Work Text:
🤎
By the time Jamil found him, the library table looked like a crime scene. Littered across it were long-forgotten textbooks, half-finished notes, three different pens with their caps nowhere to be found, and four different cups of coffee—all but one of which was empty.
And in the middle of the disaster sat his boyfriend, staring blankly at a page titled Introduction To Thaumic Stabilization like it had personally insulted him.
Jamil stopped beside the table. “. . . What happened here?”
Y/n looked up slowly. “I’m losing a war,” he responded sluggishly.
“With organization?” Jamil raised a brow, crossing his arms across his chest. Y/n shook his head, squishing his face against the palm of his hand. “With alchemy,” he clarified.
Jamil glanced over the papers scattered in every possible direction. “You haven’t even made it past the first chapter.” And the saddest part is that Y/n has had to be in the library for at least two hours by now.
“I read the same sentence fourteen times,” Y/n groaned, falling impossibly further into his hand.
Jamil leaned back against the table. “That seems excessive even for you.”
“I got distracted.”
Jamil looked at him pointedly, “By what?”
Y/n gestured vaguely, “Thoughts.” His response only got Jamil’s expression to harden. “That explains absolutely nothing.” he rolled his eyes.
Y/n waved his hand around, trying to form a coherent response before eventually saying, “There were a lot of them.”
Jamil sighed through his nose. Honestly, he should’ve left; he had his own responsibilities to deal with: Scarabia students to manage, Kalim causing chaos somewhere probably involving property damage. . .
Yet somehow he was standing in the library staring at the academic equivalent of a natural disaster because his ADHD-ridden boyfriend couldn’t focus for more than six consecutive minutes.
Y/n watched him carefully, “You’re doing the disappointed stare.”
“I’m evaluating the damage,” Jamil countered.
Y/n whined, “It’s emotionally damaging me back.”
Jamil gave him a look. “It’s called studying.” Y/n slumped further over the table, “I think the textbook is written with malicious intent.”
Jamil resisted the urge to wipe his hand down his face in exasperation. “It’s an introductory course.”
“Then why does every paragraph feel like a curse?” Y/n rumbled, fiddling with the pages of a textbook that probably hasn’t been studied in the last hour.
Jamil reached down and lifted one of the abandoned notes. The handwriting started neat for approximately two lines before deteriorating into random arrows, doodles, the phrase "Jamil is pretty" written three separate times, and what appeared to be an attempt to draw Jamil that somehow looked offended.
Jamil went still, and slowly he lifted the paper. “. . . Really?”
Y/n leaned forward to inspect the paper. He smiled, “Oh, I was wondering where that went.”
“You took notes for—what? Four minutes?—before getting distracted by my face,” Jamil deadpanned.
Y/n leaned back in his seat, “In my defense, your face is extremely distracting.”
Jamil forced down the heat rising to his face. “This is why you’re failing.” he changed the subject.
Y/n pursed his lips. “I prefer the term academically overwhelmed.” He started swiveling back and forth in his seat. No matter what, he could never sit still for more than a minute.
“You got a thirty-two on your last test.”
Y/n shot him two finger-guns, “Thirty-two is dangerously close to a fifty.”
Jamil stared at him, and Y/n responded to the expression with a hopeful smile. “. . . No?”
“No.”
A beat passed, then Y/n rested his chin in his hand and looked up at Jamil through half-lidded eyes. “You’re going to help me, though,” he grinned.
Jamil dropped the paper on top of Y/n’s head; it slid off and fell hopelessly on the table. “That’s manipulation,” he chastised.
“You love me.” Y/n wiggled his eyebrows. Jamil glared in return, but a small smile graced his face without meaning to. “That’s not a counterargument,” he said, trying to recover.
“It works surprisingly often.” Jamil hated how true that was. He rolled his eyes. “You have an exam tomorrow morning.”
“I’m aware.” Y/n nodded, now fiddling with the paper littered with drawings and random phrases from movies.
“And instead of studying, you’re drawing me in your notes.”
Y/n leaned back in his chair dramatically. “I was just thinking about my boyfriend,” he whined.
Jamil closed his eyes briefly. “Again, instead of studying, you were doing that.”
“You’re very hard to ignore,” Y/n reasoned.
“You say that like it’s my fault.”
“It absolutely is.” Jamil should not have felt warmth creep into his face from something as stupid as that. Unfortunately, his boyfriend possessed the unique ability to say ridiculous things with complete sincerity.
Y/n tilted his head, “. . . You’re blushing.”
“I am not,” Jamil immediately denied.
“You totally are.” Y/n grinned.
“The lights in here are tinted red.”
Y/n raised a brow, “You’ve used that excuse before.”
Jamil’s eyes strayed from Y/n’s, “Because it’s accurate.”
Y/n leaned toward him. “You’re cute when you’re defensive.” Jamil tensed, his face blooming a darker shade of red. He straightened, “I’m going to leave.”
“No, wait.” Y/n reached out and caught the edge of Jamil’s sleeve before he could turn away. The motion wasn’t possessive, but it was enough to stop him.
Jamil glanced down at the hand around his wrist, then back up. Y/n’s teasing expression softened.
“There’s too much going on in my head today,” he admitted quietly. “I’m trying, but I can’t make anything stick.” The honesty in his voice made something in Jami’s irritation loosen.
Annoying, very annoying, because now he couldn’t even stay frustrated properly. Y/n looked away with a sheepish smile, “I know I joke around a lot, but I really do want to pass.”
Jamil studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Pack your things.”
Y/n blinked, “. . . Huh?”
Jamil gestured to the messy table, “You clearly aren’t getting anything done here.”
“Wait,” hope lit up across Y/n’s face almost instantly, “Are you kidnapping me?”
Jamil’s eye twitched. “Don’t phrase it like that,” he reprimanded.
“You’re taking me back to Scarabaia to personally tutor me.” Y/n did as instructed.
“You say that like it’s a reward.”
Y/n looked him up and down. “It is if you’re there.”
Jamil ignored the sudden dangerous flip in his chest, lightly shoving at the side of Y/n’s face, “Move.”
Y/n grinned as he started gathering his things. “You’re such a good boyfriend,” he cooed.
Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are incredibly lucky I tolerate you.”
Y/n smirked, “You like me.”
“Debatable.”
Y/n paused in his cleaning to look at Jamil fully, his hands resting on his hips as he said, matter-of-factly, “You carried my favorite snacks in your bag last week.”
“. . . That proves nothing,” Jamil denied slowly.
Y/n pointed a finger at him, “You remembered my tea order.”
“That’s basic information; plenty of people probably know that.”
“You fixed my scarf when it was crooked.” Y/n really wasn’t going to let this up.
“You looked ridiculous,” Jamil recalled the event, ignoring how he didn’t actually find him ridiculous-looking—quite the opposite, really.
Y/n gasped dramatically, “You’re admitting you look at me?” He completely ignored the backhand insult.
Jamil suppressed a groan, “I’m regretting helping you already.”
Y/n went back to gathering his things. “You’d be sad if I failed.”
“Again, debatable.”
“You’d cry privately.”
Jamil rolled his eyes. “I would not.”
Y/n chuckled, “You’d stand dramatically on your balcony thinking about me.”
Jamil gave him a look. “My room doesn’t have any balconies.”
“You’d build one.” Jamil finally dragged a hand down his face.
By the Seven, Y/n could be exhausting.
🤎
Surprisingly, Scarabia was quieter by the time they returned. Warm lantern light flickered gold across silk drapery and low tables. The scent of incense drifted lazily through the room while distant music echoed faintly from somewhere deeper in the dorm.
Y/n immediately collapsed face-first onto Jamil’s bed. “I live here now,” he declared, his voice muffled by the soft sheets.
“You are sitting up in the next five seconds,” Jamil demanded.
“What if I perish instead?” Y/n asked, not moving.
“I’ll drag your corpse to the desk.”
Y/n snorted, “How romantic.”
Jamil set the books down harder than necessary. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet devastatingly charming.” Jamil really couldn’t take Y/n seriously when his face was lodged into his comforter. “Are you now?” he questioned.
Y/n rolled over onto his back, looking entirely too comfortable in Jamil’s room. Honestly, that was part of the problem; everything about this felt dangerously domestic: Y/n’s notes spread across Jamil’s desk, his shoes abandoned near the door, hell, even his voice filling the room so naturally that the silence felt wrong without it.
Jamil looked away. “Sit properly,” he insisted. Y/n grinned slowly, “Oho, you’re bossy tonight.”
Jamil glared at him, “I’m trying to salvage your grades.”
Y/n shifted again, lying sideways on the bed now. “You’re doing it very prettily, might I say.”
“That has nothing to do with studying.”
Y/n rested a hand under his head. “It has everything to do with why I can’t focus.”
Jamil inhaled slowly. “Desk. Now.” His tone was demanding, but Y/n knew better than to find intimidation in it. Still, he finally wandered over and dropped dramatically onto the cushions beside Jamil. Their knees bumped, but neither moved away.
Jamil opened the textbook. “Let’s establish something first,” he said, “you are not allowed to flirt your way out of studying.”
Y/n looked genuinely offended by that. “Why would you limit my strongest skill set?” he whined.
Jamil continued to flip through the course book. “Because it’s distracting,” he reasoned. A pause, then Y/n’s smile widened slowly. “. . . Oh?”
Jamil realized his mistake instantly; unfortunately, it was already too late. “You get distracted by me?” Y/n teased.
Jamil looked at him. “That is not what I said.”
Y/n shifted closer, “You said I’m distracting.”
“I said your behavior’s distracting.” Jamil resisted the urge to shove Y/n away, feeling a familiar warmth spread across his face.
Y/n leaned impossibly closer, “So you do think about me.”
Jamil furrowed his brows. “I’m literally dating you,” he defended.
“Yeah,” Y/n drawled, “but hearing you admit emotional attachment is still exciting.”
Jamil refused to acknowledge the heat rising into his face. “Here,” he said while shoving the opened textbook into Y/n’s lap.
“You’re blushing again,” Y/n taunted.
“I am not.”
“You totally are.”
“It’s warm in here.”
Y/n raised a brow, “You’ve used that excuse way too many times.”
Jamil, rather than answering, pointed aggressively at the text, “Read.” Y/n laughed softly before finally focusing on the textbook.
. . . For approximately three minutes.
Then: “What’s my reward if I answer questions correctly?”
“Academic improvement,” Jamil replied apathetically.
Y/ sighed dramatically, “That’s boring.” Jamil wanted to pull his hair out. “That’s reality,” he combated.
Y/n rested his chin atop Jamil’s shoulder, resulting in the other's to stiffen. “You know what would improve my motivation?” Y/n murmured, his voice ghosting against Jamil’s ear.
“No.”
Y/n pursed his lips, “Kisses.”
“No.”
“You’re unsupportive of higher education,” Y/n droned, clinging to Jamil’s arm.
Jamil tried to pry his arm out of Y/n’s clingy hold, but his attempts were useless. “You are not bribing me into making out with you,” he chastised.
“I think you’ll find I’m encouraging positive reinforcement, actually.” Jamil ignored him, and Y/n smiled against his shoulder. “You know,” he said softly, “if you keep refusing, I might start thinking you don’t believe in me.”
Jamil glared at the ceiling. “That manipulation tactic won’t work.”
Y/n held Jamil tighter. “Is it working a little?”
“No.”
“. . . A tiny bit?”
Jamil turned toward him and immediately regretted it. They were suddenly too close, close enough to see the amusement flickering in Y/n’s eyes; close enough to notice him staring directly at Jamil’s mouth.
The room went quiet, then: “One kiss,” Jamil said carefully, “per correct answer.”
Y/n lit up immediately, “Oh, you folded fast.”
“Do not make me regret this,” Jamil deadpanned.
“Too late.” Y/n planted a kiss against Jamil’s cheek. “I’m inspired.”
Jamil already regretted everything, his face warming impossibly more from Y/n’s soft peck.
“First question,” he said quickly. “What are the three stabilizing ingredients used in standard potion reinforcement?”
Y/n answered without looking down at the textbook once. “Mandrake root, crystallized sage, and ground scorpion husk.”
Jamil blinked, “. . . Correct.”
Y/n held out a hand expectantly. “My reward,” he beckoned.
“You answered that suspiciously fast,” Jamil commented rather than conforming to Y/n’s wishes. Y/n shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows, “I told you, I’m inspired.”
Jamil narrowed his eyes before leaning forward just enough to press a quick kiss against his lips. Y/n smiled into it but gave a slight pout upon separation. “That barely counted,” he said.
Jamil crossed his arms. “One question. One kiss. That was the deal.”
Y/n started fiddling with his textbook, flipping to random pages. “You kiss like you’re filing paperwork,” he commented.
Jamil rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It could be if you tried harder,” Y/n hummed.
“. . . Next question,” Jamil changed the subject. Y/n grinned triumphantly at that and surprisingly listened.
Somehow, against all logic, the studying actually started working. Mostly because Y/n became terrifyingly competitive about earning rewards.
“What causes thaumic imbalance during potion fusion?” Jamil asked.
“Improper catalyst ratios.”
A kiss.
“What's the safest temperature range for crystal stabilization?”
“Two hundred to fifty-two degrees.”
Another kiss.
Primary purpose of silver leaf extract?”
“Neutralizing volatile magical residue.”
Another.
Another.
Another.
At some point, Jamil stopped pretending the kisses were brief for efficiency’s sake.
Y/n noticed, “Oho,” he expressed after a kiss lingered noticeably longer, “Someone's getting into the spirit of education.”
“Don't start,” Jamil grumbled.
“I think you're enjoying this.” Y/n grinned.
“I'm tolerating it.”
“You kissed me longer than five seconds.” Y/n wiggled his eyebrows.
“That was an accident,” Jamil defended.
“You grabbed my face.”
“That was also an accident.”
“You sighed into my mouth.” Jamil nearly choked at that, “I did not—”
“You absolutely did.”
Jamil looked away, and Y/n stared at him for a second before breaking into helpless laughter. “You're so flustered,” he giggled.
“I am perfectly composed,” Jamil replied, his voice wavering and his face as red as the accents of his uniform.
Y/n continued to laugh, “You just kissed me speechless over alchemical theory.”
Jamil still refused to meet his eyes, “That sentence is humiliating for both of us.”
Y/n leaned closer, smiling softer now. “You're cute when you lose control a little,” he teased.
Jamil’s heartbeat stumbled sporadically. “. . . Next question,” he stammered, suddenly finding great interest in the cushions littered around him.
Y/n wiggled a finger toward him. “You've said that every time you've panicked.”
“I do not panic.”
Y/n raised a brow at that, and Jamil gathered the dignity to look at him directly. “I'm one incorrect answer away from revoking your privileges,” he declared (surprisingly, without stumbling over his words).
Y/n gasped, “You wouldn't.”
Jamil’s look hardened, “Test me.”
Y/n smiled, “I’d rather kiss you instead—”
And that—that, of all things—finally broke Jamil.
Jamil grabbed the front of Y/n’s shirt and pulled him forward into a kiss that was very clearly not part of the reward system.
The kiss landed clumsily at first—desperate more than graceful—all bottled-up tension finally breaking loose at once.
Y/n made a startled sound against Jamil, but it quickly morphed into laughter, then something softer when Jamil pressed even closer, harder this time.
The frantic edge of their kiss didn't disappear; rather, it changed, becoming breathless instead of reckless.
Y/n’s teasing only intensified as the hand gripping his shirt lowered to his waist, the other resting atop his knee. Y/n threw his leg across Jamil’s lap, just enough to leave no space between them. Every time Jamil tried to pull away to breathe, Y/n followed him back in like he couldn't stand the distance for more than a second.
Yet, despite all the earlier bantering, Y/n was the one who looked dazed now.
Y/n blinked while regaining his composure. Slowly, he smiled, “. . . So I'm guessing that answer was correct?”
Jamil covered his face with a hand. “You are unbelievable.”
“And yet, you're obsessed with me,” Y/n said against Jamil's mouth before pressing another lingering kiss.
“. . . Unfortunately,” Jamil said breathlessly upon separation. Y/n chuckled before leaning forward again, forehead resting against Jamil’s shoulder, the leg thrown across Jamil’s lap curling affectionately around his waist.
For a moment, neither spoke, and the room was filled with warm light, soft breathing, and pages scattered forgotten across the cushioned floor.
Then Y/n looked up. “Hey,” he beckoned.
Jamil stared at him, “What?”
“Thanks.” The teasing lilt in his tone was mostly gone now, and what remained was complete sincerity. “For helping me,” Y/n clarified, “and for being patient with me when my brain gets weird.”
Something in Jamil’s expression gentled. “You’re not difficult to deal with,” he said after a moment.
Y/n snorted, “That's objectively false.”
“You're distracting,” Jamil corrected, “there's a difference.”
Y/n smiled at that. Then: “. . . Can I still earn more kisses?”
Jamil stared at him for exactly two seconds before laughing despite himself. He grabbed the fallen textbook, pushing it lightly against Y/n’s chest. “Open to chapter fifteen,” he instructed.
Y/n put the book in his lap, wrapping both his arms around Jamil’s shoulders. “So is that a yes?” he grinned.
“Read the chapter,” Jamil insisted.
“You didn't deny it.” Jamil reached over, pulled Y/n in by the collar again, and kissed him once more anyway.
“Focus,” he murmured against Y/n’s lips.
Y/n smiled, laughing eagerly. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
🤎
The next morning was chaotic.
Y/n woke up late, half his notes stuck to his face while the other half was squished against one of Jamil’s pillows (he had insisted they have a sleepover, claiming he was too tired to go to his own dorm (and totally not to just demand cuddles all night)).
Jamil had somehow already gotten dressed, organized the study materials, prepared caffeinated tea, and lost his patience before sunrise.
“You have five minutes,” Jamil said while opening his curtains.
Y/n groaned, throwing a pillow at Jamil (which landed on the floor before it could get anywhere near the target) and throwing an arm over his face. “I'm dead,” he declared.
“You're dramatic,” Jamil deadpanned
“I don't remember anything,” Y/n whined.
“You remembered enough to explain the relationship between mushrooms and alchemy in your sleep.”
Y/n lifted his arm off his face to look at Jamil quizzically. “I did?”
Jamil nodded, “You also tried to kiss me mid-sentence.”
Y/n hummed a laugh, “That sounds accurate.”
Jamil handed him a cup of tea. “Drink,” he offered.
Y/n slowly rose from the bed, taking the tea obediently before blinking at Jamil sleepily. “You're really pretty in the morning,” he grinned.
Jamil looked away immediately. “Shoes. Now.”
Y/n giggled, sipping his tea while taking his sweet time removing himself from the warmth of Jamil’s bed.
By the time the exam started, Y/n was convinced divine intervention was his only remaining hope. Unfortunately, Crewel believed in suffering.
The test packet, ensuring doom and despair, landed on his desk. Y/n stared at the first question, then blinked.
. . . Wait. . . He knew this.
Actually, he knew several of these.
Mandrake root.
Catalyst ratios.
Crystal stabilization.
Silver leaf extract.
Every answer came with a memory attached: Jamil tapping the textbook page impatiently, Jamil correcting his answers, Jamil kissing him, Jamil complimenting him.
Somehow, ridiculously, it worked. By the end of the exam, Y/n was still nervous, but no longer doomed.
Truly, it felt like a miracle.
🤎
Late that afternoon, Jamil was reorganizing spice jars in Scarabia’s kitchen when the doors slammed open.
Jamil looked up just in time for his boyfriend to nearly tackle him into the counter.
“What—”
“I PASSED!”
The entire kitchen went silent, including Kalim, who had been sitting adjacent to the kitchen talking animatedly to other Scarabia residents.
“You did?!?” Kalim exclaimed.
“I got eighty-four!” Y/n replied triumphantly.
Kalim gasped like this was the greatest achievement in recorded history.
Jamil, meanwhile, looked genuinely stunned. “. . . You actually passed,” he said.
Y/n pouted, “That sounded way meaner than necessary.” Still, he grinned brightly and grabbed Jamil by the front of his uniform. “You're a genius,” he declared.
“I'm aware.”
Y/n stared at him for a second before his expression softened. “I couldn't do it without you,” he expressed.
Something warm flickered across Jamil’s face, warm and real.
Then Kalim suddenly appeared directly beside them. “This calls for a celebration!” He professed.
“No,” Jamil replied immediately.
“Yes!” Y/n answered at the same time.
Kalim gasped happily. “I’ll get food!” he said without acknowledging that Jamil was the only person who could actually do a task like that.
Chaos erupted instantly with students bustling about and voices rising. Kalim sprinted away at a dangerous speed, employing other students to follow.
And in the middle of it, Jamil sighed tiredly. “This is going to become a whole event, isn't it?” He asked rhetorically.
“Probably,” Y/n shrugged.
“I regret helping you.”
“No, you don't.”
“. . . No,” Jamil admitted, “I don't.”
Y/n smiled, then leaned close enough that only Jamil could hear: “So,” he murmured, “Do passing grades earn reward kisses too?”
Jamil stared at him for two seconds before grabbing Y/n’s collar and kissing him right in the middle of the kitchen. The surrounding students erupted instantly, Y/n simply laughed against him, and Kalim cheered loud enough to shake the walls.
And honestly? For once, Jamil didn't even care.
🤎