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Marching to the oasis the next day after his overblot was actually a pretty bad idea, Jamil realizes too late as he practically collapses on the bed, breathing heavily. He knows well what exhaustion is, but all the tiredness he experienced in life beforehand, currently seems like nothing compared to this. Jamil feels like using his limbs in any way is impossible. Each of them aches in a way that makes the thought of the slightest movement a terribly scary thing. It would somehow make the pain even worse, which appears unimaginable with how bad it already is. He’s suddenly aware of every patched up wound on his body, all of them burning at his skin. The small, but rough one his cheek, the many ones on his hands, the ugliest one on his bandaged chest, hidden beneath clothes and the few on his legs. Jamil feels like only scratching them could bring him any relief, rid of this infuriating, tingling sensation, but obviously he knows better than doing that, understanding the unpleasant consequences of such an action.
As Jamil lays there all alone and hurting, he gets crushed by yet another painful thing called reality. The nefarious Octavinelle trio along with Ramshackle students and their overeager Heartslabyul friends who suddenly made an appearance, finally left Scarabia after the parade, which by all accounts should make Jamil happy (especially the absence of the slimy Merfolk). However, weirdly enough it doesn't, not at all. It can’t bring him any solace when it destroys the brief illusion of everything somehow ending up relatively okay as those simpletons laughed and chatted together on the dessert.
Soon it will be back to normal, everyday Scarabia life. Life with a dorm full of people he had manipulated, lied to, overworked and to top it all off, mind controlled during his overblot. It gets to Jamil that the only reason they haven’t cornered him already is probably due to sheer relief and joy that finally, finally this horrifying nightmare that he made of their lives is over.
But it won’t last forever. Their relief won’t last long, it will quickly transform into anger and hatred instead. Maybe to some it already did. Maybe several of his fellow dormmates are wishing for his death right now, deeply upset that his overblot hadn’t killed him for good. No, not maybe. Definitely. Jamil knows, since he would surely feel the same contempt if he were in their place. Maybe this way it would be easier anyway.
Because although he’s alive, his life is already practically over, so would death change anything?
Sure, that shrewd bastard Azul came up to him when everyone else was busy talking to each other, explained how the livestream thing was a lie and in his “benevolence” offered help in covering all of this up to both Viper and Asim families. However, Azul isn’t exactly the most trustworthy individual. Jamil took him up on the offer, since he would be a fool to decline a saving hand in this matter, even if said hand could drop him anytime, but god, he’s scared. He’s so scared. If his parents ever find out, he will never be forgiven. Honestly, he’s almost sure they won’t be his parents anymore and he won’t be their son, rather a disowned shame of the entire family. If the Asims ever find out, Vipers would be left with nothing, their entire legacy and livelihood stripped away from them. He doesn't want to imagine what would happen to Najma, to his parents, the same parents who would surely be the first to cast him aside.
It’s ironic how Jamil was supposed to not care about them anymore, screamed at the top of his lungs that he didn’t, yet these thoughts still terrify him, yet he thinks of them before he thinks of what would happen to him. He laughs. He truly will never be free. Not even from his sense of duty and responsibility, a prisoner even to his own mind! Ah, how they all ruined him and how he so confidently finished the job off while trying to save himself.
This is all utterly hilarious. He’s worrying about what could happen at home, redirecting his thoughts from what will happen here. He’s gonna lose the vice housewarden position, isn’t he? His elaborate plan not only failed, but brought him even more ruin, now he truly has nothing to his name. Just as it was always supposed to be.
Jamil’s fatigued body is further wrecked by loud cackles mixed with heavy sobs, creating a combination that’s confusing, that he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he hears, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, a hopeless victim to one’s incomprehensible reactions. Jamil can’t control himself anymore and it’s funny to remember how at first it seemed so freeing while now it’s frightening. In losing control over himself he lost control over the one thing in his life he had it over. He lost control over Jamil Viper, control he hated to maintain, yet that was also weirdly safe.
It’s awful. Everything is just so awful.
Jamil in his destroyed state doesn’t register when the door to his room of misery opens. Not until he feels arms cradling him. He’s going to die, he thinks. Strangled. Chuckles and cries twisting together until they get stuck in his throat for eternity. He’s going to get killed, he’s sure. Until his head is brought into someone’s lap, until hands are touching his heaving chest, trying to stabilize it when it would be far more logical to just pierce an already existing wound with a knife, only deeper, way deeper. But the person who came is too weak to do that, too stupid to even think of it as an option. Maybe that’s a form of punishment too.
Jamil, of course, knows who it is. There’s only one individual in the entire world dumb enough to hold the treacherous snake so gently right after getting poisoned by its venom. He wants to pretend it’s anyone else, but it’s simply impossible. And maybe if it was anyone else, it would actually be a far worse, more embarrassing option, because nobody, not even Jamil right now is more pathetic than the one stroking his hair.
He wants to struggle out of this hold, feeling suffocated anyway despite not actually getting choked, but he can’t, not when all that he’s capable of right now is wailing. He’s no longer laughing, he notes. Weird, this entire situation remains downright hysterical.
“I told you to take it easy today…” Kalim whispers quietly, so quietly Jamil almost doesn’t hear it through his own sobs. Oh, so suddenly Kalim is the one lecturing him about safety and making rational decisions? How comical. Turns out all it took for him to finally notice Jamil’s fatigue was a goddamn overblot, who would’ve thought.
“Fuck you,” Jamil manages to choke out. Kalim’s hand in his hair stills. Good, he hopes that it makes him cry, that the fact he’s despised by the one he thought of as a best friend will get through his thick skull and break him, leaving him ruined just as Jamil is. In this, he underestimates Kalim’s sheer stupidity, since after a while he just resumes caressing his head again. The only good thing about this infuriating obliviousness is that Jamil will have many more occasions to repeat I hate you I hate you I hate you over and over, after being deprived of this pleasure for so long.
“...I’m just really glad you’re okay,” states Kalim uselessly, out of the blue, instead of addressing the loathing in Jamil’s voice. How could Jamil not know this already, when he thinks he feels Kalim’s scorching tears on his cheeks again, the ones that greeted him right after waking up yesterday. Or maybe Kalim really did start to cry. It’s hard to tell when Jamil’s face is covered in his own tears first and foremost, completely wet as if he had just come back from the rain. Kalim is probably the only person who shares this sentiment, who isn’t disappointed that he’s still there, amongst the living. “I don't know what I would do without you.”
“Die,” Jamil scoffs. An objective fact, a well known truth that Kalim wouldn't survive a single day without him. Not even counting the actual attempts on his life that Jamil protected him from several times before, as NRC has proven to be quite safe, the only real threat so far ironically being Jamil himself. This eternal baby can’t even take care of himself properly, of course something terrible would happen sooner or later. Jamil sometimes secretly wished for that in the depths of his dark soul, all while continuing to prevent such a scenario.
“Yeah, I know.” Jamil is certain that Kalim is crying now, his voice beginning to shake. “I would die. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without you, I- I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that, Jamil.” Jamil realizes that his head is no longer in Kalim’s lap, that he’s hugged from behind, his back pressed against Kalim’s chest. He's held tightly as if he might vanish, which causes pain to his bruised body, but Kalim doesn’t notice.
Jamil’s breathing stops for a while, a few seconds that feel like hours. That’s not, certainly, not, absolutely not what he meant. The implications are horrifying. Bizarre. Naive. Comforting. Absurd. Childish. Satisfying. Idiotic. It’s scary that even in death Jamil wouldn’t be guaranteed freedom from Kalim. It’s insulting that after every sacrifice to keep him alive, he would be willing to undermine all of Jamil’s hard efforts.
But most importantly, it’s right that in the end Kalim really is nothing without him.
“Good,” says Jamil and laughs again.