Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all happened so fast.

One moment, Kalim and Jamil were walking down the hall; the next, the sound of drums and cymbals hitting the floor reverberated in the silence, and Jamil hit the floor.

Panic crept into Kalim’s throat. No no no, not here! They were in school! On campus! They were just carrying Kalim’s drum set to the Pop Music Club’s new room, in the almost-completely-empty wing of the school. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be safe.

“Jamil!” he cried, all but throwing his own half of the drums to the side in order to kneel next to his friend. What was he supposed to do again? Admittedly, Kalim was usually the one in crisis when something like this happened, and otherwise… Well, the other times, Kalim had never been alone.

He had no idea what to do. And if Kalim did have an idea, he was too frenzied to recall.

The basics. Right, he had to start with the basics: assess the situation, and then figure out what to do from there. There was no obvious attack, and from what Kalim could tell, they were still alone. Yet Jamil collapsed with a choked cry, and now he was on his back, gasping.

Jamil was awake, in that regard, but his eyes were wide and staring at nothing. One hand grasped the floor, shaking, while the other was firmly attached to the front of his hoodie. Was it his chest? Was he breathing? It sounded strained. Kalim would have guessed it was poison from this alone, but those kind of things only happened suddenly upon ingestion, or slowly. Not suddenly and when they hadn’t eaten anything in well over an hour.

“Jamil?” he tried again, still unsure of what to do and now just desperate for a response. Kalim even grabbed his shoulder, as if that would help. “Jamil?!”

His only response was a particularly pained gasp, although Kalim noted that his eyes tried to move. “Jamil, can you hear me?!”

If Jamil was trying to respond, then he failed to. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, only for both to fly back open with what Kalim could only describe as a whimper.

It was a terrifying sight, and Kalim hated it. It was just… wrong for Jamil to look that way—for Jamil to be the one hurt. It happened so rarely, and really, it hasn’t happened in so long. (Unless he counted winter break, but that was…a special kind of hurt, and Kalim wasn’t sure it counted. Not in this regard.)

What was worse was that Kalim really was at a loss. If their roles were reversed, Kalim was positive that Jamil would be halfway to a solution, and he would know exactly what was going on. Yet all Kalim could do was flounder.

(Maybe that was why Jamil always scoffed, since that Winter Incident, whenever Kalim tried to assure him that they could be equals. Because Jamil knew that Kalim was useless by himself.)

Jamil was shaking, now. Tears slipped down his cheeks. (Kalim can’t remember ever seeing him cry.) His breathing was definitely strained, but Kalim couldn’t find a reason why. There was no blood. Poison still seemed unlikely. A curse, maybe? But how?

“What’s going on out h—? OH CRUD!”

Suddenly, Kalim wasn’t alone anymore. He was already crying, but the miraculous help could have made him cry all over again. Oh thank goodness! Upperclassmen! They could fix this.

Cater and Lilia rushed to them. They must have heard the commotion, because they were close enough to the club room when Jamil fell. (And Lilia’s hearing was… scary good. It must be because he was a fae.)

“What happened?” Cater asked quickly, more harried than Kalim had ever seen him. Meanwhile Lilia was as calm as ever, though his smile was gone. He was doing something, his hands glowing green and hovering over Jamil with some sort of spell that Kalim could not hope to understand, but if Lilia was doing it, then it was a good one.

“I don’t know,” Kalim answered miserably. He was the only one who could know, and he didn’t. He never felt bad whenever he messed things up before, but now, the feeling could have eaten him alive. “W-we were just walking, and then he fell over and started gasping. It— We didn’t eat anything recently, and it was just us.”

Cater looked down the empty hallway, eyes narrowed. “I don’t think anybody is concealed, unless they already booked it,” he added. Oh darn—he forgot to consider concealment magic! Oh no, if he had thought to look when it just happened…

“It’s a curse,” Lilia announced, way more calmly than Kalim could ever manage right now. “A latent one, by the feel of it. Nasty things, those are—and I imagine it was well-crafted, for someone as astute as Viper to miss it.”

A curse? Right. A curse. Kalim figured that that was a possibility…not that he understood half of what Lilia was talking about. Ancient magic and curses and whatnot didn’t come easy to him—that was more Jamil’s specialty.

…which, to Lilia’s point, made it all the more concerning that Jamil was affected by it. Especially if it was applied to Jamil by mistake, instead of Kalim, who was the likelier target.

“How do we stop it?” Kalim asked instead, because that was better than crying over what he didn’t know.

Lilia frowned. That wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for.

Jamil let out another whimper, oblivious to their presence.

“Those kinds of curses can manifest, right?” Cater asked, now directing all of his attention to Lilia. Now, Kalim was really just in the way. “What about a ‘reveal’ spell to start?”

“Good thinking,” Lilia agreed, still studying Jamil with sharp eyes. Kalim didn’t know how he could keep his head like that, with Jamil crying now, but if it helped…

Cater took his wand out of his pocket, fumbling just a bit, and then he cast whatever spell he was talking about. Jamil’s skin glowed briefly with the light of Cater’s magic, and when that faded… Kalim gasped. There was a black, snake-like mark moving across his skin—over his eyes, around his neck, at his wrists… That was what curses looked like?! Kalim was very glad that they were rare.

“Take off his jacket,” Lilia commanded. Kalim almost would have thought he was a professor, with that tone.

Kalim scrambled to obey, even though it was hard to maneuver the jacket off from this position. Cater had to help him, rolling Jamil over in order to get his arms out. And now that his arms were bare, the curse looked so much worse. It was everywhere! It moved, too, like a constrictor around prey.

“What is that?” Cater gasped, as horrified as Kalim felt.

“An agony curse, from the looks of it,” Lilia hummed. “Or perhaps a fear one. It’s hard to tell, but I can at least assure you that it’s not directly hurting him.”

“Not directly—?!” Kalim was astounded. “What do you mean it’s not hurting him! Look at him!”

“I mean it’s not injuring him,” Lilia corrected, and a part of Kalim was starting to resent how calm he was. “This is merely a pain response—the curse will overwhelm him with an unnatural sensation, stimulating his nerves or his emotions. Perhaps both, from the looks of it. However, that is not to say it’s not dangerous, I assure you. His heart likely won’t fare well, if this persists. Or his brain. Those are fragile things, after all.”

“Surely there’s a limit on it, right?” Cater asked. “Curses always have limits.”

“Oh, I’m sure there is, but it’s hard to say how long that will be. Not to worry—I’ve dealt with these before. If I find the contact point, I can negate it.”

Wow! The junior curriculum really was something else, wasn’t it? Kalim was really, really grateful that Cater and Lilia were close enough to help.

Cater took in a shaky breath. “W-what does that look like?! All I see are the coil-thingies.”

“Hmm, it will be stationary—a black blob, if you will. Likely wherever contact was made for the curse to be formulated. Now help me search.”

It wasn’t on his arms or on his face. Just as Kalim was dreading the possibility of having to check his pants, Lilia sliced off his undershirt with alarming proficiency.

“There,” Lilia said, just as Cater made a noise as well, by Jamil’s neck.

“Wait,” Cater said. “If that’s the spot, then what’s this?”

Sure enough, there were two marks: a black mudspot, vaguely hand-print shaped, at the small of his back, and then something intricate and golden at the base of his neck, half-buried underneath the snake-curse.

Wait a second. Kalim recognized that shape… He watched the spot with baited breath, waiting for the snake to move enough for him to see. There!

“That’s…the Asim crest,” Kalim realized out loud, as confusing as it was. Why would Jamil have a tattoo of the crest? Jamil hated tattoos. Kalim had tried for years to convince him to get matching ones to his own, but Jamil stalwartly refused. He even refused to get any at all, when Kalim would have been happy enough to pay for whatever Jamil wanted, matching or not. Finally, Jamil admitted that he wasn’t comfortable with them, and he helped Kalim design another for his back instead. Kalim never brought it up again, but had Jamil gotten one anyway? It was all so confusing.

“A brand,” Lilia stated, voice hard and almost mean. “Leave it.”

Cater snapped his hands away with a sharp inhale.

A… brand?

Before Kalim could question it further, Lilia was doing something to the hand-shaped mark on his back, drawing a new rune on top of it. Then the mark turned white and started over taking over all the black snakes. It was working!

Once all of the marks were white, they disappeared in a flash. Lilia leaned back on his heels with a tired sigh as the curse was removed. Meanwhile, Jamil gasped again, but this time, his dark eyes focused on the ground, and he pushed himself off of it in a flurry.

“Wh-what the hell happened?” Jamil finally managed, scooting himself against the lockers. He held his arms against his bare chest defensively, and for a moment, Kalim could clearly see the lingering fear in his expression. It was out of place, and it bothered Kalim in a way he couldn’t articulate.

“You were cursed as some dastardly prank, I presume,” Lilia explained. “It is removed now, so you needn’t worry. I would, however, keep a close eye out for the culprit. I fear they may have something against you.”

Jamil swallowed thickly. Then, with an exhale, Jamil closed his eyes. His entire expression changed, and suddenly, he was back to the Jamil that Kalim knew. (Except for the tear tracks on his cheeks, at least.)

“I see. Thank you, Vanrouge. It seems I am in your debt.”

The happy-go-lucky Lilia that Kalim knew reappeared at that moment as well. Kalim almost got whiplash. “Oh, it was no worry at all. This is simply what classmates do.”

“Here.” Cater handed him his still intact jacket. “Sorry about your shirt. Lilia had to remove it to get to the curse, and sadly, it didn’t make it. It was such a cute tank top too. You have got to tell me where you clothes-shop, fam.”

“Uh… r-right.” Jamil cleared his throat and stood up. When he put on the jacket, Kalim spotted it again—the brand. “I’ll hurry back to the dorm then.”

Jamil made a run for it. It really wasn’t like him to leave so suddenly, especially with a mess in the hallway, but Kalim supposed that after an ordeal like that, even Jamil would be out of sorts.

As Jamil turned his back to them, Kalim could still see the tip of the golden crest, peaking above the hem of his collar. That is, until Cater caught up to him and threw an arm around his shoulders, covering it.

“Hey Jamil! Allow me to help.”

Kalim could see Jamil bristle, even from his angle. “That is hardly ne—!”

He stopped short when Cater whispered something into his ear. Then, without any more protests, the two disappeared around the corner.

Kalim stared down the hallway, as if he could still see them. As if he could still see that crest.

Brand…

It was an odd way to put that, wasn’t it? That was what they called the markings they put on their animals, so they wouldn’t get confused with another house’s, or so they could be easily recovered if they wandered off. In fact, the shape of it was exactly the same…

No. No, it couldn’t be…

(Jamil’s words, back from that terrible week, echoed back at him. The words cried out with vigor, dripped in blot. “I’m going to be free!”)

Kalim staggered backwards, as if the realization had physical impact. In a way, it did.

(“You shall inherit this whole estate one day, my son,” his father once told him. “All of the riches, the land, the beasts, and the attendants shall be yours.”)

No… No no no. Sure, the Viper family had served the Asims for generations, but that didn’t mean… Surely his father didn’t…

No wonder Jamil was so distant. No wonder Jamil rebuffed all of Kalim’s assurances that they could be equals—friends. No wonder he never believed him, before or after. No wonder he was so excited when he was accepted into NRC, far away from the Land of Scalding Sands… No wonder he wasn’t thrilled when Kalim followed.

No wonder he snapped.

No wonder Jamil hated him.

“I take it you didn’t know.”

Kalim jumped, forgetting that Lilia was still there. He roughly wiped his tears with his sleeve, probably doing a terrible job at it. “N-no… I really—” He hiccupped. “I really didn’t.”

Lilia was back to that eerily calm look. It was both unnerving and comforting, because at least it was without malice. That much Kalim could tell. (He hoped.)

His upperclassman sighed wearily, sounding way too old for his age. “Humans are so baffling…” he muttered. Then, to Kalim, he assured, “I believe you.”

Kalim wondered if Jamil would believe him too.

Chapter Text

Jamil’s heart pounded in his ears. How did things go so wrong, so quickly? He shouldn’t have let this happen.

In hindsight, it was so painfully obvious that that Scarabia junior applied the curse when he encountered him in the hallway. That ‘friendly’ pat on the back was suspicious enough, but at the time, Jamil wrote it off as passive-aggression. (Something Jamil had become increasingly subjected to, ever since winter break.) The shiver up his spine happened on a multitude of strange touches and moments of contact, so that wasn’t strange either. He should have noticed the magic, though. A curse? On his skin? It should have been a damn beacon.

Unless… Jamil was fairly certain that junior’s unique magic had something to do with concealment. It was terribly hard to peg, but it was something Jamil kept an eye out for. He regretted not paying closer attention, or even tricking him into revealing it. Then, maybe, Jamil wouldn’t have been so blindsided.

He couldn’t do a damn thing against it, either. Fire erupted in his veins, and then it was like his nerves seized up, unwilling to do anything useful. His vision blacked out and his ears rang loudly… Really, it should have merely been uncomfortable, if not a bit painful, with the nerve spasms; yet fear overtook him, and no amount of reasoning could undo it.

That hellish experience lasted both an instant and an eternity. Time meant little in the ordeal, and it took everything in Jamil’s power to try to activate his magic at all. Not that it had been particularly successful; it was all he could do just to breathe. Nevertheless, enough time passed that two new people entered the equation, and he lost both his jacket and his shirt without his notice.

In a way, waking up had been worse. Half-naked under the prying eyes of not only Kalim, but two upperclassmen? Cater, the eyes and ears of Heartslabyl, and Lilia, the all-too-capable vice housewarden of Diasomnia, no less. Jamil was exposed and surrounded. In that split second of realization, the magic wasn’t gone at all: fear still clung to his heart.

With more effort than he would have liked, Jamil schooled his expression. Finally, he was able to discern reality properly, and take stock of his surroundings. This was fine. This was manageable. Jamil could handle this. Kalim looked jumpy enough as it was, and it would be a blemish on his name if Jamil caused him more grief because he let himself continue to be worked up. (Not to mention the headache it would be if Kalim started trying to bug him over the matter.) He just needed to extract himself from the situation so he could piece himself back together undisturbed. (And give himself enough time to formulate a proper response to the person who did this to him, before Kalim got involved in that too.)

Jamil barely made it out of the hallway before Cater threw his arm around his shoulders, as if one measly incident made them friends. The touch burned and his heart crept into his throat.

“We had to use a reveal spell on you,” Cater whispered, low and strained and very much unlike Jamil’s initial impression of the junior. “Your scars and… tattoo will be visible for a few more minutes.”

The tenuous hold he had on the situation shattered. It didn’t cross his mind that the marks on his skin should be visible, even though it should have when he woke up shirtless. Normally magic kept the more… concerning marks at bay, and the stamp defaulted to being hidden unless revealed.

Shit.

Shit, that was… that was bad. He should be concerned about this. Who all saw it? Cater certainly did. Would rumors be started about this? What did Cater have to gain by telling him that he knew? And the Diasomnia vice too… Shit. Jamil couldn’t have word of this spreading, in case… In case what? The student body knew how fucking pathetic he was? Or in case it caused undue attention to the Asim name? Jamil struggled to find the optimum concern, even though that would affect how he went about this. He needed to—

Jamil had been moved. He wasn’t strictly aware of where his legs took him, but suddenly he blinked and he was in a completely different section of the school.

Cater was still there. Next to him. Guiding him to some unknown location.

Fuck.

How on earth did blank out like that?

(Jamil swallowed a pitiful sob. It was getting harder to keep his emotions in check.)

“Here,” he barely heard Cater say, and then he was being herded into an empty classroom. “Nobody should come in here.”

If Jamil didn’t know any better, he would take those words as a threat… but he doubted that Cater would use those kinds of means. Unless Jamil was wrong about this, too. Shit. He had no idea what was happening anymore, the situation fleeing far from his grasp.

“—sy, easy, it’s okay. We’re alone, I promise.” Cater was still talking. “Just sit down, and… there we go! Now look at Cay-Cay and breathe with me, m’kay? Just like this.”

He had no idea what Cater was fucking talking about. Hell, he could barely hear him over the beating of his heart—which still hadn’t gotten the memo that the spell was over. Nevertheless, he copied Cater movements until he was breathing in tandem with him, counting alongside his fingers. Jamil…wasn’t capable of doing much else, at the moment, so he played along.

“What the hell is happening?” Jamil choked out, deliberately ignoring how pathetic he sounded. “I thought the curse was removed.”

It was harder to ignore when Cater looked at him with pity and a strained smile. “Magic induced panic attacks are still panic attacks,” the junior said. “And it looks like you’re still having one.”

A panic attack? This disconcerting? In public? How humiliating. Jamil should have been more careful.

…but he supposed it was too late now. Jamil needed to focus on wrapping this up and salvaging the situation. (Except that goal was still out of reach, beyond the capabilities of his staticky mind.)

“I hope the shirt’s okay?” Cater continued. “I’m pretty decent on conjuring, sure, but not on putting clothes on other people. Also, er, that’ll probably only last for thirty or so minutes.”

What? “…shirt?”

Jamil grabbed at the fabric at his chest. It was a red shirt with a hood, but it wasn’t his. Right. He lost his shirt. He had been exposed. The reminder caught in his lungs, and he was faced once more with the plight of his secrets.

He yanked the hood over his head on reflex, drawing the fabric closer. (It wasn’t bad, for a conjure.)

“You saw.”

He couldn’t formulate any other words, but those were good enough. Although the statement came out more like a whimper, even to his own ears.

“Well, um, yeah, but I’m not judging! Okay, maybe that’s not the best word for it, but… B-but I mean, I know it’s not on you, so don’t worry.”

The assurance sounded hollow to Jamil. (If he were in a better state of mind, he would have hypnotized Cater on the spot, to milk everything out of him and then make him forget. But as it was, Jamil could scarcely consider the option, much less make his magic behave enough to follow through.) At least he had confirmation that Cater knew what it was—or at least an inkling of it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be that nervous. Jamil figured: Cater was quite observant.

Before Jamil could think better of it, he buried his head in his knees, which he pulled up to his chest previously without any conscious effort. Whatever. Cater already had a front row seat to his pathetic display; he would work out the recompense… later.

That damn stamp. It was just a tradition, his parents said. A display of loyalty. A symbol. It didn’t do anything, and it wasn’t even visible unless targeted. Technically, Jamil himself could remove it—it was simple magic in that regard. But it was given to him when he was just a kid, and it represented everything Jamil grew to resent.

He never asked for this.

He didn’t want this.

But Jamil was born a Viper, and Vipers had sworn fidelity to the Asims long ago.

The scraping of a chair against the floor cut through his thoughts, but only barely. Then Cater was next to him, a hand on his forearm. The touch buzzed against his skin, as if the lingering effects of the curse made everything more sensitive; it was enough to make Jamil focus on his surroundings, at least.

“…It’s okay to be upset, you know,” Cater said softly.

Jamil gritted his teeth and tried not to cry.

(Like with everything else that afternoon, Jamil failed.)

—o0o—

Jamil was utterly exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and make this day end—even though it wasn’t even seven p.m. yet.

He stayed in that spare classroom with Cater for far longer than he anticipated, but Jamil would be lying if he insisted that he could have left sooner. He simply hadn’t the strength for it. At least by the time he composed himself, all of the magic was well and faded. Everything was back to normal, more or less.

At least, it would be when he woke up the next morning. Tomorrow, he would be Jamil Viper, the capable servant of the Asims. Tonight, he was going to be in bed, recovering. He promised Cater as much, after the Heartslabyl junior went through the trouble of babysitting him for hours.

There was food leftover from lunch. Surely Kalim could find that and heat it back up without incident. If anyone needed anything from Jamil tonight, they didn’t, because Jamil had no intention of doing anything until he could make himself presentable again.

There was a knock on his door.

For the Sorcerer’s sake—!

Jamil ignored it. It took every fiber of his being, but he ignored it. Maybe he should take a shower—then, it wouldn’t be his fault for ignoring it. Whoops, Jamil was unavailable, and his roommate wasn’t there either. Nobody is home. Go away.

“Jamil?” came the muffled voice of Kalim. It was shaky with tears. “Can I—? Can I come in?”

The doorknob rattled, but it didn’t open. It wasn’t locked. Kalim had a tendency to barge into rooms unthinkingly; the fact that he was restraining himself was a testament to how bent out of shape he was.

Jamil sighed to himself. Kalim spooked so easily. It was one of the reasons why Jamil tried not to show off the nastier scars, from all the stab wounds and bullets and magic burns that he accumulated when Kalim wasn’t there to witness it. He knew Kalim was far from unscathed either, and he didn’t expect Jamil to be, but some of the kidnapping attempts had been far messier than even Kalim knew, and Kalim had a tendency to react poorly whenever Jamil was the one downed.

He supposed it was Kalim’s way of caring. It would be more endearing if it wasn’t baked in useless gestures. (Jamil still missed curry.)

However, Kalim witnessed Jamil go down earlier, and he probably saw some of the scars, too. No doubt he had concern, though to what aspect concerned him, and how, was anyone’s guess. He might not forget about this quickly, either, and the last thing Jamil wanted was for Kalim to do something reckless under the guise of helping.

…and Jamil shouldn’t be so callous. It was on him for worrying Kalim, after all.

So, as much as Jamil didn’t want to interact with anyone, he relented. Better now than in the morning. “The door’s open.”

Kalim didn’t need to be told twice. He entered the room quickly, his face red and puffy with tears. How long had he been crying? It had been hours since the incident.

“I didn’t know!” Kalim blurted in utter despair.

Jamil gathered what little remained of his strength. “It’s not your fault, Kalim,” he started. The exhaustion creeped into his voice, but that was fine. He could let that one go, in light of today. “I didn’t notice it either, and I was the one affected. Trust me, I’ll keep a better eye out in the future, for the both of us.”

“N-no, I mean… Well, that too, but…” Kalim stuttered over his words. Fresh tears streaked down his cheeks. “I m-mean the… the brand. On your neck. I— I didn’t know.”

Jamil’s heart skipped three beats.

What?

Kalim continued before Jamil could even begin to wrap his addled mind around the revelation, barreling onwards. “Yeah, sure, my dad said st-stuff before, but I never really thought about it, and I didn’t realize how deep it went. I didn’t think things were like that, anymore. Or that he… that he would…” Kalim hiccupped. “I’m a terrible friend. No wonder you hate me.”

For a moment, Jamil could only stare. He…could easily believe that Kalim never knew. It wasn’t a tradition that was discussed often, except when little servant kids came into the picture. But for Kalim to be this upset over it? Jamil wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I don’t hate you,” he finally managed, picking the point with the most damage to mitigate.

Kalim wiped his eyes and fixed Jamil with a shaky smile. “There you go—lying again.”

“Wha—” Jamil was shocked, but he wasn’t sure what shocked him more: that Kalim called him out, or that he… hadn’t even meant to lie. Was he lying?

…Jamil didn’t know.

He didn’t like not knowing.

(He closed his eyes and breathed, remembering Cater’s demonstration. He couldn’t afford to get anxious again, so soon after the last episode. Just breathe and slow down.)

“I don’t hate you, Kalim,” Jamil said again, softer and surer. The words were tired, but Jamil was fairly certain that they were true. Kalim frustrated him to no end, and he scared the hell out of him, but Jamil didn’t wish him harm. Did he want him far away, sometimes? Sure, but Jamil couldn’t say that he hated him. Kalim saw the best and the brightest of the world; it wasn’t his fault that Jamil couldn’t.

Kalim sniffled loudly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. And… And I know you don’t see me as a friend. I g-get that now.”

“Why are you saying this?” Jamil asked, still unsure where Kalim was coming from and where he was going. Jamil was normally better at gauging the other boy, but tonight was proving difficult.

“Because I’m sorry,” Kalim cried. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize that you were forced to take care of me. I just… I had just wanted… A-and I never meant to make it worse.”

Jamil stared some more.

The image of Kalim blurred.

“I never cared who you were,” Kalim continued, pushing through the sobs. They didn’t debilitate him, the way they did to Jamil. “I just wanted a friend, a-and you were there, and you were my age, and I just… I just didn’t want to be alone. A-and you were so good at playing games, and you were smart, and you loved dancing, and… and… I didn’t want you to go away, but I never realized you couldn’t leave.”

Tears dripped down Jamil’s chin. They stole the breath that Jamil worked hard to maintain, and they closed up his throat.

“I am so, so sorry Jamil. I-I’ll remove it. I’ll tell Father myself, if I have to. I’ll fix it somehow, I just… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

The Kalim sobbing in front of him was not the Asim heir that Jamil was assigned to, encouraged to grow close to by his parents. He was not the image of the system that chained Jamil down. He was just another seventeen-year-old, born into a name with insurmountable history.

What a mess, they were.

In an unprecedented gesture, Jamil grabbed Kalim and hugged him.

When they were little kids, Kalim would hug him all of the time—suddenly and tightly. Almost as if he were Kalim’s personal teddy bear. It bothered him for the longest time, but there was nothing he could do but bear it. It declined with time, Kalim going for half hugs and limb-grabs and pats on the back. Jamil handled it. To him, it was just another way that Kalim could pull Jamil around. Another way he was at Kalim’s mercy.

Yet for all of Jamil’s attentiveness, he never realized why—he never realized what Kalim was trying to accomplish in the first place. Years later, Jamil finally understood him a bit better. And, for the first time between the two of them, Jamil felt a little understood.   

“I’m sorry I ever blamed you,” Jamil whispered.

They were a mess, but maybe… it was salvageable.