Dystychiphobia [Kalim Al-Asim x Reader]
The door to the infirmary opens with a quiet, synchronized click, and Jamil steps in. He looks slightly disheveled, his breathing a bit heavier than usual, but his expression is dark and entirely satisfied. Behind him, Azul, Jade, and Floyd linger in the hallway, the faint sound of Floyd chuckling echoing into the room.
"It's over," Jamil says, his voice a low, smooth murmur so he doesn't wake you. He slides his magical pen back into his pocket. "We caught them. It was a student from Savanaclaw who owed a massive debt to the Mostro Lounge. They used a high-grade disguise potion to steal from our treasury to pay Azul back, and then tried to steal the contract itself to wipe the slate clean."
Kalim looks up from the floor, his eyes red and puffy. "Did you... did you fix it, Jamil?"
"The student is currently being escorted to the Headmage's office by the Octavinelle trio. Azul is ensuring the debt is doubled for the defamation, and I personally ensured they won't be walking comfortably for the next month," Jamil replies coldly. He steps closer to the cot, his eyes scanning your peaceful, sedated face, before dropping down to look at Kalim, who is still huddled on the floor.
Jamil sighs, his posture losing its tense edge. He reaches down and grips Kalimās shoulder, pulling his housewarden up to his feet.
"The Prefect is cleared of all charges, Kalim. Everyone knows the truth now," Jamil says quietly. "But right now, you need to stop crying and start thinking about how you're going to help them recover. They're going to need a lot of assistance around Ramshackle once they wake up."
Kalim wipes his face desperately with his sleeve, nodding frantically. "I'll do whatever it takes! I'll cook, I'll clean, I'll bring the best doctors from the Silk RoadāI'll carry their books to class every single day!" He looks back down at you, his heart aching as he gently pulls the blanket a little higher over your shoulders. "I'm just glad they're safe... and that they didn't actually hate me."
Kalim quiet down, āFloyd said theyāre my sweetheartā¦ā
Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, deeply exhausted sigh that seems to carry the weight of the entire world. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, praying for strength, before looking down at the utterly clueless Housewarden on the floor.
"Kalim," Jamil says, his voice flat and vibrating with irritation. "Floyd Leech is a chaotic sadist who says whatever pops into his head purely to watch people squirm. He saw you crying, realized you were vulnerable, and threw out a ridiculous rumor just to mess with you. And it worked."
Kalim blinks up at him, his tear-streaked face wrinkling in genuine, naive confusion. "But... but why would he say that? The Prefect and I are just really close friends! We eat together, and we laugh, and I love having them around, andā"
"Stop talking," Jamil cuts in sharply, raising a hand. "Do not try to analyze Floydās logic. It will only give you a headache, and quite frankly, it gives me a headache. The point is, he was mocking you because you were throwing a tantrum like a child."
Jamil looks back over at you, his expression shifting into something a bit more serious. He reaches out and gently adjusts the pillow supporting your shattered hand, ensuring there's no unnecessary pressure on the splint.
"Besides," Jamil adds quietly, his eyes lingering on your peaceful, sedated face, "the Prefect has enough problems dealing with magical monsters, a dilapidated dorm, and a useless Headmage. The last thing they need to wake up to is you making a fool of yourself over a joke made by an eel."
Kalim swallows hard, looking back down at his lap, his shoulders dropping. "Right... you're right. I shouldn't be thinking about what Floyd said. I should only be thinking about how to make things right."
He crawls just an inch closer to your bedside, his eyes wide and anxious as he watches your chest slowly rise and fall. "Jamil... do you think they'll wake up soon? The suspense is killing me..."
Even as he stares at your bandaged hand, the word sweetheart keeps echoing in Kalim's head like a stubborn bell he can't shut off.
He tilts his head, his brow furrowing as he looks at your sleeping face. Sweetheart... Heād never really thought about it before. To Kalim, people were either family, friends, or people he hadn't thrown a banquet for yet. But the way his heart had completely shattered when he thought you'd betrayed him... the way he felt physically sick knowing he'd hurt you... was that just because you were a friend? Or was it something else?
He thinks about how much he loves seeing you smile, how he always saves the best exotic fruits from his care packages specifically to bring over to Ramshackle, and how the entire campus suddenly feels incredibly bright whenever you're around.
Wait, Kalim thinks, his eyes widening in a sudden, quiet epiphany. Do I... do I actually...?
"Kalim." Jamilās voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and warning. "I can practically hear your gears grinding from here. Stop overthinking whatever nonsense Floyd fed you and focus."
"Ah! Right! Sorry!" Kalim squeaks, snapping out of his daze and shaking his head violently, his face flushing a bright, guilty pink. He quickly buries his face back into his arms against the edge of the mattress, trying to hide his burning cheeks.
But his eyes stay locked on you. His heart does a strange, nervous little flutter in his chest, entirely separate from the guilt. Now, he isn't just terrified that you'll wake up and hate himāhe's suddenly, overwhelmingly self-conscious about what he's going to say to you when those eyes finally open.
The next day, you stirred in bed. The first thing that hits you is the heavy, sterile smell of the infirmary, closely followed by a dull, throbbing ache radiating from your hand. The excruciating, sharp agony from yesterday has subsided into a numb, heavy heat, thanks to whatever medicine the nurse gave you.
As you blink your eyes open, squinting against the bright morning light spilling through the window, you try to shift your arm. It feels incredibly heavy, resting on a plush satin pillow.
A panicked, breathless voice gasps right beside you.
You turn your head to see Kalim. He looks like an absolute mess. Heās still wearing his Scarabia silks from yesterday, but theyāre wrinkled, and his usual pristine hair is a bit disheveled. His eyes are violently bloodshot, with dark circles underneath that prove he didn't sleep a single wink last night. He is sitting on a small stool right next to your bed, hovering his hands over you like he wants to touch you but is terrified to do so.
The moment your eyes lock onto his, Kalim flinches back, a look of profound guilt and sheer anxiety washing over his face. He looks at you exactly like a kicked puppy waiting for a blow.
"P-Prefect..." he whispers, his voice incredibly small and rough from crying. He clasps his hands tightly together in his lap, his knuckles white. "Jamil found the guy who did it. A Savanaclaw student used a potion to look like you. I know you were at Heartslabyul now. I... I know you didn't do anything."
He swallows hard, his lower lip trembling as he looks down at your heavily bandaged hand, then back up to your face, his eyes swimming with fresh tears.
"I'm so, so sorry," he chokes out, his voice cracking. "I was a monster yesterday. I didn't listen, and I... I did that to you. If you want to punch me with your other hand, or if you want Crowley to expel me, or... or if you never want to see my face again, I understand. I just... I needed to know you were okay first."
The heavy silence that follows cuts through the room sharper than any yell or scream ever could.
When you turn your head away, staring fixedly at the blank white wall of the infirmary, Kalim freezes. The absolute rejection hits him like a physical blow. His breath hitches in his throat, and the small, desperate hope heād been holding onto completely shatters.
"P-Prefect...?" he whispers, his voice dropping into a ragged, pathetic little squeak.
He waits. One second. Five seconds. Ten. You don't look back at him. You don't acknowledge his apology. Your shoulders are tense, and the cold wall of your silence tells him everything he needs to know: you are hurt, you are angry, and right now, you can't even stand to look at his face.
The reality of Jamilās warning hits Kalim with crushing weight. He didn't just break your bones; he broke your trust.
"I... I see," Kalim chokes out, a fresh, heavy tear spilling over his eyelashes and splashing onto his lap. He slowly stands up from the stool, his legs shaking so badly he has to steady himself against the wall. He looks incredibly small, his usual bright, radiant energy completely extinguished.
He takes a slow, agonizing step backward toward the door, his eyes lingering on the back of your head one last time.
"I'll... I'll leave you alone," he whispers, his voice thick with misery. "I'll tell the nurse to bring you some breakfast. And... and I'll make sure Jamil brings over whatever you need from Ramshackle so you don't have to see me. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."
With a soft, heartbroken sniffle, Kalim turns and quietly slips out of the infirmary, closing the door behind him with a gentle, hesitant click, leaving you alone in the quiet room.
The grand, opulent halls of Scarabia have never felt so suffocatingly quiet. Usually, music, laughter, and the scent of roasting spices echo through the courtyard, but for the past few days, the dorm has been draped in a heavy, miserable silence.
Kalim sits on the edge of his lavish velvet sofa, his knees pulled tightly to his chest. Banquets have been cancelled. The treasure vaults remain locked. He hasn't even touched his favorite foods, leaving trays of exotic fruits and sweet pastries to grow stagnant on the gold tables.
He just stares blankly at the floor, his mind trapped in an agonizing loop.
How could I do that? he asks himself for the hundredth time, his chest tightening. How could I have been such a monster?
As he sits there in the dim light, a realization begins to take root in his mind, heavy and terrifyingly clear. He thinks back to all the times students have crossed him, or the times things have gone wrong in the dorm. When a student messes up, Kalim is quick to smile, offer a second chance, and throw a feast to make up for it. He doesn't hold grudges. He doesn't get angry.
But when it came to you...
The moment he had looked at that ledger and thought you were the one who betrayed him, something inside him hadn't just brokenāit had exploded. It was a blind, visceral panic that completely overrode his reason. If it had been any other student, he would have been hurt, sure, but he would have listened. He would have asked questions.
But because it was you, the betrayal cut so deep into his soul that he had lashed out like a wounded animal. He cared about you too much. His world revolved around your smiles far more than he had ever realized, and the mere thought of you turning against him had driven him entirely insane.
Floydās mocking voice echoes in his head again: āSlamming a door on your little sweetheart? Man, you really messed up.ā
Kalim buries his face in his hands, a fresh wave of hot tears spilling through his fingers. It wasn't just a joke. Floyd had seen right through him. He didn't just love you as a friend. He was completely, deeply in love with youāand the very first thing he had done with those feelings was crush your hand and make you look at him with eyes full of pure terror.
"I ruin everything," Kalim sobs into the empty lounge, his voice cracking with a despair Scarabia has never heard from its bright housewarden. "I love them so much, and I broke them..."
Sitting at his ornate desk, Kalim wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve, staring down at a blank sheet of heavy, gold-trimmed parchment. His hand trembles as he dips his fountain pen into the ink. He has never written a letter like this to his father. Usually, his letters are filled with bright stories about campus life, requests for more party supplies, or updates on his grades.
This time, the paper is stained with a few dropped tears before he even finishes the first sentence.
I need your help. Itās an emergency, and itās completely my fault. Someone incredibly important to meāthe Prefect of Ramshackle Dormāhas been terribly hurt because of my recklessness. Their hand was crushed. The school nurse splinted it, but she says it will take weeks to heal, and I am terrified they won't ever be able to use it the same way again.
Please, Father. I don't care how much it costs. Use our family's influence and resources to send the finest, most skilled magical doctors and healers from the Silk Road to Night Raven College immediately. They need the best care in the world. I will accept any punishment you give me, and I will pay back every single coin from my own inheritance, but please help them. I cannot live with myself knowing I did this to them.
He folds the letter with shaking fingers, sealing it with the heavy wax crest of the Al-Asim family. He doesn't even wait for the standard mail delivery; he calls for his fastest personal messenger parrot, tying the letter securely to its leg.
"Fly as fast as you can," Kalim whispers to the bird, his voice cracking as he opens the balcony doors. "Please."
With a sharp flap of wings, the bird darts into the sky, heading straight toward the Silk Road. Kalim watches it go until it's just a speck in the distance. He grips the balcony railing, looking in the direction of the infirmary, his heart aching with a desperate, heavy hope that his family can fix the physical damageāeven if he can never fix the heartbreak he caused.
Tomorrow came, and Kalim waited for a reply.
You blink open your eyes, ready to face the heavy, thumping ache in your handābut instead, there is only a strange, soothing warmth.
Startled, you look down. The thick, restrictive splint and heavy gauze are completely gone. In their place is a pristine, flawless hand. You flex your fingers, waiting for the agonizing crack of shifting bone, but there is nothing. No pain. No swelling. Not even a faint scar where your skin had been split open.
Sitting on the bedside table right next to your pillow is an empty, intricately carved crystal vial that smells faintly of desert lilies and powerful magic. Beside it lies a thick, gold-trimmed envelope sealed with heavy red wax.
You pick up the envelope with your newly healed hand and break the wax seal. Inside, written in an elegant, sweeping script that belongs to someone of incredible status, is a brief note:
To the Prefect of Ramshackle,
By the time you read this, the Asim family's personal royal physician should have completed the instantaneous bone-knitting spell. The elixir left beside you will ensure there is no lingering tissue damage. Consider this a baseline restitution for the severe negligence of my son.
Kalimās letter to me was frantic, disgraceful, and entirely beneath a Housewarden of Night Raven College. He has bypassed our standard channels, begged for resources, and offered up his own inheritance to ensure your swift recovery.
While your physical wounds are mended, I am well aware that a broken trust cannot be fixed with an elixir. Do not feel obligated to grant him forgiveness simply because his family has deep pockets. Use this healed hand to forge your own path, independent of his foolishness.
With utmost sincerity, The Head of the Al-Asim Family
As you finish reading, you realize Kalim really did it. He went completely over the Headmage's head and moved heaven and earth just to take away your pain in a single night.
From the hallway outside your private room, you hear a faint, hesitant shuffle of boots against the floor, followed by a quiet, anxious sniffle. Kalim is out there, too terrified to knock, waiting to see if his desperate plea to his father actually worked.
You slide your legs out of the bed and stand up, the crisp infirmary sheets falling away. It feels surreal to move your fingers without a single twinge of pain, the heavy weight of the last few days instantly lifted from your body. You fold the gold-trimmed letter, slip it into your blazer pocket, and head for the exit.
The heavy wooden doors of the recovery room swing open just as Kalim is reaching for the brass handle from the other side.
You both freeze, missing each other by mere inches.
Kalimās breath hitches loudly in his throat. He takes a sharp, panicked step back, his hands automatically flying up to his chest as if to shield himself from your anger. He looks exhausted, his eyes still rimmed with red, completely braced for you to turn your back on him again or yell at him to get out of your sight.
But then his eyes drop to your arm.
There is no sling. There are no thick, bulky bandages. Your hand is bare, resting casually at your side, your fingers moving naturally.
The sight makes Kalimās heart physically jump in his chestāa sudden, violent thud of sheer, overwhelming relief that leaves him completely dizzy. The absolute terror that had been suffocating him for days vanishes in a heartbeat, replaced by a wave of emotion so intense it takes his breath away.
"P-Prefect...?" he gasps, his voice trembling violently as he looks from your hand back up to your face. He takes a half-step forward, his entire body shaking with a mixture of joy, residual guilt, and that terrifying new realization of how much he loves you. "It worked...? My fatherās doctor... youāre really okay? It doesn't hurt anymore?"
He looks like he wants to burst into tears all over again, but he forces them back, keeping his hands tightly to his own chest, still too afraid to cross your boundaries after what he did.
āIām fineā¦ā you mumbled.
Hearing your voice, even as a quiet whisper makes Kalimās shoulders drop with a massive, shuddering sigh of relief. The cold, impenetrable wall of silence from yesterday is finally gone, and the fact that you're even speaking to him feels like a miracle he doesn't deserve.
"You're fine... you're really fine," he repeats softly, a watery, breathless smile finally breaking through his exhausted face. He looks at your perfectly healed hand one more time, his chest swelling with immense gratitude toward his father's swift action.
But as he looks up at your face, noticing how youāre still looking away and keeping your distance, reality tempers his sudden joy. The physical pain is gone, but the atmosphere between you is still heavy, awkward, and broken.
Kalim takes a small, deliberate step backward, giving you plenty of space. He clasps his hands behind his back, trying to look as unthreatening and compliant as possible.
"I'm... I'm so glad," Kalim says, his voice dropping into a gentle, earnest tone you rarely hear from the usually boisterous housewarden. "I know a magic potion doesn't just make everything go back to normal. I know I still scared you, and I know I have a lot of making up to do."
He looks at you, his crimson eyes filled with a deep, vulnerable intensity that makes his heart do that strange, nervous flutter all over again. Floydās words and his own realizations are still screaming in his mind, but right now, your comfort is the only thing that matters to him.
"You don't have to forgive me right now," Kalim says softly, offering a small, hesitant smile. "But... can I walk you back to Ramshackle? Just to make sure you get home safe? I promise I'll stay three steps behind you the whole way."
Despite his promise, Kalimās boots betray him. He didnāt walk three steps back. He was walking right next to you.
As you start walking down the cobblestone path toward Ramshackle, the distance between you feels entirely wrong to him. It feels cold. Every time he catches a glimpse of your perfectly healed hand swinging naturally at your side, his heart does a violent, anxious twitch. The terrifying memory of that door, the blood, and the sudden, awful realization of how easily he could lose you completely overrides his self-control.
Before he even realizes what he's doing, Kalim closes the gap. He adjusts his pace until his shoulder is almost brushing against yours, walking right by your side.
His fingers twitch. A heavy, overwhelming urge washes over himāhe wants nothing more than to reach out, slide his fingers securely through yours, and hold your hand tightly. He wants to feel the warmth of your skin, to feel the steady pulse in your wrist, just to anchor himself to reality and prove to his anxious mind that you are really, truly okay. He wants to hold you so close that nothing could ever hurt you again. Even if that something was him.
As the silence stretches between you, Floydās mocking, sing-song voice echoes in his head with deafening clarity: āSlamming a door on your little sweetheart? Man, you really messed up.ā
Kalimās face instantly burns a furious, vibrant crimson. His chest feels so tight he can barely breathe. It wasn't just Floyd being a bully. Looking at you right now, feeling this desperate, protective ache in his chest, Kalim knows the absolute, terrifying truth. He doesn't just want to be your friend. He wants to be the person who holds your hand down every hallway, the person you smile at first thing in the morning, the person you trust more than anyone else in the world.
He glances down at your hand again, his own hand hovering just inches away, trembling with a mixture of profound love and residual fear.
"Um... Prefect?" Kalim whispers, his voice suddenly thick and breathless as his steps slow down. He stops walking entirely, turning to face you on the quiet path, his cheeks still flushed pink. He looks down at your hand, then up at your eyes, his crimson gaze entirely unguarded and filled with a raw, desperate vulnerability. "Can I... would it be okay if I...?"
When you finally turn your head and your eyes lock directly onto his, Kalim visibly hesitates, his breath catching in his throat. For days, heās been staring at the back of your head, bracing himself for total rejection, so the sudden intensity of your gaze leaves him completely exposed.
The bright pink flush on his cheeks deepens, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks at your face, then down at your bare, perfectly healed hand, his fingers twitching with that desperate, electric urge to reach out and hold it.
"I..." Kalim starts, his voice cracking slightly before he swallows hard to steady himself. He takes a tiny, hesitant half-step closer, his entire demeanor shifting from the loud, carefree housewarden into someone entirely raw and vulnerable.
"I was just thinking about what Floyd said," he blurts out, the truth tumbling from his lips before his brain can stop it. He squeezes his hands into fists at his sides, trying to keep them from trembling. "When he called you... that word. At first, I was just confused and angry because he was making fun of us. But when I sat in that empty lounge for days, thinking about how much I hurt you, and how much it broke me to see you look at me with fear..."
He steps closer, completely erasing the distance between you, though he still restrains himself from touching you without permission. His crimson eyes search yours, filled with a profound, aching sincerity.
"I realized he was right," Kalim whispers, his voice dropping into a soft, fierce murmur. "I don't just want to be the friend who throws you banquets, Prefect. I want to protect you. I want to be the person who holds your hand so you never have to feel unsafe again."
He slowly extends his hand, placing it palm-up in the space between you, hovering just an inch away from yoursāa silent, trembling invitation, waiting to see if you'll finally bridge the gap.
Your brain completely shorts out. The words hang in the quiet morning air between you, sounding entirely surreal. You stare at his open palm, then snap your eyes back up to his face, your chest tightening in pure shock.
You froze. āWhat?" you blurt out, your voice a breathless, stunned whisper.
Kalim flinches slightly at your reaction, his hand trembling in the space between you, but he doesn't pull it back. The bright, embarrassing flush on his cheeks stays right where it is, but the anxious, frantic energy he usually carries seems to ground itself into something incredibly real and heavy.
"I know it's sudden," he says, his voice soft but steady as he looks directly into your eyes. "And I know I have absolutely no right to say this to you right now. Not after what I did. I spent days wishing I could take your pain away, and when my father's doctor fixed your hand, I was so happy I could die. But... walking next to you just now, I realized the physical pain wasn't the only thing making my chest hurt."
He takes a small, cautious breath, his crimson eyes swimming with a mixture of hope and profound guilt.
"When I thought you betrayed me, it didn't just make me madāit completely destroyed me, because your opinion of me matters more than anyone else's in the world. And seeing you look at me with fear... I never want to be the reason you look like that again. I want to be the person who makes you feel safe. I want to hold your hand, Prefect. Not just as a friend."
He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to your perfectly healed fingers before coming back up to meet your shocked stare. "I'm in love with you. I... I really am."
The heavy, romantic tension that had been building between you and Kalim is instantly obliterated by the sound of furious, stomping sandals.
Jamilās voice cuts through the quiet path like a whip. Both of you jump, snapping your heads around to see the Scarabia Vice-Housewarden marching toward you. He looks absolutely livid. His eyes are narrowed into dangerous slits, his jaw is clenched tightly, and in his right hand, he is violently shaking a heavy piece of parchment.
"J-Jamil?!" Kalim squeaks, his romantic confession evaporating as his face goes from flushed pink to completely pale. He instinctively takes a step back, his shoulders bunching up. "What's wrong? Why do you look so mad?"
"What is this?!" Jamil barks, shoving the paper directly into Kalim's face.
You look closely and recognize the elegant, sweeping script and the heavy red wax remnantsāit's an official letter from the Head of the Al-Asim family, addressed directly to Jamil.
"I just received an express magical dispatch from your father," Jamil fumes, his voice vibrating with absolute rage, though he keeps it low enough so passing students won't overhear. "A letter demanding that I explain, in vivid detail, what happened between you and the Prefect! A letter asking why my Housewarden was frantic enough to bypass every single protocol, demand royal physicians, and wager his entire inheritance over a single injury!"
Jamil turns his glaring, furious eyes over to you, freezing for a fraction of a second when he notices your bare, perfectly healed hand. He blinks, clearly stunned by the instantaneous recovery, but his anger quickly rushes back as he looks back to Kalim.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?!" Jamil snaps, crossing his arms and looming over Kalim. "Your father is demanding answers, Kalim! He thinks there is a political crisis or a coup happening at Night Raven College because his eldest son just tried to sign away his entire birthright in a single night! He's threatening to send a full security detail to the school!"
Kalim swallows hard, looking completely caught out. He looks at you, then at Jamil, his hands wringing together nervously. "I-I just wanted to fix it, Jamil! I couldn't sleep knowing their hand was broken because of me! I told Father I'd pay for any price, even if it meant giving up my inheritance, as long as the Prefect was okay!"
Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a breath that sounds like hot steam escaping a kettle. "You are an absolute idiot," he mutters, his voice dripping with pure exhaustion. "You don't just wager a national fortune over a school incident, Kalim. Now I have to spend the next three days drafting a formal report to your father to spin this in a way that doesn't get both of us pulled out of school."
He looks back up, his sharp gaze darting between the two of you, noticing how close you were standing and how red Kalimās face still is. Jamilās eyes narrow with sudden suspicion.
"And what exactly was happening here before I arrived?" Jamil asks coldly, looking at Kalim's guilty expression. "Kalim... what did you just say to them?"
Before Kalim can even think of a lie to appease Jamil, a sharp, melodic chime cuts through the tense air.
Itās coming from Kalimās pocket.
Kalim fumbles around, pulling out his sleek, gold-accented smartphone. The screen is illuminated, flashing a caller ID that consists of a single, deeply imposing family crest. There is no name. There is no nickname. Just the heavy, unmistakable seal of the Al-Asim household.
Jamil looks over Kalimās shoulder at the screen, and in that exact fraction of a second, all the color completely drains from his face. His posture goes entirely rigid, his arms dropping to his sides as his eyes widen in sheer, unadulterated horror.
The Head of the Al-Asim family never calls directly.
For a man of his statureāa titan of commerce who oversees thousands of employees, dozens of magical businesses, and a massive global estateādirect phone calls to a teenage son are a myth. Everything goes through secretaries, attendants, or Jamil himself. A direct call means only one thing: the polite, professional barrier of diplomacy has been entirely vaporized, and he is furious.
"J-Jamil..." Kalim whimpers, his voice dropping an octave as his hands begin to shake violently. He holds the vibrating phone out like it's a live explosive. "It's... it's Father. He's calling me. Directly. What do I do?!"
"Answer it," Jamil whispers, his voice sounding like it's choking out of his throat. He looks like heās about to have a literal stress-induced heart attack right there on the path. He grabs Kalim by the shoulder, dragging himāand by extension, youāinto the shadow of a nearby stone pillar so they aren't standing out in the open. "Answer it right now, Kalim! Put it on speaker! And for the love of the Great Seven, do not say anything stupid!"
With a trembling finger, Kalim swipes the screen and hits the speaker button.
The moment the line connects, the ambient noise of the campus seems to instantly vanish, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence on the other end of the line. Then, a deep, incredibly calm, and terrifyingly resonant voice echoes from the speaker.
The single word carries enough weight to make both Scarabia boys instantly straighten their spines. Kalim swallows hard, his eyes darting to you in absolute panic.
"H-Hi, Father!" Kalim squeaks, his voice cracking under the pressure. "The weather is really nice today at school! How areā"
"Silence," the voice commands, entirely unbothered by the pleasantries. "I have just read the report from my personal physician. He informs me that the Prefectās hand is completely healed, and that you were found weeping on a stool beside their bed the day before. I am also looking at your letter, in which you explicitly offered to forfeit your entire birthright to pay for a single medical elixir."
There is a brief, agonizing pause. You can hear Jamil physically holding his breath next to you, his face completely pale.
"Explain to me, right now," Kalim's father says, his tone dropping into a cold, dangerous register, "exactly what kind of hold this Ramshackle Prefect has over my eldest son that would cause you to throw away a your fortune. Jamil Viper, I know you are listening. You will speak first."
"F-Father, wait! Don't blame Jamil!" Kalim blurts out, entirely cutting off the terrifying man on the other end of the line.
Jamil looks like he might actually drop dead on the cobblestones. His eyes bulge out in pure horror, and he frantically slashes his hand across his throat in a desperate, silent signal for Kalim to shut up. You don't interrupt the Head of the Al-Asim family. You just don't.
But Kalim is too panicked, too desperate, and entirely too overwhelmed by everything that has happened over the last few days to care about protocol anymore. He grips the phone tightly in both hands, stepping right in front of Jamil as if to shield his vice-housewarden.
"Jamil didn't do anything wrong! He didn't even know I wrote that letter!" Kalim says, his voice shaking but incredibly determined. "I did it all on my own! I was the one who was reckless, and I was the one who hurt the Prefect because I didn't listen! Jamil has been trying to clean up my mess this whole time!"
A heavy, suffocating silence stretches over the phone line. Through the speaker, you can hear the faint, slow tick of a grandfather clock from across the world, emphasizing just how badly Kalim has breached etiquette. Jamil has closed his eyes, his face completely pale, silently praying for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
"...You interrupted me, Kalim," his fatherās voice comes through, dangerously quiet and utterly level. "And you are raising your voice. Explain yourself before I lose my patience entirely."
Kalim swallows hard, his crimson eyes darting to you for a split second before he looks back down at the screen. The bright pink flush from his earlier confession rushes back into his cheeks, but there is a raw, fierce honesty in his expression now.
"They don't have a 'hold' on me, Father!" Kalim exclaims abruptly, the words tumbling out of him in a desperate rush. "The Prefect is the most important person in the world to me! I realized it when I thought I lost them. Floyd Leech said they were my sweetheart, and I thought he was just being mean, but he was right! I'm completely in love with them! That's why I didn't care about the inheritance! I'd throw away every single coin and every piece of gold in the vaults if it meant keeping them safe, because none of it matters if they aren't by my side!"
Jamilās eyes snap open so fast you can practically hear his neck pop. He stares at Kalim in absolute, paralyzed disbelief, a look of profound, existential dread washing over his face.
On the other end of the line, the silence returnsābut this time, it is absolute.
For five agonizing seconds, the phone is so quiet you can hear the faint, high-pitched hum of the magical connection. Jamil looks like a statue carved from pure dread, his gaze locked onto the gold-accented device as if itās about to detonate and wipe Scarabia off the map.
Then, Kalimās father finally speaks. His voice isn't explosive or raging. Instead, it is a low, terrifyingly measured rumble that vibrates through the phone's speaker.
The words are spoken with a cold, analytical precision.
"You wagered the generational wealth of the Al-Asim family, breached international magical medical protocols, and caused a minor diplomatic panic with the Headmage of your academy... because of a teenage infatuation."
"It's not just an infatuation!" Kalim barks back defensively, his face burning a deeper shade of scarlet, though his voice cracks slightly at the sheer gravity of his father's tone. "I mean it, Father! Iāve never felt like this about anyone before! Iā"
"Silence, Kalim. I am speaking."
The absolute authority in the voice instantly snaps Kalim's mouth shut. He flinches, squeezing his eyes closed and clutching the phone closer to his chest.
"If this... Prefect," his father continues, pronouncing your title like heās evaluating a business asset, "is truly the individual who commands such unhinged desperation from the future head of my house, then this is no longer a mere schoolyard incident. Jamil Viper."
Jamil practically snaps to attention, his voice tight and completely devoid of its usual composure. "Yes, Lord Al-Asim."
"You will immediately halt whatever fabricated report you were preparing. You will draft a completely transparent dossier on the Ramshackle Prefect. I want their academic records, their background, their behavioral patterns, and a full assessment of their influence over my son on my desk by sunset. If Kalim is willing to bankrupt his future for them, I will know exactly who they are."
"F-Father, no! Leave them out of this!" Kalim pleads, his eyes wide with panic as he looks at you. "They didn't do anything! They were just sleeping in the infirmary!"
"As for you, Kalim," his father cuts in, completely ignoring his son's protests. "Since you value your inheritance so little compared to this person, your personal allowance is frozen effective immediately. Your access to the family's secondary vaults is suspended. If you wish to court someone under the Al-Asim name, you will do so with your own merit, not my gold. And tomorrow morning, my personal counsel will be arriving at Night Raven College to assess the situation in person."
The line goes dead with a sharp, heavy beep.
The silence that settles over the stone pillar is thick enough to choke on. Kalim slowly lowers his phone, his hands shaking so badly he nearly drops it. He looks completely overwhelmed, his chest heaving as he processes the fact that he just confessed his love to you in front of his vice-housewarden and his terrifying billionaire father all at once.
Jamil slowly turns his head toward Kalim. The vein in his forehead is visibly throbbing.
"Kalim," Jamil whispers, his voice dangerously calm. "I am going to strangle you. I am going to strangle you, and then I am going to pack my bags, because my career as an attendant is officially over."
