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@b4rren
#B4RREN. hamza kamal hadeem ahmad. [ semi ] fandomless original character. with some horror elements. written by charlie [ he/him ; 21+ ; black ]. moderate - low activity. CARRD. PINTEREST.
a study in: COMING BACK ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ. second chances unwanted. “ what do you call a bad miracle? ”. TRIGGERS INCLUDE: DEATH, SELF - HARM, AND SUICIDE. rules & verses under cut. lore tag (please read!)
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Hmm. An interesting reaction.
"It's not, but that doesn't mean it has to happen now." Expressing interest, without pressure. This can just be two people sleeping in the same bed if he wants it to be. They've fallen together so quickly, so intensely, it might make sense that there's a moment where he needs to pump the breaks.
He still wants to talk about sex, though, which is nice. Callisto decides to take a little more of a broad approach, if he doesn't want to jump into it right away.
"Anything I should know? Are you a knifeplay kinda guy?"
"i'm fine with that." that's a hard balance to strike; quick enough to make sure she knows he really is fine with that, but not so quick that he seems relieved; like it's something he's gotten out of. he runs a hand down her forearm.
and then, he laughs. "no... no?" before, no. now, with different physiology, he might say he's knifeplaycurious. but he wasn't until she'd said that. "but if you are, i can figure something out, maybe."
Callisto laughs a little. Not at him necessarily, but he has prompted the amusement.
"Do you wanna have hot, not-sweaty sex with me?"
Well. She'll probably still get a little sweaty but not unreasonably so. It's not worth mentioning while she's trying to be sexy.
It's also why she simply shrugs when he returns the question on her. Something she should have expected, really. "There was an accident when I was younger. I'd much rather talk about sex."
"is that a hypothetical question?" both of the answers are yes, though only one of them comes with the responsibility of immediately performing. it's been a long time.
fair enough; driving is quickly becoming a much less interesting topic, though he makes a mental note to revisit the accident conversation later. "okay." a tiny smile places across his face. with no racing heart, his efforts to hide his nerves are much more effective. "what about it?"
isabella’s been on his side of hospitality enough to understand the uncertainty, so she’s quick to step around him and into the kitchen. his awkwardness makes her laugh, torn between appreciative and slightly suspicious of the sincerity if he felt the need to reassure.
“thanks? i’ll pass that on to my sister. the place would be a mess if it was just me here.” and it’d be quite a bit smaller on a bartender’s salary alone, but she keeps that thought to herself.
not like he of all people couldn't guess. she waves a whiskey glass at him before setting it down on the bar cabinet she has wedged between the counter and wall, opening its door with her foot. “drink? i only have the basics so don’t dream too big.”
she gives him an activity, i.e. follow her into the kitchen, and so he does. "i'm sure it'd still be nice." he doesn't have much for accurate comparison, given his living situation, but even still, he does mean it.
he has the inclination to say nothing, but nursing something will at least give him something to do with his hands. "is a manhattan small enough?" he smiles just a touch, hope she takes it as the small joke that he meant it as.
"thanks for letting me in," he says. it's maybe a little too earnest, but he was 50/50 about it. "i owe you one."
it’s barely a question so he gets barely an answer: “probably.” she gives him a tight, wry smile, shrugging off the jacket. lucky that she’s wearing a long sleeve underneath. “might as well.. thanks. where'd ya learn to clean up blood?"
right. well, he can work with reticence. it probably does him a lot of favors, actually. "the internet." that's weird. what about: "i'm accident prone." a little better. and sort of the truth, in upside down and roundabout ways. "since it's not fresh fresh, you have to soak it for a little bit first."
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He gets another giant grin for his efforts, Calisto reaching out to take his chin between her fingers, tilting his face delicately as she speaks.
"I was trying to be polite. 'Have hot, sweaty sex' doesn't quite have the same ring."
Hamza continues to indulge her as he speaks, though, which is one of the things Callisto likes best about him. Nothing she says is too outlandish - though, her last statement might challenge that.
"Yeah? Me too. Any particular reason?"
the jolt that runs through him at any and all of her skin to skin contact is always just a tiny bit embarrassing, but it's hard to care that much when he feels like a car being jumped.
"well, it wouldn't be - i don't really sweat," he says. if that makes any difference to her.
"nothing interesting. born and raised in new york." he shrugs. "you?"
"Look at that little smile. You must really like her. Him. Them?" She's trying, but it's not exactly smooth. Bella's busy being charmed by that little smile she's never seen anyway - and then admonished by his (albeit humorous) rebuke.
"Sorry, darling, sorry." If blood flowed through her veins and could colour her cheeks, they would. "You just never let anything slip. I'll just go have my dinner then, will I, and then you can pop off and see your someone."
"i do." bella can get the details later, maybe. for now it's nice to have the thing between the two of them be just theirs, as long as it can be.
he shrugs; if it comes off just a little bit coy, it's by pure luck. "sure." he eyes her target - then, someone's waving an empty glass at him at the bar. "uh." he's unsure if it's the right sentiment, but he rolls with it just to have something to say, "enjoy?"
Oh.
No offence to him, but that wasn't really the answer she'd expected. Maybe it's just because she only ever sees him here, and in no particular hurry to be anywhere else.
Like she can talk.
"There you go then. Hot date?" A rise of her eyebrows to see if she can get a little more information out of him - because once she heads on over to her dinner, they won't be able to chat as much.
he tries not to smile and fails, just a little bit, before he tries to replace it with his previous exasperation. "something like that, yeah." something a little more than that, maybe, but that's not something he has time to think about right now. he manages to laugh through, "please act less surprised?"
Callisto can't help the smile that spreads across her face when he laughs - with her, not at her.
"Hmm. Since you brought up how late it was, I assumed you wanted to go to sleep." Faux-innocent eyelashes bat at him. "So we could do that. Or we could take all our clothes off and cuddle," the least likely option, she thinks, though the idea of Hamza's hands on her...
"Or you could tell me something. Something that I don't already know about you. The witching hour is for sharing secrets, you know."
And if she just made that up, then that's no one's business but hers. Either way, she's gotten what she wanted - which is Hamza staying curled up here, where it's only the two of them.
"and... cuddle." he is deceased but not an idiot, so he thinks the look that he gives her is an appropriate one. he can't help the flashes of images that move in rapid succession through his mind, but what he says instead is, "i'm not tired."
sharing secrets. his biggest one is broadcasted pretty clearly, any other ones he's buried so deeply that they don't even come to mind when he tries to think of them. "um. i can't drive?"
evil dead. "i know i look like road kill." @b4rren for isabella.
“yeah.” which is probably not the reassuring answer he’s looking for, but it beats the ‘understatement’ she almost says. her eyes rake over him, head to toe, and the pathetic look on his face is enough to make her bite her tongue. even she ( occasionally ) knows when to be tactful. isabella hesitates a second before stepping back and opening the door wider. ill-advised as it is for him to be alone with her, she wouldn’t feel good about turning him away.
not until he’s got something to make him look less like a puppy left in the rain. “you can come in if you want… i might have something that can help.” a shower, a place to sleep, food.. booze.
at least she's honest. and at least he doesn't feel like roadkill, physically, but that's only because he can't, and that doesn't seem like something to brag about.
he's not sure what he wants. maybe just for her to open to door to listen to him complain, but she steps back and invites him in and now he figures it might be even more odd to not accept.
"...thanks." he makes up for the hesitation by moving quickly past her and inside, but once he's there, he just kind of idles in the middle of the room. he looks around. "nice place." isn't that what everyone says? so he clarifies, "really. seriously."
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@b4rren said "Can you hurry, please?"
Bella shoots him a look that could most aptly be described as disgruntled. Interactions like this remind her of why she spends most of her time shut in her apartment with only reruns of CSI for company.
"Do you have somewhere to be?" Technically, Bella has all the time in the world. So does he, if his condition works the way she thinks it does, but her socialisation hasn't regressed so far that she's going to point that out.
"I have my eye on that one. Your three o'clock, big broad douchebag. I'll take him outside in a minute, and then you can stop worrying your pretty little head, okay? You're relieved of responsibility."
as if it's so inconceivable that he has plans later. he attempts to be annoyed about it, but, honestly, he can't really find it in himself. it's a fair assessment. and there isn't much he's told bella about his business.
"yeah," he admits. maybe that will convince her. his eyes slide over to who she points out, then slide back to her a moment later. "i do, otherwise i'd let you take your time."
midnight cowboy. "you got blood on your jacket." @b4rren for isabella.
of course she does. the surprise is genuine, whether that’s good or not, and she tips her head to look at the underside of her sleeve. too much there - enough to crumble into flakes as she runs her hand over it, the near-black stain persisting deep in the fabric. isabella shrugs. “i got cut the other day. i don’t really know how to get blood out of clothes.”
hamza blinks. his eyebrows loft. "must have been a bad cut?" he doesn't know why he phrases it as a question; it just comes out that way. "i know how. i can show you, if you want."
@b4rren said "It’s very late now."
Callisto hums, turning to look at her window (which has the added bonus of rolling her a little more against him). It's not anything she didn't expect to see - pitch black night, the slight glow from a street light, not a star in the sky.
She turns back to Hamza, eyes flicking over the handsome form of the man she's sometimes still a little giddy to know is hers. Not that they've really discussed it in so many terms, but what else could this be? He's never stopped her or corrected her when she's kissed him at the bar, and they spend so much time together that it's probably unhealthy.
But it makes her happy.
Speaking of-
"Looks like you'll have to stay here then." Her eyes warm with mirth. "What a shame."
time passes differently - he tries to be cognizant of it when they're together, but there are generally so many other things to think about. he only mentions it because of the deepness of the dark outside, and the time that he sees flash on the clock across the room.
she looks at him, and he always finds that he freezes under her attention. a mannequin, a photograph, perfect stillness while she regards him.
it's not as though he's in much danger - he's quite resilient, physiologically, and he doesn't have much that anyone could mug him for on the journey back.
still. she's offering an excellent excuse. he laughs. "guess so. what should we do?"
Not for the first time, Callisto thinks about how much she likes his smile - and how (though it might be a little insane, and definitely unfounded), she thinks this smile is just for her.
"C'mon. Lets go get comfy."
Her hands drop from his face to lace their fingers together, and she tugs him through the apartment, past the empty kitchen and living room.
Callisto pushes open the door to her room - the only real place in the apartment to show her personality. There's a shelf with a TV, and books about art and galleries against the wall, and a soft, cushy bed pushed into the corner with deep green covers.
"Make yourself at home."
she slides her fingers through his. firm grasp, warm palms. he tries his best not to be nosy, but he can take in a decent amount of information without making it too obvious - his eyes dart quickly around, taking everything in.
he assumes he has some kind of implicit permission to take in everything about her room, though. she brings them both into it, and he doesn't try to disguise this time how he takes everything in.
the books catch his eye immediately, but he doesn't move towards them just yet. "i like your room. it's nice."
Hamza leaves it there, so Callisto doesn't bother to text back. She simply spends the time it takes him to get there settling Jupiter in her room so that she and Hamza can be settled in her room with less worry.
When Hamza lets himself in, Callisto immediately bounds over to the doorway to greet him - leaning in to kiss him softly.
"You're freezing." She feels like she's stating the obvious. Her hands cup his face. "Do you wanna warm up?"
if at first he's unsure of just walking in, the greeting he gets assuages the worry. the inside of the house warms him instantly. her lips on his almost overheats him, but it's a pleasant burn.
he smiles when they part. "yes please."
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the relief that floods her body when he speaks is beyond welcome. thank god. hurting hamza, even slightly, was the furthest possible thing from her intentions. briefly, bell wonders if he's lying to save her feelings, but with a glance at his face, she can tell he means it. ❛ okay, ❜ she says, voice small.
despite his reassurances, it takes another minute for the anxiety gripping her shoulders to ease. she's not totally sure how she ended up messing up an attempt at connection so spectacularly ; even if he's not offended by the question, now she's just embarrassed at her own ( over ) reaction. her fingers curl together, twisting against each other in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in her arms, before she exhales a breathy laugh when he does. she shrugs her shoulder back against his. ❛ okay, okay ... if you're sure. ❜
the gravity of the conversation she's started grounds her back in reality when he continues speaking, and her tentative smile curves back into a frown. ❛ oh, ❜ she says, quietly. despite the similarities to her own recollection of events, she finds herself horrified on his behalf. bell swallows, mouth suddenly dry. ❛ i guess — i guess i was kind of hoping you didn't. it sucks to think about, and i didn't even ... ❜ really die, is what she doesn't say. hamza did, though, and he remembers it. and whatever it was, however it happened, it hurt.
suddenly, she feels a bit graceless all over again. ❛ sorry, ❜ she says. and then, with a dry, weak laugh : ❛ i don't really know why i brought it up. i was just thinking about it again, i guess. ❜
"yeah, positive." right now, it feels like something that is so far removed. there are never times when he forgets, because he is ever presently reminded of what he is, but there are times that it feels fuzzy, like an old memory. (there are times where it feels sharp like a screenshot, too. like someone's playing it on a loop on some 4k monitor in his head.)
it's morbid, sure, but the entire conversation is, really. so when he says, "it's probably better that it killed me. can't imagine living with it if it didn't," he hopes it doesn't darken the tone too much. mostly, he's just trying to put bell at ease. "makes sense to think about it.
"and it's — this isn't so bad, for me." barring the psychological warfare that is leaving the house, there are some pros. "do you... i mean, i hope you feel the same way, at least sometimes."
he is kind of getting wrinkled. particularly in the area between his brows. conall has a temperamental child going through a phase to thank.
"i'm still in my twenties." barely. the dirty and flirty thirty is creeping up.
"i've heard thirties are good." apparently. he still hasn't deduced if that's actually true or if it's just a bunch of people trying to delude themselves, but. he doesn't have to deal with that mess.
