vvitchsdesire | fic: morning glory & midnight sun

ao3 || wattpad || ffnet

Title: morning glory & midnight sun
Fandom: Twisted Wonderland
Rating: G
Wordcount: 560
Summary: Reach out to him as the two of them walk to class. Curl his fingers back, hold the hand close to himself. Jamil knows he can’t shake him, yell out what the fuck is wrong with you? because it will reflect poorly on him as a servant.

He’s the moon, he’s the sun. He’s bright, that’s what Jamil is trying to say through metaphors that do not suit his tongue. There’s a certain dichotomy that doesn’t make sense to him, really: part of him looks at Kalim and wants to kick him out, to make Kalim leave so Jamil can have something of his own; part of him wants to sit and watch Kalim until his eyes become blind by the light he emanates.

It makes little sense. This will rip him apart.

Reach out to him as the two of them walk to class. Curl his fingers back, hold the hand close to himself. Jamil knows he can’t shake him, yell out what the fuck is wrong with you? because it will reflect poorly on him as a servant.

Kalim does not turn back, still chattering about something inane. Jamil’s eyes twitch in anger, in fury, in the need to be first in something - even if it is first to be thrown out of the Viper family for beating the young master.

He’s so, so tired of being second place, second fiddle. Kalim doesn’t even try, and does not deserve all he’s got but he deserves because he’s the young master and all his programming, his training says that the young master deserves the sun, the moon and stars if he so wishes for it and it is Jamil’s job to make sure Kalim gets it.

He bites his tongue. It’s not worth it to speak, to hurt his family, to hurt himself, just for the sheer pleasure of seeing Kalim’s trust in him - so sure he is of Jamil’s love that it is comical, so trusting and naïve, so stupid to not think that even a worm will turn - for a mere moment.

He keeps his hand close to his chest, bites his tongue and offers a smile when Kalim turns to ask his opinion, as if it matters.

Jamil knows it doesn’t. Jamil knows he’s supposed to nod and agree and act as if any of Kalim’s ideas are revolutionary, even though he won’t have to lift a finger to make them come true and all the hard work will fall on Jamil to realize it, to make it come to fruition.

And who will reap the rewards of Jamil’s hard work? He won’t even get to enjoy it.

Jamil grits his teeth. Kalim doesn’t notice it.

Sometimes Jamil will look up places to go, map the spots he wants to spend one, two, three, thirty days on before moving on.

It’s a good pastime. He has piles upon piles upon piles of travel magazines laying under his bed, like some sort of teenage dirty little secret he feels ashamed of, notebooks with doodled annotations and plans he knows he can’t make.

Of course Jamil can’t leave. If he does, who’ll take care of Kalim? He bites his lips, and hides his plans once more.

He’s chained to him, and there’s no way out that Jamil can see.

Ink falls. It’ll overflow soon. He is fine with it. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s -

It’s as satisfying as he thought it would be to tell what he really thinks to Kalim, who expresses surprise for a mere second before going back to irritating positivity.

This time, however, Jamil doesn’t have to bite his tongue.