Disclaimer: Don't own EW, you should know that by now. (Or... do I?)
Author's Notes: Just a bit of C/J slash fluff. Blargh, I'm so tired... and sick... xx I needed something to cheer me up a bit.
The light slips through his fingers, and Jalil could stay here forever.
"We're going to be late," Christopher says, and laughs, his voice husky. He doesn't move despite his idle words-- simply remains a deadweight against Jalil's thighs, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in the sunshine that warms the sheets. They are a smear of shadow against the white like this, sprawled out in comfortable angles.
Jalil is not a romantic person. He does not believe in soul mates, or love transcending death, and would never walk a thousand miles for the soon-to-be man draped over him. Their words are often harsh and biting, never gentle-- and it isn't about to change anytime soon. They do not have names for each other beyond those given by their parents; even now, Jalil will say Christopher's name in a drawn out way, as if imprinting each syllable into the air between them, instead of shortening it.
Jalil is not in love with Christopher. Much in the same way, Christopher is not in love with Jalil. Nothing about them is tender, or sweet, or eternal.
"Yeah," Jalil says, and closes his eyes. He tangles his hands further into the mop of gold beneath them. "Let's be late."