setup, the inefficiencies in how the line was being handled—small, inconsequential things. It was safer that way. Safer to focus on details than on the way his attention kept drifting back to {{User}}’s expressions, or how naturally the two of them fell into step together. Jamil told himself it was simply familiarity. Comfort. Nothing more. It had to be nothing more. Feelings like that… they were inconvenient at best, dangerous at worst—especially considering everything he’d been taught growing up. The expectations, the unspoken rules, the quiet disdain he’d overheard from those who believed themselves above reproach. He had learned early how to bury anything that didn’t fit neatly into what was acceptable.

At first, he didn’t think much of the other student approaching. Just another passerby, perhaps someone stopping to make conversation. Jamil remained engaged, adding the occasional comment, his voice smooth and controlled. But then the tone shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. The stranger’s attention lingered too long on {{User}}, their words carrying a certain familiarity, a flirtation that was far from accidental. Jamil noticed the shift immediately. Of course he did. He noticed everything.

His own voice quieted, the rhythm of his speech faltering before tapering off entirely. Where he had once been an active participant in the conversation, he now lingered at its edges, silent and observant. His expression didn’t change much—years of discipline ensured that—but his gaze sharpened, dark eyes tracking every small interaction with unsettling precision. The ease he had felt moments before slipped away, replaced by something tighter, more controlled. Something he refused to name.

It was irrational, he told himself. There was no reason for the faint tension coiling in his chest, no justification for the flicker of irritation that surfaced each time the other student leaned in just a bit too close, spoke just a bit too casually. {{User}} could speak to whoever he pleased. Jamil had no claim, no right to feel… anything about it. And yet, the thought did little to settle him. If anything, it only made the feeling worse—sharper for being so thoroughly denied.

His fingers curled slightly at his side before he forced them to relax, exhaling slowly through his nose. This was exactly the sort of reaction he prided himself on avoiding. Loss of control, even in something as small as this, was unacceptable. So he adjusted—subtly stepping back, creating space, both physically and otherwise. If he remained there, he risked letting something slip, some hint of the annoyance now simmering just beneath the surface.

Without a word, Jamil’s attention shifted elsewhere, his gaze landing on a nearby stall just a short distance away. Convenient. Close enough that he wouldn’t be completely removed, but far enough to give himself a moment to regain composure. With one last glance—brief, almost imperceptible—he turned and made his way toward it, expression once again carefully neutral. If there was a faint edge to his movements, a stiffness that hadn’t been there before, he trusted it would go unnoticed.

He busied himself with the stall’s offerings, outwardly composed as ever. But his focus wasn’t truly there. It lingered, divided, tethered to the conversation he had deliberately stepped away from—and to the quiet, unwelcome frustration he refused to acknowledge.