Work Text:
Jamil had known from the very first moment that Azul was odd, even before he grew to know the other boy, and began to understand the ins-and-outs of all his smaller quirks, Jamil knew keenly that Azul was strange. It was a part of his charm, disgustingly saccharine as that was, even Jamil had to admit it.
And for the most part, Azul’s oddness was entertaining. Sometimes troublesome, but it was endearing enough that very often Jamil found himself giving the troubles as much as he could. But there had to be a breaking point, and this might be it, “Azul, you quite literally run a restaurant.”
Azul turned away from the box-ridden shelf to give him an incredulous look, “This is entirely different from the Lounge, Jamil.”
Jamil rolled his eyes, plucking one of the small boxes from the shelf, “It’s instant macaroni, love, not exactly a fine dining experience.”
“Hence why it’s different from the Lounge,” Azul huffed, snapping the box out of Jamil’s hand, “And I’ll have you know this is one of the worst rated brands, love.”
A terrible and extremely funny realisation dawned upon Jamil, he turned fully to Azul, a barely contained grin plastered on his face, the other boy was contemplating between two near-identical boxes of cheesy pasta, “Azul.”
The boy jumped, turning toward Jamil, his glasses glinting in the store light, “Yes, Jamil? Why do you—”
“Azul, did you do research for our little excursion today?”
Azul stammered, suddenly very occupied with the canned soups on the other side of the aisle, “I only did what was necessary.”
“Nessacary…?” Jamil began to laugh, clutching at his stomach slightly, Azul gave him a sheepish sort of smile, “Azul, light of my life, it’s Mac ‘n Cheese,” he snickered, covering his mouth with his fist, “What research could you possibly be necessary?”
“It’s my first time trying it,” Azul huffed again, placing one of the boxes tentatively back on the shelf, “I wanted to ensure it was enjoyable for us both.”
“It’s instant, love, it all tastes the same,” To his subconscious horror, Jamil giggled, “It all pretty much tastes the same.”
Azul scoffed, “Shroud would tell you that’s a farce, and they’re all quite distinct.”
Jamil sighed, a dumb smile still fixed on his face, “I wouldn’t take Shroud’s advice on anything culinary.”
“How much milk?” Azul studied the box, “Seems like an awful lot of dairy, no?”
Jamil, for probably the millionth time that night, rolled his eyes, “It’s macaroni and cheese, Azul. I believe the whole point of it is dairy,” Jamil watched as Azul measured it out, his heart giving a begrudging flutter at how concentrated he looked, “Do you want help of any sort?”
Azul smiled an easy, almost content smile, “I’m completely alright no need to fret over me, though it’s very much appreciated, love.”
Jamil settled onto the couch, unused to the feeling of being relaxed, in an element that almost seemed to belong to him (he might’ve been busy with something or other, but Kalim had caught wind of he and Azul’s plans and insisted upon doing chores himself, “I’m sure I can handle it, Jamil! You go and have fun!” Jamil had gone over everything about fifteen-hundred times before he’d felt it safe enough to leave Scarabia.)
“Ah, it’s ready,” Azul said, retrieving bowls from one of the pale blue cabinets lining the walls, they looked strikingly similar to seaglass, Azul scooped some pasta into each of the bowls, proudly presenting both the bowl and a silver spoon to Jamil, “For you, my good sir.”
Again, Jamil rolled his eyes, but this time it was fondly, “Thank you, Azul.”
This was absurd, some the Sorcerer himself must’ve been looking upon Jamil, whether or not it was fond he couldn’t say, but watching Azul’s face light up when he took a bite was an almost stupid, lovely sight. Jamil’s traitor heart fluttered at the sight, and he didn’t even have the will to be angry.
“Your thoughts?” Jamil placed his newly cleaned bowl back into the cabinet, “Your research paid off, it was actually quite good.”
“Hm, it did pay off, I suppose,” Azul looked almost too proud of himself, and Jamil decided that he would let him have it just this once, “I enjoyed it,” he gave Jamil a meaningful look, “I’m glad you enjoyed it as well.”
They spent the rest of the evening doing much of nothing, Azul chatted about Board Games Club and Jamil made small talk of how basketball had been going. It was oddly nice to talk about nothing important, to sit on the couch with Azul watching a show neither of them quite cared about and just being.
Much to his great dismay and boundless joy, Jamil got to spend time watching Azul without fully admiring, he just got to look. To have somebody and somewhere he felt he belonged. He didn’t have any odes to Azul, he didn’t have a grand declaration like Hunt might—-simply put, Jamil felt safe, if not endlessly annoyed.
But, if this feeling of warmth, of comfort, and of being came with only slightly infuriating trips to the grocery store, or a unique sort of strangeness, Jamil didn’t find he minded all that much.