Ignore the title-
Pureblood_Queen, your Kam human au! Hope you like it!
Tam was pointedly ignoring him, and Keefe didn't care.
He was glad, really. Finally, the shorter boy wasn't making snide remarks at every movement Keefe made. Finally, he didn't hear a snort of derision with every word.
Today was the first day in a long time they'd gone through the day without a single glare across the cafeteria.
And Keefe didn't care.
His life didn't revolve around the way Tam's bangs flipped across his forehead.
It didn't matter. He didn't matter.
But something made Keefe stride across the busy halls to where Tam was placing his books in his locker. And it wasn't Tam's (almost endearing) scowl.
Maybe it was the itch. The itch that waited under Keefe's skin. Maybe it was boredom, or annoyance, but it was almost always there. As if it were waiting for something.
But it was an itch he needed to scratch, and he found that annoying Tam worked well enough.
So it was simply instinct to lob a paper ball at the back of Tam's head.
His head immediately snapped around, as if he'd been waiting for this. As if he knew that ignoring Keefe was most certainly going to fail.
Their gazes met, and Keefe felt something snap between their connected stares. A spark, with the potential to be flame.
He leaned back against the row of lockers, opposite to where Tam was now slamming his locker shut with a thunderous bang. It echoed through the hall, and Keefe felt more than saw the other students in the hall turn to look at them.
A smirk curved his lips at the whispers surrounding them, the tales that had spread across the school from his various pranks and insults and projects. He was almost as famous as his rivalry with Tam, and the surrounding audience formed a loose ring around the two boys.
"What do you want, Sencen," Tam said. His tone was icy, and Keefe watched his eyes dart to the bystanders before flicking back to the blonde boy grinning crookedly at him from across the hall.
"Nothing," Keefe responded easily, glancing up to the ceiling absently. He could feel Tam's gaze burning into his forehead, bidding him to look back. He ordered himself not to give in, keeping the same, taunting smirk that he knew Tam hated fixed on his face.
"Good," Tam said quickly, his eyes flashing with something that Keefe couldn't quite place.
He turned to walk away, and the audience they'd amassed began to disperse, grumbling as they went, disappointed by the lack of a fight.
Keefe watched Tam walk away, his skin boiling with something he didn't quite recognize.
At least, not yet.
...
"Stop staring, hon," Biana rolled her eyes, amusement gracing her face. "Your eyeballs are gonna pop out if you keep on waiting for him to look at you."
"I'm not-" Keefe protested, glaring at his friend as she absentmindedly shaded in the corner of her notebook. With a glitter pen.
"Not what? You're staring at Tam, hon. Eyes on the page, or he might just figure out that you're in love with him." There was a small smirk on Biana's face, as if she couldn't feel the hate Keefe was trying to convey with his eyes.
"What are you talking about," he gritted out.
Whatever he and Tam had, there was no way he felt anything other than hate and a significant desire to dump a bucket of ice water over the other's head periodically throughout the day.
No way it was love, or anything less than intense irritation at the way Tam smirked at him through his bangs with that infuriating expression on his face.
Biana snorted. "Keefe, anyone with a brain can see how you two can't stay away from each other."
"You're ridiculous," Keefe insisted, determined not to glance over at the moody boy reading at the other table.
"If you say so," Biana agreed, but her lips twitched as if she found the whole situation hilarious.
But she was dead wrong, because everything about Tam rubbed Keefe the wrong way, and even when he was just sitting there, Keefe's fingers twitched to throw something or shout or get his attention so their eyes would finally meet.
Hateful glares, Keefe reminded himself. That's all they would ever have, and he didn't care, or even dream about anything more.
...
Tam's face twitched with the effort of keeping his eyes on his book.
He'd been reading the same line for a few minutes now as he felt the full weight of Keefe's attention on him, bidding him to look up.
To meet that ice-blue stare.
If Linh were here, she might have been able to stop him. To distract him, to stop him from fulfilling his need to glance over at the cocky boy with the messy blonde hair.
The one that was never far from his thoughts.
The one that he really, really wished would just stop staring at him, because he was this close to-
Tam looked up, and Keefe's eyes met his.
This was almost worse than ignoring him and refusing to look, to answer his challenging stare. This was a tidal wave, sweeping over him. This was his stomach swooping low and high, refusing to settle down whenever he was near.
It was too much, and Tam broke their joined gaze first, knowing that Keefe would feel victorious at the concession.
(what Tam didn't know was the sinking feeling in Keefe's stomach as he looked away, disappointed when he should have felt smug)
Tam clenched his fists under the table. Keefe was no longer looking at him, and even though the weight on his shoulders and the swoop in his stomach was gone, he still had to resist the urge to sneak a peek.
To look at his rival in any way, to get rid of the simmering flames lingering right under his skin.
...
Later, there were kisses.
Blazing, scorching hot kisses that seared Keefe's skin and made him want to burn and burn and burn.
Later, there were smiles.
Soft and tempting, crooked and teasing, fierce and passionate and excited and a million other emotions that Tam thought he'd sell his soul to feel every day of his life.
Later, there were fingers that trailed through hair and stolen sweatshirts and laughter and makeover sessions and shocked eyes and palms rubbing away the aches in shoulders.
There were all the things that Keefe wanted to steal for himself, lock up so no one could ever take them away.
Later, there was the gentle pressure of his hand on his cheek, splashes in the pool, surprised squeals, paintings and desserts (although neither of them could bake) and more and more and more.
All that Tam wanted to keep in their little bubble of happiness, safe and sound and never popping or flowing away like all the other bits of happiness he'd stolen for himself over the years had.
They drifted away one by one, he'd known. But for some reason, this, whatever they had... it stayed.
They caught the love they had for each other and cradled it in their hands delicately, so afraid of it flying away and leaving them forever.
Afraid of crushing it between shouted syllables and words they didn't mean. Afraid of having a hand outstretched as a door slammed one last time.
Afraid of there being a last time.
It was precious, what they had, and they sheltered and nurtured it as much as they could. It grew stronger and stronger and stronger, until they couldn't contain it in their soft, human hands anymore.
Until one day, they set their love free.
But it did not leave them as they feared it would, instead continuing to flap around their heads, fluttering over their shoulders and sliding on their fingers with matching rings.
The love blended with happiness and crayon drawings on the wall, moved into a shared bed, turned into laughter, melded with everything they did until there was more joy than they could ever imagine.
It was fire, the force of their love, licking up the edges of the home they shared, simmering under their skins until they were alive with the burning sensation of it.
It was a net spread over their lives, and it caught them again and again and again.
But that came later.
Much, much later.
This was in fact proofread, but that's no guarantee is makes sense to anyone without my brain so uh... I hope it made sense, that last part there.
Love Kam. Godtier ship. Everything about it is just mwah. chef's kiss.