Disclaimer: Look, I don't own it. I have written this disclaimer about fifty times, I think, for this fandom. Am I allowed to stop yet?
Author's Notes: Yay for established Christopher/Jalil SLASH! And sap. Oh, I was a sap when I wrote this drabble. Sigh.
It isn't a big romance like Etain had been. There's no sentiment here, no tender brushing of fingers or eyes that Christopher could drown into forever- if he tried, he suspects, his wrist would be broken. Forget poetry. Even more than that, forget any sort of words that could be traced to actual emotions at all.
Christopher figures that's okay. He's good at making do with what he gets. Sometimes it's enough to catch the tail-end of Jalil's smiles, or the glint of concern that passes over the shadows of his face when Christopher wakes up from nightmares suffocating enough to steal his air. They don't dance, or laugh together, or share walks under cherry blossoms falling, but Christopher tries not to trip over the books piled in the room and Jalil doesn't pretend Christopher isn't going to follow Etain with his eyes every chance he gets.
But it still feels really good when, sometimes in the morning, Jalil kisses the palm of his hand before rolling out of bed. "I'll ask for breakfast," he mumbles, still caught up in sleep, and Christopher finds love to be like waking up.