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"You keep staring at me," Cassim feels the words stick in the air, weighted with implication he refuses to let himself think about, and Alibaba keeps walking. He grits his teeth as he watches the tense shift of Alibaba's shoulders, wants to reach out and dig his nails into the blond's shoulder and demand his attention, to punch the pretty curve of Alibaba's jaw and fall back into routines he knows; routines he promised to unlearn during their first days in Sindria. "Don't ignore me," he says instead, sharp and bitter, close enough to the hard tone he'd used back in Balbadd that he sees Alibaba flinch. He breathes an apology, "I didn't want to sound like that," and clenches his fists, digs his nails into the heel of his palm and stops walking.
"You're trying," Alibaba says after a moment, voice sweeter than Cassim expects. He pauses in his steps. Cassim can picture the blond's frown. "I know it was never... easy for us."
He wants to argue; to say there were times when there wasn't always a gaping chasm between them, but there's always been the impression of fault lines. Cassim looks away.
He still has nightmares about Alibaba's sword at his throat, of blood in his mouth, and the dark clutch the black Ruhk had wrapped so tightly around his heart--how willing he had been to kill Alibaba. "We don't have to travel together," the mere thought leaves him hollow; he can hear Alibaba shifting to face him. "If you don't want me to be here, I'll leave." Cassim stares resolutely at the gnarled roots of a tree, at the knots and dirt that have been turned up around them and thinks about Alibaba's friends--the ones who have proved themselves worthy of standing with him. He falls flat in every way possible compared to their accomplishments. "I would understand."
"That's not what I want."
Cassim startles at Alibaba's touch, at the warmth of the younger teen's calloused fingertips, and narrows his eyes, ready to tell Alibaba why it would be best for them to part ways now rather than later. "Cassim." His breath lodges painfully in his throat. Alibaba's eyes are red, already bright with tears, but the other boy's voice is steady when he says, quietly, "I want you with me."
He doesn't question when Alibaba touches his face or when the blond rests his forehead against Cassim's shoulder. The contact, so slight, but so much more than they're used to is soft and comforting in a way Cassim finds himself too afraid to think on. Cassim returns the touch easily, almost automatically. He holds the other teen in a one-armed embrace that, not long ago, would have felt too intimate. He curls the fingers of his other hand in Alibaba's hair and presses his lips to the curve of the younger teen's skull.
"Then you'll have me," Cassim whispers, half hoping and half afraid his words will go unheard; but he knows he doesn't imagine the tentative way Alibaba leans further into his touch or the heavy sigh he feels shudder through the blond. So, he closes his eyes, leaves the ghost of a kiss pressed against Alibaba's hair, and promises, "I won't leave you."