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There are a few things Jamil regrets in life: dancing where cameras could see him, not training more to bear the sight of bugs, not accounting for the presence of the Octavinelle trio during winter break, acting average for so long… The list could go on.
Giving in to Azul's courting is not one of those.
It hadn't fully registered as such at first. Love was the last thing on his mind, especially after such a crushing defeat against the one he had hated most of his life. They had all witnessed his downfall, pointed at him and played him until there was nothing but a puddle of blot on the ground. If it hadn't been for Azul putting his nose into other people's business, he would have succeeded. He should have succeeded.
He was the last person he wanted to meet after the event (save for Kalim who he could desperately not escape).
And yet, persistent pestering, small gestures, and — most of all — a common understanding, slowly chipped away at the fortress Jamil had built around himself. And one thing octopuses were good at, Jamil learned at his expense, was slipping through the tiniest of cracks.
Not that he had seen Azul's eight-legged form to confirm. Yet .
It's Friday night when he finds himself walking through the halls of Octavinelle, shell-like lamps emanating a faint purple-ish light to guide him through the tunnel-like maze of corridors. He knows where he needs to go, roughly . Azul had been quiet, unnaturally shy as he drew a map to the pools — only merstudents were usually allowed there, but there were steps to take in one's relationship that could occasion an outsider to visit. Azul wanted to be more open. Jamil was… curious. Simply and devotedly curious, to the point he had surprised even himself.
Azul had seen the good, the bad, the ugly. The most ugly of all — the truth . It was only fair they be on equal footing if they wished to advance in whatever comes after a brief but passionate (out of nowhere, unexpected, surprising, foolishly tender, hot, sweet, cold, too short) first kiss.
When he finally reaches his destination, Jamil hesitates at the door. He was the one to request (suggest, one would correct) that step forward. He was the one that asked (barely mentioned, would be more appropriate) for a shift in their power imbalance. He realizes now opening the door would be confirming (approving) their new level of closeness. He could leave now, leave Azul behind, go back to his routine. Be average again. Be nobody again. Be second. Be no one. Hide, hide, hide, until the loneliness among the crowd cradled him so strongly he drowned once more.
He'd rather risk drowning in the cold water of whatever lays on the other side of that room than go back, the thought hits him as his fingers press onto the handle and the door slides open.
The room he finds is just as badly lit as the dorm itself, if not more. One small shell-like lamp faintly shines in the darkness, illuminating a bench and the edge of the pool before darkness takes over. Courtesy of Azul — and a romantic attempt that completely passes by Jamil as he carefully steps into the room proper — are a few candles lit in each corner of the pool (a splash of water and they'd be out). Their light dances across the surface of the water, entirely still in the quiet of the space. At the forefront of his mind, Jamil tries to quiet down the alarms that ring and alert him of danger.
He approaches the bench, where he finds Azul's uniform finely folded: white dress shirt, black slacks, black double-breasted suit, gray coat, purple socks and bowtie, cooled-tone gray stole, his glasses… His shoes are sitting by the wall, carefully placed so no one would accidentally trip on them in the darkness of the room. His cane rests upright against the wall, owner nowhere in sight — he is weak, he is defenseless, he is open… he is trusting .
Jamil swallows: his thoughts, his fear, his deviousness, his pride. He turns his back to the pool and detaches the pin of his vest before letting it slide down to his hands. He folds it too, though less carefully, less properly, and puts it down on the bench.
He breathes in… And then goes his belt, his hoodie, his pants. He hurriedly gets out of his clothes, suddenly feeling too overdressed, too conscious of the feeling of fabric upon his skin. At some point, he hears the water ripples — the sound so faint anyone else would have missed it — and soon after, he feels curiosity and desire slide down his back, surveilling the curve of his hips, the strength of his calves, the bareness of his feet against the tiled ground. He feels doubt and anticipation glaring at him from behind when he forgoes his choker, armband and bangles. He hears an audible gasp when he unties his hair and a mess of hair and braids drapes his back.
Soon, there's nothing but a dark red swimsuit hiding him from the wandering eyes of the Octavinelle Housewarden.
He closes his eyes, takes a second, before he places his sandals next to Azul's and there's no going back.
He utters not a word, merely a hiss, when he finally breaches the surface of the cold pool (way colder than he had anticipated or would have wanted). He goes slow, a foot, two, his right leg, his left, then some more until the water reaches his waist and there are no more steps. Just the unsettling dark depths that he can't make out. Before he can decide to go for it, a voice ripples against the water.
"You can still go back," it's quiet but clear-cut, controlled .
Jamil stops, frowns, then steps forward. He falls, barely a few centimeters, before the water catches him and muscle memory kicks in. Something trashes below him, instinct first, then a sudden stop barely a touch away from Jamil. He can feel a presence but can't see it. He knows, though, as Azul's face dipped slightly, that the man tried to catch him too. It unnerves him that he can't make out any details, yet he knows that Azul is somehow much closer to him than the top of his head breaking the surface (a good four meters away) let on.
"I didn't bribe half your henchmen to take over my guard duty just to chicken out." He eventually replies as he finds his balance. "You can go back, though, if you so desire."
"You don't know what you're asking for, Jamil. The waters are my domain."
"Then show me, Azul ."
The merman frowns, barely perceptible. Already Jamil can tell something is different from his usual look: his eyes have horizontal, rectangle-shaped pupils and he stares, unblinking. His eyelids never fully close, as if unneeded in that form — a mere vestigial organ.
"You are a fool," Azul says between his teeth. Something cold (or wet?) brushes against Jamil's back underwater. "I could drown you here and there and you'd be powerless . Simply unable to pull yourself to the surface as life escaped you."
Slowly, an arm — no, a tentacle — wraps around his leg. It's cold again, frigid even, when he expected something warm, and sticky. Oh, so sticky. He feels suckers pull at his skin as they move around his leg, securing their vice grip on it. The tentacle stops short of the hem of his swimsuit, before he feels another one wraps around his arm, and another around his waist, and another around his shoulder… They move with ease against his skin, threateningly slow. A warning. Anticipation.
Jamil's stomach twists. It's not fear he is feeling. It's far more primal, even instinct would be too intellectual to describe it. Goosebumps, hair standing, pupils dilated, breathing quick. At this very moment, with Azul staring him down as if he is ready to kill his prey, Jamil thinks he is in love.
"It's like touching velvet," is what he ends up saying, dumbfounded at his realization.
"Great Seven," Azul sighs, entirely disheartened, somewhat upset, definitely blushing. He throws his (human) arms up into the air and lets himself sink for a moment before only his eyes peek back up from the water. When he speaks again, it comes out distorted and drowned out. "Can't I have this one thing? This is my moment."
The tentacles all simultaneously leave Jamil and in their brusk movements, the depths light up as bioluminescent corals detect movements. Yellow, blue, pink, green. The pool flashes in bright colors that suddenly illuminate what had hidden in the darkness below the surface.
Fear, excitement, terror, desire, surprise — Jamil feels it all at once. And then it's gone, leaving place to what he could only describe as bubbling curiosity ( fondness , if he was more self-aware). Azul's skin is an ashy gray from his face to his torso, before it transforms into a deep black that shines a midnight purple. His mantle is gargantuan, followed by eight massive tentacles (arms?) moving independently. They measure maybe six or seven meters, if not more, Jamil can't quite tell. To end it all, the silver-blue hair that had caught his eyes on his first day at NRC only stands out brighter among the flashy corals.
And again, despite his best effort not to , Jamil thinks he is in love. He would disappear right now at the mere thought if Azul hadn't been monologuing away his own embarrassment, dark blue blush fading away with time.
Jamil smirks. "You're beautiful," he says while sliding his fingers along a stray tentacle that had wandered too close. It immediately pulls away — as does the entirety of Azul and all he can see is horror, astonishment, shyness mixing in the merman's expression before he dives deep, deeper into the pool where Jamil couldn't possibly reach.
" LeAvE " he understands better than hears, as Azul disappears amongst the corals into what looks like a large pot (logically too small to accommodate someone of his size and yet not a single sucker is left out).
And with a last long look he wouldn't be able to explain (doesn't want to explain), Jamil swims back to the edge of the pool and eventually leaves for his own dorm without another word. They don't need any. Not now, at least.
Instead, he dreams of ten arms embracing him and a cold kiss — long enough, this time, it lingers onto his lips far into the next morning when he groggily decides he will make that one true.