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Jamil Viper was not raised to translate his own emotions.
He was brought up, well-equipped through his childhood and formative years, to acutely understand Kalim’s emotions, thoughts, and feelings.
His own are as foreign as the dark side of the moon.
Jamil was raised to take care of Kalim as he would care for himself; to cook for him (for fear for poisonings), to accompany him wherever he went (for fear of assassins lurking in the shadows), to always let Kalim beat him (for fear of Jamil hurting the heir’s feelings with his own victory, and it negatively affecting his family's close relationship with the Asims).
Such behavior, of course, has carried over into their current lives at Night Raven College.
Jamil can diffuse a situation with Kalim in seconds. He knows exactly what to do and say given whatever mood or qualm, but, lately especially, Jamil feels as if his own brain has been swapped for a hurricane; something angry, in constant motion, ready to destroy.
Ready to destroy the catalyst for such a debilitating surge of unknown, mysterious emotion.
Ready to destroy Kalim.
He thought these feelings would subside after the overblot incident. He naively thought that once they talked it over, once Kalim swore he would lessen the burden on Jamil and understand his position more, they would move forward in a more positive direction. That the barriers Jamil forcefully erected would be broken down, little by little.
He clearly thought wrong. In fact, his disdain for Kalim has only morphed, bisecting into a hydra of thought and feeling roaring between his ears.
He still hates Kalim with every fiber of his being, but there’s also…something else. Something new, something he cannot put his finger on amidst the mess of emotion in constant battle within.
Jamil has never felt so lost, nor so horribly confused, in his life.
And it’s all centered around Kalim Al-Asim.
Speaking of the devil;
“Are you okay, Jamil?” Kalim’s voice is as cheery and honey-sweet as always, happily bubbling tones that serve to remind him just how ignorant he truly is to Jamil’s inner turmoil. The housewarden trotted into the Scarabia kitchen, only to find Jamil loitering by the counter, his back to Kalim as he bore holes into the opulent tile lining the walls.
The vice housewarden’s eye twitched at the question. At that voice.
Sometimes Jamil hears Kalim’s voice in his dreams.
Sometimes he hears it in his nightmares, too.
Jamil turned, sending Kalim an icy glare over his shoulder.
“I’m fine.” He replied, keeping his response purposefully curt and cold. His heart thundered in his chest, for reasons unbeknownst to him.
A brief flash of worry crossed Kalim’s scarlet eyes, along with a quick twitch at the corners of his perpetual grin. Kalim is always so bright, always like the sun incarnate, to the point where Jamil often feels the need to shield his gaze—lest he be blinded by the sheer degree of light within him.
But just then, he saw that blinding, scorching light of love and life dim inside Kalim. Such a sight made a sick, perverse glee churn in Jamil’s core.
He took everything from you, snarled a booming voice in the back of Jamil’s mind.
And now he’s making you feel like this? So confused? So unsure of yourself?
Life would be so much easier if he was just gone. Let him be poisoned, let him be assasinated for all I care.
Just make this all stop.
But….no. No, Jamil consciously shook such nasty ideas loose, and attempted to ground himself back in reality. Kalim is safe. He’s okay—as long as Jamil has any say in it. He needs to protect Kalim. Wants to, even.
He promises.
Yet Jamil would be a dirty liar if didn’t admit that he’s been harboring some… resentment towards his longtime charge and current housewarden, though this should hardly come as news.
The thing is, Jamil’s always felt so stifled because of Kalim. Because of him, because of the differences the cards of life dealt them, Jamil always forced himself to be second best, third, even fourth; all in the name of keeping Kalim on top. Competitions, awards, test scores, all thrown in favor of keeping his parents’ wishes and deferring any honor onto the Al-Asim family.
Jamil looks at Kalim, and he sees the ghost of a person that could have been. He sees the shadow of what he could have become, reflected in those ruby, sparkling eyes. A young adult on his own at his dream school, happily living out his education without a care in the world. A childhood that could have been filled with love and laughter and pride, instead of the uneasy faces of his family hurriedly whispering for him to never let Kalim lose a friendly game of chess ever again.
Attending NRC was supposed to be Jamil’s first real taste of the independent life he's craved for so very long. And it was just that, at first. Until Kalim transferred to the school, after a... generous donation courtesy of his father.
He immediately took Jamil’s spot as housewarden as a show of gratitude, without even a protest from any of the other students.
And so ended the fleeting fantasy Jamil had of a life on his own, of being something other than an attendant of Kalim Al-Asim.
All because of him.
Kalim is the human embodiment of how unfair life can be, and he might as well be sewn to Jamil’s side. He cannot escape him, what he represents. What could have been is swiped further and further from Jamil’s grasp with each mess Kalim makes, with each chore Jamil has to complete on his behalf, with each burden proverbially piled up onto his shoulders until he began to feel his back break. It kept piling up, in fact, until he overblotted.
The phrase the straw that broke the camel’s back comes to Jamil’s mind.
And that's not even the worst part.
No, the worst thing about being forced to live in close quarters with Kalim, is that he genuinely, truly loves Jamil. Romantically, platonically, Jamil is unsure. But love is love, no matter how you slice it, and such a notion keeps him up at night.
He says it almost every damn day, so it must be authentic, right?
He can’t say it so often, with such assurance, and not mean it, right…?
Like when Jamil suggests preparing Kalim’s favorite shawarma for dinner: “Thanks, Jamil, I love you!”
Or when he offers to help Kalim write out flashcards to study before an upcoming potionology exam: “You’re the best Jamil. I love you.”
Sometimes the declarations are loud, boisterous, so the whole dorm can hear. As if Kalim wants the very stars to understand that he loves Jamil Viper. Sometimes they're softer, more self-conscious; hushed murmurs, breathless, to the point where Jamil has to strain to even make out such a familiar sentiment. Jamil, though, has never said it back—for fear of what voicing such a statement would do to his already jumbled emotions.
But Kalim never hesitates, and that’s what gets Jamil. Even since the overblotting, Kalim cannot help but tell Jamil that he loves him.
Jamil can’t understand it for the life of him. He tried to kill Kalim, for all intents and purposes.
Did he actually want to?
No. Despite it all, all the deep-seated grudges and years of independence stolen from him, Jamil would never want any harm to befall Kalim. He’s not sure what he would have done to himself, had he caused any injuries to the housewarden.
But he tried, and that alone should have been enough to put a permanent rift between them; yet it did nothing of the sort. In fact, it seems to have only brought Kalim even closer to him, as he’s made conscious efforts to lessen the burden he used to heap upon his vice housewarden.
Jamil doesn’t understand, and it’s starting to eat away at him.
How can Kalim still talk to him? Still stare at him with those huge, glimmering, starry eyes, like Jamil is the center of his entire universe? How can he still trust him enough to spend all his time at his side, willingly?
Realistically, Kalim should hate Jamil after what he did. Hate would be putting it gently, in fact. He should want revenge, should want Jamil punished for what he attempted. Jamil himself wouldn’t even blame him if he did—in fact, he might have felt the same way, had the roles been reversed.
But Kalim has not changed one iota, has not expressed any such feelings of the sort. He’s still…. Kalim. The same Kalim who would die for a plate of Jamil’s shawarma, the same Kalim who never misses an opportunity to applaud Jamil and his efforts. The same Kalim who lays his head on Jamil’s shoulder, who plays with Jamil’s longer, slender fingers when he gets bored during their study sessions. The same Kalim who wants nothing more than to hold Jamil, and bask in him as if the sun’s rays seep from his pores.
And, fuck, does Jamil want to hold him too. He wants to take Kalim’s lovely hands in his, and bury his face in the crook of his shoulder, and keep him protected under the safety of his arms.
And he used to do these very things….when they were kids. Back then, Jamil didn't think twice about holding Kalim’s (smaller, softer) hand in his as he escorted the heir through the lofty palace halls, or wrapping a protective arm around Kalim when he felt particularly jumpy in the dark. But that was when they were children, what feels like an entire lifetime ago. Back when Jamil was too young, too naive to comprehend the nuances of their relationship.
Sometimes Jamil finds himself yearning for those simpler times, when he could freely touch Kalim to his heart's content without feeling unbearably conflicted by the implications.
Such notions only rear their head under the cover of midnight, as Jamil is drifting off to sleep, barely conscious, but sometimes he even fantasizes about kissing Kalim. On his cheeks, on his forehead, even on his beautiful, forever-smiling lips.
But he can’t; not as things stand now, that is. Because, despite it all, Jamil hates Kalim, and what he stands for. He has to hate him, or all those wasted years of potential would be for nothing.
Right?
And Kalim should hate Jamil. And what he stands for.
Right?
Jamil could have killed him.
How can he still tell him he loves him, so readily?
And even more terribly, for Jamil, is….he might actually love him too.
If only his brain could dissect said love from the far reaching web of hate muddying his perception.
Jamil’s mind is a beast, equally ravenous to both satisfy its innate need to despise Kalim’s guts, and, in the same breath, to wholeheartedly love every inch of the boy. It’s a war, a 24/7 battle, one that Jamil fears he is not strong enough to see through.
He fears that his lust to loathe Kalim will win out, simply because he does not know how to come to terms with the contrary. He is not equipped with the mental tools to do so.
So he gives in, and hates Kalim.
Because he doesn’t know any other way to be.
“Alright…” Mumbled Kalim, gaze now downcast to his sandals, idly, mindlessly kicking at the kitchen floor. “If something’s wrong you’ll tell me, right? Promise?” There’s such an edge of hope in his voice, it almost made Jamil’s heart waver.
Almost. The beast battling for control of his mind and heart bellowed, unleashing a new wave of white-hot disdain.
His fists clenched unconsciously, as drops of concentrated rage seeped further into his bloodstream. Nothing makes sense, and Kalim is a living, breathing reminder of this very fact.
How on earth can he come to accept these emotions? How can Jamil come to terms that he loves Kalim, just as much as he hates him?
Through gritted teeth, he growled,
“Promise.”
🐍
It’s becoming too much, too much pressure weighing him down.
Jamil is starting to lose control of himself.
Kalim threw a pair of familiar arms around Jamil’s neck, pressing himself flush against his back. He’s so warm, Jamil could feel his heat searing him through both of their uniforms. It made him start to sweat. “Whatcha doin, Jamil?” He chirped, carefree and lilting like a songbird.
Jamil jumped at the sudden skin-to-skin contact, but acclimated just as quickly. He regained his focus, rapidly blinking away any longing as he cleared his throat.
He shifted a bit under Kalim’s arms, but did not push him off. That unknownable part of his brain would never allow him to.
“Just organizing our stuff before class.” He explained, emotionlessly. He forced himself to keep his eyes only on the two piles of paperwork stacked before him; his own on the left, and Kalim’s on the right.
He felt Kalim suck in a deep breath, his chest expanding and ghosting across Jamil’s back. “Really?!” He squealed, right in Jamil’s ear. The vice housewarden glowered, but didn’t face Kalim. “You’re so thoughtful, Jamil,” Kalim mused, his dopey smile audible in each word. And then, he said it.
“I love you.”
Jamil froze at this, body bristling and muscles hardening. His heart and stomach dropped, sickening and stale. Before his mind could catch up with him, he whipped around, forcefully pushing Kalim off his back.
The housewarden seemed appropriately taken aback by Jamil’s abrupt tonal shift, eyes widening in shock as he stumbled away from his confidant’s side.
“J-Jamil, wh-” Kalim began, voice now wavering.
“How can you keep saying that?” Jamil barked, scorn dripping from his tongue. He seethed, as he’s faced with Kalim. His pitiful, dewy eyes and his frowning lips, now with a slight quiver to them.
“You always say that, that you fucking love me, but how can you?!” Jamil bellowed, eyes sharp and rageful. “I tried to kill you, when I overblotted. Do you even understand that?! You could be dead because of me! You should hate me right now,”
The rational side of Jamil’s brain implored him to stop, to quit while he’s ahead, before he says something he’ll truly regret. But he could not listen. Instead, his verbal rampage only continued, much to his own dismay.
Scarabia’s dorm motto is mindfulness, but right now Jamil could not even fathom such a thing.
Kalim’s brows furrowed, unable to make any move during Jamil’s sudden outburst. He just stared at him, eyes huge and round and mirroring his vice housewarden’s antipathy in those scarlet irises.
“But you can’t even do that right.” Jamil gritted, voice low and deep. Unfeeling. “You can’t even hate me, even after all I did to you. Fucking pathetic. ” He spat.
Sometimes Jamil desperately wishes Kalim despised him too, mutually. Because then he would have an excuse for his own disdain rotting within his head and heart.
Unrequited hate, huh.
That’s gotta be a first, Jamil thought.
Kalim’s lips trembled even more, as he gasped. He looked like he wanted to retort, to fight back against Jamil’s accusations, but something stopped him in his tracks. Rather, Kalim clumsily turned on his heel, ran through the lounge, and out into the hall. A few minutes later, of standing in numbed shock at what he just said, Jamil heard the telltale whoosh of the magic carpet flying from the terrace.
Once alone, once Kalim had fled the scene, did Jamil allow himself to crumple to his knees, shoving his face into his hands as his shoulders shook.
Only when sure he won’t be seen, did Jamil allow himself the grace to cry. To sob into his trembling palms.
But he could never let Kalim see him like this, so he has to be quick.
He’s not sure what he would do, if Kalim saw him in such a state.
🐍
Kalim has always been an enigma to Jamil.
They grew up together, basically as close as siblings, the only separating factor being their blood and status. But when he was a child, Kalim was all Jamil knew. He was his only friend, his only constant; he almost felt closer to him than to his own sister.
And recently, whenever Jamil sees—even so much as thinks —of Kalim, it feels as if his heart is swelling and crumbling all at once.
His heart swells when Kalim’s eyes shimmer as he happily scarfes down the lunches Jamil prepares for him. When he falls asleep while studying together late into the night, his cheek softly landing on Jamil’s shoulder as his lids flutter shut. When he squeals to Jamil about how amazing he is , and just how lucky he feels to have him as his vice housewarden.
His heart cracks, fissures even further, when he throws another test, just so Kalim can come out on top. They agreed after the overblotting that Jamil would stop constricting his efforts, Kalim all but begged him to do so, but it’s as the old saying goes: old habits die hard.
Jamil glared at Kalim, his cheek propped on a fist as he watches the housewarden from across the table. Jamil’s eyes are dulled, deadened.
He can’t wait to intentionally mess up this upcoming exam, all in the name of allowing the Asim name to shine brighter than his own.
Kalim, who had his nose buried in an animal linguistics textbook, suddenly pried his eyes off the page and met Jamil’s unreadable stare. He must have felt his unmoving gaze. His eyes are brighter than before, having regained some of their telltale spark, but they are not as luminous as normal.
Noticing something like this would never be lost on Jamil.
“Is something wrong?” Asked Kalim, voice soft and unsure. Maybe even afraid.
Jamil sucked in a sharp breath, exhaled it as a longing sigh.
Longing for what, though? Or…for who?
“I’m fine, Kalim. Just get back to studying.” Drawled the vice housewarden, fixing his scrutinizing stare back on the heir across from him.
Kalim sent him a questioning look, a slight pinch in his forehead as he pursed his lips. The expression is extremely adorable, but Jamil is not mentally prepared to admit such a thing to himself.
With a cock of his head, shifting his ornate gold and burgundy headscarf, Kalim continued, “Are you sure? You seem a lot more tired than normal lately, I noticed.” His eyes are so big and dewy, so full of sincere concern for his vice housewarden.
Jamil merely blinked in response.
With a short tsk , he grumbled, “I just told you I’m fine.” He knows it’s a lie. Kalim probably does too. His pronounced dark-circles are a clear indicator that he is very far from fine. “Just keep working, alright?” He ordered.
Kalim looked like he wanted to protest, to ask him one more time if everything is truly okay, but his desire to argue died in his throat along with the gleam in his eyes. They darkened once more, as his face fell. He let loose a shaking sigh, fanning some of his eraser shavings off his textbook, and forced down a thick, audible gulp. Jamil saw how his grip on his pencil tightened, fingers going pale from the force.
“Alright.” Kalim responded, through a wet breath. Something about the defeated, broken timbre made Jamil’s chest ache.
There’s a layer of dew on Kalim’s eyes that was not there a few minutes prior, Jamil noticed.
He already overcame his pride and apologized for his outburst from a few nights previous, blaming it on exhaustion and a string of poor night’s sleep. Jamil has never been a fan of apologizing, let alone to Kalim, but he admits he went way over the line that time. Of course, though, Kalim immediately accepted said apology without a second thought. Jamil doesn't understand how someone can be so forgiving. He knows he's been pushing Kalim to his emotional limits as of late, can see the signs of it in the bags under his eyes and the ever present pinch in his brows, yet Jamil finds himself powerless to change his behavior.
Unable to look at him like this, so clearly disheartened directly because of him, Jamil compelled himself to avert his gaze and stare blankly at his own textbook. None of the words made any sense, as he bored into the page with stinging eyes. All he could see, behind his lids with each blink, was the gloss of tears on Kalim’s eyes. The bob of his throat as he heavily swallowed down his worries.
He wants it all to stop, but he just doesn't know how to release the obligatory desire to hate still firmly rooted within.
They had already gone back to normal after that blowout, but there it is again, that glaze of hurt and heartbreak on Kalim’s eyes that Jamil is becoming all too familiar with lately.
The fire of life and love Jamil is purposefully extinguishing, all to satiate that starving monster in his brain who craves hatred and revenge for a crime Kalim didn’t consciously commit.
He stared at his textbook, but it might as well be written in another language.
All Jamil can think of, all he can perceive, is Kalim.
And how badly he’s hurting him, with each passing day.
🐍
Jamil has been thinking lately, and such a fact terrifies him to his core.
Because he’s been thinking about Kalim. Not about what Kalim represents, not about his wealth or his family or his status over Jamil’s, or what he has inadvertently taken from him over the years. He’s been thinking about Kalim, as a… person. It dawned on Jamil during a particularly vicious night of tossing and turning, mind once again consumed with every thought imaginable regarding the housewarden, that he hadn't been thinking of Kalim as himself. Jamil’s been equating Kalim with the grudges he holds against him, with the sheer unfairness he can’t seem to get past.
But the more he thought about him, the more it became readily apparent that Jamil had been viewing Kalim all wrong. He’s just…a boy. A boy who treats Jamil like a king, who would do anything for him, who authentically loves him, in spite of their complicated history.
How can Jamil properly protect Kalim, when he’s the one responsible for breaking down his heart?
This has to change; for Kalim’s sake, just as much as for his own.
Everything began to become clear, the more he thought. The more he stared up at his ceiling in bed, covers thrown off to combat the perpetual Scarabian desert heat.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, as his head conjured up countless emotions regarding Kalim Al-Asim.
He knows it could always be worse. He knows he could have been sworn to serve a jaded, cynical spoiled brat who treated Jamil like the servant he is. Kalim could have been anyone, any other ridiculously privileged heir with too much time and money on their hands, someone who knew how to make Jamil’s life truly miserable.
But instead, he was given Kalim. Someone so soft and gentle he might as well be made of cotton under his golden skin. Someone so kind, so full of pure, unadulterated love, that sometimes Jamil doesn’t feel worthy to look upon him with eyes such as his. Eyes that have held such misplaced hatred for someone so wholly good, in the very essence of the word.
In that sense, Kalim feels like a gift.
Like a treasure, a hoard of gold given heart and mind and a smile to make the sun feel dim.
It is at this moment that Jamil came to a conclusion—it’s not his fault. Kalim did not ask to be the heir of the Asim fortune. He did not ask for Jamil to be sworn to him from childhood onward. He did not ask for the same boy to hate his guts with such passion, for that very reason.
Kalim lives a simple life: be happy with Jamil, be grateful for Jamil, love Jamil.
Jamil felt a fire burning in his heart as such thoughts took hold, and began to smother the raging hatred that almost seared a hole through his chest. He felt it tempering as he visualized Kalim, his ruby eyes full of twinkling stars, his perfect smile. The thunderous storm of thought and feeling began to quiet, roars becoming mewls, becoming silent. Finally silent, as he imagined Kalim. Phantom, sing-song voices soothed the once savage beast.
“I love you, Jamil!” Sang Kalim, as he gleefully thrust a passing potionology exam in his vice housewarden’s face.
“You’re amazing, Jamil. I love you so much.” He whispered, barely audible between ragged breaths, as Kalim flopped against Jamil’s side after a particularly tiring impromptu dance session.
Love, love, love.
Jamil began to grin, subconsciously, as he thought back on it all. He’s been so unconditionally loved for all these years, and it’s all hitting him at once and submerging him like a tidal wave. He’s been so blinded by hatred, so consumed by thoughts of revenge and loathing that he missed what was standing right in front of him.
Kalim.
Beautiful, wonderful Kalim, who has been by his side since day one.
Kalim, Jamil thought, feeling the fossilized animosity inside gradually loosen and give way. Decades of weight lifted from him, with each thought of the housewarden. Burden after burden dissipated, leaving Jamil feeling something new, something fresh;
Freedom.
Freedom to admit to himself, wholeheartedly, that he loves Kalim Al-Asim. Freedom to scream from the roof of the college that he adores every facet of the boy; his eyes, his smile, his pout as he begs Jamil to help him with this and that. Yes, Jamil even loves making him his favorite shawarma, and ditching a study session in favor of a random dance break.
And now that he thinks about it, Jamil feels it is special, in a way, that he gets to experience school with the one person who has been a constant in his life since childhood. It wasn't ideal at first, but...now Jamil can't even imagine attending NRC without Kalim. Studying together, exploring campus after classes, even cleaning up after Kalim’s (inadvertent) messes, it wouldn't be the same without said housewarden here with him.
Jamil Viper loves Kalim Al-Asim, and, now that he has dredged this realization to the surface, he intends to do something about it.
Finally.
Tomorrow, Jamil mused to himself, as prickles of sleep began to overtake him.
I’ll tell him tomorrow.
🐍
Tomorrow has arrived, and Jamil has been nervously anticipating the confession he prepared for Kalim.
But those jittery, steeped feelings he’s been mulling over since last night abruptly came to a halt. Because, right as Jamil returned to the Scarabia dorm from class, he is cornered by one Kalim Al-Asim.
The housewarden appears…different. Jamil can’t figure out why, but, as soon he laid eyes on him, there is an air of something being off with the usually happy-go-lucky heir.
Maybe it’s because he’s not smiling; his patented cheek-splitting grin exchanged for a grim, tight line. Maybe it’s because the everpresent gleam in his eyes has faded even more, to the point where irises that once looked like flames now appear as nothing more than smoldering embers, on the cusp of snuffing out completely.
“Jamil.” Said Kalim, his voice equally as strained as his features. Something about that tone, how foreign it is from Kalim’s daily disposition, sent chills down Jamil’s spine.
“Can we talk.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was barely even a statement.
It was a command.
Jamil gulped unconsciously, letting his book bag slide off his shoulder and loudly thud to the floor. It seemed to echo in the eerily empty lounge, the two boys being the only souls to be seen.
Has their bond finally snapped? Did Jamil let loose one too many snide, misguided remarks, and send Kalim over the proverbial edge?
Damnit, he thought, chest feeling tighter by the second. I just came to terms with everything.
Did I already ruin it, before it could even start?
“Yeah…” he mumbled, unable to refuse under the crushing weight of Kalim’s gaze. “We can talk now.”
Suddenly inundated with crippling fear and doubt, Jamil unconsciously followed Kalim to one of the luxe sofas in the lounge, and plopped down next to him. Kalim began to fiddle with his hands as soon as he sat, breaths quickly increasing to a heaving, quivering clip. Seemingly unable to look at his vice housewarden, Kalim kept his eyes firmly staring into his lap, at his faintly shaking hands. His myriad of jeweled and golden rings reflected beads of wild, unsteady light about the room.
“Why,” Kalim mumbled, before Jamil could even begin to think of how to respond to his strange shift in demeanor.
It was pin-drop silent in the room, yet Jamil still had to strain to make it out.
As if sensing this, Kalim’s fists clenched tighter, as he snarled, “Why, Jamil?! Why do you hate me so much?!” He tore his eyes from his lap, immediately finding Jamil’s numbed, deadened gaze. His scarlet eyes, usually ablaze with happiness and zest for life, now appear flaming for a completely different reason.
Now, Kalim’s eyes are brimming with the heated glow of anger. Pain.
Jamil would know it anywhere.
Feeling as if slapped across the face, all Jamil could do in the wake of such a statement leaving Kalim’s lips is sit, and stare. Eyes wide and heart trembling, Jamil could do nothing in response to dispel such a notion.
Perhaps taking his stunned silence as a confirmation of his assumptions, Kalim’s breath began to audibly shake as he ran a shaking hand through the mop of starlight white hair peeking from his turban. He squeezed his eyes shut, and cried, “I-I’ve been trying, you know? Trying to make your life easier, because I know I’m the cause of all your anguish. But it’s still not good enough for you to not hate me. I….” Kalim’s eyes reopened, allowing the line of tears on his waterlines to fall free. He forcefully pulled his gaze away from Jamil, and back to his lap.
“I’ve been trying, Jamil. Do you even know that?” He whispered. Fat droplets ran down his bronze cheeks, soon sliding off his jaw and onto his ornate Scarabia tunic. Jamil couldn't help but think the question was rhetorical.
Though such a reaction from Kalim did not surprise Jamil in the slightest. The boy has always been soft, reverting to tears at the smallest upsetment. Too soft for Night Raven College, too soft to be housewarden, too soft to be the heir of the Asim fortune.
Too soft for such a cruel, traitorous world.
Arguably, too soft for Jamil.
It’s all coming to a head now, Jamil knows. He has to come clean, to make amends, before he loses the most important person in his life for good.
Jolting in realization that now is his moment, whether he likes it or not, Jamil quickly slapped a hand onto Kalim’s shoulder, gripping into his soft, warm skin as if the force alone will show Kalim his true feelings.
“O-of course I know!” Jamil exclaimed, once again feeling lost and unsure of how to proceed. But, as he looked at Kalim, at the tears rolling down his cheeks, he threw caution to the wind for once in his life, and decided to just fucking do it. To say what has been haunting him for weeks, months now.
Jamil released his burdens, once and for all.
He sucked in a shuddering, preparatory breath. And then, he let go.
“Look at me, Kalim,” Jamil started, coaxing the housewarden to find his eyes once again.
“I don’t… hate you. At all. I-I know I’ve been acting like that for, well, forever, kinda,” he swallowed thickly, “But it’s just because I didn’t know how to accept that because of our circumstances, I couldn't be myself…”
Kalim sniffled, but didn’t shake his hand off his shoulder. “Like what we talked about after your overblot, right?”
Jamil nodded fervently. “Exactly. What I’m trying to say is I don’t hate you, Kalim. I’ve never hated you, ever. I’ve hated what you represented to me, what I’ve had to become because of that, but it’s never been you. Actually…” Jamil stared at Kalim, as his words quieted in this throat.
Jamil breathed in and out, subconscious tears rushed to his eyes as he gazed upon Kalim.
Fireworks, even more beautiful and dazzling than those in the Scalding Sands, burst in his heart, as he felt it rushing to the surface. Once he says it, he can’t take it back.
And for that, he is grateful.
“I love you, Kalim.”
🐍
Kalim hiccuped, a small little squeak, as he blinked away his tears. In disbelief, clearly.
“W- what?” He asked, breathlessly.
Jamil moved his hand from Kalim’s shoulder, instead placing it over the housewarden’s pair, still nervously wringing together in his lap.
“I love you, Kalim.” He repeated, stronger this time, quickly becoming addicted to how it sounds. Truly, it sounds much better verbally, than simply in his head.
Kalim gulped, stammering, “B-but I thought you hate me—”
“I don’t!” Jamil exclaimed, suddenly overcome with assurance. Maybe all is not lost, just yet. “I don’t Kalim, I was just so confused with everything I was feeling. I didn’t know what to feel, how to feel, even. I was so lost…But I’ve been thinking lately, and I realized that the reason I feel so much whenever you say you love me is because I love you too, and,”
Jamil’s words are shaking, much like his breath.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, and I hurt you in the process.” Such words have never come to Jamil so easily, the one who used to cough out apologies to Kalim. And Kalim is still gazing at him through wet eyes, wordlessly. Jamil felt something damp kissing his cheeks, as he clutched at his housewarden’s hands, “Can we just…” he fought to put the right set of words together.
“Be two people who…love each other, now?”
Better than nothing, he supposes.
He is met purely with silence, for but a minute or two. Contemplative silence, on Kalim’s side. Terrifying silence, for Jamil.
Until Kalim let loose a high-pitched, teary laugh. He smiled, small and reserved, but still setting off sparkles in his eyes. Such a welcome sight felt like an ice pack on the suffocating heat in Jamil’s heart. “I haven’t seen you cry since we were kids.” Kalim mused, casually.
Cry?
Wordlessly, Jamil raised his other hand to his face, wiping under his eyes only for his fingers to come back shining with tears.
He is crying. Jamil doesn’t even remember the last time he cried in front of Kalim; as the Asim heir said, it must have been when they were both young children back at the family palace.
Kalim stayed silent for another second, piecing Jamil apart with unreadable ruby eyes.
“You must be serious, for the waterworks to come out.” Continued Kalim, shimmying a little closer to Jamil on the sofa. He pressed their bodies together, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm.
He rested his cheek, still sticky and damp, in the crook of Jamil’s neck.
And, with that, the terror of what-if subsided. It feels as if all is right in the world again. Like they came out on the other side, together. Jamil couldn't help releasing a sigh of relief, as he laid his head against Kalim’s. The feeling is so comforting, so familiar, yet somehow it feels different; renewed.
“Thank you for being honest with me about everything.” Said Kalim, sighing deeply against the vice housewarden’s neck. “You don’t have to apologize. Emotions are hard sometimes, ya know?”
Jamil chuckled at that, just a little. You could say that again, he thought.
“Oh, and,” The housewarden took one of Jamil’s hands in his, intertwining their fingers. Jamil made his own dream come true, and squeezed Kalim’s right back.
It felt like a homecoming. The pair shared a look. Matching, teary eyes reflecting a similar unspoken promise.
While it may not be slain for good, Jamil then felt that beast formed of hatred shrink, become weaker, only to retreat somewhere unseen and unfelt in his mind.
And for the first time in years—maybe ever —as he grips Kalim’s pleasantly warm hand, Jamil feels free.
Free to love, and be loved. Finally.
“I love you too, Jamil.”