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probably-iron-deficiency · 1 year ago

Text

Victim

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summary: More treasures than could fill a cave, more leisure than an oasis, more willing and able bodies than could fill a ravine, and Kalim would give it all up in a heartbeat to keep Jamil by his side. or, After Jamil's overblot, Kalim finds himself isolated in his home, reevaluating the only true friendship he's ever had. He should probably stay away from Jamil. He doesn't, and it's for the better.

✦pairing✦ JamiKali

✦CW✦ suicidal ideation, Kalim kills a guy but its for Jamil so-

✦tags✦ Introspection, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post Book 4, Pre-Slash

✦word count✦ 4k+

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄✧⋄⋆ fic below⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

Jamil was right. Kalim was undeniably, in mind and soul, selfish.

His knife-sharp words had dug an open wound into Kalim which hadn’t stopped bleeding since his overblot. It had been two weeks since the event, and Kalim found himself back in his own home. After hearing reports of “magical abnormalities” at Scarabia, his parents had requested that Kalim and Jamil return home until the term started again. No one knew what had happened during winter break, and in perhaps the last unspoken bond between Jamil and Kalim, they would never find out. It had been five days since they had returned home, and he hadn’t seen Jamil once. The palace was big enough to never interact without arousing any suspicion. Kalim’s room was essentially its own luxury suite- he didn’t have to leave it, so he didn’t. The space felt large and empty without another’s presence, and Kalim was left to fill the void with the things Jamil had said.

With nearly a week of isolated thinking on it, Kalim knew that he was selfish. Maybe not in worldly things- he had enough of those to satisfy the greediest man a hundred lifetimes over. A verifiable army of people willing to flip themselves inside out just to get on the heir’s good side, allowing him to bypass any and all struggles that an average mortal might face. Of course, none of this was necessary: Kalim was nothing if not charitable, and despite the displeasure of the Asim treasurers, he was more than willing to give back where he could.

And Kalim didn’t want any of it.

More treasures than could fill a cave, more leisure than an oasis, more willing and able bodies than could fill a ravine, and Kalim would give it all up in a heartbeat to keep Jamil by his side. Maybe not physically- Kalim would never force Jamil to stay somewhere he hated (not that Kalim knew Jamil hated him until recently). His heart would be enough, wherever Jamil’s body was, his love would placate Kalim. Kalim wanted the one thing that wasn’t- couldn’t- be handed over to him, and despite his riches, he couldn’t let it go.

Kalim was selfish.

In all honesty, Kalim knew that somewhere, deep down, he knew what Jamil was doing to him before his overblot. He could’ve- should’ve- said something to Jamil, no matter how badly the conversation would’ve gone. But the idea of losing the only person that had ever only helped Kalim and never harmed, the only person that had ever stayed. Kalim, tactless, cemented excuses to his lash-line and greedily continued his blissful naivety.

He wished for a moment more of peace, and it had nearly cost him everything.

(It had nearly cost him Jamil.)

Kalim remembered a conversation he had with Azul when they were cast into the desert.

“He betrayed you, Kalim. Don’t you understand that? Aren’t you angry?”

Even now, weeks later, he wouldn’t call it a betrayal. It wasn’t fair to Jamil.

It would break Kalim.

Ah, perhaps he was being selfish even now. Perhaps Jamil had wanted to betray Kalim, wanted Kalim to actually boil into rage, give Jamil a decent opponent to pit his years of oppression against. Even this Kalim could not give him.

Kalim vouching for Jamil did nothing to nullify the brutal whisperings of the Scarabia students. Some lamented Kalim’s inefficiency, his spinelessness in being controlled by Jamil in the first place and his continued failure to remove Jamil from his post. Others, less scared of the potential recoil from the vice-housewarden, spoke of Jamil as a ruthless dark magician. An insignificant, ungrateful moon that stole its light from the ever generous sun.

Kalim had heard worse rumors about himself, and figured the students were entitled to their opinions. (He knew Jamil had heard worse about himself, too, and that he probably didn’t care about the ramblings of some third-rate underclassmen).

(No one but Jamil’s opinion mattered, anyways.)

It had been a… vaguely mutual decision to cut contact as much as possible after Jamil’s overblot. No longer bound by his facade of complacency, Jamil had made it very clear very quickly that he had no intention of looking after Kalim for the time being. Kalim didn’t mind that, really. He wanted Jamil to do what made him happy, and if seeing Kalim as little as possible made up for years of Kalim’s blindness to his feelings, then Kalim would gladly oblige.

(Secretly, Kalim felt as though he had been ripped in two- his only lifeline to real, truthful connection severed. He barely slept, barely spoke, barely moved. Sometimes, when the moon shone clearly overhead, Kalim would sit on the balcony, legs dangling 14 stories over the Asim gardens, and wonder if it would’ve been better for Jamil if Kalim had just gone along with his plan and died. Jamil wouldn’t do anything for Kalim that he wasn’t obliged to do by familial pressure- Kalim knew that now. But Kalim would do anything for Jamil. Right now, if Jamil were to knock on his door and ask him to slit his own throat, Kalim would be dead before he hit the floor. If only Jamil would ask something of him.

Dizzily, he wondered if the scented candles Jamil used to light for his baths looked forward to being used.)

Despite their lack of contact, Kalim still heard a knock on his door twice a day. Outside would be freshly cooked food, sealed in containers with a tamper-proof charm in place. Kalim clung to these moments like no other, even though Jamil was always gone by the time he got to the door.

Jamil wanted to be left alone; it was obvious. After spending almost 17 years of your life with someone you despised, of course you wouldn’t want to see them. When school started up again, it would be harder for Jamil to avoid Kalim- as Housewarden and Vice of Scarabia, there would be no end to the amount of time they would be forced to be together. Especially since Kalim was, admittedly, useless at his leadership duties without Jamil as his loyal advisor.

But Kalim was selfish.

5 days was the longest he had ever gone without seeing Jamil. Not a single soul had come to check on him in his near week of being home, not that Kalim blamed them for that. It was Jamil’s job to check on him, supposedly. (On the second day, Kalim realized it never should have been his job. He never should have been forced to be Kalim’s servant in body and friend in words- it was only time before he became Kalim’s enemy in mind.)

Fleetingly, he wondered how many days it would take someone to stumble upon his body if he died here. He wondered if, in the end, it would be Jamil who found him.

Kalim, alone in his room, was unraveling at the seams.

He wanted to see Jamil. He needed to see Jamil, make sure he was still ok. Make sure, even if childishly, that he still existed outside of Kalim’s view. Just a glimpse of him would be enough- it was late, if Jamil’s ironclad routine still held true, he would be asleep. It would be quick.

Kalim was so, truly, selfish.

Smooth, cool stone chilled Kalim’s bare feet as he padded lightly through the hall. The estate was built to ward off heat, and a brisk night breeze came through the paneless windows, palm leaves swaying in the wind. He shivered, pulling his arms closer to his chest. Jamil would chide him for walking around in pajamas in the middle of the night. He would have, anyway.

Luckily for him, Jamil’s room was not too far from Kalim's own. When they were around 10 years old, it was decided that Jamil would stay in suites designated for higher ranking members of the Asim family rather than the servant residences where his own family lived. Officially, the reasoning was that Jamil had been such a loyal retainer to his young master Asim that he was being rewarded with lavish living conditions. At the time, Kalim was just thrilled to be closer to his best friend- they could have sleepovers practically every night! Now though, Kalim wondered if Jamil was moved closer to his room just so he could serve him better, protect him more easily if someone were to stage an attack. Did Jamil even want to move out of his family’s home, back then? Did he cry when his parents told him he had to leave, or did he just accept it apathetically, resigned to his life sentence? Kalim wasn’t sure which was worse.

At the expense of a 10 year old Jamil, a 17 year old Kalim easily traced the dark path between their rooms, expertly dodging open windows and lights shining from the rooms of those who had not yet gone to sleep or had just woken up. It would be better for everyone if he wasn’t seen.

Kalim slowed as he approached the door, muscle memory guiding him directly in front of it. He paused, breathing deeply. Jamil’s senses were needle sharp after years of guarding Kalim, he would have to be exceedingly careful if he didn’t want Jamil to wake up and notice him. Somewhat ironically, Kalim’s own senses were sharp, if not sharper, than Jamil’s; attuned to hearing even the slightest changes in footsteps or the faintest smell in a freshly prepared dish. 17 years of protecting someone, no matter how you felt about them, would hone your abilities to react, defend, fight. 17 years of expecting to be murdered, even if you were known as an unbearably loud person, would allow you to nearly disappear.

Kalim’s nose twitched, a peculiar scent drifting from the room. Sharp, almost as if someone had made sparks from sanding down metal, but capped with something more heavy. Magic.

It would be near imperceptible to the average mage, but Kalim was on par with beastmen when it came to his uncanny ability to identify things by scent. Normally, he would expect this smell to be close to other practicing magic users, especially if they were back at Night Raven, with students laboriously practicing spells over and over until they had worn themselves out.

But didn’t overblotting stop you from using magic normally for a few weeks? Kalim remembered Leona using his own overblot as an excuse to get out of Housewarden duties, citing his unpredictable magic as “too dangerous” to do work. Even Riddle had taken some time off after his overblot, much to the surprise of Kalim. When he asked Riddle about it a few days after he returned, Riddle explained that overblotting would leave the victim, no matter how strong they were, in a very weakened state afterwards, before he had quickly changed the subject.

Kalim squinted. Something wasn’t adding up.

Silently, he took another step forward. The uncomfortably familiar smell of molten copper burned Kalim’s nostrils, and he clutched his hand to his face to stop himself from coughing.

No. Jamil must have cut himself on something, or maybe his wounds from the battle reopened. But then, why the thick scent of magic that clogged his sinuses the closer he moved to the door? Jamil shouldn’t be able to do magic like that right now, not without risking himself. It was 3 in the morning, what would he even be doing?

Something moved sharply in Kalim’s peripheral, and his eyes quickly followed the movement. From under Jamil’s door, lit by the moon, shadows danced mockingly at Kalim.

Nauseous, he recalled a conversation overheard a few years prior. Kalim, looking for Jamil, had overheard him talking to someone. Not wanting to intrude, Kalim had waited behind a large stone pillar until an “appropriate” time made itself available. Accidentally, he began to eavesdrop.

“I’m lucky they only go after Kalim.”

“Jamil! Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true, Najma. It’s a good thing most of his kidnappers are as stupid as they are shortsighted.”

“What do you mean?”

“If they take Kalim, someone will just go and save him, taking them out in the process. Me? I’m not worth the manpower. The Asims would pay the ransom and wouldn’t send anyone to investigate… I’m curious to see what I’d be worth, though.”

Kalim had soundlessly fled the scene, imploring himself to forget what he had just heard. When Jamil found him in his room hours later, he either didn’t notice or didn’t care to ask about Kalim’s red-rimmed eyes and blotchy face.

Surely not. Kalim crept forward. Surely the world would not be as cruel as to force Jamil to suffer further, not after he had nearly perished for simply wanting to be free. He held his breath, hand reaching for the cool brass of the doorknob. Surely he was simply over-tired- anxious from days of solitude away from Jamil’s watchful eyes. Slowly, he turned the knob. The door was unlocked.

The world had never been particularly kind to them, had it.

A horrible portrait invaded his sight, lit like a silhouette. Jamil, looking smaller than Kalim had ever seen him, struggled fruitlessly in the grasp of a horrifically muscled man. His hair had been ripped out of its careful braids, arms bent at an unnatural angle. Blood trickled like satin down the side of him, and the smirking man held a silver, red-stained dagger at his throat.

Time seemed to slow as two pairs of eyes locked on Kalim’s intrusion. Quickly, he realized a few things. 1) The man was unmasked, meaning his plan was to grab Jamil and leave as quickly as possible without being seen. 2) His towering physique confirmed this- assassins tended to be slimmer, more agile, needing only to slip through a window and take out their prey. This was a bruiser more commonly seen in the market’s alleyways than infiltrating the estate, Kalim was more than familiar with his type. Their goal was simply to take, not kill, by any violent means necessary. 3) Even in Jamil’s weakened, magicless state, the intruder hadn’t bothered to use any spells himself to make the job easier. He wasn’t a mage.

Kalim’s heart beat loudly in his ears, drowning out the surrounding sound. No one moved, the struggle frozen in a fragile state of shock. Kalim’s eyes flitted to Jamil’s face, taking in the sight of him. His mouth was hidden behind one of the large hands of his attacker, but his eyes met with Kalim’s.

For the first time in 17 years, Jamil’s gaze stared back at him with fear.

“Don’t move, little rich boy, and your servant will be just fine.” The man smirked. “What’s one of these, anyways? You have hundreds, I’m sure you’ll be fine until we get our money’s worth.”

Kalim used to vomit after Jamil saved him, hands still bloody from whatever sad battle had played out. He stopped getting nauseous after the 5th time it happened. After a year, he only found himself worried about the state of Jamil, carefully checking him over for any cuts or scrapes.

Jamil had killed for Kalim countless times, under instruction. Kalim wasn’t sure if Jamil would kill for him under different circumstances. But Kalim would do anything for Jamil.

A tidal wave of emotion battered the rocky cliffs of his mind. The ever-present naivety that had been hairline fracturing for a lifetime, held together only by the fear of nihilism was chipping, cracking. Slabs of his principles and boulders of his morals crashed into the white-capped water of his soul, forming a whirlpool that churned and pulled.

Freezing cold something pulsed through his body.

Terror. Rage. Love.

In a flash, magic poured out of him, glinting like razor blades under the light of the moon. Deadly fast, it crashed into its target.

The man holding Jamil froze, the muscles in his arms tensing violently. Kalim cricked his neck, and the intruder fell sideways, staring at the young heir in shock. Suddenly, he coughed. And coughed, and kept coughing, hands grasping futilely at his own throat as he began to choke up water, fresh and clear. His writhing gave way to desperate pleads.

“Plea-ugh. Mer- mercy.” He gasped in between breaths.

The tempest of Kalim’s soul sneered. Mercy? What mercy had they ever given him? What mercy had they given Jamil? There was no answer, and the ocean rose again.

Vessels burst in the man’s face, quickly overtaken by the mounting pressure within his body. His tears flowed equal parts blood and water and his eyes bulged from his skull like an unfortunate fish drawn too quickly from the depths.

In hindsight, it was almost too quick.

The man let out a final wheeze, perhaps a scream if his lungs hadn’t already burst, and his bloated corpse fell uselessly to the floor.

His life, like poetry, spilled into cool stone.

Kalim stood, fists clenched hard enough to draw blood, body thrumming with the aftershocks of his magic. It seemed fitting that the most powerful storm he ever summoned was one for Jamil alone.

Jamil.

Kalim rushed forward, gathering Jamil in his arms. The latter breathed harshly, wincing as his injured arm was moved. Kalim shut his eyes, willing the reserves of his magic to come to the surface. He muttered enchantments as he skimmed his fingers across Jamil’s skin, wounds knitting themselves slowly back together. He would still need to be tended to by a proper physician, but healing magic was instinctual, and known to grow stronger with intent… Jamil would be safely in the clear, if not a little uncomfortable.

A hush fell over them as Kalim finished his work. Normally, after Jamil had protected him from someone (killed someone for Kalim), Kalim would try to fill the silence by chatting about some inane thing. Whether or not Jamil responded was besides the point- he just wanted to let Jamil know he felt safe, even if the words he spoke fell on deaf ears.

This felt different, somehow, and Kalim for once found himself with nothing to say. Instead, he allowed himself to focus on the sound of Jamil’s steady breathing- clear airways, no major injuries, no lingering scent of poison. Kalim had learned to appreciate this single comfort: the calm after a storm, and the two of them safe on the beach.

“Kalim.” Jamil’s voice was somewhat gravely, most likely from being choked. Kalim gripped Jamil’s shoulder tighter.

“Jamil, are you feeling alright?”

“You made sure of that.” He huffed, and Kalim felt the contents of his stomach churn anxiously. He couldn’t think of something to say, so he didn’t.

“Kalim. That man…”

“He’s dead.”

“Ah…” Jamil coughed weakly, body shuddering against Kalim’s. Kalim watched silently as the last of Jamil’s cuts sealed themselves up.

“Your braids came undone.”

Jamil shifted against him, and Kalim paused to see if he would turn to face him. He didn’t.

“It takes a long time to do them, right?” He nodded without responding.

Gently, Kalim allowed his fingers to brush through the ends of Jamil’s long hair. How long had it been since he’d touched it? Since they were kids, maybe. Since Jamil was forced to lower himself to Kalim, and stopped allowing Kalim to do anything for him.

Brushing back a section over Jamil’s shoulder, Kalim began to weave patterns into his hair, the night breeze working against his progress.

Kalim’s hands were not shaking, and Jamil’s breath didn’t hitch, breaking the silence as he cried.

~~~~~

“Kalim, your food is getting cold.” Jamil sighed, folding up some of Kalim’s school shirts.

“Sorry, Jamil. I’m not that hungry.” Kalim gazed out the window, halfheartedly stirring his cup of tea.

“It’ll be a waste if it goes off.”

Kalim was lost in thought, the familiarity of the situation somehow off putting. It had been one full day since Jamil’s attempted kidnapping, and one hour since Jamil had knocked on Kalim’s door, waking him up for the morning with breakfast in hand. Kalim wouldn’t lie, a part of him was absolutely thrilled to have Jamil back taking care of him. The longest week of Kalim’s life had come to a close, in theory it would be easy to simply return to their normal routine. After all, they would return to Night Raven in 2 days time- it would be better to go back to how they were.

In the past, Kalim would gladly take this opportunity without a second glance. But now, knowing what he knew about how Jamil felt… Did he want to? Was a facade of subservience and friendship truly better than the truth?

Kalim knew now that he didn’t have to work for most of the things in his life- they’d all been handed to him without his knowledge. He knew now that those achievements were frail and paper thin, and the happiness he had paraded was one of the fingers that had strangled Jamil’s freedom. Maybe if Kalim worked for the things he cared about just a little more, they wouldn’t disappear like an illusion in his grasp.

“Jamil?”

“What is it?” He didn’t look over, continuing to pack away Kalim’s clothes. Kalim took a breath, letting the spoon rest in his now cold tea.

“We need to talk.” Jamil halted his work.

“About?”

Kalim stood, walking over to stand behind Jamil.

“All of…” Kalim gestured around, “This. Everything.” Us.

Jamil resumed, walking to Kalim’s closet and pulling out more of his uniforms, expertly avoiding eye contact.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time.” Kalim blinked.

“For what?”

“You know for what. Look, I’m not gonna tell you I’m sorry about what I did to you, because I’m not. School’s starting in a couple days anyways, and you’ll have forgotten all about my overblot-”

“Your overblot?”

Finally, Jamil turned to face him.

“Obviously. Don’t worry, once we’re back at school we’ll go back to normal anyways, I’ll take care of everything.” Jamil rolled his eyes, but Kalim could tell he was hiding something. Kalim clenched his fists.

“No.”

“What?” He raised his eyebrow, looking incredulously at Kalim.

“No, I,” Kalim was overtaken by a resounding urge. Jamil, in all his genius, didn’t even know what Kalim was talking about. He had to make it clear now, no matter the consequences.

“I don’t care about your overblot, Jamil! I mean- I care, I care about you, I care about how you were feeling so bad so quietly that you had no choice but to self destruct- but not in the way that maybe I should. I’m not- I haven’t been angry at you. I’m scared.” Kalim’s eyes welled up with tears, and he steadfastly ignored them.

“It was bad enough to lose you as my closest friend. But the other night I almost lost you for real. All for what, because you have to protect me? Because I’m stupid and naive and all that other stuff you said? Because I’m an Asim?” Kalim’s chest heaved, and he brought his arm up to hide his face and avoid looking at Jamil’s.

Jamil was silent, and Kalim didn’t want to imagine what sort of expression he was making.

“What happened the other night wasn’t your fault. You know how those guys are, they could’ve gone after anyone. It’s all money to them.” Jamil’s voice was slow and steady, and Kalim tried to cling to it.

“It was my fault, though! If people weren’t always coming after me, you would’ve been safe!”

“You can’t help who you were born to, Kalim.” He chuckled humorlessly, “And neither can I.”

Maybe, at some point earlier in his life, Kalim would have accepted that. They were both simply filling their roles, an heir and a servant, both seemingly content with their positions. Kalim would eventually take over the family business with Jamil at his side, and maybe they could live in some sort of amicable facade with a want for nothing. But Kalim, given everything, wanted none of it.

“I would give up my name for you, Jamil. I would give up everything.” He took a step closer, forcing Jamil to look at him.

“I would give you everything.”

For once, Jamil looked at a loss for words. Silver eyes filled with an emotion that Kalim couldn’t quite read, and his lips parted as if he were going to speak. No sound came out, and Kalim looked away.

“I’m sorry.” Kalim spoke unnaturally quietly. “For everything.”

A moment passed, and Kalim began to turn away. Suddenly, Kalim felt himself pulled into a hug. Jamil brought him close, arms wound tightly around his back and waist. Kalim gasped softly, immediately relaxing with Jamil’s touch. He brought his arms around Jamil, and took the chance to listen to his heartbeat. When was the last time Jamil had hugged him, and not the other way around? Had it ever happened? Kalim didn’t know.

“We’re not friends.”

Kalim smiled weakly into Jamil’s chest in spite of himself.

“Ok.”

“I won't baby you anymore- you need to learn how to do things for yourself.”

“That’s fine.”

“But if what you said about us being rivals or equals or whatever is true, then you have a long way to go.”

Oh.

“You have a lot to learn if you want to even get close to catching up. I won’t hold back.” Then, quieter. “Guess I have to stick around to see if you can do it.”

Kalim smiled, and he felt more alive than he had in almost a week.

“I won’t let you down, Jamil.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst fic #kalim al asim #jamil viper #jamil x kalim #twisted wonderland fics #guys we need to have more kalim introspection #im so serious right now him and jamil have endless angst potential.#tragic lovers #in themselves and together #but theyre all eachother has #like do you think you get almost murdered for your entire life and have your one safe person betray you and you stay mentally WELL???#angst with a happy ending #twisted wonderland angst

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