Chapter Text
The day Jamil turns eighteen is relatively uneventful. The sun rises, he attends to Kalim's breakfast and clothes and receives a present from Kalim. It's their third year and they no longer share a room and Kalim has been untangling himself from Jamil as much as he can. He still fumbles with some things like his make up or on the occasion he wears clothes with a complicated tie or sash. He still needs tutoring and Jamil still cooks all of Kalim's meals — but they've been working on it. He goes to class. Does his homework. Has dinner — he cooks for dinner because he wants to, despite Kalim's several reassurances that he doesn't have to — and settles in for some quiet time in his room.
It is nice, he thinks, to have an uneventful birthday. Maybe it's odd to find the day being entirely mundane to be nice but after years of Kalim trying to throw a party and NRC's own traditions Jamil is glad to have time to himself. For himself. None of those traditions had ever truly been about celebrating him, but rather NRC's history. And the parties Kalim tried to throw often came at the cost of Jamil having to intervene or clean up after them.
At ten o'clock p.m. the 'uneventful' part of his birthday is unceremoniously picked up and kicked out the window by one Floyd Leech who bursts into Jamil's room.
"Sea Snaaaaake, it's time to celebrate!" The Octavinelle student strides in, does a half-turn and slings an arm over Jamil's shoulders so quickly he has little time to react (and has to blame Floyd's stupidly long legs for how fast the eel can move from the door to Jamil).
"Floyd!?" Jamil puts the palm of his hand against Floyd's cheek and pushes. He knows from countless, countless experiences that he can push fairly hard and it won't hurt Floyd at all. So he shoves. As usual Floyd is shifted by Jamil's push but much like a large cat or slinky he doesn't go very far, just ends up chest to chest with Jamil arms thrown over Jamil's shoulders and peering up at him. It puts Floyd at an awkward bend which is not helped when Floyd rocks onto his heels forcing Jamil to lean back lest Floyd makes them both tumble over.
"Ah. . .? Aha?" Floyd asks grinning toothily. "I've got just the thing for you to do!"
"Oh? And what's that?" Jamil holds his ground trying to look as unaffected as possible. But it's almost impossible to. Every little part of Floyd's speech, his movement, the way his eyes lazily roam over Jamil like both a giddy kid and a predator get under his skin.
"A tattoo!" Floyd cheers.
Jamil does not drop them both to the floor but he takes a step back and yanks on Floyd's arm to try and make him stand up straight. "What? No." Of course the hesitation between his protest and when he actually says it belies his interest. He is fairly certain he's never told Floyd (or Jade or Azul) anything about wanting a tattoo. He is not sure he's ever said it out loud to anyone. But it was something his friend in middle school had been excited about — when we're eighteen we'll be adults! We can buy cigarettes and porn and dye our hair and get tattoos!
Over the years Jamil has decided cigarettes aren't really worth it. Porn is also not really worth it. Maybe he'll dye his hair sometime but just thinking of how his mother would react much less the Asims made him sweat. But tattoos. . . a permanent mark on his body. Something that he chose and would be his forever. Proof he owned his own body and they were fairly easy to hide. Jamil had done quite a lot of reading up on them when daydreaming of it before but. . . why did Floyd know?
"Why not?"
"I'm not letting some random person draw on me."
Floyd sighs and extracts himself from Jamil, standing up straight. Then he starts taking off his shirt — it is then that Jamil realizes Floyd is dressed casually, not in his dorm uniform even if the lilac shirt is almost Octavinelle purple the faint swirl embroidery and lack of jacket says otherwise.
"— what are you doing!?" Jamil throws his hands up in shock.
"Easy there, Sea Snake." Floyd turns around so his bare back is to Jamil. There's several tattoos on Floyd's skin — one is the skeleton of an eel going down his spine, the head between his shoulderblades and another is an octopus clinging to his left shoulder. Both are in blacks, greys and whites though there is one tentacle of the octopus has its suckers lined in gold, just as the eel has a few gold teeth. "Just showin' you my ink! Really reliable guy I know, great work, am I right?" Floyd sways side to side lightly, antsy on his feet but awaiting what he assumes will be Jamil's inevitable praise.
Jamil has to admit the ink looks good. There's something very compelling about Floyd's tattoos. The work is clean and precise.
"I said I'm not interested."
"Aw, c'monnnn." Floyd slides his shirt back on and buttons exactly two lower buttons before giving up. "Besides, if you don't even think about it what am I gonna get you for your birthday?"
"You don't have to get me anything."
"Nuh-uh. It's your eighteenth!" Floyd wheedles. He faces Jamil again and slouches. "I'll tell Sea Otter you're sad on your birthdaaay."
"Don't you dare." Jamil snaps realizing too late he's played right into Floyd's hands.
"Aha~ sounds like you want me to go talk to him right now."
"Fine. Fine. I'll at least meet your guy." Jamil huffs.
Floyd grabs Jamil's hand and tugs him out of his dorm room quickly. He doesn't let go of Jamil's hand — or slow down his pace — until they're at the edge of campus. There's a Magic Wheel shoved in a bush haphazardly covered with branches that Floyd starts to uncover.
"Guppy taught me to drive these last year, really fun." Floyd yanks the Magic Wheel upright and slides onto the seat. "Room for you behind me or in front." Jamil weighs his options.
1 — just turn around and go back to his room.
2 — sit behind Floyd and find out how much Epel 'taught' Floyd and possibly be thrown off the back.
3 — sit in front of Floyd and at least be able to brace himself between Floyd and the front dash of the Magic Wheel.
"Scoot back." Jamil crosses his arms defensively as Floyd's grin goes from pleased to positively manic. With his long legs it's easy to just make room on the seat in front of him. Floyd pats it with one hand, the other on the handlebars of the Wheel. He revs the engine once, impatient. Jamil climbs on and tries to not tense too much as Floyd presses closer to him and properly starts the Magic Wheel.
They're five minutes away from campus when Jamil has a horrible realization. "Floyd." He says. "You're not eighteen yet."
"Nope~" Floyd gleefully says. His voice is strangely quiet, his reply directly in Jamil's ear. Despite the chill night air and Jamil's lack of sleeves since he's still in his dorm uniform, it's warm on the Magic Wheel since the low windshield catches the worst of the wind and Floyd's much taller frame almost curls over Jamil.
"You have tattoos." Jamil is scandalized. Floyd just laughs and the Magic Wheel goes faster.
As expected the guy Floyd knows looks like a contract killer. But his parlor is clean and his tattoo supplies are immaculate. The books full of samples appeal to Jamil and he has to once again admit that Floyd knew exactly what he was talking about. Jamil sits awkwardly on a leather couch looking through the books for ideas while Floyd sits on a stool, feet kicking back and forth, chatting with the tattoo artist, Lophius. It must be taking Jamil too long because Floyd seems to suddenly be beside him. And by beside him Floyd has sprawled out on the couch, his head practically in Jamil's lap, feet dangling over the couch arm.
"You're thinking too hard, Sea Snake."
"It's a tattoo, it's going to be on me forever."
"Ehhhh, you can always get coverups." Floyd shrugs.
"I'm not going to make the wrong choice for my first tattoo."
"Ok here's the deal. There isn't a wrong choice, you know?" Floyd deftly finds the cover of the book Jamil is flipping through and tugs, reclaiming the book and shutting it before tossing it aside. "It's just a tattoo, for fun. To celebrate. To celebrate you. Don't get so in your own head, just do what feels right." At the 'you' Floyd jabs at Jamil's face, his finger hovering uncomfortably close to Jamil's eye before he flicks Jamil's nose and drops his hand. Jamil looks down at Floyd's mismatched eyes and lazy grin. And watches it go from pleased to sour as Floyd sighs and mutters something about being bored.
Jamil takes a breath in and then stands up. He walks over to Lophius. "I know what I want." He bites back the 'I think.' Behind him Floyd makes a happy sound that sounds like a cheer.
The tattoo hurts. It hurts a lot. Lophius had told him it would be very painful on the sole of his foot but Jamil is certain that's one of the safest places to hide a tattoo. He has to ask for a break partway through. Floyd is surprisingly focused on Jamil during it even though he makes fun of Jamil for crying (Jamil is certain he did not cry, his eyes just watered a little!) during it he doesn't wander off once. But it's worth it when Lophius holds up a mirror to the bottom of his foot and he sees clearly the design — an ornate arrow piercing the phases of the moon.