A/N
I like to think that, in a world without reincarnation and magical items, this is how Malik's life would turn out. At some point at least. Written for the lj comm ygodrabble, prompt: reality.
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Rishid had volunteered to take her there like last time but she'd have to get used to driving this new car, she argued, and he didn't insist.
She gave the suitcase on the passenger seat a few nervous glances while the security guard squinted at her ID. She was given her cards back along with a guest badge, and the gates opened for her. Beyond them, a yellow bricked, multi-story building riddled with tiny barred windows, testament of a certain epoch, of certain mores.
The massive wooden doors were modern though, and so were the tiles. She smiled politely and nodded to any staff she passed on her way to her destination, worried that the ugly badge around her wasn't visible enough. She
They might be thinking she was doing herself in.
A buff, male nurse recognized her at the entrance of the ward. She could never understand how he (and all his colleagues, for that matter) managed to smile so sincerely to everyone.
"He's in his room," he said as he opened the door for her. "Fourth one to the left."
She can only manage another nod. Either he was good with faces, or it was just plain obvious whose relative she was.
The living room was bright and colourful, happy yet soothing shades of saffron and aquamarine on the walls, musical instruments and paperbacks scattered here and there. Plush armchairs near a sizeable bookshelf. Even a piano. There was a television and a ping-pong table. And of course people.
Old men, young men, damaged men, casually dressed men watching TV. Not so old men playing board games. One ageless men walking idly. One very young, very pretty man wearing women's clothes. She wondered, not without a pang of guilt, whether he and Malik had become friends. She thought of the contents of the suitcase and bit her lip. She had thought it might have been a bad idea to bring him these, but seeing this colorful young man put her mind at ease - her brother wouldn't be ostracized here.
She stood by the doorframe to his room; his door wasn't closed, nor was any of the other rooms. After a closer inspection she realized that there were no doors. Must be for safety. Malik was lying on his bed, engulfed in a book. She knocked.
Malik didn't budge.
She called his name softly.
Malik turned, his attention still on the book, using his thumb as a page marker. He gave her a look over, folded the corner of the page, and sat up, waiting for her to act.
He had never been fond of greetings.
She joined him, sitting on the corner of the bed, laying the suitcase between them because she didn't know where else to put it. Gave her baby brother a thoughtful look over, looking for health in his features, or a trace of the meds he might or might not be taking. He simply looked back at her.
Not knowing what conclusion she could draw. The creases under his eyes hadn't darkened. He was clean. He looked well-fed. She didn't know what to think or how to think of him.
The sudden hug she gave his was made awkward by the distance between them.
"You brought the lavender top, didn't you."
She struggled to keep her voice even, hugging him tighter. He let himself be hugged. "Yeah."
"You didn't have to. I'm fine."
"I know," she whispered, "I know."
Somewhere in the living room, someone played a few clumsy notes on the piano.