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Having Kalim Al-Asim living at Night Raven College was, in a sense, asking for trouble. Rich beyond belief, equally as gullible, no sense of danger or self-preservation, going to school with some of the world's top mages without the benefit of strong magic or the common sense the Blue Fairy gave the average squirrel? Sometimes, Jamil still wondered what the hell his parents were thinking, sending him here. To be fair, Kalim had learned quite a lot in his time at the school, and there were only two incidents where Kalim was in actual danger while on school grounds. Both of which involved overblots.
Still, old habits die hard, or so Jamil was learning. And some never should die. While Kalim had taken over many of his daily tasks, and taken on all the proper housewarden duties--Thankfully, as a merchant's son, Kalim was very familiar with paperwork--Jamil still couldn't bring himself to fully stop his daily check-ins and safety measures. Kalim repeatedly told him it wasn't necessary, he was perfectly safe here at school. More safe than he would be at home, anyway. Doubtful, considering the slimy fish a mere dorm away. But he was trying to let Kalim take charge of his own safety.
Which was why their current situation was Jamil's fault, no doubt. They'd gotten him back to the dorm safely five nights ago, but Kalim hadn't bounced back. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to start smiling, laughing and forget what had happened, but something had changed. He hadn't even slept, the only attempts causing a horrible screaming fit which alerted the whole dorm to his return.
“What happened to him?” Jamil heard their dormmates whispering as they made their way through the halls. A quick glare shut them up, but it wasn't enough to keep Kalim from hearing. He'd tensed, holding Jamil's hand even tighter. Like usual, Kalim clung to his servant after such an event, but he was quiet. Too quiet.
Today, Jamil had to drop him off at band practice, and it felt like he was robbing Kalim of something.
You can't stay? He'd texted, eyes wide and pleading. Since Jamil had found him in that basement, Kalim hadn't spoken to anyone, only communicating through texts and sign. And this would be the first time he’d seen anyone outside of him since they’d come back.
“I can't, Kalim. I have reports to write, and being with your friends will be good for your recovery.”
The short, hastening breathing and the tremors of the heir’s body echoed a tense, painful feeling in his chest. It wasn't spoken, but the beg was obvious. He wanted him to stay, desperately holding onto his hand as if he'd vanish without that connection. But he couldn't.
“You'll be safe. Lilia has already promised to teleport you right back to my side if something happens, he’s guarded people before, and Cater is capable with defense magic. Plus, I hear that the Prefect will be visiting and left Grim for her friends to watch.”
Kalim didn't move. Stubborn and shaking, he held onto his hand. Jamil sighed, glancing down where they met, and internally winced at the bandages he saw. The cashmere cardigan Kalim always wore was too loose to fully cover them, and they needed to be changed soon. Similarly wrapped were his ankles, and in the same state. If Kalim had allowed him to change them himself, he could at least assess how well he was healing, but no. When the time had come, Kalim had locked himself in his bathroom and froze the door shut when he’d tried to unlock it, only to take care of the bandages himself. As if he hadn’t seen the damage first-hand at the scene of the crime. At least they had a medical kit in his club room.
“Please? For me, Kalim, please go to your music club. I want to hear you talk about what happened when I come to pick you up, but if you don't go, you won't have a story to tell me.”
It was a lie. A half lie, at least, but a lie nonetheless. He did want Kalim to go, to spend time with other, decently trustworthy friends of his. Hell, if the Prefect really was there, he wouldn't have to worry about a repeat of that gods-awful night for at least one person there, considering her sex and sense of justice. And he would kill to hear Kalim speak, if only so he'd stay out of trouble when it came to his parents. He’d never admit how much he missed the sound of his name being called, or the praise, or even laughter especially from such a person as Kalim. After what happened, it was cruel to use their connection against him, but he didn't have much of a choice. Lying to Kalim was nearly second nature to him at this point.
Though, with how Kalim's eyes lit up and the tiniest of smiles graced his features, he couldn't find any guilt within him. He waved goodbye to him, listened as Lilia reiterated his promise, and watched his band mates lead him to what looked to be a blanket and pillow fort. That would be good for him. Maybe he’d be able to sleep there.
Jamil felt the tiniest hint of guilt for his first lie as he made his way to his destination; the Headmage's office. He did have a report to write, but not ones for the dorm. Thankfully, the Music Club room wasn't too far.
Inside, Headmage Crowley sat with his guests. On his left, Headmage Merlin of Royal Sword Academy. On his right, the head of the magic police. On a chair, leaning against the wall, the school nurse. Next to the nurse, a representative of the Asim. Not unexpected, considering the nature of Jamil's report. They'd already allowed him to push it back a few days to ensure Kalim’s mental stability, but couldn't move it back any further. He'd been pushing it too much with Kalim being excused from classes as it was, without his statement for the police record. He’d long-since given his report to the Asim, leaving out his own negligence as he would in this, but they weren’t as willing to share their opinions on the matter or lend distanced support more than giving Jamil a list of therapists to choose from for himself. While he presumed they’d sent Kalim a similar list, he’d yet to find it on the housewarden’s devices.
“Ah, hello Mr. Viper, welcome. Please, take a seat.” His headmage gestured to the seat across from him. Quietly, Jamil took the offered place. “I understand the last few days have been rather intense for you, yes?”
“Intense is one word for it, certainly.”
“Which is why we're all here. Now, if you wouldn't mind, would you tell us your version of how that night went down?”
“Of course, sir. Kalim was very excited to be invited to the viewing ceremony, and I'd warned him to be careful. I chose his outfit as normal, did his makeup and helped him get ready as this would be an important event for the both of us.”
Once a decade, the Isle of Sages held a party to celebrate the anniversary of the isles’ founding. On this night, the crystal which held the Isle afloat came into view for all to see, and rumoredly inspired all mages who viewed it.
Because of the teen's excitement for the event, Jamil should have figured that Kalim wouldn't have worked on his own self-preservation. Every housewarden, vice housewarden and notable mage from both mage schools had been invited to the event, even the magicless Prefect. The Isle had been brought up from the ocean floor and maintained entirely with magic and magical energy, so this event was to celebrate mages. Yet here she was, stealing the show as a guest of Malleus Draconia. The fae prince with, quite possibly, infinite magical ability inviting a magicless human as thanks for inviting him to look at, even refurbish, some gargoyles she’d found in the basement of her dorm. Kalim had found it sweet, but Jamil couldn’t agree.
Maybe he had been too distracted, listening to people asking her about the overblots and hoping she wouldn't say anything about winter break. Maybe it was the disconnect and thought that since there were so damn many guards that he would be safe. Maybe it was the fact that Kalim promised he'd stay within sight, even wore a tracker on his choker, and gave him the key to said choker. Maybe he had the gall to have to go into another room. Maybe all those had given him enough confidence to think it'd be okay, considering how many skilled people there were there specifically to protect the high profile guests who were attending the party, or the insistence from both headmages that he could relax for one night. It could even have been the storm brewing outside.
No matter why, or how, he'd taken his eyes off of his charge for a mere second, and he was gone. A simple flash of light, a heavy double crack of thunder, a turn of the head, and he’d vanished.
But Kalim wasn't the only one. One of the RSA housewardens was gone, too, and another member of that dorm. Part of him wanted to let Kalim be, the crystal would be on display in less than five minutes, and let it be a lesson that he couldn't trust everyone he met. Another part of him, however, screamed that he needed to find the mage and find him fast. A lifetime of service and knowing he'd be punished if he didn't, that's all it was. Maybe with a serving or two of oddly protective instincts thrown in there.
Jamil checked his phone, the tracker in Kalim's choker saying he was approximately nine miles away. His vital signs were normal, but it took a lot to scare the heir. Even more to crack through that thick skull of his. Besides, he could make it there on a broom in fifteen minutes, twelve if he pushed it. Hell, if he borrowed one of the blastcycles that Idia brought, he could make it in ten, probably; a good chunk of which was to make it out of the parking lot.
Regrettably, he waited by the door. Every second, the feeling of wrongness raged within him louder. Clouding his vision, attempting to pull choked growls from his throat. All he wanted to do was run and get Kalim, but he didn't move.
He can wait five fucking minutes. I can't keep letting him take experiences from me. For all I know, Kalim went willingly. He probably did. Gods, he's such an idiot!
The crystal was everything promised and more. Shining in ethereal colors, a soft glow that left many of the viewers in awe as it radiated waves of energy.
Yet Jamil couldn't recall anything more about the event, as he had swiftly left to retrieve his charge.
What he could recall, in great detail in fact, was the scene he walked in upon. First, he’d seen a familiar pair of earrings coated in blood at the bottom of the stairs. Reaching the bottom, he felt his blood freeze as he took in the sight of what he’d walked in on. Two males, both blonde yet differing in their tone, held Kalim down. One had mounted him from behind-- the student was named Zachary, he briefly recalled from watching their spelldrive team-- while the other took him from the front. Alec, that was his name. On their basketball team. Alec held Kalim's head as he defiled the noble, while Zachary held his hips. Kalim's hands and legs had been bound to the floor, his vision taken away by the thick blindfold made of his own jacket.
The screams Kalim attempted to let out were muffled by Alec’s cock, but they couldn't do anything for the pure horror of the scene. They couldn't stop the smell of ash and blood from permeating the area. Nor could they hide the torn clothing scattered around the damp room. Fuck, they couldn’t hide the long, thin cuts they’d inflicted on his body while removing his clothes. One of them had made small cuts along the curves of his tattoos, white ink marred by red dripping down his arms.
If he attacked--which he desperately wished to, some dark part of him clawing at his mind to eradicate the bastards, make them regret touching what was his -- it wouldn't be the first time he'd maimed someone to protect Kalim, but it was the first time he'd ever considered castration as a punishment. His magic pen slid out from his pocket easily as he approached his targets, catching their attention. Zachary was the first to speak.
“Ah, you're the bitch's subordinate, right? Have you come to join us?”
Kalim visibly tensed, and pulled even harder against the restraints. His wounds only opened further, the metal digging into his skin. Alec held his head still, but he was struggling more and more by the second. The rain outside crashed harder. Almost as if they didn't know who they were dealing with, the monsters before him met his gaze.
“Cmon, it feels awesome! Besides, looking how he does, he's practically asking for i-”
“Snake Charmer.”
The two blondes fell limp, their motions ceasing to defile his Ka- His master.
“Let him go. Back away from him.”
Alec did so willingly, while Zachary struggled with the command. His mental fortitude was higher, or perhaps his desire? Neither mattered. At a surge of magic, crushing force compounding into pain, he finally pulled out. Without someone holding his hips up, Kalim crumpled to the floor and curled in on himself as much as he could.
Jamil walked over to Kalim, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the other boy before sitting down by his head. As much as he wanted to free him from this pain, doing so would only hurt him more seeing as he didn’t have the keys to the cuffs. Briefly, he considered breaking them with ice magic, but water and ice were Kalim’s specialty and not his. As it stood, he’d be more likely to end up hitting one of the perpetrators and injuring them than freezing the metal properly. Which could possibly get them both arrested, considering his own overblot and unique magic. After all, they’d already been disarmed. So, instead, he took a deep breath and removed the blindfold. Shockingly, he noted but a few small tears from him as he used the stained and torn cashmere to cover what his own jacket couldn’t. The blood wouldn’t wash out of either garment, but he knew Kalim would replace them and do so at any price or quality Jamil desired and with interest.
“J-Jamil?” Kalim's voice was shit, they'd done something else to his throat but he didn't know what. He weakly gripped at his arm, having moved as much as he could against his binds, and tried to hide his face against his friend’s chest. Jamil let him. “Why are you here? You shouldn't- ch-”
The coughing fit was truly awful. A mix of coughing up disgusting liquids and choking on them, while trying not to retch? Not something Jamil was eager to repeat. Those sounds would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life, he reckoned. When his voice gave out, the agonized attempts to vocalize reminded him of how movies portrayed the slitting of one’s throat.
It would be much better if Kalim could forget and relax the next half hour while they waited, while he made some calls and got him taken care of. If he could, he'd let him forget this ever happened. But his magic didn't work that way. The words he’d manifested years ago came easily, and while he knew the other mage could resist, and should after their winter break, Kalim let him in.
Jamil shifted his body, moving to lessen the tension on the red and rusted metal shackles binding Kalim to this spot, and held him as the minutes ticked by while administering what little healing magic he could, starting with his torn earlobes and working his way down from there. Ordering the perpetrators to call the authorities and share their location. Even when the police arrived, and the two RSA students were taken into custody as he dropped his magic on them, he held him as gently as he could. When the officers attempted to brush off the crime, asking if things hadn’t just gone wrong in some kind of kink scene, if this wasn’t a big overreaction, these boys had such bright futures ahead of them, if they could speak to the victim directly, he refused to release him. As the officers went pale when they learned who the victim was, and realized they'd have to take this crime seriously for once.
Jamil only released his physical hold when the paramedics came over and assisted in freeing him from those chains, though he nearly dropped the spell as he saw the mutilation of the heir’s skin under jagged, flaked rust and barely managed not to vomit at the sight and smell. He kept him under as the tests were performed, as proper first aid was administered, and in the ambulance. When the doctors asked him why, and if he could drop it, he spoke of his worry about Kalim panicking and possibly flooding the building now that he was in the proximity of magestones again. No one asked him a second time, or questioned why he absolutely refused to let go of his hand unless they were working on his injuries. It wasn’t the worst drain on his magic, he’d had Kalim do things far less in his personality then simply comply, and he only had one target. The only resistance he met was when he ordered him to sleep, and Jamil didn’t have the mental strength to argue. So he waited, staying awake alongside him and continued to do so until they were back at the dorm in time to watch the next sunrise together.
Because, as usual, this wasn't about him. And for once, he didn't mind at all.
While Jamil wasn't used to Kalim's inability to sleep, he was used to his difficulties with food. Getting Kalim to eat properly was an easy task on a good day, under certain conditions. If Jamil didn't make it or approve, he wouldn’t eat it. If it was curry, tasted or smelled like curry, he wouldn't eat it. But on bad days, after poisonings or kidnappings or even nightmares, getting the heir to eat felt like climbing a mountain in the rain with no gear. Nothing rich, nothing with heavy spices, nothing heavy or hard to digest or it would come right back up. He took great pride in being able to say that he’d never had Kalim outright refuse to eat anything he made outside of curry, while the attempts of every other servant and chef the Asim could pay had failed when incidents arose. Not even his own mother’s attempt at cooking had been able to get him to eat anything back when Jamil had fallen into a poisoned coma.
Tonight, Jamil decided to keep it simple. Boiled rice and lentils with chopped ginger, cumin, tomatoes and green peas. Coconut water, and a chopped up banana. And unlike normal, letting him eat in his bedroom was important to his chances of successfully getting him to eat even a single serving and not throw up being anywhere in the double digits. The amount of protective hexes and barriers placed around the housewarden's bedroom made it the single safest location on campus, according to the headmage himself. Even professor Crewel had been surprised how many levels of magic restricted access to the wing, then the room itself. And since winter break, even fewer people could enter the space.
Making it a perfect hiding space for a traumatized teenager. And somewhere he'd feel safer eating in than the open space dining halls, despite the majority of the students of his dorm being blindly loyal idiots and posing very little threat to his safety.
The heir in question was huddled up on his bed, trying to sleep but unable to do so. It'd been this way since Jamil and he returned to Scarabia after that horrific night.
“Kalim? I brought dinner.” He announced, setting the tray aside and watching the ball of blankets and pillows shift. The room smelled heavily of honey and vanilla, a gentle sweetness that many had come to associate with the young heir in times of stress. His mother’s perfume, having been made into several scented candles for him. “Come on, you need to eat eventually. I made enough so we can eat together, if that's what you want.”
As expected, that got Kalim out from the blanket huddle. When they were kids, he'd often ask to eat together with Jamil and sometimes Najma, especially when he wasn't feeling well. His mother used to say it was so he could have people his own age with him, who didn't need him to be responsible.
Seems that was still true.
What else was still true, though fortunate or not, was Kalim's habit of nuzzling up to his neck when tired or stressed. A bad habit he’d kept from when they were children, though Jamil seemed to be the only person he did it to. Gold rubbing against gold wasn't a particularly pleasant feeling, so one of their chokers would have to come off. He silently, dutifully, noted that Kalim's neck was red and raw along the edge of the necklace and made a mental note to ensure he took it off before attempting to sleep tonight.
While Kalim ate very little, only half a bite for every three Jamil took, he still ate. And that was what mattered. After all, Jamil took great pride as both a vice and a Viper, in Kalim's appearance. His clothing, jewelry, haircut, makeup and diet, all dictated by him to achieve a particular vision suited to his tastes. Thankfully, most of the cuts had been shallow but plentiful, so they scabbed with some healing magic and wouldn’t scar. While his ears had been properly healed by a talented mage at the hospital, he could still see the jagged scar line and they would need to be pierced again. The same fortune couldn’t be had for his wrists or ankles. Even as they ate, Jamil had to tear his vision away from the red spotted bandages. Frustratingly, his jewelry and constant fidgeting with the fabric reopened those wounds. No doubt that he picked at them as well when he changed the bandages, hence why Jamil knew he should be the one doing it, yet even suggesting such a thing had the other teen hiding away in the bathroom and freezing the door solid with his unique magic.
Thank you. Kalim signed while he set down the meal, hands shaking as he did so. He'd only finished a quarter of his plate, closer to the dietary serving size but it was something. And that was enough for now. Even if it was barely a third of the calories he needed for this meal, Jamil knew better than to push the issue after he’d been sick at his club.
“I'm going to put it in the fridge for breakfast tomorrow, okay?” Jamil didn't listen for an answer as he covered the remainder of the food, and pondered Kalim's current state. This likely wasn't the first time he'd been assaulted in such a manner, statistically speaking at least. But Kalim had never shut down like this, never hesitated in getting right back up.
What changed this time? Did he know that Jamil had hesitated, waited those few minutes to get to him? Did he blame him? No, probably not. Kalim forgave anyone and everyone, saw the best in the worst kind of people.
He didn't move while Jamil was gone, staring at the sunset off his balcony. Ruby eyes lacked the light they usually held, their shine dull and lackluster. A fake, weak smile graced his features once Kalim noticed he'd returned. He hadn't slept in days, not since the night before the party. If he didn't sleep now, it would be the sixth night in a row. Jamil knew what he needed to do, and for once, didn't begrudge the thought.
“Kalim?” The heir turned to face him at the comment, “do you mind if I stay here tonight?”
Kalim moved over on the bed to make room for him on the mattress with a smile. It wasn’t necessary, the bed could easily fit four people, but it was Kalim’s way of letting him know he was welcome even without an explanation as to why. Jamil didn't need to explain why he wanted to stay in Kalim's room, he never did. And he really didn't even have to ask, either. But, in situations like this, it made more sense to ask than to demand to share his space. Though Kalim was happy to let him stay anytime, even if he said nothing. As soon as Jamil joined him under the covers, he nuzzled up against his chest, letting out the tiniest hint of laughter.
Heat rushed to Jamil's face. Kalim had barely made a sound in almost a week, and the first vocalization was just happiness that Jamil had asked to stay? It was a good thing he couldn't see his face, which he so desperately wanted to bury in the pillow.
Kalim reached over and began to run his fingers along the edge of Jamil's choker, right at the nape of his neck.
“You know taking these off isn't a good idea.” Jamil said through gritted teeth. Sure, Kalim needed to remove his, but there was no reason for his to come off. They were teenagers and in a very vulnerable position. Not to mention, not entirely straight. They wore chokers out of tradition for their dorm and homeland. The pair being attracted to one another and in close proximity with the unresolved tensions of their status and recent events spelled only one thing: Disaster.
“Please…?” His voice was strained, and barely audible, but still there. And Jamil? Jamil was weak. Not even two weeks ago, if someone had told him that he would have absolute silence from Kalim for a single day, he’d have called it a blessing from the heavens. Six days would be a delirious fever dream of wishful thinking. But that single word, the single rasp of his voice which held only a trace of his usual candor had gripped him by the heart and wrenched down the wall of carefully crafted patience and caution he’d built. If non-existant tears dampened silver hair, or his hands and body trembled with relief, he’d deny it until the day he died.
Immediately, Kalim leaned in further and buried his face against his vice's neck, seeking comfort which Jamil was not particularly equipped to give. To some, this would be the beginnings of something heated, but not to them. To them, this was a ritual they’d performed a hundred times over, unknowingly entangling themselves within one another’s presence to the point they may never fully part. The desperate need to feel one another, their other half since the beginning, to know and remember that they had survived. A weak, shaking and bandaged hand gripped the cloth of his jacket, pressing against his back as the other found its way to his hair, while his own pulled away at the cloth covering silver and carefully stroked along his spine.
Soft lips grazed over his pulse point, pausing before delivering gentle kisses along the vein.
And just as suddenly as he started, he stopped and settled down, moving so his head was against the elder teen’s chest. No laughter, nothing other than the feeling of him somehow snuggling even closer.
“What is it…? Why did you just stop?” Jamil asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
“You weren’t comfy…”
That's never stopped you before. I wasn't even that uncomfortable, you could have kept going. But he wasn't dumb enough to speak such a thought. Instead, he said:
“I'm glad you're talking again.”
It wasn't a total lie. Talking meant he was improving, and improving meant he could put some effort somewhere else. It didn't matter that it made parts of himself quite elated to see him doing better because of him, or snuggled up with him. Strictly business, obviously.
“It… still hurts.”
He didn't react fast enough to stop the soft curse from escaping this time. Of course, he knew that was a part of why Kalim had been so silent, but hearing it was another thing entirely.
“I should've gotten there faster.” He wasn't sure if Kalim could even hear the whisper, but it wasn't exactly for him. It was a given that Kalim would forgive him of practically anything at that point, short of actual murder or mass genocide. But he'd let this get as far as it had, he'd waited. As far as he was concerned, he'd let those bastards hurt what was his- and by all means short of marrying him, Kalim was his. Jamil occupied most of his thoughts, he dictated what he did with his body and what he could and couldn't eat. He'd put so much work into making him who he was then, that the heir may as well be his.
The same heir who shook against his chest, whose tears dampened his shirt. Who whimpered louder by the moment and clung to him as if he were the last lifeline he had. Who’s sobs recalled the countless deaths he should have died, yet stubbornly refused to acquiesce. Beaten, bloodied, battered and bruised, he did not care of those, no matter how many bones they broke his soul would not shatter with them, his light would not be snuffed out.
Over the years, he'd seen and heard Kalim cry an innumerable amount of times for equally as many reasons. But never, no matter how bad the injury was, did Kalim cry because he'd been injured. He did not cry over his kidnappings, only when the monsters who took him and hurt him were hurt in kind. If someone had asked Jamil a week ago why that was, he'd say Kalim didn't have the self-awareness to realize that was when he was supposed to cry. That he was too stupid to even think about worrying for his own self-preservation because he'd always had people looking out for him. But now? The thought had been thrown so far out of his mind, it may as well reach the depths of the Isle of Woe.
Jamil attempted to recall any time he’d seen Kalim before he’d received medical attention, after he’d been kidnapped. To his surprise, he couldn’t. He could recall going into the medical wing and seeing him bandaged, examining the traces of healing magic on his person, but never before. Once, before he’d left for a trip with Kalim to the Shaftlands, he’d asked the head doctor what he should expect in the event Kalim had been taken. The doctor had ordered him more sternly to pray to the seven that it didn’t happen, and to alert their team while waiting if it did. At the time, he’d thought the doctor had been overprotective of his paycheck, considering the medical team apparently handled all things related to these incidents. For months after these incidents, he knew if there was a medic outside his master’s door, no one would be allowed entry.
Now, he saw that Kalim had never wanted anyone to see him in that state. He didn't want Jamil there; not discovering the scene, not as he was evaluated, not as he changed his bandages. If he looked weak, if he cried for himself, people would worry. If he appeared weak, he would make himself and his family bigger targets. His siblings would panic and if they panicked, they became targets. The people close to them could be dragged into that hell with them. So he couldn’t be weak. He couldn’t cry for himself, or let the people he cared about see him so damaged, lest they worry. Kalim didn’t want them to worry over someone as replaceable as himself. The last statement being something he'd said many times in their youth, though he hadn't thought much of it more than a call for attention. Just a wish for someone to fawn over him and say no, Kalim, you're so important! And he had never given in. But no… No. He genuinely believed it. If he died, that pain would only transfer to the next eldest, and so on. His own father was the eighteenth child, and no one recalled the names of his elder siblings.
Kalim had to survive, and in doing so, he found things both big and small to live for. Jamil didn’t yet understand how he felt about being one of those things.
There was still one question left, one Jamil didn't know if he wanted the answer to, though he assumed. No, he did know. He knew that he didn't want to know. Besides, he had a feeling he knew the answer already. Still, he wouldn't ask. Instead, he held onto his master, and waited until the heir's cries quieted, exhaustion overtaking his frail body. The sun had long set by then, cool wind blowing in from the balcony, full moon high in the sky as the stars in all their majesty formed pattern after pattern in an infinite repetition.
Jamil allowed himself an indulgence, to join him in sleep. If only in dreams, he could allow himself to forget about things such as titles and responsibilities, to be someone different. Or, to rethink how things were for him now.
However, be it in body or mind, he didn't think he'd be able to let go of Kalim's shaking form until he could smile and call for him again.