Chapter Text
Kalim's gaze isn't empty. Jamil thinks he'd prefer if it was, frankly - then he could convince himself that maybe he'd hypnotized him into being like this. That maybe he's unconsciously used Snake Whisper somehow, someway.
No. Kalim's gaze isn't empty - it's wary. Looking at Jamil like a stranger - but not even that. Kalim takes 'stranger' to mean 'a friend I don't know yet' - Kalim, right now, is looking at Jamil like most others look at strangers. Strangers with large knives, at that.
What the fuck.
He hears someone clear their throat. His eyes snap to Kalim's parents, helplessly. His lips part, but his own parents are nearby - he has to choose his words carefully. 'What the fuck is happening' won't exactly cut it right now.
"...What's wrong?" he asks, voice wavering because he knows the answer he will receive. Some part of him knows, and whispers the answer to him even while he tries to shut it up.
Kalim's father takes in a breath. And speaks slowly, "It seems that you were... More important to our son than any of us realized."
...The floor falls out from under Jamil. The world feels like it's fading, or like he's falling under water, or both, as he realizes why Kalim had been so damned resistent to the surgery.
The problem with forgetting someone who's so big a part of your life, after all, is that you'll lose a bigger chunk of yourself than if it was someone you knew casually.
And it's worse for Kalim, Jamil realizes, as his eyes flicking back to him, searching desperately.
Because now, Kalim remembers so many horrible, traumatic events - kidnappings, poisonings, assassination attempts - but he doesn't remember how he survived them. He doesn't remember who saved him - he doesn't remember Jamil.
To Kalim, right now, he has no one to trust.
"...Oh, Sevens," Jamil whispers, head dropping into his hands. He can't even think of how pathetic he's looking in front of Kalim, in front of Kalim's parents, his own parents, or the damned nurse that keeps flitting in and out to check Kalim's blood pressure or whatever.
All he can think of is how that bright, joyful smile that he's assumed was something he hated... Is something he will never get to see again.
And he cries, like a damned child.
(No one seems to have the heart to reprimand him.)
"It's not impossible that he could remember," the doctor says. Like that's supposed to be a reassurance. Like every other case that remembered their love after having the surgery didn't die almost immediately afterward.
Jamil stands up, fury boiling in his blood, and begins to start to recite each and every case. "Lyre, last name unknown. Age 19. Remembered her unrequited love after prolonged contact with him for a week. The disease returned and hyper-progressed like she'd had it for years, and she died within minutes. Natalia Bellwin, age 25. Remembered her unrequited love after prolonged contact. The disease returned and hyper-progressed. Felix Fierce, age 16, his memory returned after a blood transfusion from his unrequited love. The disease returned and hyper-progressed." He pauses only long enough to catch his breath when his mother lays a hand at his back. "Clementine-"
"We get it, Jamil," Kalim's mother says gently. "If Kalim's memory does return, it won't bode well."
The doctor says nothing. Doesn't admit that that was an empty hope to give them in the face of a wary, scared-of-everything son that no longer remembers his one and only protector.
Jamil snarls at the guy, and sits back down. Crosses his arms like a child pouting.
Finally, the doctor speaks again, "Just because those cases did not-"
"Those are hardly the only ones, doctor," Jamil snarls. "Do not presume that I only know a fraction of them. I know the statistics."
There has only ever been one case where, after remembering their unrequited love, the person survived. Only one out of two hundred of those one-in-a-million cases. Jamil has no delusions.
"It would be better for Kalim if we did not risk his memory returning," Jamil says to Kalim's parents. "With all due respect, I would suggest you reassign me to one of your other children. Keep me away from Kalim."
"Jamil, don't tell them what to do," his father says.
"I am not telling them. I am making a suggestion," Jamil says, barely holding back the word 'dumbass'. "Even if Kalim were to remember me, the disease would likely only-"
"Hyper-progress, we know," Kalim's father says with a sigh. He looks to the doctor. "...What is the timeframe?"
"...Timeframe?" the doctor says, blinking.
"For Kalim to remember Jamil," Kalim's father explains. "All of those cases occured in a similar timeframe, yes? What was it?"
"...It happened within a month, sir. There have been no cases of patients' memory returning after four weeks."
Four weeks. Hah. So four weeks back at the Asim estate, and then they'll just plop him right back next to Kalim with no regard for what he thinks of that, huh?
"...Jamil," Kalim's mother whispers, looking to him. "You seem to have a firm grasp on the timelines of those... Cases. Is that accurate."
Jamil blinks. Yes, he'd done extensive research on the disease after Kalim was confirmed to have the genes for it - and it's rare that such effort of his goes noticed. Were the situation different, he'd probably be preening at the implicit praise.
"...More or less, ma'am. But I feel I'd be remiss in pointing out that those who had known their unrequited loves longer seem to have taken longer for the memories to return as well. For instance, one man who was in love with someone he'd known for two years actually took twenty-nine days for his memory to return, but someone else who was in love with someone she'd only known a few months took seventeen days. That pattern is consistent - so considering the fact that Kalim and I have known each other our whole lives..."
...They might never be safe. One slip-up and Kalim could suddenly collapse with lungs full of flowers, even years down the line.
Kalim's mother hesitates, and then whispers something to her husband. The man wavers, and looks to Jamil and his parents. "Leave us."
...So they do. Jamil gives a bitter laugh as soon as the door shuts behind them. "I'm getting kicked out, aren't I."
He doesn't say it as a question because it just isn't one. He'd basically made himself out to be a ticking timebomb for the Asim heir. Of course they won't want him around in the manor, around their son.
"...Don't think like that," his mother says weakly, but it's telling that she doesn't look at him while saying that.
Jamil scoffs at her, shakes his head. "I'm not a moron."
"Son-"
"Shut up. I-" Jamil's hands are shaking. His head is spinning. "I need some air."
...Jamil doesn't know what the fuck goes down, but he's pretty sure Kalim's lack of braincells is a genetic thing. "You can't be serious," he blurts.
"What he means is, thank you-" his parents try to cover for him. But he's not having it.
"No! No, what I mean is, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Jamil shouts. He doesn't give a damn that these two are the masters, the heads of the Asim family. He doesn't give a fucking shit. "I'm a fucking liability to your son's goddamn safety! Only a moron would let me around him now - are you morons?! You're morons!"
He has lost all fucking vocabulary in his rage.
"Kalim is in there not trusting anyone," Jamil says, pointing furiously in the direction of the in-patient wing. "Because of ME! He fell in love with me, a-and I didn't return his feelings, and- And he almost died because of it!"
'It's not even the first time he almost died because of me,' is on the tip of his tongue, but he has enough sense not to let that fall out at least.
"And if he spends too much time around me, now, he'll remember - and DIE. Do you realize that?! Or am I the only one here with a functioning brain?!"
"Jamil-" his parents try to grab him, pull him back.
"We understand your hesitance, Jamil," Kalim's father says. "And we won't hold it against you if the worst-"
"Hold it against- YEAH. No fucking shit you won't!" Jamil screeches, fighting against his parents' grasps. "If Kalim dies it will NOT be on my goddamn head! It'll be on yours for insisting on him being around me!"
"Would you prefer to drop out of Night Raven College, then?" Kalim's mother asks evenly.
"YES!" Jamil shouts. "Yes, that is fucking preferable to me being around him and putting his life at fucking risk!"
Kalim's parents don't seem to have expected that. They look at each other with slightly-widened eyes, and then look back to Jamil. His hair a mess from his flailing, no trace of the prim and proper, perfect servant they know him as. What they see is a glaring, defiant, and slightly-unhinged Jamil Viper.
Kalim's mother lets out a sigh. "Jamil. This is an order. You will continue to serve Kalim."
Jamil's body locks up. He grits his teeth, and tears build in his eyes. He drops his head and spits out the most sarcastic, "Yes, master," there ever was.
As soon as he's back at Scarabia, Jamil makes a beeline for his room. Doesn't answer anyone asking how Kalim is. They'll find out soon enough, when Kalim returns tomorrow.
For now, Jamil storms to his room, locks the door with more force than is necessary... And he goes and punches his pillow.
That's not quite satisfying enough. He punches the wall, kicks his bed. Lets out a pained shout, not from physical pain but emotional. At the vice-like grip on his heart that just. Won't. Release.
There's a knock on his room door. "Um... Vice Housewarden...?" someone calls. "Is... Is the Housewarden going to be o-"
With a snarl, Jamil goes and opens the door. Glares venomously at the poor student on the other side. "Well, let's see," he snaps. "He was in love with me, who was such a big part of his life that I'd say about... Oh, twenty, thirty percent of his personality is gone. Yeah, and not only that, but he no longer has any memory of me saving him from poisonings, kidnappings or assassination attempts - all he knows is that those things happened, but not who saved him..." He grits his teeth and clutches the door handle so tightly he thinks he hears it breaking. "Oh, and let's not forget, his parents are insane enough to still have me serve Kalim, despite the fact that if he remembers me he will die within minutes now. So, I don't know, you tell me. Is Kalim going to be okay?"
The student opens and shuts his mouth, looking much like a fish gasping on dry land. "I, uh..."
"Yeah. That's what I thought."
Jamil slams the door in the student's face. Then pauses. Takes a breath, and opens it again.
"By the way, tell the others to cancel preparations for the welcome back party," he says, more evenly. "In the state he's in, Kalim will likely just be suspicious of any big gatherings."
"...Yes, sir."
Kalim looks around at everyone else with only the vaguest hints of recollection in his eyes. It makes sense - they don't have any direct correlation with Jamil, but Jamil is the reason he ever came to NRC to begin with. So that means there's no reason to think he'd fully know anyone he met here, either.
"I'll get started on dinner," Jamil says, not expecting to be heard - but Kalim's head snaps up, and it seems like all the color drains from his face.
Food. Poison. Jamil bites his tongue to hold in another scream. He clenches his hands into tight fists, and forces a smile Kalim's way. "I'd rather keep an eye on you - would you mind coming to the kitchen with me? You could watch me cook."
Kalim jerks back, visibly disturbed. Of course - to him, a stranger just said they'd like to keep an eye on him. Yet, he can also see how Kalim would prefer to not be poisoned... His nose scrunches up, cuter than it should be in this situation, and he wavers between staying or following after Jamil.
"...Yeah. Okay."
Wariness over being poisoned wins out over 'creepy stranger', then... Yay?
"What's that?"
'Six,' Jamil thinks. The number of times Kalim has demanded to know what it is Jamil is putting in his food. "Cayenne pepper," he says. His hand has paused, waiting for Kalim's 'okay' to be given on it. He's already half-expecting what he gets, though-
"Taste it. Prove it."
Jamil sighs. He complied with the other spices (although he hadn't enjoyed it) but this? "Kalim, it's cayenne pepper-"
"Why do you know my name?" Kalim snaps at him. Jamil bristles. "And- And in the hospital, why were you there with my parents and the servants? Who are you? Stop- Stop acting like you know me!"
Jamil grits his teeth. 'I do know you, moron,' he thinks.
"Taste it, or I'm not eating anything you put that in," Kalim mutters, settling back down in the stool he'd dragged over to the kitchen island.
"...Fine."
Against his better judgement, Jamil sprinkles some flakes of the red pepper onto the same spoon he'd used for the other spices. He closes his eyes, internally winces, and lifts it-
Fuck. He violently coughs.
"I knew it!" Kalim shouts.
"What the-" Jamil shakes his head. "You- Stupid, it's pepper! Cayenne pepper, it's spicy-"
"You're coughing!"
"Because you made me taste cayenne pepper plain, idiot!"
Kalim huffs, and then leans on the island. Jamil glares at him, but Kalim only sticks his tongue out in reply.
"Can I put it in the food, now?"
"...I guess."
Jamil sighs. He doesn't miss the way Kalim flinches at the way he sprinkles it in, though, and some part of him feels guilty. It's ridiculous - he's used this recipe a thousand times. Kalim would ordinarily never complain about his seasonings.
'...It's just the memory loss,' he reminds himself. But that doesn't make it sting any less when the next time he picks up a seasoning bottle the count goes up to seven.
As it turns out, letting Kalim watch him cook didn't abate his fears. He only half picks at his food at dinner time, and Jamil recognizes it as what Kalim did when poisonings first became commonplace for him.
Only pick enough at a meal to survive. To not starve. And even then, only if your food is the same as what everyone else is eating.
Those were the rules Kalim once lived by before Jamil started taking on cooking all of his meals. And now, it seems, Kalim will live by them again - but worse. Because now, Kalim doesn't even trust Jamil.